Directed by Bob Gray
2006, Troma films
It’s not every day you come across a movie as bad as Bob Gray’s Bigfoot. Shot on some of the cruddiest and taking no real pride in its form, Bigfoot, proves to be a frustrating, torturous experience in patience. Other than looking like a complete piece of shit and going absolutely nowhere for the majority of the film, this film is filled with uninspired performances and bad, bad jokes. Seriously the jokes in this film feel like something your shitty uncle shot with his friends and family the first weekend after getting their first RCA crap cam in the summer of ‘89. And trust me despite how cool you once thought your uncle was his jokes and ideas have come to fruition and stink worst than a Porter-Potty at a Grateful Dead reunion show. Which knowing your shitty ass uncle, he’d probably attend and end up stinking up that joint (pun fully intended) just as bad. But this isn’t an old straight to video release; in fact it’s only a handful of years old making it even more confusingly dated considering it was only released in 2006. What’s truly unfortunate is that the film fails to capitalize on its B-grade style, neglecting the blood, guts, sex and trash, other than its passable Bigfoot costume and applaudable beginning.
I’ll spare you the trouble and tell what’s worth seeing in Bigfoot. First off, the opening to Bigfoot is the best thing about the film. Beginning with serene, picturesque shots of the habitat and landscape while accompanied by a gentle soothing score. Divine. A truly almost perfect start to a perfect day (other than the fact that it’s shot with such a crappy camera.) But “oh no!” This peaceful moment is rudely interrupted as a little baby raccoon is suddenly (and I mean completely out of fuckin’ nowhere) is crushed by Bigfoot’s Hairy-Belafonte, which is what I decided to coin his right foot (the left is Hairy Dean Stanton and he’s cooler than that.) Superb. A truly remarkable start to what ends up being an unabashed piece of shit. This beginning and its subsequent introduction to our dishonorably discharged, wronged soldier gone good ol’ hometown boy will have you craving one thing, more Bigfoot. Splendid. It of course doesn’t ever really come until the end of the film in which we the audience granted one of God’s most humble cinematic gifts, a Bigfoot fistfight. The very idea of a man’s man pushed to his breaking point, standing toe to toe with the brother of Yeti, the cousin of Sasquatch, the father of Bruce Vilanch, is worthy of any avid B-Movie fans’ attention. In giving us this brief moment of spiritual enlightenment, Bigfoot, does attempt to rebuild some of the broken pieces of your mind and soul, which at this point it will have been destroyed through countless arrangements of bad dialogue and impressively awful filmmaking. From broken fist to hairy face, from leaky gasoline tanks to fur ballin’ pick up trucks, Bigfoot finally gives us what we’ve waited over an hour and change for. Punch for punch, fist for paw (what the hell do you call those things anyway) we finally get a Bigfoot fistfight. Thank you for that at least.