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Just when you finally got the feeling back in your ass after the numbing experience that was 1981’s Night of Horror, director/writer Tony Malanowski decided to remake the damn thing and make sure your sweet tush could never feel again. Why did he land on treating the world to another run at the sleep-inducing zombie hijinks of some Maryland “Southerners”? Not sure. I just always assumed he hated me. A trio of bickering Southern boys and their personality-void lady friends (who look like they arrived from a decade earlier) on a hunting trip pass through a church cemetery in the middle of the woods, one of their number grabs an old-timey bullet found near a grave and pockets it. As he stumbles around the place, he trips over an old crate and discovers a diary and a confederate flag within. He takes the diary, throws the flag back and leaves. A ringing church bell and the sounds of battle freak out the youngest girl in the group but she may just be constipated… it’s hard to tell. Mel (the dope who snatched shit up from the graveyard) claims he didn’t hear a damn thing and tells everyone to come and follow him to the church ruins and set up camp. Arguing, rambling and the word “bozo” serves as action while the six dorks babble on. They talk about taking the flag but the Japanese sisters amongst the group warn that they shouldn’t take anything that belongs to the dead. Blonde Sarah seems to really want the flag but she gets outvoted by everyone else. After two decades of adding depth to characters you don’t give a damn about and a general vibe that matches the original’s sense of “why the fuck are we watching this?” the dead confederates finally rise (although, much like me getting out of a bed nowadays, it takes them a bit) from their graves and get to terrorizing. The movie is basically the worst group nap you’ve ever taken accompanied by a batch of unlikable and boring people all functioning on the same inane wavelength and not allowing you to wake the fuck up. As much as budget zombies and junky undead action are my kind of time, this bad boy feels like a lifespan passes before getting to the goods. Now, if you don’t mind melting your brain with some of the worst character building and interactions this side of an Andy Milligan flick, it’s so worth the last act when the pasty-faced rebels show up. Granted, we’re still forced to deal with these assholes while they try to survive and yell at each other but there’s also defensive fireworks, junkyard special effects, completely unhelpful lawmen, one of the funniest zombie attacks ever caught on camera and some of the worst audio work I’ve heard outside of an Olga flick. So, if you’re feeling brave and can resist beating yourself over the head with a wrench for ten minutes of lo-fi fun, go for it. Of course Vinegar Syndrome released a special edition of this because they hate you and know you’re addicted to slipcases.
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