Some
of the best films, and subsequent viewing experiences, are those that pay
tribute to the magic. The late night Skinemax mystery, the SYFY monster
of the week, or perhaps even the holy grail of the horror section of the VHS
store of your mind's eye. Throughout cinematic history, various love
letters to genre, craft, and memory have always left an impact, nestling into
the subconscious among youthful memories and unfulfilled concepts.
Brendan Steere's auspicious, shoe string debut, The VelociPastor is a
Trashterpiece of the highest order. While some "homages" seek
to parody genre classics, his punk rock love anthem is a celebration, not only
of cult cinema, but of artistic creativity.
A
priest gains the power to transform into a Velociraptor and sets out fighting
crime with his prostitute/pre-med/pre-law girlfriend. That's it.
From the opening minutes where expected conflagrations are replaced with VFX
CAR ON FIRE, to deliciously cheesy (but faithfully practical) creature effects,
this is a take all comers, one for the ages experience. There's so much ingenuity
and genuine love for the craft packed into every frame, the ludicrous framework
becomes a boon. There was a time when rules were made to be broken, when
the internet wasn't a phone grab away, and a film lover's opinions were
restricted to a close circle of compatriots. Steere’s rebellion emulates this age
whenever possible, eschewing tasteless CGI and opting for in your face
bloodshed. Whenever a scene would call for something outside of the
budget, a hilarious stunt double is summoned from the prop room, be it the aforementioned
title card, a plastic doll's head, and so forth.
Alyssa
Kempinski and Greg Cohan anchor the insanity with natural, endearing
performances. Yes, the writing is purposefully insane, but beyond the
camp, is some laugh out loud sarcasm and some surprisingly tender
moments. These two actors put everything into their performances, and the
result is one of the best on screen couples of the century, a testament to
Steere's formidable understanding of the material and his principals' commitment
to the story. D.A. McCormick's synthy score flitters between a carefully
curated soundtrack to dovetail with the central relationship. There's a
love sequence in the middle act that has so much heart, it’s unbelievable how
easily it surpasses the cardboard romance that has become the standard of
modern American cinema.
Rounding
out the performances is Daniel Steere as the pastor's mentor, Father
Stewart. Perhaps the most important aspect of the screenplay is how every
scene is virtually a scene within a scene and Steere's absolute deadpan
delivery in every sequence throughout is pitch perfect. If Cohan's Doug
Jones (Del Toro Love!) is the heart, Steere’s Stewart is the connective tissue,
bringing the biggest laughs and perhaps a touch of WTF tragedy to virtually
every scene. These elements meld into a locomotion of cherished shlock
that hurtles towards the final showdown.
The finale is an amalgam of every single genre trope known to mankind and it is glorious to behold. So many pictures are made and force-fed through the box office machine that the process, the ideas, and the appreciation of art often fall to the wayside, exiled to a wasteland of spandex apocalypses and out of touch Oscar bait. From the opening scene, to its Scorsese-esque credit sequence, every single scene is packed with nostalgia and a kind of honesty that is so rare, it's almost easy to dismiss it as a joke, and therein lies the true heart of this special work. On the surface, it's a low budget, cheesy film not worthy of Walmart 5-dollar bin. But this is a lie. It's obfuscating a kind of purity that doesn't exist anymore. Take away extravagant CGI, Rotten Tomatoes prognosticators, Disney, and what remains is reverence for the foundation that birthed traditional viewing experiences, and Steere's masterwork is the exact kind of rogue iconography that is needed to refresh the stale annals of box office adherence.
Now
available for digital rental, The VelociPastor is a marvel, the full
tilt boogie of genre madness that will capture your heart through buckets of
bloods and rubber prosthetic monsters. This is an era where a film is
dead on arrival based on word of mouth and this one of a kind underdog deserves
every single ounce of support it can muster. Revel in its
unapologetic cheese, but pay tribute to its profound respect for the art, this
is a special thing, the kind of film that "would never get made
today." Whether you're a dumpster diving trash savant or a "saw
it in 35mm" elder, this is the unifier. Common ground for film
lovers, an honest, and unabashed love letter to the most powerful medium.
--Kyle
Jonathan