With the recent announcement that actor/director Ben Afleck is to star as the new Batman in Zack Snyder's 'Batman vs. Superman' (2015), many long-time readers of the Examiner probably suspect that the dreaded Mole People might somehow be connected with the newest Batman feature, their hatred of classic cinematic efforts and their desires to ruin films for all of us prompting them to elect Affleck as the new Batman based upon his less than reputable performance as Marvel's 'Daredevil' (2003).
It would certainly not be the first time the demented Mole People had attempted to destroy our beloved Batman with their ill-gotten gains and hideous machinations, as if evident by their abominable 1966 effort, 'The Wild World of Batwoman'. Directed by human puppet, Jerry Warren, the film stars Katherine Victor as the titular Batwoman, whose army of go-go dancing Batgirls aid her in the battle against the nefarious super criminal Ratfink (Richard Banks), whose designs center around the theft the Ayjax Corporation's Atomic Hearing Aid. Please feel free to reread that last sentence until it makes sense (spoiler: it never will).
Woe be unto the misguided viewer who mistakes Warren's 1966 abomination for anything resembling an actual film. Disconnected? Confusing? Bewildering? These paltry and prosaic adjectives do not even come close to capturing the sheer quantity and quality of screaming lunacies that are contained within the celluloid abomination that is Jerry Warren's.
New words must and shall be invented to describe the dark abysm in which the "plot" of this film remains hidden and disused by Warren, whose film possesses the coherency of a bedlamite's nightmares.
Jumping from one scene to the next like the surreal episodes witnessed by drug-consuming malcontents, 'The Wild World of Batwoman' is a conglomeration of grotesquery and schlock, cobbling together scenes of pointless dancing, séances with racists voices, rock and roll music on the beach, and mustache twirling villains, all in a vain attempt to create the illusion that something other than furious nihilism is occurring throughout the film.
There is no acting to be found in this movie, not even the illusion of pretending to act can be found in it. Nearly ten minutes into the film, one begins to question if there is even signs of "sentience" to be found in this picture. And twenty minutes after that, one comes to conclusion that they should've stopped watching this film half-an-hour ago.
It's quite possible that even the film's backers -- the much malign Mole People -- suspected that no one would watch this cinematic equivalent of a sledgehammer to the solar-plexus, for even the Mole People themselves make a cameo appearance in Warren's film (though their presence does nothing to advance the picture, and seems only inserted in there as proof that They wish to mock us and savor in our suffering of their terrible pictures).
Hope dies shrieking in the face of Jerry Warren's soul-poisoning picture, whose incessant dancing, strident dialogue, absent plot and escaped mental patients posing as actors come together in a synergetic explosion of twisted degeneracy that only the most masochistic or misinformed of viewers would ever subject themselves to. Be warned fans of the caped crusader, for this hallmark of horror is a disasterpiece of celluloid that exemplifies all that is wrong and evil with the dreaded Mole People and their designs to ruin cinema for us, and is not a film to be watched lightly save by those lost souls who seek to destroy what little is left of themselves.
Find the nearest Blockbuster (assuming that's still a thing) near your home so you can rent this film almost immediately. Or, if you prefer that movies came to you instead, set up a Netflix account and start your ordering as soon as possible.