Igor and The Lunatics (1985) – Billy Pardini.

'Her head was so full of Paul's holly roller garbage, she was spitting plastic Rosary beads for a week!'

Even before the scratchy opening credits have ended, a lithe young lady has her nakedly bouncing breasts forcibly exposed, and is ignominiously sawn bloodily asunder! Troma's breathlessly moronic Igor and The Lunatics ably provides the crudest rebuttal to the adage that 'less is more': More breasts!!!! More beer!!!! More embiggened breasts!!! Bigger and bloodier eviscerations!!! More cheapnis carnage is ALWAYS best! If maestro Antonioni were regarded as providing the giddy apogee of artfully composed cinema, then Troma is arguably the nadir of refined cinematic style and taste. Igor and The Lunatics is both resolutely artless, trenchantly inane, and yet somehow manages to hit the elusive sweet spot of remaining vastly entertaining crud!

The grossly 'unfiltered' performances, risible text, and bouncily goofy soundtrack intertwine magically into an exaggeratedly schlocky bounty of irresistible B-Movie buffoonery. Dumber that a glass condom, Igor and The Lunatics has all the cinematic sex appeal of a grizzly bear's scat-clotted sit-upon, and the ceaselessly crude repartee herein is purloined from the greasiest bowels of Charlie Manson's outhouse. I sometimes like to imagine what contemporary mainstream horror might look like if Igor and The Lunatics had equalled Halloween's legendary box-office? Personally, I would rather endure a gory glut of shrill Igor's than the mindless monotony of multitudinous Meyers we have today. Hey!!! You don't have to be a lunatic to enjoy Pardini's Igor and The Lunatics, but it certainly helps!!!!