Officially, I Am Omega is not based on the Richard Matheson novel I Am Legend. Yeah, whatever, but po-tay-to fucking po-tah-to: It’s totally based on the Richard Matheson novel I Am Legend. After all, we’re talking a production of The Asylum, which specializes in taking popular movies to Kinko’s and then Liquid Paper-ing just enough names to satisfy legal.
This one, of course, only exists to coincide with Will Smith’s end-o’-the-world blockbuster I Am Legend of the same year. But Omega star Mark Dacascos is no Will Smith — and thank God for that, because this last man on Earth gets to do what America’s favorite Man in Black did not: train with fighting sticks and practice martial arts, not to mention beat the steering wheel of his crappy car like a drum kit while listening to generic stock rock on cassette.
I expected Omega to suck completely, because it kills the MILF within less than two minutes from starting. But all is mostly forgiven by the time Dacascos is beating back the undead with nunchucks. Sometimes when he fights zombies, Itchy & Scratchy music squeals away on the soundtrack.
Anyhoo, Dacascos’ character is not the last human alive, of course. A video feed reveals there’s an undernourished but not unattractive out there. She’s being sought by rednecks for the antivirus that lives in her blood. Don’t get too excited, viewers, because her high-pitched, whiny voice mitigates any good looks. Speaking of voices, don’t zombies realize they’d be more successful if they didn’t announce their arrival with a cry of “ROWR!” each and every time? —Rod Lott
George Romero has been associated with some diabolically fun horror anthologies of the past, including 
“Wet” is just that. Despite warnings not to, a fat, bearded ginger pulls a mermaid head out of a box and buries it with her other parts. She comes back to life, crawls into his bed, and bites off his wiener. Then he turns into a merman. It’s like 
After 
For the first two-thirds, the film plays like a redneck quasi-comedy that might be titled The Felonious Misadventures of Cooter and Banjo. Then it takes a sharp right turn into thriller-ville as the town’s racist sheriff (Baer) gets mighty pissed when his wife is raped and murdered, and goes after the Dixons, even though they had nothing to do with it. 
This includes demonstrating a prototype of the “future leisure suit,” which contains an inflatable, phallic appendage containing a screen on which corporate heads can monitor their workforce remotely. This outfit and accompanying suggestion that slavery was a good thing aren’t questioned by anyone. At least a classroom of collegians is sharp enough to turn on a supposed WTO/McDonald’s partnership presentation in which Americans’ feces would be piped to Third World countries and recycled into “reBurgers.” 
Recall, if you will, how difficult it was to sit through a