The Beast and the Vixens (1974): or, Bigfoot Meets Bigboob

He's much more than just a cryptid/hominid who may or may not stalk the uncharted reaches of the Great Northwest Forests (or Florida swamplands, or Arkansas Delta, or Okaloosa Wilderness Area); Bigfoot is a piece of our American cultural heritage--a modern myth, a symbol. Part noble savage, part monster, he represents the duality inherent in our very nature, the angel and the beast, the boiled-down essence of humanity. In literature, pop culture, and especially film, Sasquatch has become the soft wax upon which we can imprint our grossest fears and grandest hopes. Is he a lust-crazed monster, the violent, rapey man-beast of the uncontrolled id? Is he a phantom of Nature herself, the ghost of a disappearing pristine environment? Protector of the Woodlands, or Invader of the Suburbs? The answer is simple: he is, or can be, all of these things.

We've seen him as killer, a cipher, and even as a roided out serial rapist--but I don't think we've ever seen "Sasquatch as Voyeur." Until now! In his 1974  sexploitation/Squatchsploitation mash-up, The Beast and the Vixens (aka The Beauties and the Beast), director Ray Nadeau and writer Gaynor MacLaren envision Bigfoot as Russ Meyer's Immoral Mr. Teas meets Arch Hall Sr.'s Eegah! And the results, my friends, are just about as glorious as that makes them sound.

Allow me to elucidate:
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Search for the Beast (2005): or, Bigfoot Versus the Gazoonies

It's usually considered a critical diss when a reviewer pronounces a movie "less than the sum of its parts." What such a critic means to say, as I understand it, is that despite having a few good ideas or competently shot sequences, a bit of engaging writing or a couple of persuasive performances, the film fails to bring those individually satisfying pieces together in a coherently satisfactory whole. Therefore, in the final summation, the film is crap.

But what if we turn that equation around and solve for its antecedents?

For instance, let us say that movie "x"--where "x" equals the 2005 direct-to-video shot-on-weekends Sasquatchsploitation howler Search of the Beast--is a big steaming pile of cinematic feces. (It sounds cruel, but one can't be sentimental where algebra is concerned.) Laboriously padded out to a feature length of just over 70 minutes, the movie features a two-minute bluegrass music interlude that goes precisely nowhere, a long continuous take of the cast preparing to rappel and then rappelling in real-time, and lots and LOTS of scenes of people wandering around aimlessly through the woods, waiting like the viewer for something--ANYTHING--to happen. The effects are bad, the acting is worse, and the editing and cinematography redefine the term "amateur."

However, where lovers of the MAD are concerned, the movie paradoxically delivers with a few choice scenes, a couple of outre ideas, and occasional hilarious twitches of the narrative skirt that reveal the hairy nude buttocks beneath. In that sense, it's not a slam to say that the sum of Search for the Beast's parts is definitely greater than the whole.

Cut away the aforementioned padding, and the story told in Search for the Beast is a fairly short one. Crypto-anthropologist Dr. David Stone (Rick Montana) is exploring the Okaloosa Wilderness Area (of Florida? Alabama?) in search of (wait for it...) THE BEAST. Of course here "the beast" is a Bigfoot or bigfoot-like creature that legend has it has survived from the time of the ancient Indians to the present day. Though seldom seen, the beast has been blamed for the disappearances of several campers in the Okaloosa Wilderness Area over the last several years.

There he is!

After Dr. Stone finds the remains of what one can only assume is a stillborn Bigfoot Baby, he is hired by mysterious chemical magnate Milton St. John (David F. Friedman, producer of such exploitation efforts as Trader Hornee, Ilsa She-Wolf of the SS, and 2001 Maniacs) to bring back concrete proof of the creature's existence for a bounty of $100K research money. Unbeknownst to Stone, St. John is not a seeker after hidden knowledge like himself; the old man's son was one of the Beast's recent victims (presumably in the labored and hilarious pre-credits rampage, in which a camper is killed and his nude female bunkmate dragged off into the woods), and St. John is throwing his resources into achieving his grief-stricken vengeance.

After Stone accepts the job, St. John gets on the phone with one of his paramilitary operatives, Jim (Steven Steele) with some very specific instructions: "You round up some rough gazoonies and go along until the doc finds this damn thing! And be sure you take a broad along with you!" Whether the broad is meant to lure the beast or placate the doc is unclear, but a monkey wrench is thrown when community-college research assistant Wendy (Oh?) Williams (Holli Day) ambushes Dr. Stone at his lab and demands he take her along on his search. Once the Jim and the Gazoonies show up, they jump into the back of a repurposed Church Van and head out into the Okaloosa Wilderness Area to track them a Skunk Ape.

"Are *you* my mother?"

Whatever notoriety Search for the Beast possesses comes courtesy Michael Adams, author of the entertaining critical study Showgirls, Teen Wolves, and Astro Zombies: A Film Critic's Year-Long Quest to Find the Worst Movie Ever Made. Adams screened this flick early on in his year of crap, and for many months it held onto his top (or bottom?) spot before being displaced by some late comers. (It's a good book, leaning more toward memoir at times than criticism, but nonetheless full of fun facts and reviews. Get a copy, and thanks to Samuel Wilson for the reading tip!)

While it's far from the worst movie I've ever seen, it's still easy to see why the movie was so hard to displace as Adams' King of the Crap Mountain. With the exception of that pretty respectable Bigfoot Baby above, everything about the production screams "non-professionals at work." Dialogue seems largely improvised by actors who have no talent for it. Pacing issues abound, despite some odd jump cutting--usually to one or two seconds in the future, as if the camera operator let his finger slip from the "REC" button. Scenes peter out and go nowhere; footage loops are reused; incongruous sound effects befuddle. The movie is so horrendously padded, we get more than SEVEN MINUTES of end credits--each character gets a video vingette of footage from the movie, including Dr. Stones DOG AND HORSE. I could go on.

But oh, my parishioners: isn't there enough negativity in the world already?

There's no virtue in refusing to allow oneself to be entertained, and what Search for the Beast lacks in skill and polish, it comes very near to making up with a charming if tragically misguided earnestness. It's not enough to save the film, but it did give me some chuckles along the way, and for that--softie that I am--I can't hate it as others do. So with a beer in your hand, five more (minimum) at your feet, and your finger firmly positioned over your DVD player's "fast-forward" button, come along with me as we pan for mad movie gold in the most unlikely of streams.

Pickin' and a-grimacin'

Those guys in the photo above are Blind Otis and Crazy Joe, who do their part to pad out the run time with a 2.5 minute version of the bluegrass tune "Cripple Creek." And for what it's worth, they're really quite good. The actor playing the Deliverance-Lite Crazy Joe does a fair Ho1KC "Otis" imitation, if he's even acting; in fact, if the movie were more famous, I wouldn't be surprised if Bill Moseley had instead patterned his character on this performance.

Holli Day as Wendy has one of the most amazing nasal-whine voices I've ever heard in any medium. It starts out as annoying, moves on to grating, and at some point achieves a kind of avant garde musicality. Particularly when she knees rapey Gazoonie Jim in the nuts and emotes, "You try it again and I'll kill you, aight?"

And for what it's worth, living in the South as I do, I have not the tiniest doubt in my mind that "Holli Day" is in fact her birth name.

Crypto-anthropological autopsies make her hot

The term "Gazoonie," which I would bet cash money David F. Freeman created on the spur of the moment while the cameras rolled, is such a magnificent designation--connoting as it does the rough-hewn, somewhat ridiculous but nonetheless formidible truculence of the testosterone-and-beer-addled Southern U.S. male--that I am starting a petition to get it in the god damn dictionary. Also, I will be calling as many people "gazoonie" from henceforth as is linguistically and contextually possible.

Even better, the movie gives us not one, but TWO groups of Gazoonies, as Milton St. John sends a set of reinforcements in after the first group doesn't report back. This second group is even more Gazoonish than the first, sporting t-shirts emblazoned with a giant Rebel Flag, the Insane Clown Posse logo, and the cryptic legend "WIDE F***IN' OPEN," that doubtless came straight from the actors' own closets (and are exactly the gear you'd want for stealthily tracking a Bigfoot through the Okaloosa Wilderness Area).

Cap'n Confederacy sez: GAZOONIE UP!

Also a smile inducer: the second Gazoonie Squadron brings a pack of dogs with them--a pack of dogs we never see, though from the sound of the baying and yelping they must be on loan from a full-on English fox hunt!

I haven't said much about the Bigfoot make-up here, as I'm sure you've noticed. Well, they say a picture is worth a thousand words, so here's my kilo of verbiage:

He shaves, for *her* pleasure

The filmmakers boldly envision a Bigfoot who is noticeably shorter than Dr. Stone and the Gazoonies, which tends to...understate the hugeness of the beast. Did they buy a gorilla suit and craft their own mask? Or is the whole apparatus the work of credited effects artist Doug Higley, of Higley's Strange Objects? The world may never know.

Despite the low-to-no-budget limitations, "director" R.G. Arledge manages to convince a couple of his starlets to disrobe for the camera, most brazenly and bravely the enigmatic "Tweetie" (that's her end-credit, not character name), who plays one of a couple of campers unassociated with Dr. Stone's search, who pop up every now and then for no discernable purpose. Though not exactly a knockout (okay, maybe in Okaloosa she is), Tweetie gives her all at a waterfall, disrobing in real time ("SEE! the white sock peeled off and placed neatly on the boulder! WATCH! as the other white sock is treated with similar care!"), tiptoeing gingerly across the creekbed which her gait tells us must be littered with sharp rocks and shattered beer bottles, and then lying sexily in the flow of the stream--or trying her damnedest to, though the look on her face indicates that the water must be FUCKING FREEZING. Probably the most dedicated actress in the piece. Tweetie, I salute you.

This frog refused credit in this movie.

Should you decide to watch this film, feel free to play the Vicar-created Search for the Beast Drinking Game! Here are the rules.

• When someone says "Okaloosa Wilderness Area," in exactly those words, drink. (I strongly advise you use beer--otherwise you'll be comatose before the first half-hour is gone.)
• Whenever there's a short, pointless jump cut, drink.
• Whenever Dr. Stone flops down on the trail to drink from a stream, finish your drink.
• Whenever someone acts like a Gazoonie, finish your fifth.

Trust me, you'll enjoy the movie more.

Perhaps the MADDEST ideas are saved for last, probably because as the production dragged on and it became clearer and clearer the incredible margin by which the director's reach would exceed his grasp, Arledge decided to just throw the hammer down. Tweetie and her Juggalo boyfriend--who have been camping in the Okaloosa Wilderness Area without incident for at least two days--appear again, with Tweetie dressed in an incredible piece of lingerie I can only describe as "Mall Santa's Naughty Elf Apprentice." They proceed to get busy doggie-style near an unexplained barrel of chemical waste. (Thankfully, the boyfriend--credited as, I shit you not, "Stupid D. Klown"--keeps his ICP gear *on* for this scene.) Lost in the throes of passion, Tweetie doesn't notice when her boyfriend is rudely shoved aside and a new partner cuts in.

Once you go Bigfoot, you never go back

Search for the Beast is a movie that I hated when I watched it, pronouncing it boring, a waste of time, and complete cinematic turd. But as I thought about it more in the days afterward, and remembered all the above-enumerated pieces of MADNESS it so improbably provided, my attitude toward the movie changed, and now I have an honest affection for it. I still wouldn't recommend it to anyone not fully aware of what they're getting into, and thus can't in good conscience give it more than a 1 thumb rating--but if anything here has piqued your interest, and you don't mind fast-forwarding through the many many slow bits, you could find something to smile at. I did, and that's really all I ask for.

Alas, Poor Tweetie

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DVD Review: BIGFOOT (2006)

When I went down to the PO box recently and found this latest Troma treat waiting for me, I was perhaps unreasonably excited. After all, just think of it: Lloyd Kaufman and company entering the world of Sasquatchsploitation? Visions of a Tromatic skunk-ape danced in my head, and I looked forward to a Toxie-meets-Night of the Demon (1980) romp that would redefine the limits of good taste when it came to b-movie Bigfoot goodness. The fact that the largest review pull-quote on the dvd was the Cleveland Free Times gushing, "Reminiscent of JAWS" (no exclamation point!) only perversely added to my excitement.

Alas, it was not to be, as Bigfoot (2006) is not a Troma-produced flick, but rather a labor of love from writer/director Bob Gray, filmed on location in Ohio and only picked up for distribution by Troma. Shot on video using mostly local actors, Gray's movie is obviously a labor of love and he's to be applauded for getting it finished and congratulated for scoring the distribution deal. Unfortunately, that's about all the enthusiasm I can muster.

Let the Stink-Off Begin!

Booted from the military after punching a superior officer for abusing his underlings, single falther Jack Sullivan (Todd Cox) returns to his his hometown of Mentor, Ohio, with wisecracking daughter Charlie (Brooke Beckwith) in tow. He soon hooks up with old friend and now-sheriff Bob Perkins (Gray) and starts and romance with cute park ranger Sandy Parker (Liza Foster), whose school field trips have been marred recently by several mutilated deer carcasses. Crazy old man George Hobson (Van Jackson) claims it's the work of a Bigfoot who's lived in the area for years, and thanks to urban sprawl is losing his habitat. When the creature starts putting humans on his menu, Sullivan, Perkins, and Parker get closer and closer to a truth they can scarcely believe.

Let me just say that Bigfoot is not a bad movie, particularly considering its shoestring budget. The idea of a suburban Bigfoot is silly on its surface, but is executed with mostly a straight face and passable explanation in the script. The Bigfoot make-up is particularly well-done, and the few gore scenes are respectable when taken on that famous sliding scale.

Squatch in the Hood

The cast, which seems to be mostly local talent, is engaging enough. Cox is not your typical leading man, and while his line-readings are often stiff, it kind of plays to his tough guy character. (A late nod to Rambo as he suits up to fight the beast is kind of smile-inducing.) Gray, directing himself as the half-comic, half-dramatic character of Sheriff Perkins, is also okay. There are even a few standouts in the cast. Child-actor Beckwith makes an impression as Charlie, at least until the movie forgets about her around the halfway mark. (Her jealousy of her father's girlfriend and grudging acceptance worked for me.) Foster is attractive and very good as the park ranger/love interest, giving off a genuine good humor and compassion despite her irrepressible Midwest accent. (For example, upon discovering a mutilated deer she exclaims, "Oh my GAD!") And Van Jackson is entertaining as the Crazy Ralph analogue, and gets a fun final scene in the confrontation with the monster.

The problem is that Bigfoot, which as I say is not really that bad all things considered, still does nothing to distinguish itself from the pack of indie DTV movies of which it's a part. The performances are okay but nothing spectacular. The monster suit is good, but that'll only take you so far. The humor is inoffensive and good-natured, but not particularly memorable. The direction is capable but pretty static. (Although a few scenes in "Sasquatch Vision" led to chuckles, as the 8-foot-tall monster would have had to be crouching in sparse underbrush only a few feet away from the characters, completely unnoticed!) As a whole, the movie is just kind of there. It never sinks to the bottom but also never goes over the top, and as a result comes off as kind of bland.

Little-known crypto-fact: Bigfoot can resist the lure of neither gravel pits nor roadside flares.

In its press materials for the DVD, Troma calls Bigfoot "the movie that started the Sasquatchsploitation craze!" This means that either the PR people have confused Gray's labor of love with the 1970 flick of the same title (in which the creature kidnaps some women and fights bikers, apparently--now THAT'S Squatchsploitation!) or else hope the prospective DVD buyer will do so. The DVD extras consist of a trailer, a photo gallery, director's commentary, an engaging 10-minute "making of" feature (complete with a cryptozoologist stretching to make it seem plausible a Bigfoot could appear in Ohio), and the usual array of Troma trailers.

I can't really hate Bigfoot, because I can see Gray and his group put a lot of work and sweat into it, and it's nice to see that sometimes movie dreams come true. However, I also can't really recommend the movie unless you love DIY cinema and have a thing for any and all things Bigfoot. 1.25 thumbs.

"You tell Patterson I'm comin'...AND HELL'S COMIN' WITH ME!"

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Night of the Demon (1980): or, The Legend of the Rape Ape

How you react to James C. Wasson's infamous 1980 'Squatchsploitation flick Night of the Demon will depend largely upon a few key factors:

1. Whether your love for Bigfoot falls more heavily on the Monster Version side, or the Sasquatch: Friend of Nature side.
2. Your ability to forgive inept moviemaking and terrible acting in the name of wild, outre plot points and general icky enthusiasm.
3. How much you've had to drink.

If you're playing at home, metrics on items 2 and 3 should be SUBSTANTIAL.

We open with Professor Nugent (since he's not on first-name basis with anyone in the flick, hereafter I shall call him "Fred") regaining consciousness in a hospital. His lower face has been horribly mutilated (whether this occasioned a SHRIEK or not is unclear) so he wears an old-school Western Kerchief Mask as he warns the doctor and the aptly named Inspector Slack about the evil what still lurks in them there woods: "There's is a demon...a creature!" And apparently, IT'S HUNGRY FOR FACES.

"Howdy!"

We now flashback to Professor Fred's college course, where he's lecturing to a packed house about cryptozoology--specifically, the multiple Bigfoot sightings reported in the area over the years. As he spins an anecdotal tale we're treated to the first of MANY flashbacks within the larger flashback, this one dealing with the tragedy of one family's ill-fated camping trip. Out of nowhere the Bigfoot attacks, ripping the arm off the dad and treating us to some nice butcher shop-based gore FX. The short-armed father figure falls to the ground, and the blood flows in a red river from his meaty stump across the dirt, where it slowly fills up a deep Bigfoot footprint as the credits begin! Nice!

Unfortunately that's one of the few directorial flourishes we'll see in this flick, since apart from some Dutch Tilts here and there the camera work is fairly unimaginative. What's not unimaginative is the script when it comes to blood-soaked Bigfoot mayhem--the writer had so much of it banging around his braincase, we're barely back in Professor Nugent's class before the teacher says, "Another young girl saw her boyfriend brutally murdered..." and we're off into another flashback!

The girl in question doesn't look all that young--she actually looks more like Flo from Mel's Diner--but she and her unattractive boyfriend engage in a lot of gratuitous groping and nipple-nibbling in their van out in the deep dark woods. It's not long before Sasquatch has had enough of all this soft-porn crap and pulls the screaming boyfriend out, ripping his throat and washing the windshield in thick arterial spray. The girl screams and screams...and screams again...and just when you wish Bigfoot would finish the job and shut her up already, we're back in the present-day of the *original* flashback to begin our story proper.

"Thanks...for the...RIDE...Lady!"

Following the research of his mentor who died not long before, the Nuge and a select group of his grad students are going on a cryptozoological expedition to get to the bottom of all this bloody Bigfoot business, despite Fred's wife's misgivings and the university's withdrawal of its sanction. With his group of emotively challenged thirtysomething college kids, the Prof hires a boat and takes it downriver to Carlson's landing, seeking the one man who has seen the creature and lived.

Now's as good a place as any to talk about a few of the many shortcomings of this way-below-indie production. First of all, it's really hard to imagine the acting being any worse. The actors all sound like they're being overdubbed by a cut-rate Eurotrash dubbing team, even though they're not. If Professor Nugent has more than one facial expression, I didn't see it. And his aged college students are all pretty much interchangeable in their bland, talent-free screen presence. Old Man Carlson's makeup consists of baby powder in his hair and a gray-greased moustache. Throw in the aforementioned static camera and some truly slapdash editing, and you'd think the situation would be pretty dire.

But on the other side of the cinematic balance scales, the movie has INSANE BIGFOOT ACTION TO SPARE. In the next Nuge-narrated flashback, a young man sleeping alone under the stars awakens in the morning to find Sasquatch looming over him. Before the boy can scream, Bigfoot picks up the feet-end of the sleeping bag and twirls it around his head like David taking aim on Goliath! The boy screams, and Bigfoot throws him at a stack of old broken branches, where his victim is impaled upside down! Never mind the fact there's no way Nuge could *possibly* know exactly what happened to the lone murder victim, let alone whether Bigfoot was responsible--that's AWESOME.

Swing Your Partner

In a way, the Nuge's constant retelling of these Bigfoot sightings that nobody but the (dead) victims could have witnessed can be seen as emblematic of the whole I WANT TO BELIEVE aspect of many Bigfoot-search enthusiasts. No matter what happened, no matter how unlikely, "It HAD to be Bigfoot!" Gorilla suits in freezers? Obviously a government cover-up. Sasquatch Scat turns out to be identical to bear poo? Well, they have the same diet, don't they? It's kind of like Fox Mulder and aliens. Except, you know--not.

When the group finally convinces the crotchety old Carlson to open up via bribery--always pack extra booze and cigs on your Bigfoot hunts, kids--we learn that there's more to fear out in these woods than just the Big Guy. Turns out there used to be a crazy old preacher who lived deep in the forest, and taught his backwoods congregation that the creature was a Demon from Hell. When the creature raped the preacher's daughter and the holy man himself was immolated under mysterious circumstances, the now-at-loose-ends congregation decided that Sasquatch was not a demon, but a GOD. Now they roam the forest in their long robes, bearing torches, performing fertility rituals on the preacher's still-living daughter in praise of their hairy, stinky deity.

Yes, you read that right: a BIGFOOT SEX CULT.

Even though they don't do enough with that frankly jaw-dropping plot idea, the writers are still to be applauded for it, I think. Oh, and when the students catch up with the preacher's daughter (now known sensitively as Crazy Wanda), they learn via hypnotism and another flashback that she not only unwillingly learned the wonders of Stink Ape Love (Lengthy Sasquatch Sex scene? Why, of COURSE there is!), but also bore Bigfoot's love child, which unfortunately died soon after. So Godfoot now hangs around her cabin, either looking for his only begotten son or else hoping for some more sweet human nookie.

"Look, how am *I* supposed to know how they got power lines this far out in the wilderness? I'm a BIGFOOT HUNTER, not the Power company!"

So eventually the Big Guy lays seige to Crazy Wanda's cabin, trapping our group inside Night of the Living Dead style, and it ends up about as well as you'd think. But the plot, inventive as it is, isn't really the point here--the point is showing as many wild Bigfoot kills as possible, and the filmmakers wisely decide to throw caution and restraint to the winds where these are concerned. Via the always-handy unsubstantiated flashback, we learn the following from the Nuge about the hairy adversary:

• Bigfoot is not only a cryptid and a cult leader, he's also apparently a NINJA. Not only can he sneak up completely undetected behind a lumberjack, swipe his axe when he turns away for a second, then bury it in his shoulder, he can also beat two knife-wielding Girl Scouts at their own game, bare-handed, grabbing their wrists and forcing them to stab each other again and again and again! Those hairy paws should be registered as deadly weapons!

"Quit stabbing yourselves!"

• Never stop your motorcycle to go off to the side of the road and take a whiz when you're in Bigfoot country. He's absolutely invisible in the low brush, and prone to reaching up and ripping off your wiener if he catches any sidesplash. You were warned.

• Baby Bigfoot skulls look surprisingly like those of a dog. But then, he had been in the ground a while. Also, Bigfoot is naturally adept at using tools--or axes and pitchforks, at the very least.

The filmmakers actually do well to keep Bigfoot in the shadows most of the movie, showing only his arms, legs, or hairy back, letting the viewers' imaginations take care of the rest. But when the Big Guy lays siege to the cabin at the end and bursts into full view, you finally understand why he's so insane--it's because he's not Bigfoot at all, but THE ULTIMATE WARRIOR!

"HOOOOOOGAAAAN!"

Night of the Demon, for me, is perhaps the definition of a "so bad it's good" Mad Movie--inept, poorly acted, and technically questionable on just about every level, it muscles on through the joy barrier by sheer force of insanity and misdirected enthusiasm. And the copious gore scenes really aren't that bad--certainly not the worst I've seen, whatever faint praise that might be.

Still, rating it presents a bit of a problem, as your mileage will DEFINITELY vary depending on your love for cinematic badness and your willingness to short-circuit your taste receptors and bask in the Bigfooty goodness. Still, even for those who won't share the love, it's definitely worth seeing if only to say you have. Therefore I'm settling on a 2 Thumb, give-it-a-look rating. Whatever your reaction, I guarantee you've never seen Bigfoot like this, before or since.

And that is probably a good thing.

Come on now, it wasn't THAT bad!

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The Legend of Bigfoot (1976): or, You Ain’t Seen Nothin’ Yeti!

Ivan Marx is a man on a mission. After scoffing for years at tales of the great musk ape roaming the American wilderness, he has a St. Paul-ine conversion when he comes face to face with the Sasquatch himself. To (mis)quote another group of famous primates:

Since he saw that ape
Now he’s a believer!
There’s not a trace
of doubt in his mind!

and he wants to let the world know that Bigfoot is real. Using family, friends, and an extensive stock footage library, Ivan sets out to bring back undeniable proof of Bigfoot’s existence.

The footage he brings back of cavorting Bigfoots (Bigfeet?) is shocking, to say the least, but probably not in the way Mr. Marx intended, as you can almost see the seams at the bottom of the shuffling Sasquatch’s fur pants. Still, despite the amateurish “authentic” footage, there’s nothing to indicate that Ivan did not intend everyone to take him seriously. He rants venomously and entertainingly against the “EXPERTS!” who call his footage fake and Bigfoot a hoax.

More entertaining is the fact that within 30 mins it becomes obvious Marx is not concerned with proving the Legend of Bigfoot, but rather with creating the Legend of Ivan Marx. Along the way we get the hilarious Bigfoot/Curly shuffle, some intriguing stories about the Sasquatch’s ability to channel dead Eskimo ancestors and make the skies run red with blood (?!), thrilling re-creations of Marx’s own Bigfoot sightings, and the “shining eyes of the beast” footage that is obviously someone in the field with some headlights on a battery. Through it all, though, Ivan keeps up his best Marlon Perkins impression, and treats us to some genuinely stunning nature footage, whether his own or stock footage hardly matters. Gorgeous shots of glaciers, rivers, mountains, and swamps, not to mention majestic moose footage, make it worth watching for the slightly-skewed nature enthusiast, as Marx’s narration will not fail to bring a smile. (The love-story narration of a ground squirrel’s plight brought tears to my eyes with its pathos and skillfull editing.)

Marx's theories about Bigfoot’s migration patterns and possible origins is kooky, but all in all I found myself entertained and give it a 1.75. Your smileage may vary.

Bonus: mountain goats committing ritual suicide!

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