Title: Please Don’t Eat My MotherWhat the hell???: The Little Shop Horrors-meets-soft-core pornography, Please Don’t Eat My Mother tells the story of local pervert Henry Fudd and the man-eating plant he unwittingly buys one afternoon while on his lunch-break. The plant, who has a sexy female voice and refers to Henry as “darling,” is initially satisfied eating only plant food (Pro Pro Grow) and flies, but is soon demanding frogs, canines, and after viewing some of Henry’s pornography collection, curvaceous ladies. Fat slob Henry, convinced his smoky-voiced temptress will someday let him hump her, does the plant’s bidding, securing a job at the pound, hiring call girls, purchasing a male man-eating plant, and taking a young couple he’s been spying on hostage. Though the proceedings sound dark and sinister, the film itself is a d-grade comedy with lengthy scenes of young couples copulating interspersed throughout.
What’s to like: The young ladies are attractive, usually nude.
What’s to not like: How about I answer, first, with some quotes from this yuk-fest:
Henry: (purchasing the plant) What do I feed it?
Overly Affectionate Homosexual Florist: Oh, lots of love, sweetheart. And if it farts, try some alphabet soup so you can understand it.
OK, first of all, really Henry? What do you feed it? It’s a plant—try sunshine and water. And OAHF, your joke doesn’t even make sense. I should point out this very offensive gay stereotype is obsessed with farting, saying of Henry’s later purchase, a male plant with homicidal tendencies, “This plant is so healthy I could’ve sworn I heard it fart once.” Oddly enough, the two plants do emit multi-colored smoke from time to time, but I don’t know if I would call it farting.
Henry: (to his plant) I’ve never had frog legs before.
Plant: Having seen your mother I can understand why.
Yet another asinine attempt at a joke. How would the appearance of someone’s mother clue someone in to what foods a person has eaten in his lifetime? One of the many failed jokes that appear in this travesty of cinema.
Young Man #3: (to his wife after sex) That was really beautiful, hon. Did you feel as good as I did? Was your climax bigger than usual?”
Young Woman #3: Maybe.
This conversation eventually escalates into fight that ends in the husband getting shot to death. There’s no time to mourn though, because Henry needs the body for plant food, and the until-ten-seconds-ago-in-love wife is more than happy to help drag the corpse next door and screw Henry’s brains out.
Plus, the plants look like shit. And there are only three sets-an outdoor flower shop, a living room, and Henry’s bedroom, which is decorated simultaneously for an elderly woman (black and white photos of bygone days) and a creepy, porn-loving virgin (centerfolds taped to the wall).
The truth: Simply put, Please Don’t Eat My Mother is a blatant rip-off of Roger Corman’s Little Shop, minus the witty script and talented actors. The movie is simply a platform for overlong, borderline hard-core sex scenes that apparently go on for days. Seriously. There are three separate scenes of one couple that we are to believe are occurring on three separate days, though each time we rejoin them they are picking things up from where we left them the scene before. And Henry wears the same damn Cosby sweater in every single scene. Lazy. It’s a lazy movie with some nice tits and no laughs. A complete waste of time!
Next Time: The Gardener
