“There’s nothing wrong with mustaches, except in the summertime when they get in the way of eatin’ ice cream cones.”  Imagine that phrase uttered by a middle-aged, mustached, cowboy serial killer standing ominously behind the DJ table of a techno club just moments before he opens fire on a warehouse full of innocent young ravers.  “Cowboy Killer” is that kind of movie.

Jason Baustin, Director/Editor/Producer/Writer of “Cowboy Killer,” has crafted a uniquely absurd horror/comedy with no time for traditional filmmaking details like plausibility, consistency or the basic tenets of sound storytelling.  But make no mistake, these are conscious choices.

Roy Thompson (Paul Bailey) is the titular villain, an old-timing mid-western cowboy whose mantra is: “Every man for himself, and treat the ladies with respect.”  If that motto served him well in a previous life, there sure aren’t any signs of it here.  Somewhere along the line Thompson developed a lust for blood that he satiates by decapitating high school students on their way to Homecoming, snapping the necks of women who refuse his affection and more-or-less brutally murdering innocent townsfolk without rhyme or reason.  The Cowboy Killer’s savage violence sends the quiet town into a crime-solving frenzy with everyone from the misfit cable guys to the village drunks determined to catch the murdering old-west relic.

You can call “Cowboy Killer” a lot of things, but typical isn’t one of them.  Super low budget, schlocky horror movies are a dime a dozen.  The Syfy channel has practically elevated revelry in all things scuzzy to an art form.  But Baustin’s film is unique.  Upon first glance it seems to be nothing more than an uneven, poorly written, poorly acted waste of time made by painfully amateur DIY filmmakers.  This impression lingered with me until something clicked in the first half hour while watching the moronic cable guys bumble about on their quest to both make cable thieves pay for their crime and get to a strip club.  It was at this point that the film’s self-awareness suddenly became hilariously obvious.  The rest of “Cowboy Killer” became an increasingly delectable study in audacious absurdity.  And the more absurd, the better.

“Cowboy Killer” represents filmmaking at its most joyous.  The meaningless art-house pretentiousness that enshrouds and consequently isolates so many indie films is nowhere to be found.  Unabashed zaniness and wild caricature are celebrated as equal residents of the human condition with heartache, love and loss.

If you happen find yourself in a position to see this little gem, in the immortal words of the Cowboy Killer himself, “You’re in for a damn treat!”

Official “Cowboy Killer” Website