What is it that makes this Charles Brand tick away? This guy is like the not-quite-as-talented step-son of Roger Corman, producing hundreds of films, very few of them people actually probably legitimately like with a straight face (let alone those he might have, heaven forbid, directed). I didn't know this until I a) looked him up on IMDb, and b) was subjected to The Gingerdead Man, one of his recent, um, "features". I bought it thinking I'd get some laughs, after all it's hard to not find the prospect of a Chucky-style killer in the form of a Gingerbread Man (voiced by Gary Busey himself) quite tempting as a truly fun bad movie. But I didn't expect it to be this boring, this absolutely dreadful, so abysmally acted to the point where I wished my own bed-ridden Grandmother could walk on to the set and wipe the floor with these other "actors" with her own non-existent acting chops.
Oh sure, Brand *tries* to put a story together, something close to it I suppose, involving a bakery called, um, "bakery", and how it is under threat from a Mondo Burger style competition of a new bakery across the street and how the workers cant seem to cope and, uh, work into the late hours of the night and then one of them cuts his finger and so conveniently blood drips into the flour and the electricity goes off on.... damn, you get the idea. What little hope I had for the movie, perhaps from the trailer, was moot. Brand probably does know how to put together a trailer for a movie - looking at the one for this and a couple other "Full Moon" productions on the DVD it looks like that is their real metee - but the actual film is um... a film? More like a string of terrible, inexcusable and inconceivably written scenes strung together by wretchedly done "attacks" from the pastry on his dumb-as-wood victims. The only thing more stupid and ridiculous is how the poor little feller meets his/its end.
I wish I could recommend this, I wish I could say this is the "shiznit" of killer-whatever movies that you can turn off your brain and enjoy as fun schlock. I can't, in good conscience, ever do that. If it weren't for Gary Busey's little bits of "WTF-ness", I might have come close to slitting my wrists and swearing a life of nothing but Ozu and Bergman for the rest of my life.
