Plucking a pick from the bottom of the media barrel, Cult of Trash will showcase a movie or book every week wherein the overall takeaway is ultimate cheese that leaves you wondering why and then asking for more. Giallo, pulp, sci-fi schlock, exploitation, and so much more garbage. Cult of Trash is a guest-post from the blog Kiss Of The Witch.
First up is the gooey gorefest Slime City. Directed by Greg Lamberson (Johnny Gruesome, Naked Fear), this demented little ride through a washed out NYC is just as repulsive as the cover promises. Thick and heavy with gore and oodles of slime (as one might imagine), it’s a prime example of gory done right – over the top, cheesy as hell, and with no regard for human anatomy.
We follow Alex, a disaffected man who can’t seem to find his place in the world. When he falls into a seemingly-perfect apartment, rife with an over-sexualized basement witch and walls that, if given a voice, would scream, things are far too good to be true.
The movie pulls no punches; it goes from docile and dreary to over-the-top pastel people-popper in seconds flat, and not one second goes by where the eye being inundated with gallons of bright green slime tires of the tirade.
Besides the lovely, gruesome eyesore that is the movie itself, Slime City also boasts one of my favorite soundtracks ever made for a horror flick. Composed and recorded by symphonic conductor Robert Tomaro, rolling, wild electric gutter punk guitars fly over frantic beats and murky synths build up and spill over themselves in the background.
An absolute(ly disgusting) treat.
SLIME CITY / GREG LAMBERSON / 1988