Samurai Cop and the perils of irony

Ya know, being an irony connoisseur can be a risky proposition. Laughing as popular culture drags civilization across the river Styx, past Cerberus and into various circles of hell (I’m guessing I’ll get dumped in the eighth circle of fraud and treachery for sewing discord, to say nothing of mixing my mythologies) brings with it considerable risk. For every ambiguously gay auditioner on American Idol who makes your night by hitting on Simon, Ryan and Katy Perry, there’s, well, Katy Perry, waiting to claim a piece of your soul with her harlequin makeup, faux-“edgy” song titles and patently unfair breasts, leaving you to think, “Well, maybe Avril Lavigne’s ridiculous hoodie with ears wasn’t that bad.” Every moment spent laughing at ridiculous bands like Teen Hearts (featuring an obvious 30-something lead singer wearing his hair like he should damn well know better than to creepily hit on 14-year-olds at Attack! Attack! shows) risks lowering the bar to a point where suddenly a song by Vampire Weekend sounds borderline listenable.

And every viewing of a cheesy, bottom-rung piece of cinematic detritus like Manos: the Hands of Fate or Zardoz risks numbing your tolerance of vile celluloid crap, to say nothing of your own will to live. This is what happened to me this weekend, after I made a tragic miscalculation and subjected myself to the unholy terror of Samurai Cop.

Samurai Cop stars the aggressively Caucasian Matt Hannon (in his only acting role EVER, according to IMDB!) as Joe Marshall, the “tit”ular (don’t worry, you’ll learn why I made that pun—dammit, you’ll learn) “Samurai Cop,” who seems to have all the Bushido know-how of King Kong Bundy, with the taste in women of Al Bundy. Between hitting on emasculating nurses and nailing ex-soft-core-actress-cum-horse-trainer Melissa Moore for no discernable reason, Samurai Cop battles, um, a group of Asian mobsters (I guess?) featuring Hollywood stunt chin and fellow white guy Robert Z’Dar, then fresh off his winning turn as “Face” in Tango & Cash. It was the film that taught me at a young age that Jack Palance wasn’t just the dude from Ripley’s Believe it or Not.

This movie is ridonkulous. Just check out this clip of the aforementioned attempted nurse seduction. Again, the white dude with the dead mink on his head is a “samurai:”

Fig.2: Mildly NSFW due to some cursing. Mainly, you cursing loudly at your monitor after watching this.

Apparently, at some point during filming, Hannon forgot that chopping his hair short mid-shoot would cause a psychotic break in the continuity editor, so several scenes alternate from shot to shot between a Samurai Cop with awful Manowar hair and a Samurai Cop in an awful Manowar wig that nearly flies off during one of the trying “fight” scenes. Black sidekicks are forced to make racist jokes. Guns are fired without any actual gunfire dubbed in. Action scenes abruptly cut to what seems to be ex-WWF manager Mr. Fuji getting busy with a redhead. And you’re reading this thinking, “Oh, man, I have to see this,” right? WELL YOU’RE WRONG.

Go back to that link I posted to that photo of Manowar. Remember how you jumped back from your monitor and audibly said, “Gyahh!” when it loaded? No? Well, here it is again:

OK. Now picture the oiled-up dude on the left of that photo filmed walking around a beach and sucking face like he’s Leech from the Evil Horde, all while wearing that goddamn loincloth Speedo thing. About the third time that happened was when my brain split down the middle and started sending random consonants out my mouth hole. I finished this movie feeling like I had made out with Steven Seagal’s inbred brother’s armpit for two hours; I was disoriented and my every sense was broadcasting salty, humid failure to my brain. I left the house depressed and ready to drink until the sunrise delivered sweet, punishing oblivion.

Still, as with all my other near-death experiences, I recovered, thanks to a therapeutic regimen of PBR and watching Brett Favre break the hearts of Vikings Nation. I entered the work week seemingly recovered from my brush with the soul-sucking, zombie-making undeadinator that was Samurai Cop. Until I saw this yesterday:

Fig.4: Again, NSFW due to language and the fact that there are goddamn Juggalos in it

This is the trailer for Big Money Rustlas, a new Western starring Violent J and Shaggy 2 Dope, aka Insane Clown Posse.

A Juggalo Western.

Featuring appearances (according to its Wikipedia page) by Vanilla Ice; pro wrestlers Sabu, Scott Hall and manager Jimmy “Mouth of the South” Hart; Todd Bridges; and Kevin Smith alum Jason “Jay” Mewes.

And I thought back to Samurai Cop, and I thought to myself, “Well, this won’t be the worst movie I’ve ever seen. Hell, I’ll probably laugh my ass off at it.”

We are all fucking doomed.