Schlock & Gore: Lunch Meat (1987)

directed by Kirk Alex
runtime: 88 mins

A review for Lunch Meat is a review for us all. I’m sure my insights here will echo those of everysoul fortunate enough to have ridden the unshakable homegrown fiend of a ride that is Lunch Meat. Watching it seems to synchronize the viewer into some larger, undefined headcheese consciousness. And with a movie named after cold cuts, would you expect anything less than the completely strange?


The movie begins with a false sense of security. Entitled yuppie teens call eachother scab and fungus as they drive towards a cabin they’ll never reach. It all feels familiar. Someone likes someone and that person likes someone else. Someone forgot the lunch meat, and someone forgot the gas, so the jeep gets pushed to the nearest watering hole. The jeep finds a drink and the teens find a bite to eat. It’s evident that those aren’t any ordinary burgers and they grimace and chew. Grimace and chew.

Robert DeNiro impression coming along.
Still kinda working on my Pacino.
Adam Sandler.

Rednecks look on with dollar signs for eyes. They could surely make a penny off these bodies, so the cat and mousing begins.

You try to comprehend this film’s logic, but by now it’s too late. The hypnosis has taken hold. The droning of synth, the Wes Anderson levels of zoom, the aimless, unending running through the woods and the hills. Murder occurs and all the while Lunch Meat breaks apart what it means to be a film. Spinning into more and more mindless, meaningless chase sequences and synth; you check to see if you are sleeping. No, yet hypnosis nearly becomes madness when backwoods Paw swipes under a truck at a cowering teen while shouting—

“Stay put! Stay put I tell you!”
and he runs to the other side of the truck
“Stay put! Stay put I tell you!”
and runs to the other side of the truck
“Stay put! Stay put I tell you!”
and runs to the other side
“Stay put! Stay put I tell you!”
and on and on.

Stay put!
Stay put I tell you!

Three beheadings and a chicken later, only teen Roxy survives, running from the shit-for-brains of the bunch, making it too the road, and mimicking an all too familiar Texas Massacre.

Lunch Meat is a pungent ichor to ingest, but once consumed it straps you into that larger headcheese consciousness. It’s a brotherhood, a sisterhood, and a rite of passage for anyone who dares to call themselves a SOV or film oddity fan. If you act quickly, I believe you can even find it on YouTube.

Look ma! I’m on the YouTube!

Lunch Meat isn’t bad. Lunch Meat isn’t good. It’s something else entirely.


Stay Slime, and be rad at all times…

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