(1981)
Dir - Joel M. Reed
Overall: WOOF
The final directorial effort from no-budget camp peddler Joel M. Reed, Night of the Zombies, (Battalion of the Living Dead, Curse of the Ghoul Battalions, Die Nacht Der Zombies, Sister of Death, The Chilling, Zombie War Games, Gamma 693, Night of the Wehrmacht Zombies), is a rough watch even for the most tolerant of trash enthusiasts. As is common with any bit of celluloid that has about $50 to work with, colossal amounts of screen time are painfully padded with characters exchanging repetitive amounts of information to each other while walking into different rooms to converse. Considering that Reed is hardly a renowned level screenwriter anymore than he is a barely competent director, said conversations between characters are of course increasingly boring, especially when minutes and minutes go by with little to no zombie action transpiring. Nazi undead do start haphazardly stumbling around about forty-five minutes in, but the slapdash editing is about as messy and off-putting as the dark, muddy cinematography, which creates a head-scratching, incoherent result to say the least. Even though the top-to-bottom forgettable actors, (including porn hall of famer Jamie Gills), occasionally try with the unengaging material, the entire ordeal is not only bland and comatose-inducing, but treacherous to even pay attention to if one is so stubbornly inclined.
(1987)
Dir - John Schlesinger
Overall: MEHThe only foray into supernatural horror from director John Schlesinger was the mediocre adaptation of Nicolas Conde's novel The Religion, here changed to The Believers. This also serves as the first feature-film screenwriting credit for Mark Frost, mostly remaining faithful to the source material which paints both Santeria and brujería occult practices in a stereotypically malevolent light. Such Latin American/Afro-Cuban religious tomfoolery had been Hollywood-ized before in a similarly unflattering manner and their fusing here with cynical, villainous yuppie motifs common of the Regan era do not necessarily combine to make the most singular of stories. For better or worse, the melting pot of concepts is played seriously by Schlesinger who does not treat the material with any elements of bombastic camp, even if much of what transpires is silly on paper. Martin Sheen though is typically solid in the lead as a widowed psychologist putting on a brave face for his grieving son, with Robert Logia in one of the only two roles that he was ever allowed to play throughout his career, (being either a gangster or police detective, the latter applied here), and Jimmy Smits being particularly ranting and raving in a smaller part as well.
(1988)
Dir - Greg Lamberson
Overall: MEH
An amateur combination of Frank Henenlotter weirdness and low-rent, Herschell Gordon Lewis splatter, Greg Lamberson's debut Slime City is a gross, unprofessional midnight movie by design. Shot on location in Manhattan with unknown actors, none of the alleged $100,000 budget went towards lighting, recording equipment, competent cinematography, or set design as nearly the entire film is shot in barely furnished apartments, with all of the lights at full blast and all of the character's dialog being peppered with room noise. Instead, a considerably amount of effort was taken in accomplishing the oozy, nauseating melting effects which of course are never explained by the razor-thin story line. Poor Robert Sabin spends a considerable amount of time on screen literally dripping with moist puss, sometimes merely creating a sticky sheen all over his exposed skin or other times covering every inch of it in primitive prosthetic makeup that spews globs and chunks of bright yellow ickiness everywhere. While these moments are humorous enough to spike the audience's attention, the bulk of the movie is too low-rent to convey any level of ominous atmosphere for its silly plot about a dead occultist turning random people into other people by way of bright green and blue elixirs or something.
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