Drive-In Madness! doesn’t quite earn the exclamation point it gave itself, but it’s a nostalgic look at an American pastime that was well on its way out when this was made: during the home-video boom. And by “look,” I mean a freeform compilation of vintage coming attractions with pointless interview segments serving as glue.

Narrated by Poltergeist real estate agent James Karen, the 84-minute quasi-documentary leans heavy on the films of Al Adamson, with six of his flicks represented with full trailers, from Satan’s Sadists to Naughty Stewardesses — not a complaint. I don’t know if any rhyme or reason were present in director Tim Ferrante’s choices of what clips to include, but for the most part, it’s an unpredictable bunch that touches upon sci-fi (The Human Duplicators), mondo (Macabro), action (Girls for Rent), comedy (The Booby Hatch) and, oddly, made-for-VHS trash that never would play drive-ins (Psychos in Love).

To no one’s surprise, horror makes up the most, from the overplayed (Night of the Living Dead) to the opposite (Deadtime Stories). None looks as terrifying as what passes for hot dogs in ye olde concession-stand ads.

The aforementioned interviews include scream queen Linnea Quigley, effects master Tom Savini, collector extraordinary Forrest J. Ackerman and Mausoleum MILF Bobbie Bresee, who has no qualms appearing before Ferrante’s camera in an outfit designed to bare at least her left nipple. Only a fraction of what they share is related directly to the drive-in experience; the rest struck me as pandering to the fanboys, albeit before the word existed. Those faults were not enough to keep me away from Madness!, however, nor should they to you. —Rod Lott

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As someone who is against censorship in any and all forms, I found the two-part documentary Ban the Sadist Videos! both fascinating and infuriating. Written and directed by David Gregory (Plague Town) for the venerable cult-DVD label Blue Underground, the piece examines the “video nasty” scandal of the early-’80s United Kingdom.

At a time when unemployment was arguably the UK’s greatest problem — resulting in riots and overall societal unrest — the media began a moral crusade to point a shaking, accusatory finger at horror films. Specifically, blame was placed among 72 so-called “video nasties,” including such gory works as Lucio Fulci’s Zombie, Abel Ferrara’s The Driller Killer, Sam Raimi’s The Evil Dead, Jess Franco’s Bloody Moon, just about anything with “cannibal” in the title, and many other flicks that enjoy a home in my collection. (Another is the more obscure House on Straw Hill, on whose Blu-ray package this feature-length doc currently can be found.)

While I find Snuff to hold no artistic value, Faces of Death as nothing but irredeemable trash, and SS Experiment Love Camp to be abhorrent in its misogyny, none of them should be banned — then, now or ever. Not in agreement was activist Mary Whitehouse, a humorless biddy who led the movement to prosecute dealers who dare rented these VHS tapes in their uncut form; cuts suggested were completely subjective.

One Sadist commentator compares the circus to the Salem witch trails, which, in hindsight, isn’t an exaggeration. While England no longer has to worry about complying with Parliament’s Video Recordings Act 1984, we sadly still have to deal with politicians who ignore tackling true social problems in order to waste time and money legislating their personal beliefs onto everyone else. People starve and the economy crumbles, and yet we’re arguing over whether gays should marry and if evolution should be taught in schools. To me, that’s far more offensive and damaging to a populace than fake blood squirting from a fake torso after a fake beheading in a fake story. —Rod Lott

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With visitors of seasonal haunted houses, there’s no telling what might scare them most. However, the partners behind the Asylum Haunted Scream Park know exactly what terrifies them: the stake of their life savings. The 2011 debut of this Kentucky-based Halloween venue, starting 83 days before its uncertain opening, is documented in Brian Cunningham and Joe Laughrey’s Monsters Wanted.

Touting four themed attractions in one, Asylum Haunted Scream Park was established, says co-owner Rich Teachout, to “raise the bar of Halloween in Louisville.” He and girlfriend Janel Nash — the one who talks to a sock puppet during the doc’s talking-head segments — get serious about that statement. To them, the park is more than an income — it’s the way they long to live, no matter the time of year.

Granted apparent all-access, the camera captures the entire process, including monster auditions (hence the title), actor training and dress rehearsals. It’s one fraught with problems and setbacks and failure and conflict; tensions come to a head between Rich and another partner, resulting in a screaming match you expect to come to blows. The warts-and-all portrayal gives Monsters Wanted credibility, from run-ins with city inspectors to Rich and Janel handling their meager budget with knowing fiscal irresponsibility. Who needs groceries?

Getting to know the people behind the haunted house is the film’s greatest asset. As deadlines loom and pressure mounts, Janel downs instant coffee — in powder form, mind you — and chases it with a swig of soda. One of the more colorful (to put it lightly) personalities among the cast is a bald, beefy grandpa who takes a little too much delight in terrifying kids with a chainsaw, to the point of prompting defecation. And to think the only bodily fluid Leatherface dealt with was blood. —Rod Lott

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Some years back — ’84, ’85, I’m no “pray TV” expert — this freaky religious nut named Gary Greenwald made a freaky religious propaganda program, Deception of a Generation, in which Greenwald invokes the name of God to denounce children’s Saturday morning cartoons as All That Is Evil.

It’s funny because he is not joking, and it’s not funny because he is not joking. (It’s also quite funny because Greenwald is quite hairy, but that’s beside the point.) Greenwald welcomes a guest — whose name I didn’t feel was important enough to write down, but he talks like a girl and wears glasses — who claims God told him to spend years studying cartoons to unearth the satanic elements within them.

So Gary and Guy (as I’ll call him) go back and forth chastising the likes of The Smurfs and He-Man and the Masters of the Universe. For the whole, it unfolds something like this:

Greenwald: “Now we’re going to watch another clip from Scooby-Doo, is that correct?”
Guy: “Yes, watch how witchcraft and astral projections play a part in this clip.”
Greenwald (post-clip, flustered): “Well, I must say, this is not the Scooby-Doo I remember, what with all the witchcraft and astral projections!”
Guy: “Amen.”

They go on to imply that the writers for these shows are not under the employ of Hanna-Barbera or Filmation, but Beelzebub; in reality, it’s not likely they were worshipping the dark one with their quickly written scripts, but rather flying higher than a kite. —Rod Lott

Depending upon where you stand on the subject, the documentary Bronies can be viewed either as a celebration of the fandom or a portrait of it presented for your mockery.

A “brony,” for those of you with better things to do with your time, is a male fan of the current cartoon series My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic, a show aimed at children, and primarily girls at that. The guys featured here don’t just like it — they live it, from collecting figurines and attending conventions to creating their own songs and immortalizing the characters on their car windows. (Perhaps “immortalizing” is too strong a word when the windows get busted by homophobes.)

Funded by Kickstarter and featuring Pony voice stars John de Lancie and Tara Strong, Bronies is not without interest to the viewer curious about ways of life that are alien to them. The level of fandom on display is as bewildering to me as suspending oneself by hooks in the nipples or surgically altering your face to resemble a celebrity; while I support one’s freedom to pursue such adventures, I do not get what compels one to take it to such an extreme. Hobbies are good; obsessions are unhealthy.

The kids of Bronies are likely to outgrow the phase as fast as a previous generation did Pokémon, but the adults … I mean, what good can come out of calling yourself Starlight Ironhoof? Something about that strikes me as deeply sad — an emotion with which the film does not intend to leave you. —Rod Lott

Buy it at Amazon.