Queen of the Damned
(Region One DVD)
 (2002)
review by Head Cheeze

This movie made me throw up in my mouth.

As I sat there, absolutely floored by this festering pile of horse shit, I thought about every last fucking volt of electricity it took to spin this platter as it smeared it's sickening self all over the inside of my DVD player, the waste of natural resources that went into it's packaging; the time and money that went into it's production.

I threw up in my mouth.

It wasn't a heaving "run to the toilet" sort of nausia; it was one of those bilious wet burps that work stomach acids into the back of your throat and singe a layer of protective mucous from one's esophogus, before culminating in a sensation that can best be described as a digestive warning shot.

I've had this before, usually induced by Taco Bell, pepperoni pizza, or spicy tuna sushi, but I believe this is the first time that visual stimuli has induced acid-reflux in me. It's an achievement, I guess, and it's the only achievment I can credit to Queen of the Damned, a mindless, hyperactive bastardization of the Anne Rice novel that manages to discount almost every page of the book, with the exception of the titular character (played with all of the subtlety of Count Chocula by Aaliyah, whose tragic passing had the same effect on me as Mexican popstar Selena's. None. Sorry, I'd never heard a song by her until after her death, and what I did hear sounded like the crap white gangsta kids play as they drive by my house with sonically loud trunk speakers set to the lowest possible bass frequency in an attempt to shatter their own bowels. She seemed very nice, though.)

Anyway, where was I? Oh, yeah.

I've now gouged the playing surface of the DVD with the edge of a Guinness cap and I'm gonna bring it back to the store. If they give me another copy, I'll do the same, and continue to do the same until they give me credit to buy something else. If they continue to deny me a credit, I will have no other choice than to squat in front of the customer service desk, have a dump, and stand there in a cloud of my own fetid stink until they either relent, and give me another film, or have me dragged away by the police for loitering, a charge that will have me back on the streets and back in their store within an hour.

I will not go away.

I do not want this disc.

I will duct-tape it to a fucking rocket and send it into the blazing heart of the sun before I let it back in my home. Dig?

Oh, there are a bunch of extras on this thing, but I didn't even let the movie end before I tore it from my player and tossed it to the ground in disgust, let alone hang around to listen to someone try and convince me that this was anything more than a MTV fashion show edited by a group of hyperactive eight year olds deprived of their much needed Ritalin.

If you like Gap adverts and neon sparkle body lotion, then you'll probably love this, but if you are NOT a 12 year old girl with brain edema avoid this film at all costs. The only things that stayed with me after watching this rubbish were the aformentioned indigestion and my own feeling of dirty, dirty shame for buying it.