text: A montage prologue, quite obviously manufactured by the blessed maniacs who actually chose to distribute this thing, tries to convince us that the comic impact of this staggeringly incompetent bit of nothing is entirely deliberate. Don't you believe it: this is to Lloyd Kaufman as Andy Warhol is to Herschel Gordon Lewis. It is so thoroughgoing in its project of torturing its hypothetical audience that it seems like some kind of misanthropic negationist art installation, only it can't be because it is so completely bereft of self-consciousness. As obnoxious and ugly as "Things" or "Frozen Scream", this manages to up the ante by recycling itself with a maddeningly bald insistence