It's chilling to think how often a struggling filmmaker must accidentally wander into a movie like "Bats," because he invariably ends up back home naked in a closet, the barrel of a gun in his mouth, contemplating this hideous proof of the nonexistence of God.
If you drank a cocktail of Vodka, Orange Juice and approximately two ounces of broken glass fragments, about two hours later, as the fragments made their way through the tender tissue of your small intestine, you'd come pretty close to the sort of pain dished out by "Bats."
The truly scary thing here is that neither director Louis Morneau nor any of the actors seem to have the slightest clue they're participating in one of the worst films ever made. It's as though they're basking beneath the giant ass of Hollywood, singing "Pennies from Heaven" while great steaming mounds of excreta rain down upon them. Lou Diamond Phillips plays the sheriff who teams up with Dina Meyer to figure out how to kill the bats. You'd think he would know better, but perhaps he's illiterate. Did he not read the script?
I don't know exactly how to describe the expression you'll get on your face if you go see this film, but I'd pay good money to witness it. It's probably akin to the look you might wear after you've told the dog not to eat the nuggets in the cat box, and he's gone and done it anyway. And then licked your face. "Bats" unapologetically flaps its genitalia in the face of the audience as it blithely nails every cliché the horror genre has to offer. Director Morneau might do well to continue in the practice of genital-flapping, as the porn industry may well be his only hope for ever landing another job.
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