NIGHT OF THE DEMONS

Break out the hairspray and crank up the Bauhaus, this is NIGHT OF THE DEMONS, the 1988 cult classic from WITCHBOARD director Kevin Tenney. When I first saw this film sitting on the shelf at the rental store, I thought it was a sequel of sorts to Lamberto Bava's DEMONS. I'm sure I wasn't the only person to have thought that. Amelia Kinkade's make-up job on the cover looks a bit like Geretta Geretta's ghoulish visage in DEMONS. The plot description on the back of the box wasn't all that dissimilar to the events of Bava's cult classic, even though this film takes place in a spook house instead of a theater. And really, if THE CHURCH can find itself subtitled DEMONS 3 here in the States… Well, anything goes really.

Even after watching it, I couldn't shake the feeling that Bava's film left quite an impression on the folks behind NIGHT OF THE DEMONS. Of course, I also noticed the homages to movies like THE EVIL DEAD and NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD, but damn it, DEMONS just wouldn't leave my mind. I never bothered to go back and watch the two films one after the other to do anything like a true comparison. Until today, that is. Oddly enough, it wasn't intentional. The films just happened to be sitting side-by-side on my To Watch pile. I won't bother you with a review of Lamberto Bava's film today (in fact, I may never write one because meh), but in watching both films, the suspicion that Tenney and Co. had, at the very least, seen and enjoyed Bava's flick was all but confirmed.

In a way, you could easily replace every single reference to NIGHT OF THE DEMONS with DEMONS and probably come away with the exact same review. Both films suffer the same problems and both films excel at the same things. They're definitely products of their time, riddled with cliches and stereotypes, but honestly neither film was ever meant to be more than a collection of cliches and stereotypes to begin with. They're both acutely aware of what they are, single minded about what they want to do, and both are far more intelligently put together than most people give them credit for.

Simply put, these films know they're corny, know they're flooded with routine archetypes, are proud of their spook show roots and all too happy to cater to the deviant wants and needs of their audiences. You often hear films referred to as “movies that are made for fans”. Well, NIGHT OF THE DEMONS is just that. This is a horror film made for horror film fans. It might be dumb as a rock, but it's as lovable and as eager to please as a puppy.

The film begins with a great animated credit sequence, the perfect way to introduce a film that is, by and large, a gooey, gross cartoon. We meet our bag of typical horror movie characters, like the virginal Judy, the loudmouth Stooge, the bad boy Sal and the sex pot Suzanne. They've all been invited by their mutual friend Angela to a Halloween party at the Hull House, a supposedly haunted house at the edge of town. There are whispers of the terrible history behind the ex-mortuary-turned-residence, tales of necrophilia and murder. Naturally, it isn't too long before our gaggle of stereotypes perform a séance and just like that, they're taken over one-by-one by something evil.

Like DEMONS, the plot is simple and to the point. The main difference between the two films (beside their settings) is in the way the set-up is paid off. For all its nasty gore effects, DEMONS, more or less, strays into action territory. It feels a bit like a siege movie at times. NIGHT OF THE DEMONS starts off as a ball achingly obvious spoof of teen horror films, descends into soft erotic horror at the mid point, and then resolves itself with a semi-serious attempt at actually being scary. In that regard, NIGHT OF THE DEMONS is missing the balls Bava displayed with his film. What it has instead, is boobs. Lots of boobs.

This is, after all, a film that introduces a main character with a rather inappropriately lengthy shot of her bent over posterior. NIGHT OF THE DEMONS, despite its supernatural underpinnings, relies more on slasher film conventions than it does on head spinning gags. The possessed females use their sexuality to lure their victims into traps, whether it be a nice, long kiss or a seemingly gentle fuck. The “show skin, show violence” formula is intact here. More often than not, a demon possessed individual will show up without warning behind a distracted character or make a sudden, noise accompanied entrance for a good bit of jump scariness. Characters are bumped off one after the other in ten minute intervals before the film settles down for a surprisingly long climactic chase.

And that's where the film basically loses all its forward momentum. Like DEMONS, NIGHT OF THE DEMONS is more fun as its setting up its end game than it is when it finally arrives there. Damn near 40 minutes passes before the demons are unleashed and the film burns through its supporting cast so quickly that we never really get to catch our breath. Sure, the film tosses us a few curve balls in its final act, like a certain male lead's demise and the wink-wink nudge-nudge survival of a certain person of color, but I found myself less interested in the film the more serious it became. Like Bava's film, the fun of it all lies in the self aware camp and the irreverence of its set-up. Both films descend into the territory of the mature as they go along, losing both their charm and their wit. 

NIGHT OF THE DEMONS does give us a nice send off though in the form of an ironic wrap around featuring a bitter old man looking to kill some kids via razor blade-filled apples on Halloween night. It's the perfect end to the film, equally gory and funny. But it comes at the end of a final 30 minutes that strayed into safe territory and never looked back. The first hour of NIGHT OF THE DEMONS is its strongest, witty and funny, morbid and nasty. That hour alone earns this film whatever reputation it still has. Yeah, its final act is a bit of a letdown, but there is no denying that in a sea of horribly dull, terribly made horror films released in the late 1980s, NIGHT OF THE DEMONS remains a largely enjoyable, absolutely essential bit of horror movie goodness.

555

I rented 555 way back in 1988. I saw it sitting there on the New Release shelf of my local A-Z Video, right beside stuff like WHO FRAMED ROGER RABBIT? and THE KISS. Move your eyes an inch or two to the left. Look at that box art! What gore hungry 10 year old wouldn't want to see that movie? But if only I paid more attention… if only I heeded the advertising warning that was printed on the original box art, the one that stated “Caution: Viewing may cause severe damage to your brain cells”… Maybe then I would have known better.

555 is a shot on video slasher film from

HEY, GET BACK HERE!!!

Don't you dare click away to go read a review of something decent. I sat through this film again for YOU, damn it. The least you can do is give me a few minutes of your time. Let this review be your advertising warning. Let me spare you my unfortunate fate.

555 is a shot on video slasher film from Wally Koz, a man who thankfully never made another *ahem* movie. It concerns a series of murders, all the victims horny couples. The MO is a bit strange. The men are all decapitated while the women are mutilated, killed then raped. The investigation falls into the laps of Police Sergeant Connor and Detective Haller. Their lives are made a living hell by Susan Rather, a nosy and obnoxious local reporter that just so happens to be banging the city Assistant DA.

As their “investigation” (there's a reason I put that in quotes) continues, they discover that this series of murders closely resembles other murder sprees, all happening every five years on the fifth day of the fifth month (hence the title of the film). The coppers interview, harass and threaten a single witness/suspect during their investigation, a retired military man they feel is suffering from Crazed Vietnam Vet Syndrome. But keeping an eye on one middle aged man is too much work for our intrepid coppers and their suspect goes missing. All the while, more bodies are being found, mutilated and violated by some nut job dressed as a 1960s hippie.

From the opening credits that look like they were done in Windows Movie Maker to the obviously-dubbed-by-a-man screams of a woman, this film wastes no time in telling you, right there in its opening five minutes, that it will be a rough, miserable experience. Do not be fooled by its ghoulish box art, folks. 555 is NOT a slasher film. It is a police procedural through and through, and if there's one thing you need to know about shot on video police procedural movies, it's this: they suck, long and hard, and without mercy.

Prepare for endless scenes of people sitting around an obviously fake room, reading obviously blank pieces of paper meant to be police reports. Expect no real investigation to be done, just scenes of cops getting phone calls telling them expository facts (which they will repeat out loud for the sake of the audience), all because the filmmakers didn't have money to actually shoot these characters doing something resembling real police work. Expect characters to discuss the same seven or eight things endlessly just to pad the film out to feature length. Expect an ending that features all the action taking place off screen because making a good movie is too much damn work. Maybe they didn't expect anyone to actually watch this film all the way through. Maybe that's why we don't ever get a satisfying explanation for all this idiotic shit, just a lazy ending that barely makes sense.

555 is a boredom parade, only occasionally livened up by the cheapo murder scenes. For as hilariously fake as they are, some of them are really quite nasty. Had the movie been properly budgeted and filmed, it might have even rivaled films like MANIAC in the “needlessly brutal murder scenes” department. Unfortunately, none of the killings work well enough to escape their poverty row production origins. It's difficult to be shocked when the actresses can barely contain their laughter as they're cut to ribbons by a man dressed like Jerry Garcia. I don't know why you would zoom in and hold on the chest of an actress who can't even be bothered to hold her breath as she pretends to be dead. It kinda ruins the mood when a single stab wound causes a tidal wave of blood to splash all over the walls. Moreover, if you're going to use a fake knife rigged with blood tubing, at least instruct your actor not to squeeze the handle when the knife isn't touching the supposed victim's flesh. Still, all problems aside, the murder scenes do at least offer something of interest to slasher film fans, which is more than can be said about the characters.

Simply put, every single character in this film is a shit human being worthy of a slow, painful death. Not only do our three leads argue every single time they're on screen together, they throw histrionic temper tantrums at a moment's notice. They don't just bicker with each other either, they flat out go for the jugular. Our hero cop calls our hero reporter a “cunt” in their very first scene together. Instead of simply sharing information with our hero cop, our hero reporter starts off with “listen to me, you stubborn Irish cocksucker”. Every single character in this film is a fucking prick and their constant bitching and moaning and fighting and whining just made me want to finish watching this ungodly bag of puke with the volume off.

For a long, long time, 555 was my go-to answer whenever someone asked me to name my worst film of all time. Back in 1988, it took me the entire two day rental period to get through the film. I kept stopping it, ejecting it, cursing it, threatening it with violence… But today, I decided to power through the entire film in one sitting. I won't lie, it was rough. I found myself drifting off, getting up, wanting to do anything other than suffer through the tedium of it all. I did it though. I made it from opening credits to closing credits. I even watched the awful trailer for some other awful movie that was attached to the end of the film, another way for the filmmakers to pad out the overall running time.

Is it still my choice for the worst movie ever? No. I've seen thousands of films since 1988, many of which are far worse than anything Koz put on tape. But make no mistake, 555 is a cinematic atrocity. It is dull as dishwater and as appetizing as shit. It is barely competent, horribly written and full of actors less capable of delivering convincing dialogue than a whole Roomful of Tommy Wiseaus. It's no DON'T GO NEAR THE PARK, but man oh man, it ain't no TROLL 2 either.