A shapeless mishmash of surrealism, absurdity and all bodily fluids, the way-way-out anthology Fat Fleshy Fingers comes loosely linked by the appearance of the film’s mascot: a toothy pink parasite that looks like a dildo Clive Barker might design. If you’re a fan of the bizarro fiction movement, this experience — and it is that — was made expressly for you. Segments range from inspired to inane; its closest analog may be Japan’s Funky Forest. Regardless, drugs were drugged.

With The Greasy Strangler himself, Michael St. Michaels, as a grandfather to a dying girl, the first bit is the funniest and most successful. He shares a story about an ancient mummy’s curse, which involves “touchable, delicious, fuckable worm juice.”

From there, the law of diminishing returns kicks in as the parasite passes person to person — you know, like It Follows, but with far more consumption of fecal matter and insertion of inhuman things into human holes. From a pirate orgy to a severed finger, shock value is the point for all 10 directors. If the application of “sex perfume” portion isn’t the nastiest thing you can recall seeing of late, I don’t even want to know.

The very definition of “your mileage may vary,” Fat Fleshy Fingers could be called an un-thology for breaking all rules of convention. Its weirdo cartoon interstitials don’t quite qualify as transitions, plus stories aren’t present to be told as much as exploited to an extreme. “Whether you’re a scalawag or a swashbuckler,” to borrow one character’s phrasing, a viewing isn’t likely to endear you to check out the music of the Elephant 6 collective’s Neutral Milk Hotel, whose lo-fi psychedelic tunes inspired each piece. —Rod Lott

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Corpulent rocker Meat Loaf (Wayne’s World) stars as Mr. Big Jake Grizzly in the Canada-lensed, kid-friendly comedy, To Catch a Yeti. Big Jake and his donut-dreaming sidekick, Blubber (Richard Howland, TV’s Lost Girl), attempt to catch a yeti. ’Tis a noble pursuit.

Eschewing the true definition of a yeti, the film gives us not an abominable snowman or a super-sized cryptid, but an abomination of a puppet: a furry, rat-tailed, buck-toothed gnome who giggles like a hyena that somehow survived being hit by a BFGoodrich tire.

Escaping Big Jake’s sweat-mitted clutches, this so-called yeti seeks refuge in the backpack of a hiker who unknowingly brings the little scamp home. The hiker sticks the thing in the fridge, feeds it frankfurters and calls him Hank. The scene in which Hank discovers toothpaste may be the most pornographic thing you will see outside of pornography.

Without fail, the man’s precocious daughter, Amy (Chantallese Kent), quickly loves Hank like she would any other mutated, decidedly unvaccinated creature brought home by her parents, so it’s only a matter of time before Big Jake and Blubber chase her and Hank all over town. Unfortunately, at film’s end, the yeti is released into the wild, not drawn and quartered. Given a scene depicting little Amy and Hank sharing a bed, I will not write off the possibility of the legacy sequel, To Birth a Yeti. —Rod Lott

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Instead of watching National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation again this holiday season, make a new annual tradition with its Canadian counterpart, Coopers’ Christmas. A should-be cult classic from Trailer Park Boys director Warren P. Sonoda, it has what the Chevy Chase sequel really lacks: the Lampoon’s anarchic humor and a hard-R rating to match.

Starring real-life spouses and The Daily Show vets Jason Jones (who co-wrote) and Samantha Bee, the film captures one crazy Christmas in 1985, all via a barely used VHS camcorder Gord (Jones) gives to his wife, Nancy (Bee). She’s pissed he spent their Orlando vacation money on it, but their youngest son (Dylan Everett) is so enthused, he tapes most of the day and night, often surreptitiously.

Each family member is royally screwed-up. Big brother Marcus (Nick McKinlay) is Star Wars-obsessed, socially inept and suicidal; teen niece (Hayley Lochner) seems well on her way to a career as a stripper and/or prostitute; and elderly Nana (Jayne Eastwood, 2004’s Dawn of the Dead) is perpetually sour-faced and would rather be dead. Then there’s Uncle Nick (co-scripter Mike Beaver), this film’s Cousin Eddie, as channeled through the Danny McBride blend of obnoxious and inappropriate — mullet included!

Then the real problems start: Gord’s brother, Tim (Ginger Snaps’ Peter Keleghan), arrives. See, rumor has it that Tim may or may have not have slept with Nancy on her and Gord’s wedding night. What is Christmas if not a time for dysfunction?

Known as Coopers’ Camera in its native country, this comedy has plenty of familial instability. It’s refreshingly politically incorrect, raunchy and, to my pleasant surprise, hysterical, as such adjectives don’t necessarily go hand in hand. It’s not all scatological humor, either, although even those instances manage to be funny. For example, when Marcus throws up Pine-Sol on the living room floor after a failed suicide attempt, Gord offers some fatherly advice: Clean it up. “It smells like egg salad and blue spruce.”

Daily Show devotees wanting to see Jones and Bee in action should know both are more than willing to ugly themselves up for a laugh. Dave Foley of The Kids in the Hall has a small role, as do his, um, ornaments. To borrow Christmas Vacation’s original tagline, yule crack up. —Rod Lott

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Ever wonder how the most famous parody songwriter got his start? You won’t find the answer in Eric Appel’s Weird: The Al Yankovic Story, but that doesn’t mean it’s not worth taking a walk on the wacky side.

Inspired by a fake trailer (think 2011’s Hobo with a Shotgun) Appel produced in 2010, positive reception led him and Yankovic to collaborate on a feature-length biopic. “Biopic,” of course, is used extremely loosely. The only semblance you’ll find of the artist is his hair, humor and accordion.

Weird isn’t a pioneer in satirical, musical biopics. Jake Kasdan did it back in 2007 with Walk Hard — just two years after the genre’s archetypal flick, Walk the Line. While Kasdan’s take pokes at the template to a T, Weird does away with that tomfoolery. Or rather, it does away with everything but the tomfoolery.

Al (Daniel Radcliffe) dreams of making beloved songs “better” by rewriting the lyrics, much to the frustration of his cookie-cutter parents (Toby Huss and Julianne Nicholson). After rejecting his dad’s demands to work at a factory that makes something, Al’s mentored by his childhood hero, Dr. Demento (The Office’s Rainn Wilson). And then he dates Madonna (Evan Rachel Wood).

Following in the steps of Weird Al’s first movie, 1989’s UHF, the gags are relentless. Radcliffe is a natural to physical comedy, at times taking more of a beating than he did in Swiss Army Man. This is especially evident in his lip-synced performance of “Like a Surgeon,” complete with two muscle-bound dancers struggling to dance with Madonna-inspired cone bras.

And though Weird doesn’t make even the slightest effort to portray Yankovic’s tale, it doesn’t need to. Instead, it’s a showcase of his greatest hits, each paired with their own secret history. The backstories of “Eat It” and “Amish Paradise” are zany, outlandish and even touching. Thankfully, “White and Nerdy” is nowhere to be heard.

Anyone who wants to actually learn something about artist’s career are better off reading Nathan Rabin’s Weird Al: The Book. But if you want to experience what Yankovic intended — to laugh your ass off — it’s hard to go wrong with Weird. —Daniel Bokemper

Being shot in suburban Illinois, One More Saturday Night looks like it could take place one or two neighborhoods over from the shenanigans of John Hughes’ Sixteen Candles. The teen comedy could pass as an alternate-reality version, as it has direct counterparts for the Anthony Michael Hall and Justin Henry roles of, respectively, the geek aching to act cool and a precocious little brother. If only it thought to copy the laughs.

Produced in part by Dan Aykroyd, this unofficial Saturday Night Live movie marks the first — and last — big-screen vehicle for the legendary SNL writing/performing team of Al Franken and Tom Davis. Having helped change television forever, they aimed for the pictures, scripting and starring as co-leads of the touring bar band Badmouth. Franken is the one with the ’fro; Davis is the one with the ’fro. Both mainly just wanna smoke pot and get laid; both front the film’s least engaging minutes.

Luckily, One More Saturday Night is an ensemble comedy with multiple overlapping storylines. A sad-sack widowed dad (the great Chelcie Ross, Major League) has his first date in 23 years. His eldest daughter (Nan Woods, In the Mood) plans to lose her virginity. His youngest daughter (Nina Siemaszko, Airheads) throws a wild party while babysitting an infant. And so on, diverging, converging and interweaving until the sun rises, bygones become bygones, and everyone enjoys communal flapjacks.

Franken and Davis’ script quickly sets up the chessboard for maximum madcap antics that fall just shy of wringing no more than a couple of overly gracious chuckles. Here’s the thing: That’s fine, because One More Saturday Night is exceedingly affable, which many funny ’80s comedies are not. Ross and Woods each get nice moments that can’t help but feel real and tender. The movie’s shortage of laughs may account for why it barely played theaters. It contains nary a pair of stolen underpants, act of nonconsensual sex nor Asian stereotype.

Actually, it has no Asians at all. But it does have Black people and, remarkably for the era, they’re not made the butt of the joke. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.