Review: Slime City (1988)
Directed by: Gregory Lamberson
Starring: Craig Sabin, Mary Huner, T.J. Merrick
Written by: Gregory Lamberson
Music by: Robert Tomaro
Country: United States
Available on: Blu-ray (Camp Motion Pictures), DVD (E.I. Independent)
IMDb
Though Greg Lamberson’s debut flick is categorized as a “melt movie,” it’s more like a “gel joint.” The title definitely isn’t making empty promises, because there’s slime a-plenty in this story about a very nervous artist and video store clerk named Alex who moves into a very sleazy apartment with very bizarre neighbors who are part of some kind of pointless death cult.
Alex is downtrodden because his girlfriend won’t give him none of that poontang, despite laying on all his bestest charms. To console his sad penis, he accepts a dinner invite from his neighbor, Roman, a prospective Bauhaus member and pretentious musician who concocts a dinner of “Himalayan yogurt” and sludgy booze created by the alchemist father of the building’s bizarro super. One of those two things (the movie’s not entirely clear which or if it’s both) turns Alex into a gloop-slathered beastie who needs to kill to reverse the effects. Against a snazzy soundtrack of discordant noise, spooky synths, acid jazz, and jangly lo-fi surf rock, Alex must figure out how to put the cease-and-desist on his murderous disintegration before he expels too much more yellow sludge from his pores.
For most of its runtime, Slime City never gets quite as weird as you’re hoping. It explains its mythos a little too well, alleviating some of the ludicrous mystique (though, despite the script’s best efforts, it still makes no goddamn sense). Much more time than is necessary is devoted to Alex’s hair turning saltier and peppier as his transformation progresses, as well as to Mary Huner’s dual role as prude girlfriend and leather-clad sex magician. But then it takes a turn. As Alex approaches his Bub-from-Day-of-the-Dead destiny, things get good with increasing gore, skin-slop, and gruesome zaniness until its final, prolonged dalliance with disembodiment.
Like Frank Henenlotter’s best stuff, Slime City conjures a nightmarish free-jazz rendition of New York City at its scuzziest and artsiest filled with cramped, many-storied apartment buildings whose repugnant yet charming denizens spend most of their day frolicking in stairwells, street thugs who never commit felonies without their boombox, and elixirs to satiate even the most esoteric tastes. Slime City might be for you if you can check any of the following boxes: you’ve wondered what a liter of mustard-slathered giardiniera might look like oozing from someone’s guts, you’ve pondered just how hard you can blow your nose before your eardrums burst, and you’ve been desperately searching for Schmidt from The New Girl’s B-movie doppelganger. It’s a worthy watch as a more restrained Street Trash that explores the same murky corners of urban decay through bodily dissolution.
Overall rating: 7 out of 10
