With the recent election of Barack Obama, there are some wet farts in the conservative community who immediately began likening their predictions of how Obama's upcoming run as the US's high muckity-muck will turn out to the political tenure of a certain syphilitically diseased midget with a bad haircut and Charlie Chaplin lip fur. Funny, considering the rest of the world's been making the same comparison to the current Commander-in-Chimp for years... The truth is that Obama is not the reincarnation of Adolf Hitler, because Ann "the Revolter" Coulter is Hitler. Der fuhrer used all that Nazi black magic and reverse engineered alien technology that bad movies and Captain America comic books have revealed to us over the last 65 years to become an Aryan woman and diffuse criticism of his "not being blond-haired and blue eyed" hypocrisy that hurt his prior campaign for Jesus of the World. He also figures that if he whores up his new vessel (made of 10% asbestos and 90% BPA) enough, he can get almost any man to follow him into an industrial sized oven. Speaking of all that is evil and unholy in the world, let's talk a little bit about Hell. Actually, let's talk about G-Men From Hell.

Originally created by comic writer-artist Mike Allred (best known for his character Frank Einstein's superhero alter-ego Madman), the G-Men are former hard-boiled FBI agents Mike Mattress (Tate Donovan) and Dean Crept (William Forsythe). I say "former" in the sense that both were gunned down in a gangland drive-by, went to Hell, then came back to Earth thanks to some teleportation crystal stolen from Satan (Robert Goulet)'s vanity. As such, they are no longer just G-Men, but - altogether now - G-Men from Hell. Nice job kids. Keep it up and you'll be honorary Anubsketeers in no time! Now, which one of you do I make Cubby... Crept is a very straight-laced type of guy, but he's tough enough that he'll wipe his ass with a few pages from the rule book if the job calls for it. Working the typical buddy cop dichotomy, Mattress is the high-strung, hot-headed opposite. He's also a strange guy when it comes to his choice of words. Instead of cursing people out, he's got a mouth like an angry little kid, calling people names like "fart" and "puss bucket", then saying stuff like "dag nab it!" when things don't go his way. To go along with that boy mentality, he's also in a constant state of aggression, whether he wants to pistol whip somebody or go spelunking in a lady's unmentionables... which get mentioned enough anymore that I don't think the term still applies.

Anyway, after winding up in the bathtub of one Gloria Lake (Vanessa Angel... you couldn't find a last name more ironically appropriate for a flick like this) as a result of their dimension warping return trip home, Crept and Mattress waste no time in setting up their own P.I. office in Snap City so they can get to work doing good deeds. Their hope is that by scratching the back of the cosmic consciousness enough, maybe they'll get to take a mulligan on this whole "eternal damnation" thing and schmooze their way through the pearly gates. The first ne'er-do-well on their holy hitlist? Buster "the Shark" Lloyd (Bobcat Goldthwait): a small time gangster who may or may not have been the one that set up our undead Feds. He will be the one financing the duo's little journey of redemption though, especially since he won't need money once the back of his head's been given the old "Capone Skull Remodeling" by Mattress's itchy trigger finger. Murder's not a sin so long as it's against someone from the Police Academy movies, right? I didn't think so. Steve Guttenberg, your soul is mine, Shang Tsung style!

As you might expect, giving Satan the slip is never so easy as just pocketing one of Old Scratch's cubic zirconiums and washing up in Vanessa Angel's bathtub, so Goulet-with-horns sends his minion Winiford (Paul Rodriguez in polka-dots and pompadour wig) up to Earth to retrieve the pair. Making matters more complicated is gay Snap City PD Lieutenant Langdon (Gary Busey), who's investigating the boys' de-braining of Buster, and who's just as monkey shit slingingly psychotic as you'd expect from a character played by Gary Busey. Rumor has it that crazy old fuck'll do radical remodeling on your vital parts... Oh, and that Gloria Lake chick? Turns out it's her sugar daddy Greydon (Barry Newman) that had our heroes prematurely ejaculated from the Earthly plane in the first place and he's not exactly pleased by the revelation of their return neither. It ain't all bad above ground though. At least the boys pick up cute little moving girl-turned-secretary Marete, and there's nothing wrong with having Kari Wuhrer as your girl Friday. And if she turns out to be one of those porno secretaries who sit on your face during your lunch break? All the better.

To add to the already copious cacophony of craziness, our cast also includes a nebbish little "EVIL MUST PERISH!" wanna-be Batman vigilante in an ill-fitting leopard print outfit who goes by the uninspired moniker of Cheetah Man and crosses paths with the G's on and off. We also have the over-the-top Gogol-ish mad scientist Dr. Boifford, whose mental midget chauffeur is attached to a sentient Howdy Doody hand puppet, and one of whose Frankensteinian experiments includes putting the lifeforce of a certain cranially ventilated nogoodnick in a man-sized robot body... a pink man-sized robot body... if you're thinking to yourself, "Wow! This movie has everything!" then sadly you would be incorrect in your assumption, since I don't see any nude baby oil wrestling going on between Kari Wuhrer and Vanessa Angel. THEN we'd have everything. What's here is working out pretty well on its own though...

When the Dean and Mike's first contracted job turns out to be Gloria asking them to muscle her abusive old hubby off of her back, they show up at the Lake Estate only to find that Greydon has soft-shoed off this mortal coil thanks to a mystery murderer wearing a paper bag on his head. Naturally the good guys get fingered for the crime, putting them in the sights of Snap City's finest... who aren't exactly what most people would refer to as "fine" to begin with. To make matters worse, the Devil himself makes a special visit Earthrealm way, and gives our boys 48 hours to solve their case before he takes them back to Hell. So, M & C (& Hammer? *rimshot*) put their thinking hats and serious shoes on so they can work the angles. I used to use that term while picking up hookers to avoid getting snagged by undercover oinkies. Quick tip for would-be "Johns" out there: if you're trying to bargain for poon with a workin' gal and she keeps asking you to clarify your euphemisms, she's got a badge stashed down her drawers... and I don't mean the kind that gimmick hookers wear on their adult sized girl scout costumes when the money's right. Given the absolute lack of prostitutes in this movie, I'm not exactly sure what bearing this has on the Marvelous Misadventures of Mattress and Crept. Then again, sometimes you just gotta go off on a tangent to put the rest of the world in perspective... trailer hitch? Shoe horn? Prince Albert?!............... sorry, I've had an undescended tooth stuck in my head since I was a kid that I think has started rotting in recent years and gradually releasing lethal bacteria into my brain. No time for emergency rooms now though, because I've got a review to finish!

In between bouts of hopelessness, desperation, and Crept getting drunk and shedding man tears for his dead wife and daughter, the G's get their suspects all together for one final series of revelations in a local church that gets weirder and weirder as it progresses. Do the boys go back to Hell? Let me put it this way: the movie feels likes one big pilot for an ongoing series. Beyond that, you can tell NetFlix to send it to you and scan it yourself. Savy? Neggy? Egg Noggy?! "I did NOT want to take any questions about Watergate!"....... fucking brain rotting bacteria.

The only GMFH tale I ever read in the comics was a storyline spread through issues of "Madman" that, if I remember correctly, was a lot of fun to read. Then again, I dig Mike Allred's brand of psychedelic sci-fi super hero goofiness anyway, so I'm probably biased enough that it could've been utter crap and I wouldn't have noticed. Chances are that it wasn't though... crap I mean. I really need to hunt down his "Grafik Muzik" stuff though and learn more about the G-Men prior to their appearances in the Dark Horse books. As far as the movie goes, the flick was pretty good. It seems to really capture Allred's mania in celluloid as best it can on its apparently limited budget. I think the use of colors makes the whole thing stand out and I gotta say that director Chris Coppola did his part in keeping it faithful to its source material. That's right, Chris Coppola, who's no doubt attempting to prove to poppa Frank that Nic and Sophia aren't the only ones with talent in their genes... not to be confused with the talent in my jeans. That's right, my penis can juggle chainsaws while singing "We Didn't Start the Fire". Impressive, no? One thing I have to gripe about though is the lack of red eyes. In the comics I read, Crept and Mattress both had stark red peepers to convey that they were fugitives from the lake of fire. Given that something like a pair of contact lenses or a little digital tweaking to accommodate that trait shouldn't have been too much burden on the production's capitol, I'm guessing their absence was more on a "it just doesn't look right in filming" or a "the guys refused to wear the contacts" level. Either way it's a shame too, because besides Mattress's ridiculous plaid jacket, the major visual element that made the comic characters stand out were those eyes.

The writing for the movie's okay too. There's a lot to process, but it adds to the air of chaotic wackiness and tries to throw you off-balance enough to help that along. The dialog is the best part though. So much endlessly quotable material. Within a 30 second time span we get Satan calling all of mankind defective in his own special way, Mattress comparing the devil to an old couch, and Crept shouting "You son of a thousand bitches!". There's enough here for a thousand forum regulars to fill a thousand sig lines with for a thousand years and still have change left over for a bottle of loganberry schnapps... provided my "comedy to alcohol" conversion chart's still current. Performance wise, I couldn't have been happier with the solid work by Bill Forsythe and the well complimented "contained testosterone hysteria" of Tate Donovan. They played Crept and Mattress exactly how I thought they should have been. Goulet's bit as the devil was scenery chomping beauty (though his makeup wasn't) and a fun way to top-off his acting career as this was his swan song of screen, not including those Emerald Nuts commercials of course. I once thought I had emerald nuts, but when I tried to pawn them it turns out my testicles had simply turned green and crystallized due to prolonged exposure to gamma radiation. Boy was my face red... with the ravages of radiation poisoning... Goldthwait's Buster was better served once he became a pissed-off pink robot because it let Bobcat tap into some of the over-caffeinated energy he's known for, while I was probably most surprised by Greg Sporleder's innocent, confused, endearing, dimmest-double 'A'-in-the-dancing-menorah run as lovable oddball mental patient-in-pajamas Cheetah Man. I didn't really think much of him at first, but he grows on you the longer he's on-screen.

Speaking of not being on-screen enough, I really could've used more Kari Wuhrer in my diet too. The little outfits she wears combined with her "plucky but not so much you want someone to uppercut her in the throat" demeanor and the spring-winter romance brewing between she and Crept made me think some of the time on Angel's scenes could've been better served with some more Wuhrer instead. Speaking of which, Vanessa Angel's naive-bordering-on-moronic shtick ran the bad acting cheese grater over my nerves early, but I tolerated it in the hopes that it was all going to be revealed later as an act by the character to cover up her true femme fatale side. When I later realized that was never going to happen, it not only gave my suffering no tangible pay-off, but the built up irritation gathered like so much carbonated soft drink and literally made fizz shoot from my ears. I think that's part of a defense system evolved into my brain that's supposed to protect it from predatory bad acting, kinda like how a squid jizzes ink into the water when sharks or documentary crews hassle them.

On the other hand though, crazy mofo Gary Busey just took all of his scenes by the balls and twisted. No matter who else he had scenes with, you didn't take your attention away from him for a second because you knew he was going to do something amazing if you did and you'd miss out. Though my resources on behind-the-scenes info for the flick are pretty much nill, I never let the facts get in the way of a good review (not that this is anything like a good review). As such, I'm going to give voice to my speculation and say that Busey had other engagements to pursue before filming could finish. That, or somebody pissed somebody else off and the man bared his geezer sac for the production and invited them to make tea. Either way, I think that something unexpected happened and he wasn't around to complete the role, given that The Buse's character is written out of the last half hour and excused with some awkward piece of side story about him being put under investigation by the police department and taken off of active duty. It was weird. It was like Valeria Harper being replaced by Sandy Duncan on "The Hogan Family", or Chuck Cunningham ascending the stairs of his "Happy Days" home never to be heard from again. They need to do an episode on "Unsolved Mysteries" about this shit. If not that, then Hollywood at least needs to get off its hands and give me a friggin' Lt. Langdon movie, damn it! It'd be written by, directed by, and starring only Gary Busey. A one man show that runs for no less than 3 hours with every character played by Busey. Fuck the computers too, we'd use old school Parent Trap shooting methods to get the characters interacting with each other in shots. The budget would be very affordable, and anyone investing in its production would make back ten times what they put in, simply because everybody would want to see it. Whether you're a fan of the insanity, you're perversely curious, or you just plan on using it as an tool to torture initiates into your secret club, you know you'd want a copy.