Punches don't stop Blackenstein. Bullets don't stop Blackenstein. The world's crappiest Frankenstein rip-off, from what may be the world's worst blacksploitation film Blackenstein, is an unstoppable juggernaut of asthma and cranial deformity. Even the laws of good storytelling are no match for this undead exhumation of every monster-movie cliche ever, with a blacksploitation gloss on top. Want to see what does stop Blackenstein? (Warning: it's a tad gross.)
Dogs. Apparently, Blackenstein has no resistance to dogs whatsoever. They're his kryptonite. I love the dogs tearing chunks off him and carrying them away, including what looks like a piece of his arm. The real Frankenstein monster probably would have been able to kick those dogs' asses. But sadly, Blackenstein just doesn't quite bring it.
Blackenstein is one movie you'd be happy to see end, by means of dogs or any other device, really. It features slow-moving (and badly shot) renditions of classic monster movie scenes, like the married couple woken up in the night, with the wife sending the husband down to see what's up before finally getting slaughtered herself. (But at least the wife is wearing a ginormous wig in bed.) And the young couple in a convertible in the woods, with a ten-hour scene of the man trying to touch her leg and her pushing him away. By the time the monster kills these people (mostly in out of focus shots of their legs), the mercy-killing is anti-climactic. Oh, and there's the obligatory mad scientist, who's white (wtf?!) and who looks sort of like Dick Van Dyke in his bad-mustache phase.
And then there's the long stretch of some random stand-up comedian telling jokes in a nightclub, followed by a blues chanteuse who's actually not bad. I was waiting for the monster to burst into the nightclub and kill everyone, but it never happened. It was just an excuse to have a long stretch of the film-maker's friends performing. The monster does kill someone in the alley, possibly near the nightclub, possibly miles away.