Irked over a round of paintball that went his archenemy’s way, preppy sore loser Mauricio (Toño Mauri) hopes to save face by proposing one final dick-measuring contest to mullet-helmeted good guy Nacho (Pedro Fernández, who squeezed this pic in between Vacation of Terror and Vacation of Terror 2: Diabolical Birthday). And that challenge is to see who can slay the bear that, according to the newspaper, is thought to have killed a few hunters over at Filo de Caballo (which, according to a crude Internet translator, is thought to mean “edge of the horse”).

Nacho agrees, bringing his girlfriend (Edith González, René Cardona Jr.’s Cyclone) and his obese, quesadilla-craving best friend (Charly Valentino) to the agreed-upon campsite at Filo de Caballo. Mauricio brings some eye candy and acid-washed jeans. Director/co-writer Pedro Galindo III (the aforementioned VoT2) brings a twist, because there ain’t no bear!

Credit for the hunters’ deaths is all due to Jesse (Alberto Mejia Baron in his lone acting job), a Vietnam veteran with maximum PTSD and a face mask that recalls Owen Wilson’s Zoolander character caught in a perpetual scowl. His weapon of choice is a homemade Freddy Krueger glove with serrated blades and, as backup, a machine gun when you absolutely, positively got to kill every motherfucker in the forest. That’s not really a problem for Jesse; he seems to have every branch and bush rigged with some kind of booby trap for the kids to trigger — hence the title of Hell’s Trap.

It is comforting to know that other countries — in this case, Mexico, if you didn’t discern that already — can make slashers as mediocre as we Americans. And as inane, as silly, as comfort-foody. Known as Trampa Infernal in its native tongue, Hell’s Trap has our nation’s decade-defining Voorhees formula down pat, then supercharges it with a shot of the equally ’80s Rambo. All that’s really missing: tetas. I refuse to pretend they are not missed. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.

How strange that Clown began as a 78-second joke, as a fake trailer purporting to be the work of Hostel’s Eli Roth. How strange that the actual feature has Roth aboard as producer. What’s stranger than both those things is that there was enough in that concept worth expanding into a feature.

When the clown hired to enliven the birthday party for young Jack (Christian Distefano, Cut Bank) cancels during the event, it’s Dad to the rescue: Kent (Andy Powers, TV’s Taken miniseries), a real-estate agent, all too conveniently finds and dusts off a clown suit in the basement of a home he has on the market. Jack and friends are pleased, and one can tell in the eyes of Kent’s dental-hygienist wife, Meg (Laura Allen, TV’s The 4400), that her hubby is so totally getting laid tonight.

Or perhaps not. For some reason, the costume won’t come off! It resists scissors and serrated tools; the red, bulb nose is stuck to him like skin; the colorful curls of the wig have burrowed deep into his scalp; and that whiter shade of pale won’t wash off. And hell, what’s up with the rainbow-colored sputum? After medical treatment proves fruitless, Kent tracks down the former property owner (Peter Stormare, Hansel & Gretel: Witch Hunters), who offers three bits of worrisome news:
1. The clown of Nordic legend is not about twisting balloons into funny shapes.
2. It’s all about a demon bent on killing kids.
3. Kent’s turning into that.

Being presented without context — unlike, say, Roth’s Thanksgiving appetizer in Grindhouse — the fake Clown trailer of 2001 was difficult to peg as a pure put-on. At full-length, however, the intent of director Jon Watts (Cop Car) and co-writer Christopher Ford becomes Glass Plus-clear: scares above snorts. While the movie consistently works as a two-scoop cone of dark humor, its aim to disturb the viewer is primary; that it does so by putting kids in peril demonstrates that commitment, and Watts doesn’t use that lazily, like a short cut. Instead, aided by Powers and Allen’s real performances, he builds upon it, progressing with the aggression as poor Ken inversely descends from Dad jeans-wearing family man to hobo with trash bags duct-taped around his ankles to, ultimately, a face with a rictus carved in such a manner to haunt your dreams. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.