DIRECTED BY “JONATHAN STRYKER”
SIMCOM/JENSEN FARLEY PICTURES, INC./CURTAINS PRODUCTIONS, INC.
Actually directed by Alan Smithee cinematographer Richard Ciupka, this portentous Canadian romp isn’t dull, as it contains enough quirks to amuse viewers while they’re wondering who’s doing all the killing. It is a bit more restrained – or sedate, both being apropos with the mental health subcontext – than one may anticipate when perusing the plotline: six female actors (or two actors, a comedian, a musician or perhaps model, a dancer and an … ice skater) are summoned to a remote, sprawling manor to audition for a plum role at the behest of a paternalistic, prurient director named – could you believe – Jonathan Stryker, smugly played by John Vernon as an overblown, imperious caricature. Exactly why this desirable role is up for grabs is more or less the driving force behind the inscrutable developments, the explanation of which dovetails nicely with the poignant conclusion. More of an old-fashioned drawing room mystery than a contemporary ’80s slasher, even if it retains many stylistic elements of the latter. All told, it presents (to me, anyway) an etymological quandary: Screwball, or “oddball”?
WHY DID I WATCH THIS MOVIE?
Wow, have I watched a lotta Canuck films lately.
SHOULD YOU WATCH THIS MOVIE?
Somewhat uneven and a bit of a farce (by design, that is, not through ineptitude per se), it would most likely be a change of pace.
HIGHLIGHT AND LOW POINT
The blasé manner with which one of the characters presents her misdeeds is fetching, and the discontinuous structure is noteworthy, as it randomly presents what appear to be two solo performance scenes, but I wasn’t kidding about the ending … and there’s the downside. Troubled throughout its production, the core of a really splendid achievement instead lies strewn about the remnants of its shell.
RATING FROM OUTER SPACE: B−
For those unfamiliar with the Oliver Reed 
In which we find the patient suffering from sequelitis, the disease by which little vestige of the original creation still survives, save for symbols and signifiers … such as the titular bogeyman. Strangely (and unfortunately), this installment’s eponym – known this time around as “Junior” (eyeroll) – takes his characterization from the ill-advised second chapter rather than the archetypal original. Since the chainsaw itself barely plays any real role here, aside from an asinine novelty visual, one wonders why they just didn’t make this flick its own generic vehicle rather than further degrade the “franchise.” Other issues abound, of course, not the least of which concerns the edits the film had to make to garner an “R” rating. A slasher movie that doesn’t actually show any gore – hell, only one character is killed in the first hour – is a curious thing, no? And where in the hell is this backward backwoods family getting a new house and all these new relatives, anyway? The genre equivalent of Mike Love’s “Beach Boys” performing postgame concerts in baseball stadiums for decades on end.
Okay, I imagined this one was gonna be pretty lame, and in fact, I had put off watching it for the past couple years. It kept almost making the cut, but then I’d figure it was gonna be too tame and too much like a soap opera. Instead, it was actually a pretty taut affair, and despite some overly predictable developments, a rewarding choice. (It probably didn’t hurt that none of the other flicks I watched around the same time were much good.) Michael Ironside’s malevolent antihero is an implacable force, ably balancing out the fact that Wm. Shatner kept reminding me of so-called U. S. “president” Don T., through no fault of his own. (Shatner’s, that is.) A few genuinely surprising scenes during the climactic action were a welcome sight. I also found the subject matter, of a female media personality’s taking a stand opposing violence against women and triggering a backlash from a vigilante nutcase, to be very relevant in the current political climate.
Rather preposterously set in a “high school” (none of the major student roles is played by anyone under 18, or particularly close), this picture presents an extremely convoluted resolution to an otherwise straightforward, standard horror movie. Sure, as you watch, you know you’re being set up for the SHOCKING ending – hell, the filmmakers tease you with various false reveals along the way – but even so, once all the layers are peeled away, you feel a little incredulous. Skeptical, even. I mean, it all seems like WAY too much trouble for a touch of retribution. The red herrings from the production team combine with similar trickery from the characters themselves to create a film that overall is a bit too intricate. It’s also a bit too long. And in spite of all that, to pull off the ruse, they still had to cheat.
The rare film with Clint Howard in the lead role, this ridiculous affair resurrects Satan in the guise of “[Father] Estaban” via the use of an Apple III, which in all honestly is fairly prescient, given everything that’s transpired since the rise of the personal computer. (I do not know whether medieval texts have also been involved, as they are in this movie.) Set in a military academy, which oddly enough appears to be affiliated with a religious order, and in orientation not unlike contemporary teen romps such as Meatballs or Porky’s (or Sleepaway Camp, for that matter), this picture is way more entertaining and enjoyable than should have been possible. A major factor in this phenomenon may be Howard’s general ineptitude. Also inept: the terrible editing during the second half of this picture.
Hey, a new competitor for worst movie on this site! For some reason turning one of the best and most impactful horror movies ever made into an extended bout of broadly drawn “humor,” aggravating characterizations, little plot and no point, TCM2 is a chore to endure. Insulting in its carelessness, this flick only could have been more of a cartoon had The Mystery Machine appeared. (Much of the action takes place in an abandoned amusement park, for crying out loud. Where were the Harlem Globetrotters and Phyllis Diller?) Leatherface – sorry, “Bubba” – is reminiscent of Fred Gwynne as Herman Munster, which is not a compliment, much as Bill Moseley’s horrible character seems to have presaged alleged funnyman Jim Carrey’s equally irritating “Fire Marshall Bill.” (And in actuality was a template for Michael Keaton’s Betelgeuse.) Meanwhile, Dennis Hopper spends the first half of the film not even pretending he gives half a damn and the second half hamming it up wildly. Mr. Hooper allegedly wanted to compensate for the audience’s not recognizing the black humor in the original, but this extremely stupid and classless farce raises the question whether his first attempt was just a happy accident. Also commits the sequel’s sin of reductionism while simultaneously destroying continuity – a hapless combination. And the FX suck, too. Excruciating and disgraceful.
Boy howdy, what a terrible name for a movie. That didn’t prevent me from enjoying, say, The Babadook, however, so I took the plunge and watched this classic ’80s silliness. You know the drill: two young couples, some questionable activity (in this case, reopening an old silver mine), funny dog, mysterious character creeping around, forgotten lore that possibly holds key information, and so forth. Oh, and – of course – a ridiculous creature. And lemmy tell ya, you’d have to walk a good mile to find a more ridiculous creature than the poorly named ridiculous creature that gives this movie its lousy title. (At one point, I believe I discerned that part of the creature was a vacuum cleaner hose.) One interesting thing about this flick, though, is that all of the thespians are fully invested, providing much better acting than the script probably warranted. Lightweight and enjoyable fare from early in the Reagan Era.
Looking for some movies to watch during the MLB All-Star break, I came across this title and, as I read the synopsis and noted the release date, was flabbergasted that I’d never before even heard of the picture. Then I watched it, and the reason soon became apparent: it’s not very good. And though I’ve seen mild claims that it may have attained cult status, I don’t think I believe that revisionism, as the goings-on here can’t sustain enough appeal of any sort to induce such an outcome. Not that it isn’t entirely without merit, mind you; a murderous trio of preteens is compelling, especially as the three seem to be of perverse inclinations besides just their predilection for killing. Too much goes undeveloped, however, especially the ostensible motif of an astrological underpinning to the youths’ malevolence. The acting on display is not highly polished, either. All in all, this one comes across a little too much like a genre exploitation cheapie.
When was the last time you saw a cinematic character killed by a rampaging elephant? Like, by strangling. Yeah, that’s what I thought. Wild Beasts is the kind of dubbed foreign flick that makes me wonder what the original dialogue was, although I’d be willing to bet not a whole lot of nuance is lost with translation yielding “She’s not crazy, she’s being chased by a cheetah!” and “What the hell is that! Elephants!” The production did a pretty good job with the scenes involving people being mauled by various wildlife, given obvious limitations. I’m glad I watched a murky VHS upload, however. That made the scenes featuring animal cruelty a bit easier to handle. The one in which a cat is ravaged by rats I could even believe was faked. Others, such as when lions and hyenas attack cattle and pigs inside a stockyard? No such luck. The film ends abruptly, without explaining how the zoo animals and a group of children – but apparently no one else – got dosed with PCP, despite wrapping up with a screenful of gibberish.
SPACE RATS From Outer Space 