PopGap Diary: Octoblur 2025 (or 2024 part 2)

The second in our double-feature of 1991 indie horror movies about “Haunted House” attractions is this witless slasher about an endangered fraternity that thinks turning the site of a child murder into a Halloween event space is the cure for its financial woes. Assuredly, the killer from all those years comes back, and turns their horror-themed entertainment into a real-life murder show. The idea itself isn’t bad, but the failure of director Doug Robertson and his cast to model anything similar to human behavior or interaction is impeccable. Every scene elicits a question mark of some kind. There are a few strong images of the Halloween mask-wearing killer, especially in the prologue, but otherwise very little filmmaking craft on display. Features one of the worst original movie songs imaginable. Filmed in Kentucky.

Other than its over-reliance on CGI blood and other effects, and a general lack of distinctive filmmaking energy, this silly comedy about The Foo Fighters recording their new album in a haunted Encino mansion is pretty fun. The death scenes are inventive, the humorous tone is fairly consistent, and Dave Grohl — one of the most personable figures in popular music over the past 30 years — and the rest of the band seem game to poke fun at themselves. Sadly, a lot of the fun of Studio 666 (2022) was squelched when drummer Taylor Hawkins passed away suddenly a month after the film's release. Hawkins is pretty fun in the movie, and his final scene is a nice, if morbid, tribute to his skills. Jenna Ortega, Jeff Garlin, Will Forte, and Whitney Cummings make fun cameos. While director B.J. McDonnell’s style is generic, he deserves credit at least for slipping in references to the Thai arthouse hit Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives (2010) as well as the bottom-dwelling slasher The Burning (1981) within a few seconds of each other.

This odd and not always easily accessible entry in the J-horror wave that started in the late 1990s now looks like an ingeniously prescient look at how phone and internet technology would eventually create a meme culture with devastating effects on youth culture and society at large. Writer/director Sion Sono depicts a Japan overtaken by flimsy pop songs sung by pre-adolescents while packs of seemingly normal, untroubled teens and young professionals are spontaneously engaging in mass suicides. While Sono’s narrative sometimes focuses on specious or awkward explanations, I think those are largely canards that indicate even deeper dysfunction, like the need some have to attach themselves to tragedies or interpret events through a self-centered lens. Without those deceptively easy answers, Sono’s bleak forecast suggests that we are in the midst of generations of young and old individuals who are fundamentally disconnected from themselves — and what is the value that members of such a culture will place on their own lives? Harrowing and horrifying, and quite different from the more popular J-Horror of Ringu (1998), Ju-On (2002) and Audition (1999).

Twisted Sister frontman Dee Snider wrote and co-stars in this early internet panic horror tale about a body modding creep named Captain Howdy (an Exorcist reference that Snider previously used in a song about a child predator), who stalks teenagers in chatrooms and lures them to his torture chamber. When he kidnaps the daughter (Linda Cardellini) of a homicide detective (Kevin Gage), Howdy is captured and institutionalized — but can a depraved killer really reform himself when society still treats him like a villain? This sounds lofty, but it isn’t, really. The dialog is terrible, the characters are paper-thin, the plot is simple melodrama, and Jon Pieplow’s directing is overall shoddy. Frankly, this is just an excuse for Snider to play a freakish baddie, and he does.  Mission accomplished. Those of us who have an appetite for horror as well as for rock stars trying to become filmmakers, this adequately fills those cups with tepid water.

I find Rob Zombie’s directorial career perplexing. I guess that’s a good thing? I’ve now seen five of his movies, and my reactions to them are all over the place. With The Lords of Salem (2013), he has calmed down a lot since the hyperactivity of House of 1000 Corpses (2003), the rampaging nihilism of The Devil's Rejects (2005) and Halloween (2007), and whatever weird, indulgent ego trip produced the flaming disaster of Halloween II (2009). The Lords of Salem (2013) is practically a Masterpiece Theater chamber drama compared to his earlier work. My blind guess is that Zombie’s wife, Sherri Moon, asked if she could play a seemingly normal human for once and do something resembling respectable acting rather than the spectacles of lunatic dysfunction he had previously handed to her (don’t worry, there are still Zombie’s trademark shots of Sherri Moon’s buttcrack). In this, she plays a radio DJ who co-hosts a very mid late show in Salem, MA, but due to her heritage dating back to the Salem Witch Trials, she is targeted by a coven that has big plans for her. This is pretty solid — and frequently quiet — filmmaking from Zombie and perfectly fine naturalistic acting by his cast. When The Lords of Salem (2013) ramps up during the climax, it has impact, and the non-traditional ending seems to be thoughtful rather than cynical. I haven’t yet seen any of the three movies Zombie has made since The Lords of Salem (2013), but this is either a stark maturing of him as a movie craftsman or a freakish fluke.

After enjoying, with reservations, my return to Rob Zombie’s House of 1000 Corpses (2003), I was looking forward to this sequel, but a shift in tone from his earlier eagerness to impress to full-on but cold-hearted nihilism sucked the fun out of it. The murderous family is back — although with no mention this time of the much ballyhooed Dr. Satan? — and on the lam, with an equally vicious lawman in pursuit. There’s a lot of Natural Born Killers (1993) in this cynical movie, but without the overbearing playfulness of his first film, and a much clearer disinterest in empathizing with victims, The Devil's Rejects (2005) is just ugly and mean. There was a sense in House that Zombie preferred his villains to their victims, despite feigning the usual narrative good-vs-evil framework, but in this one, there’s no mistake: slowly but surely, the worst psychopaths have become the outlaw heroes by the end, and it takes too much soul sickness to go along with Zombie on that. A big cast of familiar faces is systematically degraded by their director and his subject matter.

The first great giant monster movie remains an enjoyable spectacle, especially if you admire early stop-motion special effects. Animator Willis H. O'Brien fills each monster with charming personality that exudes even when they are grappling to the death. The slow, talky start might be a hurdle for anyone unaccustomed to 1930s screenwriting, but once the action on Skull Island starts, this is a thrill. We previously reviewed King Kong (1933) in our first Octoblur in 2014.

I had a few doubts going into this threadbare DIY horror comedy from a self-declared underground cinema collective in South Carolina, but what a delight it turned out to be. This is exactly what I want from these types of lo-fi regional horror movies. Record collector Max (Adara Starr) gets a tip about a stash of obscure but coveted LPs recorded by a mysterious 1970s cult, and soon Max and her friends find themselves at the cult compound, discovering the menace behind the music. Although lacking the aesthetic sophistication of The Love Witch (2015) or Riddle of Fire (2023), Pater Noster and the Mission of Light (2024), with its charming spirit and narrative ambition, belongs in that esteemed company of truly independent contemporary classics. With influences from Midsommer (2019), Get Out (2017), and The Polyphonic Spree, director Christopher Bickel keeps his film humming past some familiar signposts en route to a fantastically unhinged climax that includes one of my favorite things in all of horror: a goopy monster baby puppet. And if that’s not enough, the great shirtless sax vampire Tim Cappello appears briefly as a radio talk show host.

This recent release has been hyped up a little bit in some horror-adjacent online circles, but I wouldn’t call it horror; in fact, it’s barely a thriller. I think it just hits a currently praised aesthetic and features some currently cool cast members, while seriously underdelivering on its narrative or themes. It’s “cool,” but little else. Théodore Pellerin stars as Matthew, a Melrose shop clerk who gets pulled into the orbit of a rising pop star (Archie Madekwe, of Saltburn (2023)) and jostles for attention with all of his fellow acolytes, while Havana Rose Liu (from Bottoms (2023)) looks on disapprovingly. Matthew’s one big hindrance — although maybe also his greatest advantage — is that he’s a single-minded goon with no personality who will do just about anything to stay in the glowing edge of the limelight. If Ingrid Goes West (2017) hadn’t delivered a sharper, nastier, funnier, creepier version of the same tale within the last decade, maybe Lurker (2025) wouldn’t seem so undistinguished, but I can’t think of a single celebrity-obsession movie that doesn’t leave a bigger mark than this wisp. It also often evoked The Talented Mr. Ripley (1999), and never to its own benefit. Alex Russell wants to keep his movie low-key with minimum camp, but as a result, he doesn’t take it anywhere. It's so low-key, it's barely a hum on the sound spectrum. Is Lurker a realistic look at how insecure and spoiled celebrities have a co-dependent relationship with their parasitic hangers-on? Maybe. But it’s hard to be insightful when the key observation is “Duh”-worthy, and everyone involved is afraid to have a little fun. Come to think of it, this is essentially the self-consciously arty dramatic reflection of this year’s very funny Tim Robinson/Paul Rudd comedy Friendship (2025), which is gloriously “uncool” in all the right ways that Lurker gets boringly wrong.

I haven't gotten very far into Rob Zombie’s filmography. I’ve seen this once, about 15 years ago, and his two Halloween movies a couple of times. He’s not exactly my taste, but goddamned do I respect him. House of 1000 Corpses (2003), his directorial debut, mimics the structure of The Texas Chain Saw Massacre (1974), but Zombie dresses that skeletal framework in layer after layer of his own personal brand of freakiness and utilizes a quick, kinetic editing style similar to that in Oliver Stone’s early 1990s work. It’s a lot to take in, and Zombie is not concerned with overload; in fact, that seems to be the point. Although I find this style a little too “pick me,” there’s no question that Zombie does it well and has an eye not only for what’s disturbing, but also for the visual craft of cinema. This never looks like a rock star flailing away at a vanity project (looking at you, Glenn Danzig), this is confident and talented moviemaking mixed with some pretty fucked up nightmares. It’s also quirky and fun, and stuffed with lively performances, when it’s not being suffocatingly showy.

Rocker Glenn Danzig’s first foray into feature filmmaking was this horror anthology that racked up a shocking 1.9/10 rating on IMDb. It is indeed awful by any measure of either film craft or good taste, but it’s not nearly as dull as many better-constructed movies. The three stories — if one can call them “stories,” with their loose sense of narrative logic or structure — seem like little more than excuses to show weird things that Danzig finds sexy. The first chapter is about a woman with eyeballs for nipples, and what happens when, no kidding, a falling tear from one of those surplus eyes transforms a spider into a man-sized serial killer. This is by far the most ambitious (and convoluted) plot of the lot; the others are more like undeveloped “shower thoughts,” like a glimpse at a stripper who wears other strippers’ faces, or a Countess Bathory figure who bathes in the blood of virgins. As perplexing as Verotika (2019) can be, what’s most surprising is that it’s not dirtier given its subject matter. It’s far gorier than it is explicitly erotic. At times, Danzig shows a knack for strong imagery — but there’s never any clue that he knows what to do with his images, his stories, his characters, or his actors. However, it’s just weird enough that I’m not against catching another Danzig movie in the future.

This giallo had promise — a rich woman (Marina Malfatti), her scientist husband (Enzo Tarascio, wearing giant bowties like Willy Wonka) — and her creepy brother (Claudio Biava) collect nomadic hippies and other vagabonds for a sinister purpose… which turns out to be a terrible idea – but it fizzles out into a low-effort climax. It involves one of the least scary-looking robots in cinema history. This movie is so underbaked that the title refers to one early shot of a field of red poppies that never figures again. I'm not even sure if any characters interact with it; it's just a second unit shot. The usual moments of cool giallo visual style and music aren’t enough to save this.

A college student (Nicholas Celozzi) starts having scary dreams and, for no reason that I could understand, the dreams have something to do with a recently deceased rock star (Toni Basil) and, for no reason that I could understand, her death is somehow connected to a demon lurking inside the decomissioned Alcatraz prison, which has something to do with something bad that happened hundreds of years ago…. Ugh. I didn’t follow a single thing in this surface-quirky but generally off-putting attempt at… I don’t even know. A bit like Scared Stiff (1987) from earlier this week, Slaughterhouse Rock (1988) is too specific to be generic, but its specifics are just a lot of unpleasant, confusing noise. The music was co-written by Devo’s Mark Mothersbaugh, who would later become a terrific score composer, but nothing in this wreck is even close to his great earlier or later work. Director Dimitri Logothetis previously directed the teen comedy Pretty Smart (1987), which is also a narrative mess, but gets much closer to 'fun' than this disaster.

Tonally bizarre — but what else can you expect from Phantasm (1979) creator Don Coscarelli? This one sounds wild: Elvis Presley, living under a fake identity in a Texas nursing home with a bad hip and diseased penis, teams up with an elderly black man — who claims to be former president John F. Kennedy — to thwart the soul-sucking campaign of an Egyptian Mummy who was lost in the Texas swamps 60 years earlier. Rather than raucous camp, however, Coscarelli treats Bubba Ho-tep (2002) like a Eugene O’Neill play. The mood is sombre, and the pacing is funereal. It works — thanks to a fantastic Bruce Campbell performance as the rueful King — but it’s never as fun or as funny as you want it to be. I got to see this on the big screen, introduced in-person by the great Joe Bob-Briggs.

Remember how I said, a couple of weeks ago, that the first Ghoulies (1985) didn’t have enough of the title creatures, Ghoulies II (1987) was just right, and Ghoulies III: Ghoulies Go to College (1990) came dangerously close to too much? Director Jim Wynorski bypasses that conundrum completely by having absolutely zero fun puppet creatures in this fourth installment, which is a real head-scratcher. Nevertheless, this disinterested sequel does claim more of a canonical relationship to the original movie than either of its predecessors by bringing back actor Peter Liapis to reprise his role as Jonathan Graves, now inexplicably a cop trying to thwart a return of whatever dark power is associated with him this time around. There are, indeed, two little people in rubber masks hobbling around and wisecracking throughout Ghoulies IV (1994), but they are mostly inconsequential and easily the lowlights of this strange entry. Wynorski, who was maybe the preeminent straight-to-video sleaze merchant of the 1990s (outside of franchise producer Charles Band) is sometimes quite funny, and there are moments in Ghoulies IV (1994) that are terrific; but overall, it’s a movie with no purpose except to milk a franchise title while offering nothing that fans want from it. Stacie Randall and Barbara Alyn Woods are quite good as the sassy, spirited babes duelling over the undeserving Liapis. Not unentertaining at times, but never asserts a reason for its existence, either.

This lesser entry in the Universal Classic Monsters era has its iconography in the right place, but its narrative is a bit dry, uninspired, and too close to that of the previous year’s monster hit Dracula (1931). Boris Karloff stars as the title creature, but only briefly in mummified form, as he stalks a young woman (Zita Johann) somehow connected to his ancient lost love. Karloff has a great voice, strikes an ominous figure, and plays this dusty creep with a dash of pathos, but there just isn’t anyone or anything to care about. Charles Stumar's cinematography is a highlight.

This bizarre ‘80s curiosity has a convoluted plot and an even more inexplicable twist ending. A pop singer (Mary Page Keller) and her young son move into a gothic southern mansion haunted by a cursed slave owner (which can't have been the intended effect of the original voodoo curse). The slave owner — a composer, whose work resembles the singer’s latest recording — not only wreaks general havoc around the house, but even possesses the singer’s prickish fiancé (Andrew Stevens). Director Richard Friedman balks at connecting basic plot points, and there also seem to be references to missing scenes. The 'surprise ending' comes out of nowhere and informs nothing. The quirky nature of Scared Stiff (1987) is somewhat enjoyable, and not dissimilar from that of the previous year’s surprise horror hit House (1986), so that might explain how this utter mess was able to sneak through production. Friedman would later direct the stupidly enjoyable Phantom of the Mall: Eric's Revenge (1989), which we covered in Octoblur 2023, and the execrable Dark Wolf (2003), which is one of the worst movies I’ve ever seen, so this looks half-decent in comparison.

A metal concert is stalked by a disgruntled priest-turned-mutant in this low-budget semi-comedy. Its heart is in the right place — during the two solid minutes late on there are some gnarly gore effects — but there just isn’t enough movie here to support more than a short. The few funny jokes are few and far between, but there’s a lot of metal, so that may mask over the cracks for some.

The Fifth Floor (1978) broaches some real-life horror (based on a true story, it claims), as a drugged disco dancer (Dianne Hull) gets wrongly diagnosed as suicidal and is involuntarily incarcerated in a mental ward for almost 3 months. Inside, she and the other female inmates are creeped on by a lecherous orderly (Bo Hopkins). This is a pretty good exploitation docudrama with a strong naturalistic approach by director Howard Avedis, and good melodramatic performances all around, from a cast including Mel Ferrer, Sharon Farrell, Patti D'Arbanville, and Anthony James. The background players are a who’s who of future cult stars, including Robert Englund, Alice Nunn (Large Marge), Michael Berryman, and, very briefly, Tracey Walter. As solid as it is, The Fifth Floor (1978) feels a little too much like a cash-in on the fumes of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest (1975) and with very little to add. A thematic precursor to Steven Soderbergh's Unsane (2018).

This indie horror movie about three young women held captive in a remote mansion appears at first like many other low-budget, underlit, and barely written movies of its type, but it has a few special qualities that boost its appeal. First, the synth score by Jonathan Newton is really something, often zagging into hyper-aggressive flourishes even when nothing of note is happening onscreen. It’s the standout piece of craft throughout Unhinged (1982). Second, despite nearly nothing happening for most its 80-minute runtime — it may be the closest that a narrative movie has come to foreshadowing Skinamarink (2022) — its final 5 minutes are pretty crazy. If you can make it that far, it’s worth it. Third — and this is only really of interest to regional fans — it dawned on me about halfway through that director Don Gronquist filmed this in my hometown of Portland, at the notable landmark The Pittock Mansion. I recalled reading once about a horror movie shot there in the early 1980s, but had no idea that this was the one until the first clear, daylight shot of the Pittock. This will mean nothing to most viewers, but the score alone deserves to be heard.

Italian horror movies may typically have poor scripts, but they almost always look and sound fantastic. Nightmare Beach (1989) may be stupid sleaze, but it looks like a million bucks – and for those of us who like some sleaze in our Italian horror, this one delivers without a lot of dull plot exposition weighing it down in between the highlights. Imagine one of those 1980s teen sex comedies set against a Florida Spring Break backdrop, and then add a mysterious motorcycle-riding murderer who electrocutes his victims, and you have something that pushes a lot of guilty pleasure buttons. Director Umberto Lenzi claims no credit for this one, even though it would fit right in among his sensationalistic filmography; Harry Kirkpatrick (a.k.a. James Justice) is instead attributed with what would be his only directorial effort, and a half-decent one at that. Other than some very hot but limited actresses, the cast includes John Saxon and Michael Parks, who raise the level of the material substantially, and the hot actresses don't exactly hurt it.

I caught the recent restoration of this rediscovered 1970s horror sleeper at a local theater and, boy, is it as visually impressive as ever. Messiah of Evil (1974) stars Marianna Hill as a young woman looking for her reclusive artist father in a small seaside town that seems to be in the grip of some sinister power. The narrative is slight, bordering on weak, but the visuals and atmosphere are out of this world. The way the blues and reds pop, the distorting perspective of the sets, and the perfectly contrasted low-light cinematography are among the best of its decade, making it a wonder that directors Willard Huyck and Gloria Katz never returned to the horror genre. I also have to admit that I am a sucker for a movie that lingers on the storefronts of mid-century small towns, and in that regard, this might as well be pornography. All of the performances are perfectly keyed for the uniquely off-kilter dark lurking dreaminess that pervades from frame one. Michael Greer, Joy Bang, and Anitra Ford bring a dangerous sexiness to the foreground, while Elisha Cook Jr. and Bennie Robinson add paranoia at the edges. Also with Royal Dano and future director Walter Hill. I can see viewers who are dependent on plot and character scratching their heads throughout this one, but for anyone who can ride the waves of aesthetics alone, this is an indelible beauty.

In this “Songwriting is Hell” entry in Rocktober, a young woman is lured to an isolated house under false pretenses by a metal duo searching for new inspiration. This is a great-looking little indie; if it wasn’t shot on film, it’s a sterling example of how low-budget digital video doesn’t need to look like crap. The cast is good too: dependable indie horror icon Jeremy Gardner; alluring and empathetic Taylor Zaudtke; and Michael Patrick Nicholson, who may as well be the second coming of Crispin Glover. It’s a tight and quirky piece of indie horror filmmaking… that just doesn’t have a narrative worthy of the rest of the craft on display. It’s fine, but lacks special quality.

OK, remember how I said a week ago that Ghoulies (1985) didn’t focus enough on its mischievous titular creeps, and that Ghoulies II (1987) got it just right? Well, Ghoulies III: Ghoulies Go to College (1990) proves that there can be too much of a good thing. Effects artist John Carl Buechler, who designed and operated the little monsters for the first two movies, takes over as director this time, and just hammers the audience with more and more ghoulies. Like the title suggests, the ghoulies somehow wind up summoned at a frat house — via a specially marked toilet, because, more is more in this one — and wreak a form of havoc that is, amusingly, almost indistinguishable from normal drunk college guy havoc. Early on, Buechler sets an almost oppressively wacky tone, aided in no small part by one of the worst film scores on record. Believe it or not, this entry in the franchise is essentially rescued by its cast, which includes Kevin McCarthy, Eva LaRue, Patrick Labyorteaux, and, inexplicably, Marcia Wallace. Matthew Lillard and Jason Scott Lee appear in minor roles, and Richard Kind voices the Cat Ghoulie — oh, that’s right, the Ghoulies talk in this one, which honestly robs them of half of their charm. It’s surprising that with Buechler in the director’s chair, the puppets look worse — less goopy and more cartoony — than ever before. However, at some point, the rampant stupidity grew on me a little, and I didn’t hate this, but I wanted to.

The Toxic Avenger Unrated (2025), a new remake of the 1984 Troma cult classic, is a mixed bag. I’m not the biggest fan of the original, which stretches out its modest charms for way too long. Director Macon Blair does a much better job managing the narrative this time around, but as always with this type of project, the question becomes “Why remake something?” And then, “Which aspects of the original should be preserved, honored, or replaced?” I tend to think that whatever made the original special should be preserved, and wherever it failed should be replaced — and I’m not fully closed to just bringing a whole new vision to old material, but that usually brings us back to the original question of “Why are you doing this?” Troma movies make this especially challenging, as what we might normally think of as failures in a normal movie can, in fact, be the charms of a Troma film. Failures like technical crudity, for example, or, really, all forms of crudity. One thing that can be said about the peak Troma era is that their films were truly subversive in that nothing was sacred and any pretense of art would’ve been met with mockery. This new Toxic Avenger, however, aims to replace the original’s charming lack of craft with real style, and while the movie does seem to be decently art directed and is really, despite its low budget, quite a slick piece of filmmaking, all of that feels like misplaced effort and squandered resources — especially when the movie is full of so many dispiritingly bad CGI gore effects. I want exactly the opposite from a Troma movie: It should look like a threadbare junior high theater production, with all of its creative energy poured into grossing me out with real slop. Blair's movie does have some very nice practical-looking creature designs, but that only makes the poor digital effects stand out even worse. Likewise, despite quite a bit of fun humor, Blair’s remake is just terribly conventional. The bad guys (Kevin Bacon, Sarah Niles, and Elijah Wood) and the good ones (Peter Dinklage, Jacob Tremblay, Taylour Paige) could have been lifted out of a family-friendly Disney template and then dressed in a few off-colour jokes. It’s all very safe, which is about the worst thing you can do with Troma material. I’m pretty sure that all of the things Blair really likes about the original Toxic Avenger never made it into the script this time around, and that’s the one and only true gross-out in this otherwise genial and reasonably entertaining movie.

As part of my effort to get out and support my local independent repertory theaters, I attended a special screening of one of the greatest horror movies of the 1980s, The Return of the Living Dead (1985), with Allan Trautman — the actor inside the Tarman suit — in attendance. Dan O'Bannon’s comic riff on George A. Romero’s zombie movies perfectly captures the complex tone that made 1980s horror schlock like this so special. This one, in particular, reflects that multitude in its patchwork of characters: it is both the give-no-fucks punks who dance naked in the cemetery, the wry adults who gently mock their conventional lives and yet earnestly believe they can save the day, and the deadly serious men in command who can blow everything up with the push of a button. The cast is huge fun: Thom Mathews, James Karen, Clu Gulager, Don Calfa, Jewel Shepard, John Philbin, and, of course, Linnea Quigley, whose role as “Trash" is legendary for all teenage boys of the 1980s. But The Return of the Living Dead (1985) is not just zany, gory action — both Matthews and Karen, as medical supply warehouse workers who unwittingly spark a zombie uprising, start off as comic bumblers but end quite tragically, and movingly so. The soundtrack — which might vary depending on the release, due to rights issues — includes The Cramps. T.S.O.L., The Flesh Eaters, The Damned, and the fantastic "Partytime (Zombie Version)" by 45 Grave.

Understanding that director Charles B. Griffith was the mind behind darkly comic Roger Corman classics like A Bucket of Blood (1959) and the original Little Shop of Horrors (1960) is probably key to understanding the tone of this very weird comedy take on Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (or, rather, an extension of Jerry Lewis’ The Nutty Professor (1963)). Oliver Reed stars as Dr. Heckyl, who is essentially a mutant: a wildly deformed podiatrist who appears monstrous despite a supposedly kind heart. Lonely and suicidal, Heckyl desperately downs an experimental weight-loss formula and discovers that it actually removes all physically offensive attributes, turning him into a perfect male specimen. Except that, in this new “perfected” form – Mr. Hype – he has also lost every one of his social graces, and is instantly vain, misogynistic, oblivious, and murderous. The visual style of Dr. Heckyl and Mr. Hype (1980) is bright and exaggerated, and the comedy is downright wacky, but Reed plays his character with an intensity of feeling that creates palpable tension with his bubblegum surroundings. The dissonance is surprising and compelling, and there’s a surplus of creativity to be found for anyone who can handle the overall sense of aggressive comedic strangeness.

Last year, during my first pass at this Rocktober theme, I enjoyed the Adams Family’s lo-fi supernatural gothic horror tale Hellbender (2021). As a result, I had decent hopes for this grotty art collective’s more recent Where the Devil Roams (2023), but, unfortunately, it’s a muddle of half-thought-out ideas. In a style that I guess I would call “Dustbowlpunk” — a mix of Great Depression-era and contemporary tweaker punk — the Adamses use the backdrop of a threadbare traveling carnival to tell the story of… well, I’m not really sure, and that’s the problem. Zelda Adams stars as a young woman who only speaks during her performances of ethereal songs. She is taken under the wing of a married couple (played, as usual, by Adams’ real-life parents John Adams & Toby Poser, all of whom write and direct together, as well) who turn out to be a problematic makeshift family, as one of them has the power to heal himself while the other is prone to murderous rages. Where it goes from there, I can't tell you. The narrative feels directionless and lacking important context. Although there are moments of bracing tension — frankly, the movie never lives up its dynamite opening scene — and grisly creativity, it’s rarely clear what is happening and why. This is also not one of the Adams’ better-looking movies. While they’re all low-budget productions, the high-contrast digitally processed video look is unusually poor this time around, and the moments of CGI embellishment are unpleasant.

I had such a good time with Ghoulies II (1987) that I immediately went back to the beginning — aware, also, that Ghoulies (1985) has its own Rocktober cred with sometimes-rocker Michael Des Barres in the role of the film’s Satanic villain. Ghoulies (1985) isn’t awful, it just doesn’t know what its strengths are, as there is too little of the title creatures and their roles are more or less undefined. A young couple moves into an inherited mansion, where the man feels compelled to explore the dark magic that lies within the walls, summoning not only the spirit of the former owner, but also some little creatures that come as part of the evil package. The supporting cast is kooky, but the leads are a bit dull. The great Jack Nance is all but wasted in his minuscule role. Warrick Davis pops up for a few minutes, also in a thankless role. The creatures were designed by John Carl Buechler and would get the focus they deserved in later films.

The wave of Gremlins rip-offs in the mid-to-late 1980s came just as I was outgrowing silly monster comedies in my mid-to-late teens, so I watched only the first Critters (1986) and the first Ghoulies (1985) back then and never gave a look at the sequels. I tried revisiting Ghoulies (1985) a few years ago and didn’t have a very good time with it, but its sequels have a better reputation for mayhem, so it seemed like they might fit the spirit of Rocktober in some way. Ghoulies II (1987) doesn’t disappoint. With a fun traveling carnival setting and loads of small rubbery monster mischief, I’m not sure what more you could want. Sure, it’s a sloppy B-movie, but you don’t watch movies like Ghoulies II (1987) for skillfully executed scenes of high cinematic tension; you watch stuff like this to revel in the nerve of the weirdos who have committed their lives to capturing this kind of insanity — and this is Charles Band and his family in top gear. Fans of B-movie veteran Royal Dano will also get their money’s worth, and fans of the hair metal band Wasp can enjoy their Rocktoberiffic soundtrack offering, “Scream Until You Like It.” This may have been the jolt of energy that Rocktober needed.

In the mid-to-late 1980s, I blind-ordered this short film from the back pages of Film Threat magazine. Although it has virtually no footprint today — before I added it to TMDB a week ago, I could only find a single Google search result that mentioned it — Ken Sylvester’s speculative fiction* about Elvis’ afterlife is one of my favorite curiosities. Upon his death, Elvis bargains with Satan for another chance on Earth and is granted 72 hours to develop a cult following. After spending roughly a quarter of this 13-minute short walking along New York City sidewalks and crosswalks, Elvis begins to assemble a coterie of followers who chant “A-hunk A-hunk o’ burnin’ love!” while The King raids the fridge and eats popsicles. Dick Warren’s performance as Elvis is both assured and ridiculous in the best way, and Greg Sullivan matches that quality with an unnecessarily intense Satan. I love everything about this silly little forgotten movie, and I think it’s because it captures that innocent magic that happens when semi-talented people take something dumb very seriously.

[* My Flickchart Ranking is also speculative. This movie is not yet on the site.]

As part of my classics series this year, I rewatched Edgar G. Ulmer’s The Black Cat (1934), which I last reviewed during Octoblur 2019. This very strange thriller — which has nothing to do with Edgar Allen Poe's short story, and almost as little to do with black cats — pits Bela Lugosi against Boris Karloff against the backdrop of elite European Satanic cults. The narrative may be both overcomplicated and undercooked, but there are few things from 1930s cinema as creepy as Karloff’s underground gallery of perfectly preserved dead women. That, and the constant menace emanating from the two star performers, make this one of my favorite horror movies of the decade, despite its gaping faults.

Hot on the heels of Airplane! (1980) came a handful of horror movie spoofs, including Wacko (1982), from director Greydon Clark. While it never hits the comedic heights of Student Bodies (1981), Wacko is stuffed with enough silly gags of questionable taste to hold its own against Pandemonium (1982) and National Lampoon’s Class Reunion (1983). Julia Duffy — later of TV’s Newhart — stars as a teen traumatized by her childhood encounter with the pumpkin-headed “Lawnmower Killer,” a local baddie who seems to be reemerging just in time for her senior prom. Joe Don Baker co-stars as an unorthodox police detective obsessed with proving that the killer is back. The jokes are plentiful, including an astounding recurring bit with George Kennedy as a dad who is relentlessly trying to peep at his teen daughters. There is no safe space for the easily offended or anyone with a high bar for what qualifies as "funny." Also features Elizabeth Daily, Andrew Dice Clay, Stella Stevens, Jeff Altman, and Scott McGinnis as a nice young man named Niorman Bates who brings the corpse of his mother to dinner with his girlfriend’s parents. Clark, who previously directed the fun horror b-movies Satan's Cheerleaders (1977) and Without Warning (1980), both from Octoblurs past, would next direct the infamous 1980s teen arcade sex comedy Joysticks (1983).

A struggling indie rocker haunted by his past reassembles his old band at a remote castle owned by a reclusive producer for a last-ditch attempt at recording a hit song. This is a pretty common shtick for rock-infused horror — band goes on an isolated retreat where something evil lurks in the shadows — and Art of a Hit (2024) is at the very least decently produced, which sets it apart from a lot of its ilk. Aside from a fun coda, however, it’s strictly ordinary, with bland characters, stock conflicts, and a vague supernatural element that never amounts to much. Too serious to be fun, and too dull to be serious.

Actor Vincent D'Onofrio chose to spend his directorial debut on this curious mumblecore slasher musical about an indie band whose creative retreat in the woods is interrupted by groupies and a sledgehammer-wielding maniac. None of it really works, but the mumblecore drama comes out the best, depending on how tolerant you are of aimless improv bickering. Both the musical segments and the slasher content feel like afterthoughts from a drug-induced joke rather than anything organic or inspired. There are a few nice bits during the climax — involving a French groupie who doesn’t speak any English and a songwriter struck by inspiration during a life-or-death chase — that make you wish that D'Onofrio had honed his idea with a little more thought and seriousness.

There’s not much to say about this middling, low-budget werewolf movie, except that its amateur actors really give it their all, despite the obvious lack of quality in the material. It’s also one of the most egregious cases of casting 40+-year-old actors as high school students. There aren’t enough monster attacks, and nothing very intriguing takes place during the dead space in between, but credit to director John Callas for bringing a refreshing earnestness to it for no apparent reason.

A clan of mutants who live underneath the Golden Gate Bridge lays waste to some partying teenagers, culminating in a face-off at a battle of the bands. Neon Maniacs (1986) has the fun mix of danger-laced wholesomeness and pop-punk attitude that typified a lot of 1980s horror, even if it never pulls its half-baked ideas into a compelling narrative or a satisfying climax. The mutants appear to be a random collection of costumes and makeup effects from other movies, which reflects the overall sense that this was casually thrown together over just a few days with little thought put into it. The cast is nice, anchored by Leilani Sarelle (who would play the memorable Roxy in Basic Instinct (1992) a few years later), Alan Hayes (a poor man’s Steve Gutenberg), and Donna Locke (who is like a nascent Sandra Bullock, but never had another film credit).

I had occasion to catch this peak-era Troma classic in a repertory screening this week, and while it isn’t my favorite Troma production (that would be Class of Nuke ‘Em High (1986)), it’s a good primer for what the infamously bottom-dwelling studio meant to shlock home video during the mid-1980s. A bullied health club janitor is doused in radioactive waste during a cruel prank and becomes a mutant superhero whose subsequent justice spree runs afoul of Tromaville’s corrupt political machine. With the generous spirit of a Don Rickles routine, directors Lloyd Kaufman & Michael Herz mock and abuse everyone, including the protagonists, the disabled, small children, grandmas, and defenseless pets. Troma’s eagerness to offend with gross, juvenile humor in its abjectly amateurish trademark style is so antithetical to good artistry and taste that it achieves a subversive alt-sophistication. While The Toxic Avenger (1984) became the studio’s most iconic offering, it feels about 40 minutes long, and is somehow, ultimately, too nice and wholesome.

I had fond memories of watching this bullied-teen-summons-demon staple during a slumber party at age 13, but, boy, is it disappointing now. The infamous Clint Howard (in what might be his first leading role?) stars as an orphaned teenage dipshit who is punched down on by nearly all of his fellow students as well as the staff at a military academy built on the historic site of a Satanic cult. Howard slowly — and painstakingly so — taps into that evil power for a pretty lackluster final 10 minutes of revenge. There’s fun to be had here, but mostly via the general ineptitude of director Eric Weston and Howard’s insufferable haplessness. There’s some half-decent imagery during the prologue (which features a malevolent appearance from Night Court’s Richard Moll) and the climax, but your patience may be running very thin by the time all hell breaks loose.

It was while watching Deathgasm (2015) during Octoblur24 that I knew I had to call it off: I was unable to give this delightfully no-fucks escapade the attention and appreciation that it deserved. Jason Lei Howden’s New Zealand horror comedy about misfit Metalhead teens who inadvertently summon a demon is overstuffed with fun dialogue, charming performances, and practical gore effects. It literally wears its influence from early Peter Jackson gore comedies on its characters’ backs, and the understated line delivery will be familiar to fans of What We Do in the Shadows. At times, Deathgasm’s low budget results in some grating visuals, and there is a little too much poor CGI during some of its more ambitious moments, but few other movies are going to feature teenagers fighting demons with anal beads and giant dildos, and no other movie will ever end on the words “anal bulimia.” Honestly, this is what Rocktober is all about. Produced by Ant Timpson. Supposedly, a sequel is forthcoming.