Somewhere in a Texas backwater, a veterinarian loses his true love, Bessie Sue the Llama, to an unfortunate jealousy-provoked accident. (He probably should’ve thought twice before cheating on the llama with her sister.) Good thing he’s also a mad scientist, because he can find solace in his ongoing experiments in genetically manipulating the llamas on an adjacent farm. Or is it human cloning he's working on? Or is he heroically fighting a rapidly mutating virus? Or performing sinister brain transplants?

Somehow one of the Doc's experiments, or something completely unrelated, provokes an outbreak of "Male Berserk Syndrome" (first described in a supposed cameo by Clive Barker) amongst the remaining llama herd, with horrifying results. Now the Doc must team up with a beautiful stranded Northerner, a family of inbred hillbillies, and a moronic has-been rock star to save the town from being eaten by the pack of rabid, bloodthirsty, sex-starved llamas.

The previous paragraph might make it sound like there’s some sort of coherent plot to this movie. In fact, there isn’t. Barn of the Blood Llama doesn’t just defy narrative logic; it murders it, buries it, digs it up, and has its way with the corpse. Mashing together countless B-movie clichés and camp-classic motifs into a terrifying hodgepodge of absurd elements, Barn of the Blood Llama transcends and ridicules any genre that would be foolish enough to claim it. With a sketchy spa in the middle of the llama farm, horny fast-food workers, kung fu, a mysterious rejuvenation tank, brain-eating, bad dubbing, cheap puppetry, and much more, the movie is too weird and random to be merely a spoof -- it’s inspired insanity.

It’d be hard to do the film justice by describing it, even if I were able to describe it. At times the camerawork and visuals are reminiscent of silent era pictures; more often they’re a throwback to ‘60s and ‘70s schlock, alternating willy-nilly between black-and-white and various filters, and between different visual styles and silly effects. There are wonderfully cheesy performances all around, often deadpan or cleverly understated in the middle of some truly inane moments, and with impeccably poor timing throughout. A few gags (when there are actual gags) fall flat, but as a whole it’s brilliant stuff: sharply honed stupidity, proudly shoddy production values, and a maniacal, self-mocking intelligence lurking behind it all.

Barn of the Blood Llama has to be seen to be believed. If you’re a borderline psychotic maybe you should avoid it, as it just might push you over the edge; but if you’re already crazy, an incorrigible B-movie fan, or a lover of non sequiturs, you’ll probably get caught up in Blood Llama before you realize it. And you’ll be dying to know: Will the heroine get her car running again? Who’s next in line for some hot woolly llama llovin’? Will Gibby the Yokel ever get the new brain he was promised? What exactly are the side effects of the Doc’s cloning experiments? And, most importantly, “Does everything in Texas spit toxic cud?”

In summary: if you’ve got Barn of the Blood Llama, you don’t need drugs. (But they help.)

Review rating:
8 out of 10 rusty can-lid shurikens