Unless you’re a real horror movie geek, I think it’s probably a safe bet for me to describe Jeff Lieberman’s Just Before Dawn as the best slasher movie you’ve never seen. Why it remains so obscure is something of a mystery, since the people who have seen it tend to get very excited when talking about it, and you’d figure that their enthusiasm would be contagious, but it’s never quite worked out that way.

It’s almost tempting to theorize that Lieberman might be suffering from some sort of curse, since his often-outstanding work never has gotten him the attention he deserves. His great sci-fi/horror satire, Remote Control, has yet to make it to DVD and his most famous effort, Squirm, has the dubious distinction of being the best film to have ever been mocked by Mystery Science Theater 3000 (and, yes, I happily would say that right to This Island Earth’s face).

Combining the standard elements of the slasher genre with the backwoods horror of Deliverance and The Hills Have Eyes, Just Before Dawn succeeds thanks to skillful direction, effective atmosphere and — most importantly — a cast of likable characters whose endangerment causes us to feel actual anxiety and empathy, rather than the usual slasher-movie schadenfreude.

The plot is bare-bones simple: Several campers in search of an inherited mine in a dangerous forest find themselves being hunted by the demented offspring of the area’s requisite family of religious freaks. But the beauty of the slasher genre is that the plot is always secondary to the execution, and by that standard, this neglected gem easily ranks as one of the best of its kind. —Allan Mott

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Attention, The Last House on the Left: Your reputation as a horror landmark is at stake. I call shenanigans! “Keep repeating: It’s only a movie …” and not a good one.

Yes, it has blood. Yes, it has rape. Yes, it has scenes of more unrelenting violence. But it also has slapstick comedy with rednecks, complete with “wacky” music. And a near-toothless African-American woman who would seem at home on a MADtv sketch. And dare I even mention the banjo-pop soundtrack with songs about the villains? Bad guys’ themes should not be played on the instrument most associated with TV’s Hee Haw.

But onto the story, which marks the screenwriting and directorial debut of Wes Craven, who later would birth terror icons in Freddy Krueger, Ghostface and whoever Meryl Streep played in that violin movie: Virginal 17-year-old Mari Collingwood (Sandra Cassell, Teenage Hitchhikers) and her best pal (Lucy Grantham) have the unfortunate experience of trying to score pot, but instead running into a felonious foursome led by Krug (David Hess, instantly typecast).

Krug’s so evil, he got his own son (Marc Sheffler) hooked on heroin. Weasel (Fred Lincoln) is a child molester, and Sadie (Jeramie Rain, later Mrs. Richard Dreyfuss) is merely a psycho bitch from hell. Rape and murder ensue, then the tables are turned when car trouble puts Team Krug as guests in the Collingwood home.

Craven and company’s absolute amateur-hour efforts kill whatever power was intended. That’s not to say what Krug and f(r)iends do isn’t horrible; it is. But torture of characters doth not a good movie make, and there’s nothing offered — original or otherwise — to elevate Last House. I even think some of its many rip-offs do the same story far better — Italy’s Night Train Murders, for one — and Hollywood’s vastly superior 2009 remake boasts suspense and style. Yeah, I said it. —Rod Lott

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Exorcismo may not have existed without The Exorcist, but it’s hardly a rip-off. Only in the final minutes does it feel like an imitator, with Paul Naschy’s Father Dunning tossing streams of holy water and Scripture at the babe in the bed amid smears of puke, but he actually spends more time battling a German shepherd (Gero, per the end credits).

The Regan MacNeil of this Spanish bedeviler is Leila (Grace Mills, Night of the Howling Beast), a young woman whose family believes hasn’t acted the same since her archeologist fiancé, Richard (Roger Leveder), returned from Africa. He’s the kind of guy whose apartment is decorated with voodoo masks and a blue cabinet on which red-paint letters read, “ALL YOU NEED IS TO FUCK.”

Once cast members are found with their heads rotated at a clean 180˚, Dunning investigates. Leila exhibits flashes of tempers and contorts like a seizure victim, but only Leila’s sister (María Kosty, Night of the Seagulls) brings up the possibility of possession. That certainly would explain Leila’s attendance at fully nude funk-sex-occult parties in the ruins of a nearby castle!

Viewers hoping for a satanic shocker are likely to be disappointed. Overly talky, Exorcismo offers few big moments, but they are there. In one, Naschy hallucinates a snake emerging from the faucet; in another, Leila shows up all milky-eyed, pustule-skinned and crusty-lipped at the bedside of her smokin’-hot mom (Maria Perschy, The Ghost Galleon). Atmosphere comes less from director Juan Bosch than composer Alberto Argudo. Watch up to the final split second for a puzzling quick trick. —Rod Lott

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Watching this sequel to 1991’s Warlock, I started to wonder if maybe a young Michael Bay had seen it before debuting with 1995’s Bad Boys. The third film by second-generation director Anthony Hickox (Waxwork), this second entry in the Warlock mythos not only shares part of a title with one of Bay’s films, but displays all of the same stylistic hallmarks that have made Bay both one of the successful and hated filmmakers of his generation.

Filled with pointless close-ups shot at strange angles, hilariously dramatic pull-ins and a complete sacrifice of character in favor of constant momentum, Warlock: The Armageddon, like most of Bay’s work, plays less like an actual movie than an abridged version of one with all of the potentially boring bits cut out.

And that is so not a bad thing.

For those of you concerned about the plot, the film features a returning Julian Sands as the titular villain, an Antichrist who rises in anticipation of a long-awaited lunar eclipse and who must find a collection of ancient stones in order to help his father, Satan, escape from Hell and take over the living world. Stopping him are Chris Young (TV’s Max Headroom) and Paula Marshall (whom you know from a dozen cancelled shows … and my dreams), the youngest descendents of a tribe of California druids, whose deaths and subsequent resurrections make them the only warriors powerful enough to halt Sands in his tracks.

More goofy than scary, the movie features a lot of dated effects, but is made highly watchable, thanks to the game cast and Hickox’s stubborn refusal to give you enough time to dwell on the film’s many absurdities and enormous plot holes. Consider it a film for those of you who wish a certain “director” would stop wasting his “talents” on racist toy-robot sequels and get back to the gloriously stupid basics. —Allan Mott

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There are seven reasons why John Carpenter’s Prince of Darkness is awesome:

1. The plot revolves around an aged container of sickly green liquid that contains Satan himself. “A life form is growing out of pre-biotic fluids. It’s not winding down into disorder, it’s self-organizing.” The idea is so ridiculous, it’s awe-inspiring.

2. This is auteur John Carpenter at his most unfettered, working with extremely low budgets and unconstrained by the dictates of producers. Yes, some effects are dodgy, the acting is rough, and this ain’t a suspense classic like Halloween or a monster epic like The Thing. But when vested in the material, Carpenter works the creepy like few can. The dream sequences gave me daymares for weeks.

3. Right smack in the middle, a religious tome reveals that Jesus Christ was an extra-terrestrial who tried to warn humans about the dangers inherent in the liquid, and no one bats an eye. That is some cold analytical shit happening right there.

4. Carpenter wrote the screenplay as Martin Quatermass, after the hero of the British Quatermass films, and their influence is obvious. Technobabble such as “Say goodbye to classical reality, because our logic collapses on the subatomic level … into ghosts and shadows” does epic battle with theological nonsense: “It’s your disbelief that powers him. Your stubborn faith in, in … common sense. He lives in the smallest parts of it.”

5. The soundtrack is a classic Carpenter synth score.

6. Donald Pleasence! Victor Wong! An unlikely odd couple who debate Carpenter’s absurd science-vs.-religion dialogues with grace and aplomb.

7. Can we get a little love for the lesser Simon? Yes, we all dig Major Dad, but dammit, Jameson Parker needs some respect! And he rocks the ‘stache! —Corey Redekop

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