Beavis & Butthead
reviewed by Sue Blair, 1998
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This is a film that I give a "solid erection" to on the bone-o-rama
scale, the scale ranging from 'totally flaccid' to 'raging rod of
steel'. For this film, the audience should be appropriately wasted,
mostly since the dying-in-the-desert scene was contrived specifically
for pot smokers.

People who are not B&B fans, i.e., people who find "wood" jokes
pedestrian, will not be converted by this film. Most of these people
realize this and will refuse to view, though one such person finally
agreed to attend only if oral sex were performed on him throughout
the duration of the film (unfortunately, no suitable skin-flutists
volunteered).

B&B fans will appreciate "more of the same" time-honored staples
(bungholes, tits, farts, whacking off), yet will be treated to
watershed character development sequences, such as the
"confessional" vignette, i.e., what would you do if you were a priest
hearing peoples' confessions. Our heroes are placed in identical
scenarios;  Beavis acts sadistically (hit yourself!  again!)
while Butthead focuses on other issues (Whoa, did you see her tits?).

The opening credits, with the godzilla and 70's-cop-show motifs are
the film's finest moments. If that quality and pace could have been
mantained throughout the film, B&B would be a steel-rod film.
Though, don't get me wrong, there are high moments in the film,
including Robert Stack as the head FBI guy (heh, I said 'head') and
the 'Lesbian Seagull' hit of the soundtrack.

I was reading an article in the Deeetroit Snooze about how B&B is the
highest-grossing December film of all time. Well, no fooling with
tickets at $7 apiece and shitloads of people on the planet. These
Hollywood self-congratulatory masturbatory figures will continue to
mean nothing until they are adjusted for inflation and census.