Tag Archives: trejo

REVIEW: Zombie Hunter (2013)

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Zombie Hunter: F

In a near-future post-apocalyptic wasteland, zombies with varying degrees of intelligence roam the earth feasting on the flesh of the living. Unfortunately, they don’t feast on our rugged anti-hero protagonist, Hunter, a guy with a perpetual 5 o’clock shadow and forced-as-fuck gritty voice. He must have gone to Michael Biehn’s Acting Academy.

If you like voice-overs where some loser is trying as hard as he can to sound tough, maybe you should stop reading this now and just go buy this movie. Hunter can’t stop talking about himself. For every fact he narrates about zombies, he has to follow it up with an annoying fact about himself to remind the audience of what an anti-hero nomad he is. “Some of the zombies are smart” is followed by “I love tequila.” “It all started with this street drug called Natas” is followed by “I can’t let go of the past.” You are expected to sit through this while he mashes along dirt roads in a Camero, squinting like Paul Walker, while a soundtrack of emotional alt-rock blares.

I swear to God I’m not making this up: The fucking alt-rock and dirt roads actually go away for a minute… so he can run over a zombie with his Camero and… as he hits the windshield wipers… the alt-rock blares and he peels out on another dirt road.

While I could write a fucking thesis about why Hunter sucks as a character, and the over-use of dirt roads and alt-rock, I need to focus on the movie’s style/aesthetic as a whole. This film tries SO HARD to emulate a neo-Grindhouse (like from Death-Proof and Machete) feel and it fails SO FUCKING BADLY. There’s artificial grit and blips arbitrarily added to a bunch of the cinematography. Sometimes a whip sound-effect happens and large block letters pop up on the screen to show the name of a character to the audience. “CRACK! – HUNTER.”  “CRACK! – FAST LANE DEBBIE.” There are two-dimensional female characters in jean shorts. All the contrast is cranked like your ex-girlfriend’s Instagram filter. The execution of EVERY EVENT is so fucking corny; the whole film has the timing of a kid’s cereal commercial.

They got Trejo to show up in the movie, and they feature him prominently on the cover art, but their budget only allowed him to deliver a handful of sentences and do some disappointing slow-motion shirtless axe-wielding.

I recommend this movie for dirt road enthusiasts.

REVIEW: The Contractor (2013)

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The Contractor: F

Someone who loves Cape Fear but hates original ideas made this movie about a family of well-to-do white people, one of whom is a lawyer who looks like a malnourished Greg Kinear, who hire Danny Trejo to fix some stuff around their house. Trejo scowls a lot and so did I while watching this fucking excuse for a horror movie.

If you manage to maintain consciousness during the first fifteen minutes, you’ll figure out the entire conflict and “twist” of the movie and you can wave goodbye to any hope you had of being surprised/entertained. Trejo was wronged by Greg Kinear so he’s developed this crazy vendetta that inspires him to infiltrate the guy’s house with a plan to ruin his life.

You have to sit through several scenes of Trejo brooding over a computer creating counterfeit documents which he uses to incriminate Kinear and several scenes where literally nothing happens to further the plot.

The WASP’s figure out that something fishy is going on so they dismiss Trejo, who then starts aggressively stalking the family. I forget how many there were exactly, but I’m gonna guess there were five scenes where he hides in their bushes. There is a really out of place, really long scene where the family has some kind of fundraiser/party at their mansion which Trejo watches from afar.

Kinear sends some armed goons to rough up Trejo but, of course, he beats their asses.

Trejo is defeated; he gets no justice. There is some cartoonish running/hiding and the husband out-maneuvers and overpowers Trejo (who, again, dispatched two huge hired goons). I sincerely don’t remember how Trejo is stopped; I was looking at pictures on my phone of Mel Gibson all roided out.

The family of whites move from their mansion to another large home. Greg Kinear is wearing a sweater and he promises to spend more time with his family. The wife gets good news: That benefit dinner or whatever was really successful and some hospital is naming a wing after her. The daughter promises to use her asthma inhaler. They hug a lot and pose in front of their house/Lexus in a genuinely bizarre ending where the director mistakenly believes that the audience gives a modicum of a fuck about any of the characters.