Cinema Suicide: Wicked, Wicked

I almost killed three people last night: yours truly, and my good friends Mike and Sarah. Now, homicide was not my intention when I went over to their house for an evening of film and booze to shake off a really crappy week at work, but, while screening the first feature of the night, a cinematic anti-masterpiece called Wicked-Wicked that I brought to the party -- you're welcome, we all almost died from acute asphyxiation. I don't know if it was the booze consumed, the anamorphic duo-vision split-screen, the singing talents of Ms. Tiffany Bolling, the bug-eyed organist banging away at her keys, the teleporting actors, atomically powered euphemisms, or the 70's camouflage costumes that blended in with the wallpaper and carpet ("All I can see is a 'stache and mullet!") that helped set the stage for this near-death experience, but the final catalyst was about a thirty-second montage featuring Scott Brady, Cranky Detective, rapidly recapping how the prime murder suspect kneed him in the junk, then jumped out a window, and then drove his car off a cliff in a flash of hilariously rapid-fire, nonsensical edits that had all of us laughing so hard and doubling over, gasping and fighting for air that we all almost died -- so much so that we had to stop the movie for several minutes until our color and breathing returned to normal, allowing us to continue. Fully composed, tears wiped from our eyes, diaphragms aching, we managed to finish the feature, and though we almost had a terminal relapse during the climax with the brilliant return of Scott Brady, Cranky Detective, who probably flunked out of his hostage negotiation training, we all managed to barely survive the experience. Wow.

Folks, I'm telling you, if you haven't had the pleasure of seeing Wicked, Wicked you definitely owe it to yourself to try and track down a copy. It's so wrong, so wonderfully, wonderfully wrong in all the right ways. Just be sure to have some emergency oxygen tanks lying around. Seriously, unless you want the cause of death on the coroners report to read "Death by Misadventure: extremely bat-crap insane movie."