So so bad.
So so so so bad.
This movie is so so so so so so bad.
It is so so so so so so so bad that I actually broke my rule and stopped fucking watching it because holy shit I only have a finite amount of life and this movie is so so so so so so so so very very very very bad.
First of all, I should mention that the Baseline Killer is an actual rapist and murderer, and really this is probably the quality of film he deserves. Mark Goudeau was active for one year between ’05 and ’06 in Arizona. He killed eight women and one man, and raped and kidnapped about two dozen more young women, as young as 12. His murders were brutal and usually had no real motive or planning behind them, and in that spirit alone, this movie does its subject justice.
Second of all, FUCK THIS MOVIE IS BAD. It starts out with some shaky camera work of the sky and the desert for no particular reason, and for a minute I thought perhaps I was going to be treated to a low-budget attempt to make a 70s-style art house horror film. (Please note: most actual 70s art house horror films are not good and should not be reproduced. Evidence: “Death Bed: The Bed That Eats.”) (I know, “Death Bed: The Bed That Eats” sounds great. I promise you there is not enough liquor in the world.)
But then a terrible actress in a terrible wig stumbles around and then a terrible actor shoots her in the head and then ketchup sprays out of her goddamn head and then holy shit it just keeps being terrible. Let me break this film down into two categories of moments:
Things That Have Been Edited:
-every single cut between bits of dialogue, so that every conversation is as dramatic as possible, but like in a Japanese game show. The cameras are constantly spinning. Camera angles change every other shot. Could be dangerous for viewers with epilepsy.
-camera filters. Everywhere. To make it look like grainy film in the Arizona desert, but as designed by snapchat.
Things That Have Not Been Edited:
-actors straight up forgetting their dumb shitty lines and clearly trying to make some shit up that’s kind of close so they can get by.
-actors stuttering and stumbling over the dumb shitty lines that they remember like 75% but still aren’t super sure about
-continuity. Any of it. Oh, you were right next to the camera and now you are on the second floor? Leave that shit in, no one will notice. THEY WILL NOT BE ABLE TO SEE IT THROUGH THE FLOWING TEARS OF REGRET THAT ONLY THIS MOVIE CAN INSPIRE.
Every costume has been purchased from a Halloween store. Except for all the blood, which has been purchased from the ketchup store. And the script, which has been purchased from the Horrible Mistakes To Be Forgotten Forever store. And the shitfuck who purchased it all is one Ulli Lommel, who is the director, producer, screenwriter, and star of Baseline Killer, AND ALSO HE FUCKING MADE HIS OWN PRODUCTION COMPANY BECAUSE NO ONE WANTED TO DEAL WITH THIS SHIT EVEN A LITTLE BIT.
This is like if “The Room” only got less enjoyable when you were drinking. This is the kind of shit Tommy Wisseau leaves on the cutting room floor because HE IS BETTER THAN THAT. MST3K will never touch this with a ten foot pole. “Manos: The Hands of Fate” is basically Casablanca in light of such a boring, shitty, awful, bad, boring, dumb, stupid, cheap, pointless, awful, bad, awful thing.
This movie gets NO FUCKING HORRORS.
YOU’RE DAMN LUCKY I WROTE ABOUT THIS SHIT AT ALL, ULLI LOMMEL.
I DON’T EVEN KNOW HOW THIS ENDS.
I DON’T CARE.
YOU HURT ME, ULLI LOMMEL.
I THINK YOU’RE SOME SORT OF SADIST.
FUCK THIS MOVIE.
Ugh. I had to get that off my chest. I promise I’ll finish watching the next movie.