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By Eric Campos | February 14, 2002

That’s right, go ahead and say it – AZOLE DKMUNTCH. Say it a few times. Sounds a lot like A*****E DICKMUNCH, don’t it? Well, I hope you think that’s funny because that’s about the only entertaining thing in this entire film.
Dressed in a baby blue tux with white ruffles, Azole Dkmuntch tortures the audience at an open mic night with tales of his twisted family, which include a nazi grandfather, an abusive dad, a just plain creepy brother that looks somewhat like Crispin Glover and a mother with a baboon heart. Azole’s tales are all illustrated by grainy 8 mm footage that, while looking nice and dirty (just how I like ’em), does very little to save this film from being a complete bore.
Azole Dkmuntch reeks of film school project material as we have to listen to Azole drone on and on, about a bunch of nonsense, over images that you can tell are supposed to be funny or disturbing or both, but they just don’t cut the mustard. You’ll wind up looking at your watch more than the screen with this one.

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