San Diego-based Karl Kozak is of a breed of independent filmmakers who seems to completely lack any sort of internal artistic compass. There hasn't been a writer/director this divorced from objectivity about his own work since Ed Wood, but at least with Wood there was a certain eccentric charm to his celluloid blunders. One imagines Karl sitting in a darkened theater watching some Farrelly Brothers offering like There's Something About Mary, laughing his ass off, and proudly declaring, "I could make one of these. Easy!" The tragic result of his scandalous hubris is this vile, opposite-of-funny disaster that actually took me beyond apathy into downright hostility; hostility at Kozak for subjecting his cast and crew to this horror of humiliation made all the more outrageous by his smug crowing in behind-the-scenes footage. Oh, to have been a fly on the wall during the crafting of the script, a fly big enough to carry a sledgehammer with which to beat Kozak and his two "co-writers" into harmless paste and spare the world this contemptible offering. For a brief moment during the closing credits, a madness took me and I actually longed for another Clifford Dalton movie to help wash down the bile this film left in my mouth.