Look at a jukebox — if you can find a pub or pizza parlor that still has one — and peruse its tunes. Among those 45s, you’re likely to find a mix of musical genres from which the automated arm can pluck: rock, pop, country. Fittingly but annoyingly, Extreme Jukebox is every bit as scattered in its DNA.
In the Italian film from first-time writer/director/producer/actor Alberto Bogo, the music industry of Nova Springs is terrorized as its pop stars, rock gods and metal heads are offed by a serial killer or two decked out in quasi- Juggalo disguises. Their gruesome slayings may have something to do with the disappearance of a psych-rocker 20 years ago. Or they may have something to do with a supernatural curse that locks souls within a slab of vinyl.
Then again, they may not. It’s hard to say for certain, because Extreme Jukebox is an excruciating mess of self-pleasuring slop. Narratively, it just flies by the seat of its (soiled) pants, ending up as confused as any potential audience member — even those who make it all the way to the punchable final shot. It seems that Bogo wanted to salute slasher movies and send up slasher movies, and since neither tone works alone, the approaches are downright discordant sharing the same frames; scenes don’t flow as much as they trip over one another.
Does the movie think it is scary? Does it find itself funny? Are we supposed to laugh or cringe? Scream or smile? Was Bogo aiming for this level of amateurism? Or did he merely settle for it? And why am I not surprised to find the Troma brand affixed to its U.S. release? This shaggy Jukebox arrives at No. 1 with a bullet. Unfortunately, that bullet is right between its eyes, and viewer-inflicted. —Rod Lott