Look out, Dolph! He's trying to inject you with some personality!
Donkey: Mothers, teachers, and a disembodied hand preparing a delicious looking fried egg have been begging or flat out threatening us for years in an attempt to keep us away from the evil clutches of drugs, lest our brains become an essential part of a wholesome and balanced breakfast. And for years growing up, I actually believed the hype, thinking that anyone who so much as uttered the word “weed” when describing their garden was probably a foaming-at-the-mouth junkie filled with the HIV, whose sole purpose in life was tricking me into joining a secret cult dedicated to chasing dragons straight off a fucking high rise and plunging to a euphoric death faster than you can say “Sponge Bob’s heroin-filled Square Pants”. Those were much simpler times. But as I grew up and began to question pretty much everything around me, I came to realize that while drugs are still an enterprise every bit as perilous as investing your retirement savings into a pension fund run by Gary Busey and MC Hammer, the subject isn’t quite as black and white as they would have you believe. Just like almost everything in life, the subject breaks down into many different shades of gray. Drinking beer is supposed to be an ice-cold filtered road to pure refreshment, even though drunks are some of the most violent people I’ve ever met in life. And yet at the same time, pot is supposed to be the inevitable first step to a lifetime of crime, desperation, and societal destruction, even though the potheads that I’ve met in my life usually aren’t prone to do anything worse than eating all my Cheetos at any exceptionally slow pace while giggling their asses off at classic episodes of Dr. Who. As for coke heads, well once you get into the professional world, you find yourself working for most of them. But still the stereotypes will never go away, so for every Harold And Kumar Go To White Castle that promotes the wacky hi-jinx of hang gliding and overcoming racial stereotypes all while being more baked than a hot apple pie, there’s an I Come In Peace waiting to hold you down and violate you with a bong shaped like your uncle’s mustache. Try enjoying a Phish concert after that, you dirty hippie.
But just for the record, this movie is awesome to watch while totally high.
Donkey: After punishing my brain with what was literally seconds of retrospect, the best way that I can describe I Come In Peace is kind of like a low rent version of Predator 2. The differences being that instead of Danny Glover’s battle with drug dealers being interrupted by the appearance of an alien who has come to Earth in search of ultimate sport hunting, the story in this case centers around Dolph Lundgren battling shitty drug dealers only to be interrupted by the appearance of an alien who has come to the Earth searching for the ultimate high. Oh yeah, and instead of Bill Paxton, the role of the quirky sidekick is played by a dude that you’ve probably never heard of. Granted this is a rather simplified analysis of course, but seeing as I’m not exactly getting paid to bring any true insight to the subject and I have no real journalistic integrity to speak of, that’s about as good as it gets. But for anyone not satisfied with that, I’ll take my description even further into shallow waters: watching I Come In Peace is comparable to being crazy drunk and watching your friend reenact the story of Predator 2 using sock puppets, provided that those sock aren’t as much puppets as just filthy socks that you stole off a hobo while stumbling home from the bar. Don’t think I can get any lazier than that? Watch me, asshole: I Come In Peace is like watching Predator 2 through a nasty case of pink eye caused by Dolph Lundgren dropping trough and farting in your face for the duration of the film.
The Case for Greatness (aka The Lowlights):
Exhibit A: Lions And Tigers And Societal Decay Caused By Hardcore Street Drugs…Oh My!
Donkey: As this is our second dance with the master of swagger, brawn, and wooden acting known as Dolph Lundgren, we find ourselves clenching both our tasty beverages and our bowels just a little bit harder than normal, preparing for the spectacle that is about to unfold. To quote Forest Gump, having a man of Dolph’s caliber attached to your film is “like a box of chocolates: you never know what you’re gonna get…until he pops out of that box of chocolates and smashes your fucking face through your colon”. Or something like that. But when casting Dolph, the very least of what you’re going to need is an exceptionally terrible threat for him to overcome. After all, playing referee to a high stakes game of octogenarian Shuffleboard, battling a rival gang of kindergarten girls to determine who draws the fluffiest kittens, or any other frilly bullshit that the prettier Hollywood elite might be called in to handle just isn’t going to get the job done in this case. Short of the dong-punching glory of JCVD or possibly an elephant with a steroid problem, very little could stand as proper opposition to Dolph. So it shouldn’t be much of a surprise that the only way to make this movie last longer than 3 minutes and 2 clown-shattering roundhouse kicks is to immediately introduce an antagonist from the depths of the cosmos.
My friend, I've traveled across the known universe to make America skinny again, one slap at a time.
Since our villain will need to have the power of a thousand exploding suns, there’s no better way to establish him as an alien bad ass than pitting him against the most horrifyingly evil threat of the 80′s: a stereotypical middle-aged business executive. So we begin on a dark and fateful night where said victim is driving along while cursing about the sweet but severely malfunctioning stock CD player that came in what he exclaims is his $70,000 car. Keep in mind that when you see the exterior of the car, this seems like a credible claim as it appears to be some kind of Mercedes or other luxury vehicle. But when they show the craptastic CD player, which looks more like a fucking ham radio, you can’t help but notice the surrounding dashboard in all its wood paneled glory, which makes me think that this can’t be the same car on the inside as it is on the outside. And if that’s the case, then I hate to bust it to this guy, but the pine condom clad Chrysler Le Baron that he’s rolling in wouldn’t be worth $70,000 if it had a stripper dispenser in the trunk. But before the idiocy of his own words can sink into that tiny brain, he becomes so engulfed in his own shenanigans that he loses control of the car and crashes into what looks like a Christmas tree sales yard, ensuring that anyone who happened to be picking one out at the time was about to have a pretty shitty holiday season. And just when you wonder what the fuck the point of this scene is, he climbs out of his 3-horse-powered pussy magnet just before it’s demolished by a sudden explosion caused by an object falling from the sky. As the man stands in bewilderment wondering if there will be any way to get his 2 Live Crew CD back, from out of the wreckage floats a massive blond dude who states in an ominous monotone voice, “I come in peace”. Based on his method of terror that we’ll cover later and the fact that I can’t be bothered to remember whatever shitty name they actually gave him, we’ll just go ahead and call this extraterrestrial Professor Moneyshot. And upon the professor uttering that always awesome title shout out, the film cuts immediately away from the scene, leaving us wondering if this alien was about to offer the random yuppie information on an exciting new career in TV/VCR repair or possibly try to sell him a Slapchop.
But again, when dealing with Dolph Lundgren, one villain just won’t be enough for your movie. So after being introduced to the movie’s primary source of unstoppable terror, the flamboyance level is dialed way up as our attention is then turned to its secondary, entirely stoppable terror in the form of a local crime ring known as “The White Boys”. This supposed “gang” consists of upper class, white collar executives who peddle drugs while carrying out business like they’re running a Fortune 500 company. This bullshit is something that you could only pull off in the 80’s. To understand just how retarded this entire concept is, picture the seminal Michael J. Fox film The Secret Of My Success. Got it? Good. Now imagine that the commodities that his company is trading in are cocaine and heroin, and then picture the hostile takeover scene at the end being carried out with Uzis. Not since James Bond has there been a more ridiculous idea that serves no other practical purpose than to give a hard on to middle-aged men going through a midlife crisis looking to live vicariously through the silver screen. But regardless, the gang officially enters the movie when a few of their more ruthless members manage to perform the daring feat of infiltrating a police station and blowing it straight to hell in an attempt to cover their tracks after they steal an entire shipment of dope from their evidence room.
Exhibit B: He-Man And The Masters Of The Action Movie Clichés
Despite popular belief, it wasn't breaking up with Elaine that made him drop all the weight. It was the copious amounts of coke.
That’s right about the point where we finally catch up with Dolph, our film’s super cop forged in the same hellfires as all the other classic action movie super cops of his time. Stop me if you’ve heard this before: He’s a take-no-prisoners-or-showers bad ass who smashes skulls while dropping deuces on the rule book and giving the general public the finger. Seriously, he’s such an unoriginal caricature that he might as well be wearing a clown wig, dancing around maniacally with children, and trying to sell me colon cancer in the form of a Big Mac. But regardless, our hero enters the film sitting in his car and listening through an ear piece, undoubtedly while stroking the barrel of his gun like it’s about to burst forth a piping hot bowl of his man-chowder, as his undercover partner works in a nearby empty nightclub attempting to complete a drug deal with the head of the White Boys. The gang’s leader, Victor Manning, whom the astute observer will recognize as Roy from the Junior Mint episode of Seinfeld (and that’s about all), drones on about the importance of a higher education, wasting time until members of his crew show up with the heroin freshly stolen from the police evidence room. But just as it appears that the deal is about to go through successfully, allowing the gang to celebrate in the traditional White Boy fashion of singing a rousing rendition of The Safety Dance by Men Without Hats, Junior Mint Manning reveals to Dolph’s partner that the gang is quite aware that he’s actually a cop. Things are looking grim, but as we all know, nothing bad can happen when you’re partnered with a super cop. Right?
"Sweet God, helt me?" What does "helt me" mean? Fuck it, I'm staying here.
Not so much. It turns out that Dolph’s partner is facing two fatal problems at this point. First, this drug bust consists of one asshole dumb enough to sit alone across from a group of men who are armed with more than just bad jokes and worse stock tips, and another asshole sitting in a car, waiting for the right time to rush in and tweak the balls of the criminal underworld. If Tango & Cash taught us nothing else, it really illuminated how much trying to carry out any kind of bust with only one or two guys is going to turn out much like deciding to pull your car and its empty fuel tank to the nearest gas station using your scrotum: it might be hilarious to watch, but it’s destined to end in nothing but pain. That fundamental issue is bad enough, but on top of that, while this whole thing is going on, his partner’s fate is ultimately sealed when Dolph notices that two crazed junkies have run into a nearby convenience store and are attempting to rob it. Figuring that his partner is fine on his own while literally in the middle of the goddamn drug deal, Dolph leaves his post to go smash those junkies’ pie holes like they just accused him of being an avid fan of the WNBA. So of course while he’s skull fucking his victims, the White Boys predictably execute his partner. Or as a gaggle of yuppies pretending to be bad asses might say, they liquidated his assets all over the fucking wall.
The astute observer might think that Dolph is pulling up his leg for a blistering roundhouse, but he's actually pulling his cheeks apart slightly to add the follow up fart to his signature attack.
Watch out! It's hearing track 1, Courtesy Of The Red, White, And Blue that actually kills its victims. The slashed throat is just the cherry on top.
With the now dead cop’s only backup keeping himself busy making sure that the local slush machine will be safe for either generations or at least days to come, the execution goes uncontested, leaving both the stolen drugs and a lot of police money are left in the well-moisturized hands of the White Boys. Quite pleased with himself, Junior Mint Manning takes the cash and leaves his goons to take care of the body and collect the dope. But as soon as he leaves, things go straight to hell. As the white-collar criminals mill around the room aimlessly, Professor Moneyshot appears on the scene, repeating his introductory line of, “I come in peace”. Then before anyone can react, he fires what appears to be a Super CD of Death out of a wrist holster which proceeds to fly around and slash the throat of every motherfucker in sight. Since it proves to be so lethal to so many people with such efficiency, I think it’s fair to assume that this particular CD was Toby Keith’s Unleashed. And just as the last goon meets his honky tonk doom while being knocked through a plate glass window to the street outside, our hero Dolph finally remembers that he’s not just in the neighborhood to buy Fun Dip and Garbage Pail Kids collector cards from the corner store, so he runs into the nightclub to investigate. But by the time he makes it inside, the after-party is already long since finished. Professor Moneyshot has split with the drugs in tow, leaving only a pile of well-dressed dead bodies in his wake. When Dolph eventually spots the body of his partner among them, he gathers all the talent he can muster and attempts to show what could either be described as remorse or extreme post-taco-binge gas pain. Either way, watching his facial contortions is kind of making me want to poop.
This picture might as well be on a milk carton, because after this movie, you won't see it again for a long, long time.
Fast forward to a short time later and that same nightclub is swarming with cops and reporters, either because they discovered the evening’s carnage or because David Lee Roth paused from his nightly ritual of snorting coke of a hooker’s ass and surrendering to male pattern baldness long enough to make a public appearance in disturbingly tight pants. Sadly it’s the former, so we join the fray just in time to see Dolph get chewed out by his captain for allowing his partner’s chest to be ventilated by a semi-automatic. But just as he’s thrown off the case and put on vacation, he’s taken right back off of it when he learns that the FBI has taken over the investigation and wants his help. So with that it’s officially time to beat another movie stereotype to death when the movie transitions into a buddy cop film the next day. Dolph is introduced to his new FBI partner played by Brian Benben, whom a small handful of unfortunate souls will likely recognize him as the former star of an old, terrible cable show called Dream On. I only happen to remember this because the show was played on SuperChannel and had an adult rating due to possible nudity, and unlike today’s youth who can see the most hardcore acts of sexual depravity by simply Googling the phrase “Papa Smurf”, when I was 12, I had to sit through the dumbest shit imaginable just for the possibility of nudity. I would describe the B-Cube as a straight-laced, by the book perfectionist who touches himself at night while reciting the Boy Scout pledge, but that’s almost as predictable and redundant at this point as describing Ann Coulter as an insane pile of racist diapers filled with baboon shit. It just goes without saying at this point.
Jesus...did they send this guy to kill his prey with a massive dose of fucking ugly?
Reinforcements for the side of justice and bad hair don’t stop there, though, as a few minutes later we’re introduced to the Kyle Reese of the movie in the form of a second dark-haired alien who shows up in a rundown apartment building. This ugly motherfucker, whom we’ll call Kyle Grease out of sheer laziness, is a space cop sent through the depths of the universe to not only to stop Professor Moneyshot and his expedition of destruction, but also to learn the true meaning of Christmas from the love of a crippled boy with a plucky spirit that’s at constant odds with his fantastically crippled body. Or at least that’s what I’m going to claim, since that’s about the only way that his entire role in this film could find purpose.
Exhibit C: Hello, And Welcome To The Middle Of The Film
Now that our players are all introduced and the stage is set, the meat of the movie plays out while clinging to a standard formula so tenaciously that you’d think unoriginality was going to cure the director’s testicular cancer. It begins with…
Step 1: Show the villain killing people. A lot of people. We start by establishing the blonde menace that is Professor Moneyshot as he runs through the streets, reaping havoc amongst the populace like a case of radioactive genital crabs. His calling card consists of uttering the phrase “I come in peace” just before knocking his victim to the ground and shooting a small hose into their chest. After then pumping in a milky white fluid into his victims, he then blasts a second hose directly into their forehead and sucks a different set of fluids back out, making this whole process look an awful lot like P-Money’s squirting a tepid load of his baby batter into his victim before harvesting the orgasmic delight of the experience for future resale. But instead, it turns out that he’s actually injecting his victims with the stolen heroin that he took from the drug deal at the beginning of the film, then extracting the endorphins that the human brain releases, which are produced more and more as the victim overdoses, creating a perfect and harmless drug. As much as I hate to admit it, this is actually a mildly clever idea. Too bad they couldn’t build a movie around it that didn’t smell like hobo taint.
High five? Ha! Just kidding! No, you're actually dead.
Professor Moneyshot’s scourge of terror begins at a random shitty motel, where after being provoked by the horrors of a power outage and a barking dog, the resident owner freaks out and fires a shotgun at Pro-Mo immediately upon seeing him, even though for all intents and purposes he looks human and doesn’t make so much as a single threatening move. For all this guy knows, Professor Moneyshot is just a husband and father of 3 who is trying to get his family a room for the night at this dump. Of course, the shotgun greeting does seem more appropriate moments later when he’s on the business end of P-Money’s pleasure pump system, but that’s beside the point. The next target is a young black dude working in a parking garage, but this time the proceedings end with Kyle Grease showing up and trying to stop Professor Moneyshot. For the record, “trying to stop him” in this case means “shooting every car in the garage while completely missing his target, only to cause a series of ridiculous explosions that don’t stop Professor Moneyshot from getting away”. And the final victim in the string of attacks is a female mechanic working on cars alone in a dark shop while listening to sweet 80′s hair rock on a ghetto blaster. Normally I don’t encourage the depiction of violence against women, but let’s face it; people who listen to Winger get what they deserve.
While all of this is going on, the Dolph-Benben duo work diligently (and by diligently I mean barely) to sort out the situation at hand. Naturally, since their entire relationship consists of what could be described as one long, drawn out naked towel snapping fight in a locker room, they manage to accomplish very little beyond bickering and pointing out one another’s flaws like an old couple who have been happily married for 35 years. But despite this they still manage tread down the well worn path of the gritty movie cop by falling ass backwards into the answers that they seek, leading us to…
Step 2: Good old fashioned half-assed detective work. After returning to the scene of the crime and finding little more than an opportunity to squabble with one another over procedure and technique, our heroes embark on a field trip to a nearby strip club to gather information from a contact, which of course is nothing more than a convenient excuse to give us an obligatory and highly unnecessary titty shot. Through the dense fog of boobage, Dolph surveys the tittiscape until he finds his contact, Owen from Tango & Cash, playing pool at a nearby table. Who the fuck goes to a strip bar and plays pool? I have never once seen or heard of a man who has passes up seeing a naked woman to practice his bank shot. But after questioning Owen about the whereabouts of Junior Mint Manning and the stolen drugs, Dolph learns that the White Boys are under the impression that the cops are the ones responsible for the carnage that took place after the failed bust that night. While processing this information at a one word per every 12 minutes rate, Dolph plays idly with balls at the pool table until finally being struck by an idea that leads them back to the scene of the crime. Once there he tests a new theory which he formulated using very little facts and knowledge that he just pulls out of his ass, stating that the weapon that killed all those yuppies was a projectile which must have bounced around like a cue ball. Dolph then re-enacts the movements of his theorized weapon to the point of finally managing to find the deadly copy of Unleashed lodged in a speaker. Having never seen an atrocity like this album before, since it’s obvious that he is more of a smooth jazz kind of guy, B-B-Ben tries to simply grab the disk, which only manages to cut his fingers on its razor sharp edge in the process. Undaunted, he tries again and eventually manages to dislodge it, causing the album of unspeakable suffering to fly around the room, randomly smashing shit before coming to rest in a speaker again. Having seen enough, Dolph decides that the better tactic is to take the whole damn speaker with him with the disk still attached.
Step 3: Love. Having already proved that Dolph is a man who can shatter a dude’s skull from 50 feet with a mere glance while simultaneously being intellectually defeated by a MadLibs puzzle or pack of Double Mint gum, the film now pulls out the other essential skill in the action hero’s toolbox and displays Dolph’s innate talent for delivering a woman to orgasmic ecstasy after a mere 50 to 60 hours of painstakingly arduous effort. So after his evening of intense investigation comes to a close with very little result, Dolph decides to keep that kind of winning streak alive by showing up at the front door of Diane, his coroner girlfriend, whom is about as happy to see him as an outbreak of the herpes. But despite knowing that a hot bath and a washing machine set on the spin cycle would probably make for a more satisfying evening, she eventually allows him in. Naturally as soon as he gets in the door, Diane succumbs to his considerable charms so completely that she only slugs him 3 times in the face before finally pausing long enough to allow him to kiss her. It’s an awkward love scene as at first she seems like she’d be having a better time trying to play tonsil hockey with a spitting cobra with advanced gum disease, but eventually Diane submits to what is likely a night of awkward fumbling and disappointment. This takes us to…
If someone gave me this glorious femullet, I'd be pissed off too.
Step 4: Have other people solve the mystery for you. The next morning Dolph arrives home to find his front door kicked open and his apartment tossed. He creeps through the place, looking for intruders with gun in hand, which of course allows for a classic situation to unfold where he and Brian 2-The-Ben each sneak up on opposite sides of the same corner at the same time, both thinking that the other side of the wall is either going to reveal the perpetrator or the multiple face kicks of Ferris Bueller’s sister. Actually, as stupid as that might sound, Dolph comes up with something even better as just before reaching around and grabbing what he soon discovers is his partner, he mutters, “either you’re Santa Clause or you’re dead, pal”. I’m not really sure what the fuck that’s supposed to mean, but what I take away from this is that if I ever wanted to toss Dolph Lundgren’s house and get away with it, I just have to take a dump in a sock and hang it over his chimney while wearing a rented Santa suit. Once our heroes realize that the two of them are alone in the apartment, B3 informs Dolph that there were more killings last night before demanding to know where the lethal album of despair is. Happy to oblige, Dolph leads them to where only the best cops leave an essential piece of evidence: in the hands of a random and completely inappropriate friend.
Dolph’s friend in this case is supposed to be a man of science. Granted that he has no credentials or traits to prove this other than a lab coat and being hopped up on caffeine to the point of absurdity, but sure, I guess that’s what a scientist is. How absurd is this scene, you ask? Well, let’s just say it’s crazy enough that I was hoping this prick would eventually just die in a tragic rectal thermometer accident, as once the Super Squad begins a conversation with him, he screams for absolutely no reason before laying up on a table and bringing his feet up over his head in an apparent attempt to sniff his own balls. Yeah, I get it: you’re trying to show me that he’s quirky. But now you’re just pissing in my face and calling it Liquid Golden Grahams. But once his entirely unnecessary eccentricities are put aside, he finally shares the secret of the Super CD of Doom. With absolutely no explanation as to how he could have possibly decoded the mystery in one night, he explains that it’s a weapon that is controlled by magnetic force which it uses as a means of propulsion, including the electrical charge in a human body. Our dynamic duo decides to leave the Killer Album from Hell with this lab rat after a prerequisite amount of bitching from the B-Cube, and move on.
The visit takes an awkward turn when Dolph's friend stops to try to blow himself.
The next stop is the CSI lab where Dolph’s girlfriend Diane gives them an up close tour of one of Professor Moneyshot’s victims, pointing out all the gaping and bloody attractions before finally explaining the way in which he was killed. Since she concludes that the sizable holes in the victim’s head and chest weren’t lovingly hand crafted by bullets, they had to be caused by something else entirely. Since testing shows that the victim was full of morphine but showed no signs of being a user, she decides that whoever stole the heroin must be using it to overdose people with, but hasn’t yet figured out why. Thoroughly confused, Dolph and the Ben-Squared are about to leave the police station when someone hands Dolph a package that had been dropped off by courier only moment ago, which turns out to be an autographed picture of Junior Mint Manning complete with a note declaring that his partner, Warren J. Cocksnot, will be paying Dolph a visit soon.
Some would take this thinly veiled threat as a hint to lay low for a while, but not our hero. But never one to shy away from an opportunity to head butt a man square in the testicles, Dolph instead decides to walk straight into the belly of the beast and after a remarkably uninspired car chase scene with two members of the White Boys along the way, he shows up at the White Boys’ corporate offices with Ben-Square in tow. Naturally the B-Cube starts bitching about the prospect of barging in without a warrant, so he elects to prove his real value by staying behind in the car while Dolph heads upstairs to smash testicles alone. Disregarding all thoughts of subtlety, Dolph slaps the few random guards that greet him around like red-headed step children before finally bursting into the gang’s boardroom, interrupting their discussion on quarterly reports and the need to always staple the new cover sheets on TPS reports. Faced with Warren J. Cocksnot and a 20 other dudes whom are all well armed, Dolph defies basic logic and summons the nerve to demand that they all throw down their guns, which they in turn are retarded enough to actually do. Quite happy with himself, Dolph then sits down at one end of the boardroom table with Vice President Cocksnot facing him from the opposite side, and discusses who’s really responsible for the grizzly demise of the White Boy gang members after the botched drug bust the other night. They confirm their belief that the bloodbath was the work of the cops and that they don’t have the drugs. But just as the relatively courteous visit is about to come to a close, random goons trot Brian “Bam Bam” Benben into the room and demand that Dolph throws down his gun. Once he complies, VP Cocksnot laughs and exclaims that while his partner, Junior Mint Manning, wants the two of them dead, he’s got a better idea. I’m not entirely sure, but I’m predicting a prolonged gang rape scene in our future.
Quick, someone draft up a memo demanding that everyone pick up their goddamn weapons and shoot this fucker.
Exhibit D: Cold And Emotionless VS Wooden And Detached…The Epic Battle Begins!
Why is his role in the film less than 5 minutes in length? Too busy killing the Chang Sings.
Apparently I’m wrong. Rather than allowing his men to have their way with Dolph’s sweet ruby starfish, Warren J. Cocksnot instead sends him and the DoubleBen out to perform a drug deal that none of his men particularly feel like doing. And just as we’re questioning what kind of goddamn criminal organization allows its members to pick and choose what orders they want to follow, we soon discover reason for the yuppies’ fear: the exchange is with Al Leong, one of the baddest Chinese dudes of 80′s cinema. Most people will remember as Endo from Lethal Weapon, but I will always remember as Random Member of the Wing Kong in Big Trouble In Little China. As one might expect when trying to deal with a man carrying a fourth degree black belt in Iron-Lotus-Total-Explosion-Of-The-Fucking-Head karate, the deal goes horribly wrong. But fortunately none of that matters a few moments later when Professor Moneyshot swoops down onto the scene to steal the drugs being exchanged, disposing of Al Leong and exposing himself to Dolph for the first time. Luckily for our heroes, who stand unknowingly in the face a sweet grunge rock death, Kyle Grease also shows up and tries to take out P-Money, possibly for a nice seafood dinner. A brief firefight ensues which ends with both aliens gone and the humans left wondering what the fuck just happened, but at least this creates a big enough distraction that Dolph and BenBen are able to slip away from their White Boy escorts.
It was horrible...so horrible...I'm going to have a headache for the next 3 hours at least.
Now that our heroes have finally seen the haggard face of the enemy, they head back to the police station to collect their thoughts and most likely a change of underwear. Once they have a fresh pair of Hanes-Her-Way’s strapped around their dainty undercarriages, it’s time to jump to some pretty drastic conclusions that happen to be correct while being based on very little actual evidence. But at this point, who gives a shit because everyone involved in both making and watching this movie obviously just wants it to wrap up. They might as well have an orchestra start playing this movie off the stage like it’s a goddamn Oscar speech. Anyways, in his infinite wisdom, Dolph concludes that Professor Moneyshot is obviously an alien and his rival, Kyle Grease, is obviously another alien who happens to be on their side. Of course, from how little they know, it’s actually just as likely that they’re rival slave traders who are fighting over the opportunity to use the Earth to restock his respective harem, but hey, why worry about little things like major plot holes? But even though our heroes are quick to arm themselves with only a flimsy theory, they at least have the basic sense to know that they’re going to need significant proof before they dare utter it to anyone else, so they travel back to Dolph’s scientist friend to retrieve the deadly copy of Unleashed. Once they arrive at his lab, however, they find that he’s been on the receiving end of a remarkably gentle ass-kicking and that the disk is nowhere to be seen. Judging from this dude’s appearance, the weapon of unspeakable musical terror has apparently been recaptured by a band of Wiffle bat wielding Muppets from Fraggle Rock.
And while our heroes scramble to prove that their theory is only slightly above batshit insane, Professor Moneyshot and Kyle Grease have one last battle at a downtown convenience store. Needless to say, P-Money escapes unharmed again, but his greasy nemesis cannot say the same, as he stumbles away from the scene with a mortal wound only to hide in a nearby alley. Realizing that he is going to soon expire, Kyle Grease searches for one last desperate way to stop his prey before he succumbs to the sweet release of death. Moments later he finds what he’s looking for, as our heroes converge to investigate the latest incident only to find that the entire location has already been locked down by the FBI. Dolph and the Ben-Deuce plead with their respective superiors to be allowed access, but they end up being turned away empty handed after being assured that all is being taken care of, that it’s not their problem anymore. Just as the case seems closed for our heroes, however, Dolph hits the mother load moments later when he climbs into his car and discovers Kyle Grease sitting in his back seat. How the fuck the K-man got the impression that Dolph was not only a cop but the best cop to approach for help after having only seen him once is beyond comprehension, which is apparently why the movie doesn’t bother to explain it. But regardless, he’s joined by Man-E-Bens a moment later before driving to a secluded spot where they can talk to Kyle, and possibly proposition him for some rusty trombone action, with a little more privacy.
Fortunately for all involved, it very conveniently turns out that Mr. Grease can speak perfect English and does so while he identifying himself as a cop who may or may not be part of Tek Jansen’s Alpha Squad 7. He goes on to plead with the Dolph-Benben duo to stop Professor Moneyshot at all costs lest more aliens come to harvest their drug from the human populace, resulting in a wholesale slaughter the likes of which only an Ashley and Jessica Simpson duet could replicate. After receiving their word that they’ll stop P-Money, Kyle slumps back in the seat and lets out his death rattle, leaving us to wonder why the hell someone would send such an ineffectual cop across time and space. But just as the Ben2Ben begins to celebrate the fact that they have the actual body of an actual alien to prove their theory, Kyle Grease begins to glow brighter and brighter. At this point of the movie, I turned to Milobar (since he had already seen this cinematic travesty, whereas I had not) and said, “This motherfucker’s not going to explode is he?” Well my friends, that’s exactly what he did, all to the soundtrack of me bursting out laughing and choking on my Dr. Pepper. Seriously, what kind of sick practical joke is that? If Special K here knew that he was dying and was so concerned that the humans manage to stop his prey, why the fuck would he not mention that his corpse was about to go thermonuclear?
Now I'm just going to lay back and glow for a bit (giggle). Think nothing of it (giggle). And whatever you do, stay in the car (giggle).
But even with the destruction of the alien corpse and, by extension, their police-issued shaggin’ wagon, all is not lost. Just before scrambling safely away from the inferno, Brian was able to pull KG’s gun out of the car, leaving them with at least one piece of evidence that he ever existed. This of course leads to an argument between him and Dolph over whose captain to take the evidence to before the conversation is finally brought to an end with a pistol pointed squarely at Dolph’s face. Apologizing with so much sincerity that he might as well have demanded that Dolph get down to chew the lint out of his soiled ass crack, Benben runs a few blocks and finds his FBI director. After recounting his tale and presenting the evidence, the director assures Brian that the gun will be used for national interests as the military is going to make contact with the alien. And just to show his appreciation for what a fine job that the B-Cube did, the director pulls out a gun of his own and tries to shoot him dead in an attempt to take the weapon and destroy anyone with any knowledge of it. But just as we begin to cheer for his swift and brutal success, Dolph shows up just in time to find a convenient reason to kill an FBI director, an event which will undoubtedly be replaying over and over again in his mind later when he’s choking the one-eyed trouser snake, before collecting the alien weapon and his partner.
Exhibit E: No More Mr. Passively Disinterested Guy
With surprisingly few loose ends tied up at this point, it’s time for the film to reach its stunning climax in the form of a two part battle of glory and monotony. Equipped with Kyle Grease’s alien blast ray of death, our heroes go on the offensive and pursue Professor Moneyshot to a city park in the middle of the night. Searching through the darkness, they stumble upon P-Money’s drug stash just before he arrives on the scene to deliver a world class beat-down, casually tossing Dolph aside while the B-Cube stands uselessly struggling with the realization that perhaps it might have been a good idea to stop before they got there to figure out how the hell the gun actually works. To end this display of awkward fumbling so uncomfortable that it reminds me of every time I try to get a bra off, Professor Moneyshot fires another CD of Black Death (this time I’m guessing it’s the seminal 2 Unlimited album, Get Ready For This) which for some reason only manages to only knick Benben in the shoulder. And it’s a good thing that he managed to survive this attack for no apparent reason, because just as it seems like he and his partner are destined to succumb to a gruesome astro-death at P-Money’s hands, the Ben2Ben finally manages to fire off a few rounds out of the alien pistol, hitting his target square in the chest several times. End of story, right? The professor is totally dead, right? WRONG. Even though this is a fucking alien gun carried by the alien cop who was trying so desperately to stop his alien prey, these shots are about as effectual of a series of spitballs, as Professor Moneyshot is simply knocked to the ground briefly, looking more like he’s been stricken by the onset of rheumatoid arthritis than an actual weapon. But this still gives our heroes enough time to collect themselves and attempt to figure out some way to administer a death blow. But in that brief moment of looking away, the Professor disappears into the night, accidentally leaving behind his vials of endorphins.
Little known fact about extraterrestrials: they have outstanding parallel parking skills.
With those drugs that were discarded in hand, for some reason our dynamic duo decides that the situation calls for a coffee break at Dolph’s place. And why not, really? Once they’ve finished a plate of three day old Chinese take out and a few rounds of Super Mario Kart, they meet up with Diane and decide to get back to the business of saving the world, only to find two members of the White Boys waiting to be their waiters in restaurant Holy Fuck I’m Dead. They duck behind a nearby car to avoid the hale of yuppie gunfire, seemingly unable to escape the barrage, when Professor Moneyshot just happens to show up looking for his confiscated drug stash. And as he busies himself with killing the corporate dogs merely for getting in his way, our heroes take the chance to escape in a car, getting a brief head start before P-Money steals a sweet ride of his own and follows behind them. Beyond the ridiculous revelation that the Professor apparently knows how to drive a fucking Earth car, I can’t help but take that thought further and wonder if alien spacecrafts also have a stick shift.
So an explosive weapon does little more than knock him to the ground, but a blunt fucking pipe that wouldn't pierce skin unless you fell on it from a rooftop kills him? Sounds about right.
After this movie delivers yet another stunningly uninteresting chase scene to the Shitty Movie Night experience, the B-Dog finally manages to fire off a shot and hit the cop car that P-Money’s driving, causing it to go up in a massive explosion. However, as our heroes stop to jump out of the car and sniff their own farts in self-satisfaction, the Professor stuns them by walking right out of the inferno with no injuries to speak of to both his body and, amazingly, his clothes. After we share a collective groan with the small band of heroes, both realizing that this movie is going to have to go on even further, they get back in their car and take off again, stopping at some kind of abandoned industrial facility. Looking quickly at his surroundings, Dolph then leads his team up to a spot where Brian can set up to get the one clear shot that he’s aching for. They stand waiting for the alien to show up and moments later are obliged. But when the Gentle Benben takes aim and fires, he discovers that the space gun is out of ammo. Well ain’t that a bitch? With that window of opportunity slammed shut, Professor Moneyshot jumps up to greet them. Dolph attempts to stop him with both a shotgun and an explosive trap, both of which do absolutely nothing. So our heroes again turn to flight, running until P-Money eventually catches up and jumps down in ambush, knocking Brian away and grabbing Diane as a hostage. Realizing what he wants, Dolph starts to provoke the professor by smashing vials of his carefully collected drug, prompting P-Money to throw Diane away in anger. As the tables turn and Dolph holds the drugs hostage, he convinces Professor Moneyshot to put his gun down and fight him like a fellow non-emoting man. After the alien complies, Dolph carefully puts the drugs down, only to have P-Money fire a deadly CD of Death at him. But after bouncing around the room several times, it stops in what appears to be a fucking stereo speaker that Dolph produced from out of goddamn nowhere. Seriously, this is getting fucking ridiculous. But the mono-e-mono battle then finally begins in full, coming to a glorious climax when Dolph fights off Professor Moneyshot’s drug injector just long enough to eventually stab him in the neck with it, which appears to pump P-Money full of his own semen. As he stands there dazed and rapidly impregnating himself, Dolph seizes the opportunity to land a solid jump kick that sends the professor into an errant protruding pipe, impaling him through the gut. With his opponent screaming in pain, Dolph then casually grabs Professor Moneyshot’s gun and somehow manages to figure out how to turn it to full power, just in time to deliver one last exchange:
Professor Moneyshot: “I come in peace…”
Dolph: “And you go in pieces, asshole.”
That’s fucking awesome. I swear they must have only had that line in this movie just for that goddamn sweet set up. And with that utterance of cinematic splendor, Dolph fires on Professor Moneyshot and causes him to fucking explode. It’s goddamn amazing how much damage that caused, considering not long ago a direct hit to the sternum was causing less pain than a game of touch football.
With their foe vanquished and the world safe again, or heroes lock arms like old pals and walk away for about 1o seconds before the credits suddenly roll, bringing our story to an end. So yeah…um…I guess that’s it.
Donkey: In the end, this movie turned out to be about as ridiculous as one would expect. A somewhat clever idea for the elusive perfect drug is ultimately washed out by tired action, an even more tired plot, and downright exhausted acting. It ends with a line of epic proportions and features a hilarious and unnecessarily explosive death scene, but doesn’t quite deliver as many laughs as some of our more classic entries. That being said, I Come In Peace does feature Dolph Lundgren battling a blonde mullet-sporting alien who emotes less than petrified wood that suffered severe childhood trauma, so it’s kind of like matching Dolph against his portrayal of He-Man from Masters Of The Universe. That has to be worth something. I give this movie four Bens out of five yuppie strokefests.
What We Learned:
Donkey: This movie should be called Predator 3: Dude, Where’s My Dolph?
Don’t forget to check back every Sunday for a new fresh review! Next week shittymovienight.com presents: Rutger Hauer proves to be an even more frightening force of vengeance for the visually impaired than a seeing eye dog with rabies in…BLIND FURY.
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