A woman is driving down a desolate desert road, while having cell phone sex with her boyfriend. Unable to locate her mini-vibrator, while having cell phone sex with her boyfriend, she MacGuyvers the phallic-shaped cell phone charger… and makes due.

I’m going to go ahead and guess Alive or Dead must have been written by a person of the male persuasion. (I’d also roll the dice on it being scribed by a virgin, but that would just sound petty.) (A quick check on IMDB – and would you know, I was right. Stephen Goetsch.)

Please don’t think I’m suggesting that women would never – because, in fact, we really would – but in the middle of not just a deserted road, but in the des-ert? No. No, no, no. Not with a cell phone charger, and not while driving, certainly not while wearing a you-can-see-my-thong-and-you-don’t-even-have-to-put-dollars-in-it, specially tailored, bikini wax revealing pair of hip-huggers. At the risk of spoiling many a man’s… erhm… dreams, it doesn’t work that way, folks. For one, when sitting in a car seat, pants pull a bit tautly around the pelvic region. If I were so inspired to wedge a cell phone charger clad fist down into my nether regions while imprisoned in a second skin-like pair of jeans, I’d have a dislocated thumb sooner than I’d find my way to a climax.

While committing roadway negligence, said woman’s sexual motivations were being delivered via speakerphone by her huffing and puffing beau.

Myth #2: “Dude, you can say anything to a chick, and she’ll like it. Like, if you say something repulsive, and she’s all oh, I don’t like that – so what? It takes, like, only two seconds to get her back on track.”

Fact: The above is so far removed from the bared truth of female sexuality, it would take me pages to construct a roadmap between the two.

The man on the phone was repugnant.

Even if he’d been paying to have that conversation, the woman on the other end would’ve snapped that phone down.

But let’s put all that aside.

Let’s suppose a woman was tooling along in the desert, in the dead of night, fully enthralled by borderline asthmatic repugnance, and was joyously humping her duty bound cell phone charger. She still would’ve been aware of her wetness. Women don’t yank something out of there and just toss it onto the passenger’s seat without a humble wipe down.

And they sure as hell wouldn’t snatch it out, plop it onto the passenger’s seat, then, a moment later jam it into the cigarette lighter and be rendered perplexed when the charger’s internal fuse instantaneously incinerates.

I hope the boy behind Alive or Dead, Stephen Goetsch, did the smart thing, and spent his Lionsgate check on hookers.

To Drive on the Rims, or Not to Drive on the Rims?

Seriously?

Granted, I probably know far, far more about serial killers, hobgoblins and industrial-sized head trimmers than I know about cars. So, I am blissfully unaware of the potential wealth of damage such action could result in. I’m willing to assume a chica who was dumbfounded her car’s auxiliary plug would not function under the strain of coital fluid is probably in the same boat. Therefore, if stricken with a couple of measly flat tires while located directly in the middle of nowhere, I’m going to err on the side of a maniac’s machete packing a heftier bite than the mechanic’s bill.

I cannot say the same of Mr. Huff-Puff’s girlfriend.

Normally, I wouldn’t be nearly as irritated with such an absurdly stereotypical portrayal of a woman (hey, I’ve met some, myself), but ALIVE OR DEAD has no excuse. They had a delicious premise, and proceeded to, painstakingly, shoot it to smithereens: A woman encounters an abandoned school bus while on a desolate road. Written in blood, on one of the windows, are the words, “HELP ME.” As she investigates, someone else gets onto the bus – and drives it away… There’s a moment, after our make-due mistress gets onto the bus, the script takes a turn for the better. Suspecting both bus and message to be an elaborate hoax, tension begins to take form as we’re introduced to the chained and blindfolded girl who authored the cryptic plea. Unfortunately, that singular moment of clarity is quickly swept aside by plot “twists” of, among other things, a malformed inbred, wicked doctors, and a freak who strayed from his leash.

The biggest question I walk away with, though, is this: How did they manage to get such attractive women to do such ridiculous things? Some bad movies probably didn’t look so dreadful when they were just a stack of printed paper. The same, however, cannot be said of ALIVE OR DEAD. Case in point:

At long last, the keys to the bus are procured! There’s a way out! In a frenzy, the brunette and blonde rush onto the bus – the brunette dashes behind the wheel. Inserts key, turns – nothing!

Blonde: “You’ve gotta pop the clutch!”

Brunette: “What’s that mean??”

Blonde: “I don’t know – I forget.”

A few moments later, after reconnecting the battery (… she forgot what a clutch was, but knew how to reconnect a battery cable) they return to the bus, their positions reversed. The blonde inserts the key, turns, while (presumably) popping the clutch – only to inspire a grumble from the motor.

Blonde: “Great! You must have flooded it!”

Brunette: “What’s that mean?”
Blonde: “I don’t know – it’s just always something my dad is saying.”

I cannot help but be reminded of the scene in HOLLYWOOD SHUFFLE, where Robert Townsend reluctantly slips off the afro – because having a gig simply wasn’t worth demeaning an entire race of people. I mean, Ladies, please! Stop painting us all as mechanically-uninclined dunderheads – and for the love of all the sweater puppies in the world, keep the battery chargers out of your panties!

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Zombie Boy  - Great review!   |SAdministrator |2008-08-22 09:54:43 But I pretty much stopped reading after the charger in the cootch comment. I simply must see this movie.

Bobby B  - Holy Smokes!   |67.170.183.xxx |2008-11-11 21:23:21 At first, I wasn't going to bother seeing the movie because a)it couldn't possibly be as entertaining as this review and b) you said it was a bad movie anyway. But the longer you go on the more you make it sound like I at least want to see what the hell you're talking about. If I wind up renting it and suffer through two hours of wanting to poke my eyes out, I'm going to blame you.

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