What begins as an innocent attempt at sexual assault and victim shaming turns into something rather ugly.
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One never expects to find much present-day relevance in a jolly little whodunnit produced over seventy years ago.
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The whole business of fiction and reality gets considerably blurry and it’s hard for a regular Johnnie to know what’s what.
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The audience is treated to spheres in eyeballs, spheres for eyeballs, brains in spheres and, marvel of marvels, golden spheres.
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Blood Fest addresses a problem that has plagued brainy terror scribes since time immemorial.
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Sheriff Gus Gilbert is a man whose contemptible severity gives way to slapstick gold the very moment he dies.
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Sewing their mouths shut should have silenced the girls to everyone’s satisfaction but the young Mr. Green decided to really cement the whole business by murdering them as well.
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Monte Hellman is not the first subversive artist to be attracted to the coveted Christmas slasher sequel sub-genre.
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Luke is a complex little chap whose needs cannot be met with boiled sweets and the latest electronic gaming console.
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If more films were as suitable and culturally enriching for youngsters as this, I would have had a sizable brood of my own by now.
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At times, it makes films with less likable murder victims seem hardly worth the trouble.
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One execution is rarely enough to tie things up as neatly as one might like and Don finds his deeply repressed anger suddenly popping out here and there.
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How are we to know what we are most grateful for without first being deprived?
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I am met with an unprofessional swell of pleasant associations whenever I glimpse the Dark Castle Entertainment logo.
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