Crystal Force

The rampant sexuality and covert Greco-Freudian undertones to this manically underacted, post-graphic horror schlock are the only elements discernible in the anti-riveting, effects-driven ab-climax, which comes at the end of a rather long (approximately seventy-seven minutes longer than my average, American, male attention-span for complete drivel: I think I could more easily watch thirty or forty minutes of C-SPAN bloopers than this film again)and, one wants to say, pointless "film". Until those last six or seven minutes--really an almost revolutionary or, at the very least, anti-conventionalist stretching of the dogmatic ideal of climax/resolution or, heck, even plot--I found it hard to actually look at the "movie": my eyes would slide off of the screen to examine the oaken flooring of my home, and, then, I was more interested in the amount of time remaining, counting down on my VCRs little blinking readout than in the MacGuyveresque solution to the monster problem. Notwithstanding the already-mentioned lack of everything becoming what normal people would typically refer to as a "film" except for credits (both beginning and end), I could almost admire the ability of G.L.Reed to play both a seemingly hypertrophied, pseudo-Satanic Duck/Reptile from some other dimension and manage both the art department and properties on this shamefully modern "movie."