Review: Auntie Lee’s Meat Pies (1992)

Directed by: Joseph F. Robertson
Starring: Karen Black, Pat Morita, Kristine Rose
Written by: Joseph F. Robertson, Gerald Stein
Music by: Scott Broberg, Michael Licari
Country: United States
Available on: Blu-ray (Vinegar Syndrome)
IMDb

Joseph F. Robertson’s cleavage- and neon-draped riff on Motel Hell (1980) has its sleazy heart in the right place (you know, by the, heh, boobs), with its satanism, cannibalism, and some other -ism that expresses a fondness for showing female breast tops. There are all manner of intriguing ingredients in Auntie Lee’s pies, with its (both carnal and blood) lusty vixens; its weirdo cast that includes Karen Black auditioning for her role as Mother Firefly, Pat Morita fresh off his Karate Kid gig, sporting a drawl, and Michael Berryman hamming his ass off; its amazing soundtrack that includes gems like “Young, Fresh, Tight Sweet Stuff” from The Mentors; and the world’s only pantry featuring a built-in decapitation mechanism. But, oh how ironically, what this flick is missing is the meat.

Things start out with promise, as we watch a Supreme Douchebag go on a terribly acted killing spree in which he hollows out a priest’s skull with a close-range bullet, before he’s unexpectedly skewered by a beautiful woman he carjacks. We’re introduced to Auntie Lee (Black) and her three nieces, Magnolia (our douche-killer), Fawn, and Coral, who regularly seduce horny dudes (except Mormons), killing them and grinding their corpses into the famous meat pies their townsfolk can’t stuff into their fat gullets fast enough. Morita is the town police officer lazily on their trail. There’s also a private investigator lazily on their trail. Berryman is the ladies’ sad henchman who kills meanies that make fun of him. It’s all fairly pleasant though directionless malarkey with a hint of mayhem and a dash of the funnies — until a glam rock band strolls into town and draws the interest of the cannibal vixens.

At that point, Robertson pumps the brakes on the fun times for what feels like eternity plus overtime, and the audience is forced to witness a real-time dinner party with six boring assholes and sometimes-but-not-enough Karen Black. The movie tries something out with some trippy black-light imagery straight out of your sullen teen son’s 90s bedroom that could have been fascinating if it weren’t so aimless. Morita takes a smoke break for about 45 minutes before finally stumbling into the shit and bringing this flick to a very abrupt close.

Ultimately, ALMP isn’t as funny, bizarre, or horrific as it needs to be for that midnight movie cred, and feels like a squandered opportunity for outlandish carnage of the best kind. Instead, it’s modest entertainment of the okayest-but-mostly-unnecessary kind.

Overall review: 5.5 out of 10