The Sixth Sense can toss my hairy, brown-eyed salad. The Usual Suspects can drown itself in a jail cell toilet bowl. Planet of the Apes can’t dodge the hurled heaps of fresh monkey poop it deserves fast enough. Strong words? Probably, since I absolutely love all three of those films, but there’s no denying that none comes close to matching the late-’80s Canadian cult metal “horror” classic, Rock ’n’ Roll Nightmare, for the title of Greatest Movie Twist Ending of All Time.

Other assholes might spoil it for you, but I shall not. Instead, I will attempt to describe the epic lameness you must suffer through to reach the final nirvana of fucked-up awesomeness. Made for $90,000 Nightmare is a loopy vanity project starring screenwriter Jon Mikl Thor, a blond bodybuilder/heavy metal singer whose ambitions always seemed to dwarf his budgets and talents.

Thor (who memorably played the zombie in the MST3K-spoofed Zombie Nightmare) plays John Triton, lead singer of a metal band that has descended upon an abandoned Ontario farmhouse to practice before recording a new album and going on tour. It’s a long trip, and we get to see most of it, thanks to the nearly eight-minute driving sequence director John Fasano (Black Roses) had to insert for the film to reach feature-length.

With the band comes the groupies, girlfriends and requisite sleazy manager, all of whom are eventually killed by the hilariously tacky-looking puppet demons who call the farmhouse home. Soon (but not quite soon enough), only John is left, and the significance of his last name is revealed. I shan’t say more.

This ranks right up there with Manos: The Hands of Fate, Troll 2, The Room and Plan 9 from Outer Space as one of the most deliriously fantastic “bad” films of all time. As slow and poorly made as it is, it has a mesmerizing quality that allows you to happily travel along with it, all the way to the absurdly awesome end. —Allan Mott

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Building a hotel over one of the seven gateways to Hell will come back to bite you in the ass. So will bringing home a woman with milky eyes and a German shepherd, especially if you meet them standing motionless in the middle of the road. These and other lessons, director Lucio Fulci imparts with torn parts in his splatter horror classic The Beyond, aka Seven Doors of Death.

In a sepia-toned prologue taking place in 1927, we learn that the occupant of room 36, a painter/warlock, fatally was beaten with chains and nailed to the wall by Louisiana residents who apparently don’t cotton to painters/warlocks, rendering the place cursed. Sixty years later, Liza (Katherine MacColl, Hawk the Slayer) inherits the place, complete with flooded basement, whereupon the hotel claims its first modern-day victim in Joe the plumber (not the Tea Party hero, but oh, if it were!). Liza is warned by the aforementioned milky-eyed blind girl (Cinzia Monreale, Beyond the Darkness) to move, but Liza is unswayed: “Listen, I’ve lived in New York!”

Melding two beloved fright-film subgenres — the zombie movie and the haunted-house thriller — Fulci’s The Beyond goes way beyond the horror norm, testing audience’s tummies with an triple-eye-gouging, face-melting, head-impaling, throat-tearing, forehead-penetrating, cheek-puncturing good ol’ time. The practical effects are grossly realistic, except for one point where some fakery is obvious. However, that’s the part where several tarantulas slowly crawl onto a paralyzed guy’s face and tear it apart, claiming the honor of being cinema’s all-time sickest spider scene. Arachnophobes will flip.

If you can stomach it, see it! Apropos of nothing, one of the walking dead at the 1:20 mark looks like a young Robert De Niro. —Rod Lott

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The Japanese horror film Uzumaki will make your head spin … but not necessarily in a good way. The crazy shit all starts when schoolgirl Kirie Goshima (Eriko Hatsune) notices her boyfriend Shuichi’s father being mesmerized by a snail shell, then a pottery wheel — anything containing a spiral, which he captures obsessively with a camcorder.

The old man’s madness soon results in his suicide, at which point it spreads to the immediate populace via a spiraling plume of smoke. Soon, everyone in that vortex shape — hair curls, an inner-ear part, a millipede — sends everyone to Loopyville. As They Might Be Giants once sang, “The spiraling shape will make you go insane / Everyone wants to see that groovy thing.”

You’re better off with the TMBG tune or Junji Ito’s terrific three-volume manga on which this flick is based. Whereas the books move quickly, page by page, the movie shambles about at a pace of one of its supporting characters: the one who shows up at school shuffling along with a prodigious slime trail behind him.

Director Higuchinsky — yes, just the one name — succeeds in presenting the tale with some interesting angles and inventive setups, and does not skimp on gore when it’s called for. The apocalyptic end scene, however, looks drawn, demonstrating the limitations of the budget. It’s a semi-solid try, but with such rich material to draw from, could be far creepier and far better. —Rod Lott

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Professor Alan Whitmore doesn’t like spiders. We know this because through the entirety of Italy’s The Spider Labyrinth, first-time director Gianfranco Giagni keeps flashing back to a childhood incident in which Whitmore (a mamby-pamby Roland Wybenga) was locked in a closet with one big mofo of a creepy crawler.

What’s this have to do with anything? Eh, not much. But the Dallas academian is hired by a secretive institution to travel to Budapest, re-establish contact with an AWOL professor named Roth, and bring back all the research the old man has collected. When Whitmore meets Roth, he finds the guy visibly frightened and threatened … and later strung up dead by a web.

Despite this and numerous other warnings to get out of the town before it traps him, Whitmore sticks around. I’m guessing part of this is because Roth’s assistant, Genevieve (Paola Rinaldi), likes to undress in front of an open window. That may give you reason to stick around, too, as will the string of strange murders and increasingly bizarre proceedings that, at the very end, jump from aping the stylistic methods of Dario Argento to David Cronenberg.

The Spider Labyrinth must qualify as a giallo simply for having so many of its elements in place: black cat, black gloves, surreal settings, lurid voyeurism, colored gels, bad dubbing, crap that makes no sense, etc. Wonderfully wacky, this one, full of stop-motion spiders and one insane ending that’ll have you saying, “Now that’s Italian!” It’s kind of like Arachnophobia meets … oh, a craft services table with three kinds of tortellini. —Rod Lott

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Universal monsters screenwriter Curt Siodmak monkeyed around on his typewriter to go ape with Bride of the Gorilla, which you could mistake for a partial remake of his The Wolf Man. It’s equally as cheesy as other monkey movies of the era, but twice as routine.

Raymond Burr stars as a beefy worker on a jungle plantation who’s diddling his boss’ wife. When the boss finds out, he punches Burr in the face; Burr responds by throwing him at a deadly snake, which fatally bites the old man. A nearby witch witnesses the event puts strange leaves on the boss’ eyes, thus placing a curse on Burr.

No sooner has the future Perry Mason married the not-bereaving widow when he begins turning into a gorilla, through a series of cheap and unconvincing transformation sequences. Your average killing rampage ensues. My mind was long checked out by then. —Rod Lott

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