#AND GEORGE WHAT'S UP DIPSHIT (affectionate)

[wonderfulworldofmichaelford]

Michael After Midnight: Yoga Hosers

“So bad, it’s good.”

This is a phrase that is near and dear to me. It is a phrase that indicates quality where others would find none, it indicates that a movie is saved unintentionally, it just tells me I’m in for something fun. I love “so bad, it’s good” cinema. My love for it is is pretty much the entire reason I made Michael After Midnight, so I could showcase these weird, quirky, awkward films I love so much and spread them to a new audience, and maybe even convince you that some of these films actually do have genuine qualities underneath it all.

I also love the View Askewniverse, as this old review of the franchise can attest to. Kevin Smith really was onto something with this series, combining snarky dialogue, pop culture references, and stoner humor together into something that I feel so many movies tried to replicate but that very few ever came close to. Like most movies that use “lol weed” humor fall flat on their face, but not Smith’s movies. Any other movie where a couple argues over the girl having given 37 different dudes blowjobs prior to this relationship would just feel tacky and forced, but Smith made it work. Kevin Smith could take weird concepts like “A woman who works at an abortion clinic is tasked by the voice of God (played by Alan Rickman) to stop Matt Damon and Ben Affleck (who are fallen angels) from accidentally rewriting reality so they can get to heaven; she is aided by Jay & Silent Bob, a black apostle, a muse, and a skeevy priest played by George Carlin. Also there’s a shit demon and Alanis Morisette is God” and make them work. But outside the View Askiewniverse his success has dwindled, with his films ending up forgettable at best; you’ll never find anyone citing Zack & Mirri Make a Porno as their favorite comedy, you know?

So you’d think his “True North” trilogy, a series of B-movies with “So bad, it’s good” aesthetics set in good ol’ Canada, would just be a home run. Combine Smith’s with with the kind of fun campiness of B-movies, what could go wrong?

A lot.

“So bad, it’s good” is not an exact science. It’s not an exact art. The expert creators of this style of film – people like Tommy Wiseau, Neil Breen, or the SyFy Channel – they always have an air of sincerity to them even when they wink at the audience and really lay it on you. The Sharknado movies showcase a perfect balance of telling the joke and being in on the joke, to use one example. But it is so incredibly easy to go too far and end up ruining your own joke by just constantly rubbing in the audience face that yes, it is a joke. Willing suspension of disbelief applies to enjoying films ironically, interestingly enough, and if you keep slapping your audience in the face and telling them “Hey dipshit, this is supposed to be fucking stupid,” they’re not gonna like it. Tusk had this pretty bad, with its interesting premise being ruined by too much self-awareness and too much Johnny Depp. But Yoga Hosers?

This movie is even worse.

This movie is an absolute trainwreck of premises. Two clerks at a Canadian convenience store have to fight Nazi bratwursts created by an evil German mad scientist sculptor who helped form a Canadian Nazi party during WWII. Also there are Satanists who want to cut up the clerks and sacrifice them. There’s also yoga tossed into the mix for good measure. The thing is, all of these ideas could have been used separately for some fantastically stupid films, the “Bratzis” in particular being the idea only someone who is high half the time could come up with. The concept for them alone is what made me want to watch this film, and yet, the execution is just so utterly terrible it makes me regret ever finding the idea charming at all.

A big problem with the Bratzis is just how poor the effects are. They are painfully greenscreened in, an effect that makes the Fierys from Labyrinth look like something out of Avatar in comparison. They speak in gibberish German phrases and when they are killed they splatter in a confetti effect that looks like it comes prepackaged with Baby’s First Video Editing Suite. I get Smith doesn’t work on big budgets or anything, but this is just absolutely embarrassing. This man made a movie with a shit demon as a practical effect and this is what he does when he gets his hands on cutting edge technology?

And it’s not like anything else about this movie is pleasant enough to make up for the awful effects. The two main characters are played by Johnny Depp’s daughter and Kevin Smith’s daughter, and while they undeniably have good chemistry as friends and can sing very well, their characters are just unpleasant, obnoxious millennial stereotypes: they’re catty, they’re snotty, they’re glued to their phones, and they’re pretty dim. Johnny Depp’s character from Tusk is back, and I’m happy to say he’s just as terrible here, mumbling his way through his scenes and just in general sucking what little life there is out of this film. And as if the characters aren’t annoying enough, every fucking character is introduced with some social media title card. It’s absolutely as stupid as it sounds.

And see, some would point to this and say “Oh, come on, it’s so bad it’s good, Smith is clearly just taking the piss here, it’s supposed to be bad!” Well guess what? That’s no excuse to make your movie shit. The Lost Skeleton of Cadavra is also an intentional “so bad, It’s good” movie, one that spoofs the gloriously cheesy sci-fi B-movies of the 50s. But that movie felt like a loving, affectionate parody, one that didn’t insult its audience. They knew you were in on the joke, and they just let you enjoy it while they tell it.

Smith, on the other hand, won’t let you enjoy his joke. He constantly needs to cram in cameos from his celebrity pals, with Stan Lee, Jason Mewes, and Kevin Conroy all popping in for some pointless appearances. The terrible effects are just too terrible, with none of it feeling like a charming throwback to rubber suit monster movies and all of it feeling more like budgetary constraints, laziness, and lack of creativity. But worst of all, this film is clearly trying to be funny. The best part of any “So bad, it’s good” movie is that it’s funny accidentally. Humor is derived from the awkwardness of lines delivered earnestly; again, going back to Lost Skeleton, it works because as goofy and awkward as the lines are, they really aren’t too inauthentic to old school sci-fi cheese. Yoga Hosers, though? It is so desperately trying to make you laugh at it unironically while simultaneously trying to get you to laugh at it ironically. It feels manipulative and tasteless, and in the end, it’s what kills the movie.

I have no idea who this would appeal to. It has none of the quality of Smith’s better work, it’s not going to appeal to monster movie fans because its plot is so scattershot and the effects are too poor for even ironic enjoyment, and the jokes are not going to appeal to anyone who isn’t too stoned to realize what they’re watching. All of it feels phony, insincere, and crappy in a genuine way, and there’s just no humor to be derived from something this creatively bankrupt. Shame n Kevin Smith for taking an unironically fascinating and stupid concept and running it into the ground with schtick. I came for Nazi bratwursts assaulting convenience store employees, but instead I get mumbling Johnny Depp and a guy dressed as a Nazi doing celebrity impressions. Fuck you, Smith. Fuck you and your insincere attempts at schlock.