⭐️⭐️⭐️1/2
Queasy grime feels like something that was birthed in Florida, abandoned in the mud and then adopted by a slave laborer with a short fuse and syphilis. It’s my kind of ugly! A doctor (Frosta, who looks like the kind of doctor that operates in a back-alley and is no longer welcomed amongst his peers) works hard to prove his theory that death is just a minor roadblock and there’s more after those lights go out. So the man collects corpses and attempts to resurrect them with the added bonus of controlling their minds on top of giving God and his plans a big ol’ middle finger. Sadly, the dude keeps on failing and that’s causing an influx of dumped corpses in a nearby swamp. Swamps are disease-pits on their own but now that the rancid corpses are polluting the place, things are getting weird and the ravens (or vultures) are gathering. Frosta’s lady is done with him and decides to call it quits, returning to the arms of her ex-lover, an American lounge singer who is somehow a step down from a cold-hearted scientist that spends all his time with dead bodies and has vapid conversations that may seem deep if they were being heard by some emo teenager who just got in a fight with their parents. Shockingly, the mentally unwell man who collects corpses and discards humans like week-old trash does not take being spurned all that well. This is bad news for his former gal. Hopefully the sheriff who looks like what I imagine Ron Jeremy’s insides look like nowadays is on his heels and may be able to put a stop to the mad man before the lady becomes another corpse on the slab. It’s doubtful. Severed bits of humans are found and the sheriff (Fernando Sancho who you have definitely seen before) is exhausting all his options… and by that I mean he hopes that the newspaper lost and found can bring him some leads… yeah, he’s really good. The lounge act involves the teenage-lookin’ hair-helmeted American singing to a mannequin and is far more disturbing than anything that goes on in Frosta’s laboratory. There’s also an actual autopsy (I assume. The visual effect is way too good considering the movie it’s in) to make you question what the hell productions in Ecuador were like. Frosta’s questionable stability is faltering more and he’s beginning to see the ghosts of his victims rise from the swamp to stare at him. No, don’t get excited, there’s no vengeance-minded zombies shuffling up from their water-logged graves to get their rotting hands on the not-so-good doctor. Inadequacies shine in front of and behind the camera, merging together to create a vibe that feels like the sickly offspring of regional trash from Florida and a lazy fever dream born in the head of an ailing Jess Franco after forgetting how horny he was and falling asleep reading Frankenstein.
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
Before he begins his night of hard partying, teenage Romain swings by his dealer’s and guinea pig’s a new drug for him. His night is sidetracked when he comes across a distressed young woman seemingly making a getaway… and things spiral swiftly out of control. But is it a nasty trip or something far more chaotic? We may get the answer pretty quick but I’m not gonna tell you anyways, just watch this beast. A brief chance to take a breath opens the show but after the relative calmness of some drug consumption and small talk, well, you don’t get much of a chance to breathe. Claustrophobic camerawork, a pulsing score and some horrific visuals (give me all the eyeshine) bring it all home. It’s wild and I hope I’m not giving too much away. More impressive when you consider it’s all one continuous take (well, as close as you can get at least. Imma take the director’s word for it) and even if there’s an air of familiarity to it, it helps to tighten the tension… that ticking bomb under the table that Hitchcock loved so much is in full effect. I don’t know if it’s something in the wine but the French are fucking killing it with their genre output recently. One of my least favorite exporters of horror (I’m sorry, the New French Extremity annoyed the fuck out of me, ruining the good graces the country had earned with artsy trash decades earlier) has quickly become a favorite over the last couple of years (Deep Dark and Infested have my plaudits) and I’m excited for whatever else they may have in store.
⭐️⭐️⭐️1/2
Don Gallico (his majesty, Vincent Price), after years spent expertly devising the illusions of magicians, attempts to establish his own stage show under the name Gallico the Great. It’s an interesting premise, where he dresses up as the magicians he is mimicking and performs their tricks as them when not performing his own bits. In the cutthroat world that is stage magic, it’s a show that could work. His attempt at magical celebrity is ruined when his seedy employer Ross Ormond puts a stop to his show via court injunction. Ya see, Gallico signed a contract with Mr. Ormond years ago and now any and all illusions Gallico the Great creates are the rightful property of Ormond. Adding salt to the wound is the fact that Don’s ex-wife Claire (oh my lord, it’s Eva Gabor) is now Mrs. Ormond (although she loves nothing but money) and Gallico’s illusions are given to Ormond’s partner The Great Ribaldi (a perfectly hammy turn from John Emery) to use for his own magic show. Luckily, it’s Vincent Price so he ain’t about to sit back and let these jerks get away with wronging him. The guilty dopes begin to turn up dead as things spiral out of control and a young(ish) New York detective (who happens to be an item with Gallico’s pretty assistant and befriends the magician rather quickly) begins using cutting-edge forensic technology (of the time) to uncover the culprit behind these murders. There’s also the operator of a boarding house who spends her time writing crime novels (the wonderful Lenita Lane) sticking her nose into things. A troublesome severed noggin, multiple disguises, memorable side characters and the proper use of a bonfire to cover one’s crimes. The obvious 3-D silliness stands out like sore thumb (minimal as it may be), but it always has and I’m a bit more forgiving when Vincent Price is on my screen… that’s just the way my momma raised me. A fun time filled with murders and scheming. “They’ll give me the same voltage for killing four as they would for killing three!”
⭐️⭐️⭐️1/2
A young videographer gets his hands on some cheap video equipment and, although both of the items don’t work, they both contain SD cards with footage of two missing boys on it. The two lads were out making a documentary on a local urban legend and the videographer is shocked to find that he may have discovered proof that the two young men found what they were looking for (I have a hard time finding my phone on a good day but somehow every youthful dope with a camera manages to wander out into the woods and find whatever supernatural entity they’ve been hunting for for all of a day). Our narrator edited together the raw footage into a rough cut and has made it available for us, the viewer at home. Kurt and John are out searching for the Goat Man, a 7-foot tall half man and half goat who wields an axe. I, for one, would never go looking for such a thing but I am no longer a young idiot and I don’t have any access to camera equipment. “What about your phone?” You may ask. Well, you obviously weren’t paying attention because I already told you I can’t find the fucking thing. So, Kurt and John visit various local spots where the Goat Man has been seen (allegedly) and Kurt rambles on and lightly berates his cameraman. He also hates the town and their selfish mentality when it comes to crime and the homeless. He attempts to tie that into the Goat Man legend but it’s grasping at straws that are more non-existent than loose. The village is also trying to stop the building of a new film studio which further pisses off our host. That brief foray into teen angst finally ends and the duo head to the Goat Man’s underpass to light some candles and use a Ouija board. Nothing happens and when night falls they march their asses into the woods. Considering that the combined age of these two brave idiots involved is probably less that the age of your humble writer, this is a shockingly solid bit of found footage horror. It takes its time but the videographers defy the odds and manage to not be overly obnoxious knobs (they’re teenage boys so they’re going to be obnoxious anyways) as they sink into dark waters they are vastly unprepared to tread. Same goes for the poor sap who found the footage because he learns nothing from the exploits of the two dopes he just watched come into contact with something malicious. A smart use of audio scares add a level of tension you don’t find in a large amount of micro-budget shaky-cam terrors and considering how early we are in the career of H. Owen Richardson I have some high hopes. There’s more to check out and I’m looking forward to jumping into his filmography.
⭐️⭐️⭐️
In Arvores National Park, a young woman by the name of Lennon gets a job as a back-country ranger with the hope of figuring out what the hell happened to her sister. The little girl vanished in the area years ago and Ranger Lennon has never been able to put that tragedy to rest. So into the vast wilderness she goes, and it may be easy on the eyes but it sure as shit ain’t easy on the mind. Isolation, harsh conditions and the unknowns all factor into the trials of Lennon’s new position and it would seem that finally getting answers about her sibling was the worst thing that could happen. Lennon goes exploring for a couple days to investigate a little and runs into one of her coworkers (who seems like he could be a creep) after she gets discombobulated. Weeks of searching are uneventful, then one night somebody frantically knocks on her small cabin door, shouting that they need help. The injured man runs off into the woods and she races after him. He speaks of a missing friend who vanished into thin air from their camp and a search is on the next day. She disobeys an order from her superior and goes looking for the missing girl, who she finds completely disheveled and covered in blood. They’re happy the search was successful but they’re pissed she didn’t stay put so they order her to stay at her station and not got back out into the surrounding wilderness. She disobeys again and things spiral out of control almost immediately and not in a way that makes it easy to keep your feet firmly planted in reality. It works well to establish a wonderful foreboding atmosphere in the early going and then sadly stumbles when it gets to revealing the oddness at play. Luckily, there’s still some effective set pieces contained within and a striking moment scattered in there, so it doesn’t feel like a betrayal of anything. Not so much as a fumble as it is a slight miscommunication. The Missing 411 series will tell you that there’s a mass conspiracy involving national parks and points at everything from alternate dimensions to Bigfoot and wild men. The theories have picked up steam in recent years because the idea is an interesting one and it’s easier for humans to believe something out of their control and actively working against them is causing all this trauma. There’s some weird shit admittedly, but nature is vast, chaotic and weird on its own. Do I buy into a mass conspiracy? No, that would take a level of secrecy and commitment that I have no faith in humans of being capable of harnessing. But like I said, nature is fucking weird, so who knows what the hell is out there. Also, people are dumb as fuck, so I’m guessing most of these missing folks were on a one-way road to early termination anyways. The movie does a fine job with handling the wild theories out there but it doesn’t exactly adapt well to the screen. But hey, Wai Ching Ho is there as the head ranger and she’s fucking great.
⭐️⭐️⭐️
The violence of mankind has led to the “wrath of the female”. So says an awkward detective in a trench coat, speaking directly to the camera and standing uncomfortably in front of a barren wall. He then warns us about the violent crime spree we’re about to witness perpetrated by teenage girls who definitely confused boredom for angst. The film is dedicated to Susan B. Anthony but one of the girls also salutes photos of Hitler she has on her wall so I’m gonna say she can go fuck herself… the Nazi, not Susan B. Anthony. Afterwards we get a sloppy introduction of the gals all spliced together by an unsure hand and not exactly sure what it wants to rebel against. I mean, the patriarchy is definitely an issue but it also feels like rebellion for the sake of rebellion which can be messy. But it’s not really an issue because the aura of rot corrupting the whole film is enhanced by how unfocused everything is. We’re introduced to various awful males (a teenage smut tycoon, a drunk driver, shouting bar patrons) as the girl gang drink, smoke and go to school. Eventually they wander around the streets, visiting violence upon idiots. The detective talks and a psychiatrist also joins in to warn us of the violence and danger of women. Not convincingly or anything but there’s no level of professionalism here at all… that may sound like an insult but I mean it in a good way. We’re not looking for professionalism here, we’re wallowing along with everyone in the nihilistic enthusiasm of this completely trashy bit of basement entertainment. Castration, flagellation, bowling ball destruction, genital trauma, run-over babies, man-napping, extended scenes of driving, ninja roulette, a power drill up the pooper, ear-straining audio and the definite possibility that everything was shot with a potato are some of the atrocities that await the viewer. It’s enjoyable if you’re good with what’s to be expected from the dumpster fire that is this particular cinematic void but it’s undeniably jarring and its welcome wears thin as it carries on.
⭐️⭐️1/2
In Point Pleasant, WV a prank on a friend goes fatally wrong and a group of teens figure the smart move is to cover up their responsibility in the poor kid’s death. 10 years later, one of those teenagers has become a journalist and her boss sends her back to her hometown to cover the 10th annual Mothman Festival (if you’re not familiar, it’s about the only thing Point Pleasant is famous for. Well, that and a tragic bridge accident but the two things go hand in hand). Faster than you can say “I know what you did nine summers ago” the journalist is back in town and strange things start going down. Katherine’s old flame looks to reignite that fire that was snuffed out when... you know, they accidentally murdered a kid and then lied about it but the romantic shenanigans are put on hold when the winged cryptid kills the fuck out of the guilty goobers. The thing pops up in reflective surfaces (a reflection of guilt... so deep!) and its victims end up very dead. A local loon has some answers thanks to him being one of the only survivors of a mothman encounter and spills that the old fly-guy is an evil spirit summoned by a Native American because of course it is. Jewel Staite is always welcome in this house and makes our hero very easy to root for. The monster is not the best quality digital creation but it does get a lot of screen time and I’m all for that. Nothing special but it does get goofy as it winds down.
