They see them, right? Roger Corman doesn't care? Fine, then I don't care. Whose hallucination am I in? It's a giant multi-colored vehicle and they're the only other people on the road, trailing right behind them. Okay, our leads are in their own car, but some kind of Mystery Wagon van is following them, and they don't seem to notice. We're leaving Dallas, and there's a nod to the JFK assassination. If Bane ever fought Secret Squirrel… they'd both be annoyed by this. I think this guy has placed himself in charge of giving travel permits, but don't hold me to that, because the completely unsync'd dubbing has given him a high-pitched but also incomprehensible and gravely voice. Going to predict now that we have more party sequences in the future, with songs that tell us we are watching a party.Ĭoel and Cilla are in a suburban backyard, while a shirtless Nazi with a whip yells at them. The entire soundtrack is written by Country Joe & The Fish, and like Drive, each song describes exactly what we're seeing on screen. Luckily, the frat quad has the best policy of all: a sex-and-beer party. The stoners want to relax until "the whole world blows over." Young Republicans want to keep everything soldiering onward, and some intellectual reactionary cries out for everyone on both sides to be put to death while simultaneously decrying division.
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Our leads bounce around the school, getting opinions from different social groups on how to handle this situation. Younger kids stealing clothes off the backs of the deceased. Some powerful shots of Americans, suddenly turned elderly, holding their dying loved ones in the streets of Dallas. That last one seems a bit of a cheat.īack into the plot… yay! This gas (or Gas!) (or Gas-s-s-s!) kills anyone over the age of twenty-five by immediately striking them with old age. Where's the crossbow? They compete to make up new, beautiful words for love-making: Turquoise.
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Our two leads, Coel and Cilla, make out in a car at a drive-in movie theater. Our lead tells him to teach bicycle safety at the Black Panther rally in Mobile, Alabama. A pretty girl is anxiously waiting in the other confessional, and she's the lab assistant slash mistress of a famous scientist and prattles on about chemical exposition while the cop keeps asking for forgiveness. The framing keeps wanting to make a connection between a long-haired troublemaker and the many images of Jesus, but this potato farmer voice is driving me insane, and I want to know where we've stashed the giant crossbow. Now the hippie has hidden in a church, where, with the proper robes and a weird Irish voice, he's convinced the cop to join him in the confessional. And this chase sequence just got very Scooby Doo we're running up and down opposite stairs and the cops trip when they see a pretty girl. A giant, all-white crossbow, that he never uses. Are they harassing him for listening to rock-and-roll? Nope. It's going to be that kind of movie.Ī hippie is running through the SMU campus, being chased by police officers. The lab's motto is: "To you it may be deadly, but to us, it's really a gas!" Okay. But now, there's talking over the credits, where they're joking about dying.
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They were opening a new facility and tried to crack a bottle of champagne on it, but used a bio-weapon container instead? Some kind of - all these voices are super over-the-top and silly? That's like a bad John Wayne impression, and a Mr. We open with an animated sequence in which top military brass accidentally release a deadly gas into the air. I'll just describe what I'm seeing and we'll put it together later? I'm ten minutes in and I have little to no understanding of what's occurring. While that film shares a concept, and could easily have been a double-feature for this entry, Gas-s-s-s! projects a more post-apocalyptic vibe.Ĭhange of plans, guys. My love of Corman knows no bounds, so I revel in this excuse to watch him rip off Wild in the Streets, which was produced two years earlier by the same film studio, AIP. Gas! or Gas-s-s-s! or It Became Necessary to Destroy the World in Order to Save It was a 1971 film, and schlock-master Roger Corman's last directing credit for eighteen years. Today is about correcting this discomfort, by diving into a film which celebrates my nightmare scenario: yippe take-over.
Two hours of man-weeping later, I feared Brock Wilbur might be broken. Longhairs and Commies, spouting free-love rhetoric and getting bashed over the head with nightsticks? "Comedy gold!" thought I.
For a man with Cartmanian opinions on the movement, this was nothing short of a triumph in filmmaking. I found Punishment Park an upsetting viewing experience for many reasons, not the least of which being its ability to force an emotional connection between myself and hippie culture.
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