Adjust Your Tracking is not the only VHS-fetish documentary in the neighborhood. The same year’s Rewind This! beat it to the punch — barely — but whereas that one chronicled the history of the home-video format from birth to death, this one dispenses with such lessons in about 12 minutes in order to devote itself to the almighty collector. Rewind covered that ground, too — just not at this length.

Here, although with overlap, the focus is on VHS enthusiasts — not necessarily among the millions who made every weekend night a Blockbuster night in the video-store era, but those who today pursue those clamshell-encases plastic rectangles with the fervor of a dog to strips of bacon. Yes, I’m talking about the collector, who obsessively scours flea markets, thrift shops and garage sales for tapes. Judging by those interviewed by co-directors Dan M. Kinem and Levi Peretic, the titles hardly matter; in many cases, the movies won’t ever be watched much less freed of factory wrapping. The subjects’ fervor appears to be more about the sheer act of acquiring the objects than viewing them.

They’re the guys who bid mercilessly on eBay for the shot at proudly proclaiming they own Chester Turner’s Tales from the Quadead Zone — a legitimately terrible shot-on-video effort, but hey, it’s pink-steak rare! Some of the guys consider themselves historians of sorts or cultural archeologists who “save” such relics from landfills because no one else will, yet I’d hardly compare their mission — as one interviewee does — to that of our World War I and II soldiers.

And therein lies my only problem with the never-dull Tracking: the perpetuation — if not glorification — of a VHS-collector stereotype. Almost always male, the collector is arrogant, bearded, overweight, immature, single, poor, likely OCD and possibly removed from reality. Whether or not that’s a legitimate sketch, it’s the one we’re given. —Rod Lott

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In 2009, I was considering moving to Texas for a job offer. I decided not to pursue it, and Don McLeroy is one reason why — seriously.

His name may not be known to you, but his actions are. He was the Texas State Board of Education member who put his personal ideology before the brains of Lone Star youth, in order to force a number of utterly ridiculous changes to the public school system’s history textbooks. His main target was the theory of evolution, but his beefs didn’t stick to matters best left to the pulpit. For example, whether he realized it or not, his xenophobia was showing in asking to replace a book’s mention of “hip-hop” to “country music.” (Lord forbid the children know the existence of rap! Or colored people!)

Any sane politician would be aghast at what McLeroy proposed; the trouble was, not many of McLeroy’s fellow board members appeared to be. Scott Thurman’s documentary The Revisionaries chronicles the Austin dentist-cum-politician’s crusade — make no mistake; that’s what this was — from inside the board’s meeting rooms. What merely nauseated you on news soundbites in 2009 will sicken you extended to 92 minutes.

I don’t consider Thurman’s film to be an attack on religion — after all, he lets both sides tell their stories — but I do consider it an attack on hypocrisy. Shouldn’t legislators leave the Sunday-school lessons to, you know, church? Time and taxpayer dollars would be better spent working to fix society’s real problems. —Rod Lott

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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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