A bunch of Aztec aliens make a tremendous navigation error in a giant flying humbug, in a deep north American accent, deposit a mind-controlling mask on what appears to be Stonehenge, England, now with a nice coastal view. To look after this, the fabled "Puma man" (constantly miss-pronounced, rather aptly, as "poo-ma man" ) is entrusted to prevent it from falling into evil hands. Alas, a team of archaeologists in bondage gear find the mask and set off on world domination.
Need I go on? Nothing in this movie makes sense. Who cares if the hero's sidekick pushed a bunch of Americans to their deaths for no obvious reason! Poo-ma man's powers include dangling in front of London's skyline, posing like a squirrel and leaping around with 80's synthesized "boing" noises, and walking through walls - all the abilities you would expect from your average south-American feral wildcat.
Oh what's the point of going on. This movie is so bad, it bounces off the bottom depths of the chasm of suckness back up into the realms of inadvertent hysteria. Cue 80's disco music and, "Poo- ma man, he flies like a mor-on!"
Need I go on? Nothing in this movie makes sense. Who cares if the hero's sidekick pushed a bunch of Americans to their deaths for no obvious reason! Poo-ma man's powers include dangling in front of London's skyline, posing like a squirrel and leaping around with 80's synthesized "boing" noises, and walking through walls - all the abilities you would expect from your average south-American feral wildcat.
Oh what's the point of going on. This movie is so bad, it bounces off the bottom depths of the chasm of suckness back up into the realms of inadvertent hysteria. Cue 80's disco music and, "Poo- ma man, he flies like a mor-on!"