directed by mickey keating
after dark films/ebf productions
A movie with a well-nigh perfect setup for a drive-in, this throwback-styled picture concerns a woman who kills a guy in a motel room and calls her estranged husband for help, after which they become targets of a murder cult. See? That’s a hard premise to best, and while director Keating’s effort doesn’t quite deliver – there isn’t as much disturbing content as might be expected, nor as much emotional impact; some of the imagery is pretty cheesy and some sequences feel like no more than padding – it’s an impressive enough attempt that I almost immediately sought out a few more films with his stamp. (Those being Darling and Pod, which I’ll get to in due time.) As I’ve hinted before, a sliding scale is employed here, and Ritual is the right kind of endeavor in my book. You can’t fail if you don’t try, people. Trust me on that one.
why did i watch this movie?
See the opening statement above: nearly impeccable concept. I also wanted to check out the director.
should you watch this movie?
It may well disappoint you, lacking as it does the audacity to fulfill expectations.
highlight and low point
Certain sequences in this film either suggest a retro approach or blatantly flaunt the same, and I remain undecided whether this is imitative hackwork, willfully referential, chutzpah, insipidity … you get the idea. Either way, I enjoyed the effect, but I may have been laughing dismissively and not in admiration. The atmosphere throughout is appropriate.
This delight’s got a little bit of everything. It’s got a weird Satanist family cult, it’s got a teenage runaway from Troubles At Home, it’s got Lawrence Tierney, it’s got a road-trip film contained within it, it’s of a visual quality usually associated with home movies from the dawn of time, and it’s got a fabulous theme song that is completely out of place in its grim milieu and sounds as though it’s from the wrong decade besides. Midnight is also strangely paced and edited, and could be a Christian message movie in disguise. Let’s see, what else … travel montages, black characters that seem as misplaced as the title song, a blatant ripoff of Psycho, and an extremely abrupt and unlikely ending involving rescue, redemption and revenge. Oh, and more of the rebarbative laughter à la the goons from Death Weekend. All told, an entertaining exploitation picture – and based on a novel! Which I cannot WAIT to read. The auteur was a colleague of George Romero.
Okay. Well. The sequel to the previously discussed paragon of benevolence and good feelings Offspring, this lighthearted jest manages to outdo its predecessor in casting aspersions on the boundaries of human behavior. And that’s accomplished long before the revolting gore brightens things up. Starting its bleak portrayal of life in human society limning a few quirks and oddities, gradually revealing more depravity layer by layer and eventually producing complete incredulity, this movie is a skillful demonstration of how to achieve perfection in the art of shining a light on things your audience probably would have felt better never, ever seeing. A true sickie, horrible in almost every way by textbook definition.
Tracking a serial killer who seems to be an amalgam of Ted Bundy and one of the Hillside Stranglers, a tough, no-nonsense cop consults a psychologist, who concocts a profile he shares with a cop buddy from a different jurisdiction. Meanwhile, trouble at home. And all these hitchhiking young girls keep turning up dead. Then some cat-and-mouse. A dangerous gambit. Finally, tough decisions; rough justice. More of a police procedural than a horror flick and largely lacking graphic detail – albeit with a scene involving nudity that seems spliced in from a different movie – it’s kind of hard to tell what was the target venue and/or audience for this one. It plays like a made-for-TV movie for the most part. The obligatory Gruff Police Captain sports some interesting haberdashery.
Oh, man! In an earlier review I made a crack about Cannon Films, the purveyors of all sorts of cinematic treasures, and this masterpiece is from that very production studio’s defining era, when it was helmed by Menahem Golan and Yoram Globus! Imagine my delight! All right, I’ll settle down. This film, however, does possess all the hallmarks of its progenitors’ stable. It’s got replacement-level actors, including the tastefully named “Kip Niven” and the woman who played Pinky Tuscadero on Happy Days (Roz Kelly, for you trivia buffs). It also contains hilarious attempts at portraying contemporary culture, in this case “punk” and “new wave” bands and fans. (Ah, 1980.) The soundtrack alone almost defies description, particularly the title track, which possibly could sound less like “new wave” in the same manner that a jelly doughnut possibly could work less like a hammer. New Year’s Evil does, however, include one reasonably successful rendition of the SHOCKING twist – out of two, the second one being fairly predictable. A good time all around, fun for the whole family! Not really much of a horror movie in any way!
Abel Ferrara’s non-pornographic feature-length directorial debut, in which he also stars under a pseudonym as the main character, a struggling-artist type in the Big City. With two female roommates – one of whom is apparently married and affluent, the other of which is, like, spaced out, man. (The roommates have a shower scene, because it’s very important to the plot.) Of the plot, it must be said, there is one: Reno, the artist, is working on a painting he hopes to sell to the gay art dealer he dislikes but nonetheless depends on, because Reno has no money. Meanwhile, a band called Roosters moves into his same tenement building and practices their discordant off-key blues-influenced new wave at all hours. Naturally, he starts killing derelicts with a power drill. Then things start to go awry. The best parts of this movie are the Roosters, whose music is chaotic and senseless and not “good,” and the utter zeal with which the drill killings are performed. Abel Ferrara: we need filmmakers like him.
Hahahahaha. Only tangentially a horror movie, this beaut is a “thriller” of the sort Cannon Films churned out for so many years, except without the finer qualities for which that studio was so widely admired. Set in “Mexico” (filmed largely in Venezuela), this cheerfully idiotic film is concerned with some sorta Entity of the ancient Mayan culture that … okay, the thing is, people are dying because – there’s this guy, see, he’s a, he’s a … archeologist? Anthropologist? Or is that the other guy, no, wait, that guy’s a folklore expert and a mystic, never mind. Anyway, the dead guy’s daughter comes down to, uh, okay, she … Let’s take stock: There’s the dead guy’s daughter, the gringo gambling man, his jealous local ex, the bar owner, unreliable locals, the planned ritual sacrifice of a village child – I’m probably forgetting some pertinent details – and finally, glowing eyes. Man, watch out for those glowing eyes. No, Doctor, I have no idea.
One of them ol’ rape-revenge flicks, this Canadian turkey produced by Ivan Reitman boasts a rape scene that I wasn’t even convinced had happened, so effectively was it portrayed. Almost every character in this exercise in pointlessness is extremely annoying, ranging from the drunken hicks through the egocentric urbanite to the loutish, subnormal thugs. Seemingly random events meander on and on until the interminable harassment scene begins, and it’s all formulaic. The justifiable homicides, once they eventually start, more or less come out of nowhere, which is a nice touch, and some are fairly creative as well. Overall, however, if you actually for some reason watch this garbage, you’ll wonder why they bothered making it. Or if they knew. 
This early faux snuff film (initially screened under different titles in 1973 and 1975) is a chore to sit through, honestly, mostly due to the dialogue and the “experimental” camera usage. The story of a ne’er-do-well jailbird who decides to become an auteur filmmaker, and to utilize, uh, excessive realism – either to show up pretension in the movie world or just because people are jerks and deserve it, man – Last House boasts recurring scenes as well as at least one scene that goes on for way too long. Even for a fairly short film, elements of this one drag. The lead actor/director’s performance is eerily reminiscent of Meat Loaf’s as “Eddie” in The Rocky Horror Picture Show, however, and if people still use “samples” in their music or multimedia, one of his repetitious rants would make a great one.
SPACE RATS From Outer Space 