Imagine, if you will, a bright planet far away, civilized by a people who are intelligent, orderly, and serene. A people, as Dr. Morbius might have described them, who have enjoyed a million years of shining sanity. OK, now jump in your hyper-space ship and zap to the other side of the universe, to the bizarro opposite of that planet. To a dark, confused, murky cesspool of a planet; where nothing makes sense, all is chaos, nothing is linear. Congratulations! You've arrived at the planet where BARN OF THE BLOOD LLAMA was produced! I think it's called "Texas".
There are different kinds of bad movies. There's Ed Wood bad, there's Troma bad, and there's Gigli bad, in descending order. Then there's BARN OF THE BLOOD LLAMA, which sends all those other categories of bad films crying home to mama. It may be that BOTBL is some bizarre cousin of the Troma genus, I suppose. But it's the kind of cousin Troma is too embarrassed to let in the house; they simply pretend they're not at home.
I'm very fond of this movie, did I mention that? As fond as I can be, anyway, of a film that manages to dive into llama sodomizing in the first five minutes. Dang! This movie kicks Troma's rear! No wonder they won't let it in. Where does it go from here? Down, down, down like a rock lobster.
Oh, and what music! Imagine the sweet sound of a country duet of banjos, light and happy... Now imagine those banjos out of tune and strung up in a tree, banging randomly in the wind, with no trace of melody or meter. Now you have the haunting love theme of BOTBL. Try humming that, I challenge you.
You most likely won't be able to follow the plot of BOTBL, as your brain will simply refuse to store any of the outrage it has seen in the minutes preceding whatever point you are watching now. Let me see if I can clue you into what you are in store for... You know that dazed and whacked out feeling you get, after having fallen asleep sitting up in front of the TV? You wake up, struggle to focus your oxygen-starved brain on what's in front of you and go; "What the heck is this? Is this the same movie I was watching when I fell asleep? Where am I and what is my name?" That's pretty much how you will feel at the beginning and end of BOTBL, and all the points in between.
In short, this movie rocks in a most twisted way. Kevin West is some sort of genius I think, on par at least with the likes of auteur Coleman Francis. I like to think that somewhere, old CF is smiling down, or perhaps up, as the case may be, upon a showing of BARN OF THE BLOOD LLAMA and thinking; "That kid's ripping me off! Replaced the Cessnas with llamas is all he did! Miserable little jerk!"
But, I suppose, it's not for everyone. If you're the kind of person who's all nit-picky about their movies, about such things as continuity, coherency, lighting, editing, sound recording, sound mixing, music, cinematography, direction, acting, story, plot, special effects, and such-like little prissy details; well, if you think those things are important in some way, you may not think this flick is so hot. To each his own...
