A while back I blogged about slasher Spirit Camp (here), and my one big disappointment was that a cutie named Kerry Beyer wasn’t in it enough. I also may have said that since he wrote, directed, acted in, and did pretty much everything else on that movie except play the female characters, he should have gotten some gay action in it.
He may have read my blog…and all the dirty thoughts in my mind.
My hard-on with “Dan & Kerry forever” tattooed on it aside, he’s quickly becoming one of the masters of my indie horror world. He knows how to put together a cohesive, well-paced, entertaining, suspenseful flick on a small budget. And to think he’s doing a good load of the work behind the scenes himself makes it even easier to appreciate his films.
Killing Mr. Right brings on the craziness immediately. A chick has a flashback dream of being abducted and raped by a guy in a hood and mask. When she wakes up, she speaks briefly with her roommate who, for the first time, has brought home her hot fiancé (aka: Beyer).
PTSD bitch thinks this dude is the guy who raped her! Before long, she’s got him tied to a chair and is all ready to give him a taste of her rapist’s medicine.
Fear not. This isn’t an hour and a half of her torturing him. Although, when she begins swinging that big blue strap-on around, I had my hopes. But believe me. It’s worse than that. Props to Beyer for going where he does; she calls in a fricking sex master and his chunky monkey bitch boy with big titillating nipples to have their way with Beyer’s ass!
Oh yeah. Shit gets wild in Killing Mr. Right. And it goes way beyond the gay ass rape. There’s a nosy psychic neighbor who may just sense something really bad is happening in the house. There’s a cop who’s gotta crap. There’s a warehouse full of filleted bodies. Twists and turns abound and the movie’s end is so perfectly far removed from its beginning.
The very cool thing about the film is that Beyer does not focus on the torture aspects. There’s plenty of implied pain, but we’re not subjected to anything overly-graphic and it’s very downplayed, which some may feel causes hiccups in realism. For instance, it appears at one point that a pot of boiling water is poured on Beyer’s crotch, but there is no evidence in his reaction that he just suffered such a fate (no “my dick is on fire and my life is over” face)—nor any indication that she was fucking with him and perhaps just poured a near miss. Later, Beyer is strapped face down on a bed (sorry, no butt shot) after the gay ass rape, yet he doesn’t even appear to have broken a sweat. I’ve never seen such a relaxed expression on even the best power bottom after a plowing (and I’ve looked in the mirror after sex plenty of times).
That Kerry Beyer pretty boy filmmaker dude? I had him.
But that, along with a notable tongue-in-cheek tone, makes it easier to be pulled into the strong plot, which moves forward at a fast pace and keeps you wondering where this could all possibly be heading. Not to mention, Beyer’s performance is fantastic. Keep the horror coming Kerry Beyer (and lose the pants next time).
