Night of Horror

You know how in most cheaply made B-movies from the 70s, the build-up tends to be endless because they're saving every penny for some good stuff in the third act? Well, "Night Of Horror" is kind of like that, only without that third act. The entire movie is people sitting around in an RV, then in the last ten minutes they hear a ghost whisper for what feels like eight hours, bury a plastic skull, then they all go home alive. If I'm going to sit through scene after scene of long-winded narrations with fantastically interesting lines like "we drove several more hours, the girls made some sandwiches en we all had some beers" (the plot thickens!), you better kill this entire bunch in the end. This movie is only 76 minutes long, but it's still one of the most unbearable things I've ever sat through. The audio is terrible, which is a problem when your movie is nothing but talking. Lighting seems to be achieved by pointing the camera directly at the sun. The background changes from sunny afternoon to pitch black night roughly sixteen times each scene. A dark basement with four stools in it and absolutely nothing else serves as a bar: dear Lord, at least get someone's dad to play a bartender. I know this was made by amateur filmmakers and the entire cast and crew is family and friends, but how do you watch this end product and still decide to release it?

Quite amazingly, director Tony Malanowski would actually go on to have a career in films. He's credited as the editor for several Troma movies, it's not much but it's more than you'd expect from watching this movie.

Evil has many dimensions. It can make you angry, it can make you quiver with fear, it can make you doubt the existence of a kind and loving Supreme Being. For years I've sought Ultimate Evil, ever since I discovered that Plan 9 not only isn't the worst film ever made, it probably shouldn't make the Bottom 20.

And, while I'm always ready & eager to audition new candidates, "Night of Horror" may be -- IT. This film turns ALL the dials on the Evil Meter to 11. It will make you angry AND afraid AND plunge you into blackest despair.

Picture this. You take three or four of your lumpiest mullet-headed male buddies and dress them in Confederate uniforms. Put a bucket of dry ice in front of a Ford Gran Torino and turn on the headlights. Have your buddies stand in front of the lights and shift from one foot to the other. That's the sum of your horrifying FX.

Picture this. You see some goat-roper in line at Wal-Mart with 1978 REO Speedwagon hair and so skinny, his jeans fit exactly the same with the fly in the front or the back. That's your male lead. Oh - identify him as a "California rock singer" so everybody will know that he's supposed to be terminally hip.

Picture this. You want to establish your female lead as being hopelessly sensitive. So you have her read an Edgar Allen Poe poem to the male lead in the back of an RV. It works too well - his voice-over tells us he's now afraid of losing his cool.

This doesn't give you even a hint of how loathsome Night of Horror is. I've seen it cause even hardened veterans of the Bad Movie Wars to hit the Eject button screaming after the first twenty minutes. Manos at least had the studly cape. Zombie Lake had the naked girls' basketball team treading water. They Saved Hitler's Brain at least had Hitler's head mugging it up in the back seat. But Night of Horror has NOTHING. NOTHING. NOT ONE MOMENT of inspiration, humor, or gratuitous nay-nays. NOT ONE FRAME that doesn't look like it was shot in a koi pond and processed in bongwater.

And this turkey di tutti turkeys ACTUALLY FOUND A DISTRIBUTOR. Do you understand what that means? I have no doubt that all around the world people have worse films sitting in cans in ancient Kelvinators rattling away in mouldering tool sheds, that they just can't make themselves take to the dump. But Night of Horror actually caused money to change hands - somebody screened this excrescence, said, "Yeah, I think I can make a buck off that," and cut Malanowski a check.

We're there. This is it. We've touched bottom. Until Battlefield Earth 2 premieres, The Worst Movie Ever Made.

"The film you​ are about to see, ( sic ) is a depiction of an actual event​, well documented in the annals of the paranormal" - I should have gone with my instinct, and immediately​ switched off the film when I read that statement.

This " film " (and​ I use that word in the loosest sense) begins with a three minutes-long title scene, accompanied by a horrendous piano ballad by the filmmakers' own real life band, leading into an eight minutes-long conversation. Eight minutes of stationary, over-the- shoulder photography, meandering, nearly stream-of- consciousness conversation, barely audible in the crummy audio, with these two men babbling, name-dropping their band, eventually about a bizarre, boring experience one of them, Steve, had, as he obviously stutters his lines a couple of times. The audio is so garbled that much of it is unintelligible, but we do know they used lighting equipment, because it is clearly visible on the right centre of the frame, largely blowing out the shot. After so very slowly setting up the paper- thin plot in this over-the-shoulder prologue, the film lapses into flashback for some reason, as we're told the story of Steve, his half brother and his wife, and their friend driving. When asked what did he use for money, Steve responds, " Chocolate milk, and batteries. " What?

From 16 minutes on, they drive. We see them driving underneath a bridge, looking out the window at passing landscapes, passing ships on the river, one girl reads an Edgar Allan Poe story in its entirety, while literary critic Steve criticises it, then critiques their food and beer. Breathtaking.

From 23 minutes to 29 minutes, a triangular blotch appears at the bottom centre of the frame.

At 26 minutes, the quartet get out and argue, and it's difficult to take them seriously when Steve is obviously smiling and trying not to laugh. Characters interrupt each other, frames abruptly cut out, probably to avoid the awful dialogue. Back in the camper, for more driving.

At 29 minutes, they allegedly hit someone, off camera. If they couldn't get an actor to play the character they hit, why didn't they just take this scene out? It doesn't go anywhere, or lead to anything, so why is this scene even here?

At 30 minutes, back in the van for more driving, and awful piano balladry.

At 33 minutes, the camper breaks down. Good! No more driving. Day changes to night, and back and forth, many times, as they try to figure what to do. A real exchange of dialogue in this scene: Chris" " Don't tell me you're taking a coffee break? " to which Steve responds: " Nope, a beer break, and not even a beer break. " Again, what?

At 38 minutes, one girl begins having a one-sided conversation with a spirit ( I think. ) Footage here is so dark, I'm not sure even what the bloody hell we're looking at here. Tree limbs? Why don't we see, or more importantly hear, who she is speaking to? She convinced two of her three friends ( Steve was likely too drunk or too disinterested to show up to film this scene, so he is represented in voice over narration ) to hold a seance to speak to the spirits. Unfortunately, the spirits answer them.

At 40 minutes, the seance begins. We then catch a glimpse of the rare and elusive * flashback-within-a- flashback * , as the Civil War reenactment footage begins, and the piano balladry begins yet again. The actors' real life band performs seemingly endlessly ( " How manyyy mooooore? " ) Were they trying for an anti-war message here? I lost track of how long this putridity goes on for, but the seance, and Civil War reenactment footage, continues until 63 minutes.

Apparently, a Civil War captain lost his head, and needs their help to get it back, and bury it with his body, so he can at last rest in peace. The three of them ( again, Steve isn't in this scene, except for his voice over narration) dig up his skull, which is obviously plastic, and bury it with the rest of his plastic body.

I wish I could say I'm making that up, but I'm not. That's your plot right there.

Film concludes with an epilogue, and the stationary, over-the-shoulder photography, meandering, nearly stream-of- consciousness conversation, barely audible in the crummy audio, with these two men babbling, and the visible lighting equipment blowing out a lot of the frame return, before the piano muzak, again performed by the filmmakers' own real life band, returns yet again for the closing credits. This film seems merely an excuse to showcase their music, and name drop their no-name band.

Every single scene is just filler material. Nothing that happens sets up anything that happens later, and there isn't even any sex or nudity, no violence, there's not even a single bit of profanity, but yet this is supposedly " Rated R ". The cinematography is so faint and blurry, the " actors " ( again, used only in the loosest sense of the word ) look like spectral holograms drifting in the breeze. Speaking​ of breeze, the flickering, slightly wavy image looks like this entire film is being projected onto a sheet hung on the wall, and then filmed by someone else, using the lowest quality camera equipment possible, and microphone which sounds like it was in the cellar, while the actors were upstairs, and edited using child- proof scissors and duct tape. Furthermore, this was obviously filmed sometime in the 70s, judging by their hair, and clothing, and not released until quite some time later.Although, I must admit, a documentary about the making of this movie might be funny

Well it was a cold, bitter cold, night and I was on my way to the local video store. This old Mom n' Pop place that I had only been to a few times, the owners were very nice and had an extremely nice collection of horror films. All kinds of em' lined the shelves, zombies, vampires, werewolves, mummies, you name it and it was probably there. Growing up I had long loved a film called "Curse of the Screaming Dead" and still think it's a pretty decent flick (okay it's crap but it's crap I like). So when I found out there was another movie called "Night of Horror" which was supposedly the original film that "Curse of the Screaming Dead" was based on I was a little giddy. At the time I had just found a copy of the original "Curse of the Screaming Dead" on it's original label Mogul so finding "Night of Horror" was a must for me. God I wished I had slapped myself...

So there I am in the video store searching the shelves for something to catch my eye and there it is, "Night of Horror". The movie I thought I'd probably never find was sitting right in front of me. I was a little surprised but I expected them to have a movie like this because they had been open since the dawn of video and the owner bought every movie he could get his hands on. So I bring "Night of Horror" up to the counter and I look up at the woman who has her usual smile and I asked if I could possibly buy the movie. I figured I should like it somewhat if I liked "Curse of the Screaming Dead". She looked at the box and then at her husband and he just looked at me. He looked up the film and nodded yes, come to find out the last time the tape had been rented Reagan was president so it was okay. I got the video for $2 (that should have been a huge sign if you're paying less than what it costs to rent) and I thought I made out like a bandit. Boy was I wrong.

I bring the movie home and do the usual, popcorn, soda, and other assorted snacks. I sat down and pushed play on my remote and once the film started I wanted nothing more than to go both deaf and blind. First off if you're going to make a movie, learn how to light the damn thing, when there was a light it looked like someone had gotten a giant spotlight and set it down in front of the camera. And the night shots...don't even get me started. Then there's the acting...wait that was there? I don't remember acting, oh those people who were walking around and babbling incoherently those were actors? Were they trying to act bad because they pulled it off brilliantly. As for the effects, what effects!? There was a freaking' fake skull and a fog machine with a raspy, and I mean raspy, voice attached to it. That's an effect!? Bah! After it was over and I slipped out of the coma I attempted to return the movie to the store simply saying it didn't work. I told them they could keep the money but the tape was broken. They wouldn't take it...they looked at me straight in the face and said no. The nice old couple soon became the devil and his bride incarnate. I wanted to scream, they knew what they were doing the whole time. They sold me the movie because they knew it was terrible. Argh! I threw the movie back into my room and it hasn't moved from the spot it's been in for over 2 years.

Until now, I reviewed it before writing this review and I have to say I hate IMDb.com, and I hate you all for making me re-watch this movie again for the purpose of this review. Oh what a tangled web you all weave...please for the love of all that's holy; avoid this movie like it were the plague, like it was a possessed horned up monkey with crabs that could very well be cooked and feed a family of 4.

STAY AWAY!

It took a very strong Long Island Iced Tea and a couple of other cocktails, but I managed to sit through this one from beginning to end. Mostly I stared at the ceiling, listened to the radio, or contemplated the massive pile of laundry that needed to be washed, because looking at the screen while trying to make sense out of the inaudible dialogue and threadbare plot was something I could do only sporadically. I always try to find some words of meager praise for even the worst movies, but staring into the empty void that is "Night of Horror" renders me too anaesthetised to pay compliments. I would not say that this film is actually painful to watch; rather, it is a black hole, a concatenation of nothingnesses, the bewildering cinematic equivalent of formless scribbles on a plain canvas. It induces no reaction in the viewer other than confusion and perplexity... and perhaps wonderment at Mr. Malanowski's ability to find a distributor. A person could make a more incomprehensible excuse for a film, but it would require an active hostility to the audience on his part. In Mr. Malanowski's case, I think this is just a particularly remarkable example of extreme laziness.