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The mad man who blessed us with Pieces, Slugs and Satan’s Blood throws a gang of idiots into unknown waters when Lovecraft meets ignorance. Some low-rent wiener thugs flee the fuzz and take some hostages in the form of carnival magician Chandu and his daughter Lisa. The gang of assholes force the pair to take them to their fog-shrouded mansion where they can lay low. They ignore the magician’s warnings, refusing to release him unharmed, and run into dire trouble when the house’s supernatural secrets begin to show themselves. A ghostly visit from his deceased wife leads Chandu to the realization that he has to step in or damnation awaits he and his daughter. Genre staple Frank Braña hangs around as Chandu’s mute assistant, there’s some amazingly awful “face acting”, a detestable batch of idiots set up for a well-deserved slaughter, a monster in a fridge, a blood shower, a deteriorating injured man, killer flora and the living dead to put some pulse into the proceedings but a general lack of excitement gets this one limping over the finish line. I’m not angry, I’m just disappointed.
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