Had Grave Encounters come with traditional opening credits, I might not have gone beyond that point. Here’s why: The film is written, edited and directed by “The Vicious Brothers.” Embarrassed to affix real names to it? Or was “The Extreme Brothers” taken, bro?

A Paranormal Activity-type flick of near-startling inactivity, Grave Encounters begins on a high note, with a straight-faced lampoon of every single crappy “reality” show featuring would-be ghost hunters. Here, the team totaling five aims to shoot its sixth episode overnight while locked inside the abandoned Collingwood Psychiatric Hospital, where hundreds of lobotomies were performed on mental patients many moons ago.

With Sean Rogerson doing a fine job of portraying the host as a total douche (to a point of tangible annoyance), the requisite strange stuff begins to happen following a belabored setup. This includes a woman’s hair being pulled, a window opening on its own, a door slamming on its own, and so on. Things only ramp up at the tail end, but either are highly reminiscent of scenes from other movies — most notably, [REC] and the House on Haunted Hill remake — or are acted so amateurishly, what is meant as horror comes off as humor.

There are two good moments, both of which add up to less than five seconds. The only thing “Vicious” is the film’s apparent lack of vocabulary; most of the dialogue is written with three words: “fuck,” “shit” and “Matt.”

I spit on your Grave Encounters. —Rod Lott

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Don’t be dissuaded that The House of Clocks is a film Lucio Fulci directed for cable television. After all, HBO’s infinite Real Sex series is directed for cable television. In other words, none of the Italian-baked horror master’s sensibilities is toned down. To assure you, an early scene depicts a woman being stabbed in the hoohah, and her baby-making parts — looking not unlike bait-shop wares — spill out.

To turn back the clock a bit, the titular abode belongs to Mr. and Mrs. Corsini (Cannibal Holocaust’s Paolo Paoloni and Damned in Venice’s Bettine Milne), an elderly couple who have used their wealth to fill their mansion with 70 years’ worth of antique clocks. They also have their nephew and niece there, off in a separate room where they can rot in relative peace, even with the railroad spikes that protrude from their necks.

Enter three young ruffians: two guys, one girl. These shoplifting, pot-smoking, cat-in-plastic-bag-trapping punks burst into the place to rob the Corsinis blind, but accidentally kill them, too. At the moment of the old geezers’ murder, the clocks freeze. Soon, their hands inexplicably move backward, thereby enabling the deceased Corsinis to take their revenge. Like sands through the hourglass, so are the days of our lives.

Goreophobes need not bother setting a date for this one, as it’s as brutal and bloody as Fulci’s famed filmography. Once the senior citizens start to lash back at their uninvited guests, The House of Clocks isn’t located that far from The House by the Cemetery or any of the director’s other zombie works. This one isn’t as good as those, but his fans will enjoy its over-the-top bloodletting. If you thought the “spring forward” portion of daylight saving time was a shock to your system, imagine how bad it would be under this roof. —Rod Lott

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With America rocking the found-footage business, Spain gets into the act with Atrocious. Its concept is that sibling urban-legend investigators Cristian and July (unknowns Cristian Valencia and Clara Moraleda, respectively) are dragged by their parents to spend Easter weekend in a nearby village, where stands the family’s castle, empty for 10 years. Certain to be bored to death, the brother and sister shoot video of the entire trip.

Legend has it that a girl disappeared from the grounds decades before, never to be found. Also, there’s a gated labyrinth adjacent to their property they can’t wait to explore, but their father forbids them to step foot there. So naturally, they do, and find a lot of prickly branches there. Oh, and a well. And anyone who has seen The Ring knows those things are bad news. Especially later when they find a fresh trail of blood leading to it.

That’s not all. The kids hear weird sounds emanating from the maze while they’re trying to sleep. Things really escalate when their 8-year-old brother can’t be found, leading to a too-long run through the dark. (Hope you like night vision!)

The mere title of Atrocious invites trouble (I assume it was chosen to resemble the smash Insidious), but actually, the movie isn’t even close to awful. It’s not great, either, but it is muy bueno, with a rather effective final 10 or 15 minutes that are undeniably creepy, even if you’re short of being scared. —Rod Lott

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Beth (Neve McIntosh, TV’s Case Histories), a divorced lawyer living in a British suburb, is out on the street trying to retrieve her estranged daughter from her neighbor’s house when a group of black-clad, special-forces types appears out of nowhere and guns down a terrified man brandishing a cleaver. Forced back into her home by the soldiers, Beth attempts to find out what’s going on and make sure her daughter is okay. Her married lover thinks they’re under attack from Muslim terrorists, but the truth is far more sinister, and it soon becomes clear that they cannot depend on the soldiers for aid or rescue.

A cinéma vérité-style horror movie made with a typically bleak European aesthetic, Salvage is a classic example of how there is nothing more terrifying than sympathetic and compelling characters trapped in an unexplained situation they cannot control. Eschewing flashy editing or cinematography, director Lawrence Gough simply allows the story to unfold without embellishment and without telling us anything more than what the characters themselves know, resulting in genuine tension and more than a little anxiety on the viewer’s part.

The film also benefits from a brief, 74-minute running time that trims away any fat that might detract from the story and/or character development. While some North American viewers might have trouble comprehending the thickly accented British slang, the fact that you have to really listen to the dialogue keeps you that much more invested in what’s going on.

Definitely not for those who prefer happy endings. —Allan Mott

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If you thought Wes Craven’s A Nightmare on Elm Street was a fine concept, but needed an extra hour to pad with the Bollywood dance numbers it sorely lacked … well, so did India. The result is Mahakaal, which lifts entire scenes and musical cues, but also adds a Michael Jackson impersonator in a Puma sweatshirt who has no “off” switch.

The knife-fingered glove is worn by Shakaal — that’s right: Shakaal, not Mahakaal — whose face looks like a topographic map and whose head sports one mean mullet. Instead of a child molester, he’s a black-magic practitioner. My friend Richard also thinks Shakaal looks like Fangoria‘s Tony Timpone.

Anyhoo, Anita (Archana Puran Singh), the girl whose dreams he torments, resembles a Miami Sound Machine-era Gloria
Estefan, yet remains kind of hot; her authority-figure dad is played by the Hindu version of Fred Armisen. She attends a local college where all the T-shirts — Iron Maiden, Siouxsie and the Banshees, cute owls — apparently have been flown in from an American record store with whatever was left over from its closeout sale.

With a late-game possession angle and camera moves swiped from Sam Raimi’s Evil Dead, Mahakaal certainly upsets the tonal apple cart with sudden, happy musical numbers (“Come on now / You know you want to / Come and have a picnic with me”), especially when they follow scenes of near-rape. Mahakkal is always baffling, but never, ever boring. —Rod Lott

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