(1970)
Dir - Tom Moore
Overall: MEH
A ridiculous resurrected witch movie set in the groovy turn of the 1970s when hip, (and all Caucasian), college kids think that books on the occult are just the bee's knees, Mark of the Witch was the first of only three features directed by Tom Moore. The cast is made up of people that no one has ever heard of, all of which deliver different levels of amateur-hour performances. As the 17th century witch who vows vengeance on her persecutor's descendants, (that ole gag again), Marie Santell chews the scenery to Chris Tucker in The Fifth Element levels, and her vessel for revenge in Anitra Walsh has a jolly-wiz adorableness that makes her proclamations to Satan that much more absurd. The script by Mary Davis and Martha Peters seems like a parody yet is played straight, running on flimsy and arbitrary supernatural logic where Santell-via-Walsh can only achieve her objective by making people drink something that incapacitates them, and can only be defeated by shining a cross at her. It has an unintentionally goofy and painfully dated charm to it though, so long as no one coming in is expecting anything competent, compelling, or spooky.
(1977)
Dir - Robert Clouse
Overall: WOOF
Both stupid and colossally boring, Robert Clouse's adaptation of David Fisher's novel The Pact, (how there was ever enough content here to make this a novel is anybody's guess), rides its daringly one-note premise along at a crawl for ninety-eight torturous minutes. A bunch of people get stuck on an island where a handful or aggressive dogs sometime attack them, the end. Everyone on said island is equipped with firearms that they often times forget to use and when they do, they frequently scare the canines away. Why do that though when you can just scream, overreact, panic, and put yourselves in harm's way? Sometimes everyone holds up indoors and boards up the windows, sometimes they venture outside knowing that the killer pooches are somewhere lurking, and watching such inconsistent character behavior is like witnessing paint dry in slow motion. Worse yet, animal lovers will have a field day hating the entire concept. If this was a series of wrongly-treated dogs going after their abusive owners then that would be one thing, but it is instead just random dogs going after random people when the plot lingers for too long with no action. The movie pretends that the four-legged beasts are the equivalent to Return of the Living Dead-style zombies, but when they can both be easily thwarted and several die horrifically on screen, fuck this movie.
Dir - Robert Clouse
Overall: WOOF
Both stupid and colossally boring, Robert Clouse's adaptation of David Fisher's novel The Pact, (how there was ever enough content here to make this a novel is anybody's guess), rides its daringly one-note premise along at a crawl for ninety-eight torturous minutes. A bunch of people get stuck on an island where a handful or aggressive dogs sometime attack them, the end. Everyone on said island is equipped with firearms that they often times forget to use and when they do, they frequently scare the canines away. Why do that though when you can just scream, overreact, panic, and put yourselves in harm's way? Sometimes everyone holds up indoors and boards up the windows, sometimes they venture outside knowing that the killer pooches are somewhere lurking, and watching such inconsistent character behavior is like witnessing paint dry in slow motion. Worse yet, animal lovers will have a field day hating the entire concept. If this was a series of wrongly-treated dogs going after their abusive owners then that would be one thing, but it is instead just random dogs going after random people when the plot lingers for too long with no action. The movie pretends that the four-legged beasts are the equivalent to Return of the Living Dead-style zombies, but when they can both be easily thwarted and several die horrifically on screen, fuck this movie.
(1978)
Dir - Jack Weis
Overall: WOOF
If Herschell Gordon Lewis made a movie with disco music in it, Mardi Gras Massacre would be close to the results. Shot and set in New Orleans, it concerns a guy who is allergic to emoting that is on the search for the most evil prostitute in the city, purchasing time with several of them who he ends up laying on a sacrificial altar so that he can slice their stomachs open while they are still alive and screaming. Understandably, this became one of the U.K's dreaded "video nasties" as the primitive gore sequences are certainly icky enough, plus the subject matter is all sleaze. Sadly, director Jack Weis pads the film with several pointless detours, including boring strip tease and dancing sequences, plus every one of William Metzo's killing scenes unfolds in an interchangeably lifeless manner. Worse yet, the movie seems oblivious to its own absurdity, playing up none of the horrid acting, moronic plotting, or exploitative ugliness for their inherent camp value. Instead, this is a meandering watch full of funky disco beats, people who cannot act, characters saying "bastard" and "whore" a lot, blood, guts, boobs, and a whole lot of boredom.
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