Not to be confused with the horse-fucking documentary of the same name, Japan’s Zoo is a horror anthology culled from the works of the country’s uni-monikered Otsuichi, presumably a Stephen King of sorts. You wouldn’t know this from the film, which has no wraparound story or any system of linkage, nor the freaky, faceless guide pictured on its cover, which it could use. Each helmed by different directors, the five tales vary in length, style and quality; only one is excellent, while another is an utter chore.

“Kazari and Yoko” is a solid opener, a tale of two sisters who couldn’t be more different, despite being twins. Kazari is beautiful and doted upon by their mother; Yoko is treated literally like a dog and often abused. One day, Yoko decides to play a trick, and it’s as crafty as the segment overall. By contrast, the closing story, “Zoo,” is the worst of a bunch. Its elongated plot finds a guy killing his girlfriend at an abandoned zoo, then returning every day to take a Polaroid of her maggoty corpse so he can make a flipbook. It also has something to do with a zebra, and it doesn’t help that it’s purposely shot on ultra-grainy video.

“So Far” is a quasi-ghost story that goes on too long, with a twist that mitigates any power. It examines what happens when an only child’s parents are killed in a car crash, but return as ghosts, only unable to be seen or heard by the other spouse. “The Poem of Collected Sunlight” stands out, but only because it’s animated. The two-character bit is like the Frankenstein myth rendered as a tonal piece.

“Seven Rooms” makes the entire film worthy of existence, as a little boy and his older sister awake in a locked room with a dirt floor and concrete walls, with no recollection of getting there, nor much hope for escape. It’s like a combination of Cube and those ones with the chainsaw. Now, nothing about “Seven Rooms” (or any of Zoo, for that matter) is scary, but it’s packed with mystery, suspense and ingenuity — elements most of the other segments severely lack. —Rod Lott

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Ritual was supposed to follow 1995’s Demon Knight and 1996’s Bordello of Blood into theaters as the third in a trilogy of Tales from the Crypt movies. But it didn’t, finally premiering on DVD, and that’s because Ritual is shit-ual. Trust me: You’ll be praying for the return of Dennis Miller.

In this remake of Val Lewton’s classic I Walked with a Zombie, a post-schnozz-job Jennifer Grey portrays Dr. Alice, who, after having her medical license suspended for two years, accepts an advertised hospice position in Jamaica. Once there, she wonders if maybe she hadn’t made a rash decision: “Why does everyone carry machetes?”

Her employer, Craig Sheffer, explains his crazy brother (Daniel Lapaine) believes he’s a zombie. With so much voodoo afoot, lots of hallucinations are experienced in this ridiculously routine shocker: crawling spiders, moving trees, crashing ceiling, Medusa hair and so on. Holy shit, does Grey sure scream a lot. But she has no Principal Rooney to kick in the face immediately thereafter, which makes a huge difference.

That’s because a solid sense of humor is sorely missing; other than the slapped-on opening featuring the Cryptkeeper in dreadlocks, in no way does it ever feel like a Crypt film, much less a Crypt episode. I did like the necrophilia gag, but that’s the last shot of the movie. That’s right: Not even the Cryptkeeper could be bothered to show up and say goodbye. (The post-credit fake bloopers — complete with fart joke — don’t count.) —Rod Lott

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You know that rock musical for the stage? The one that begins with a mop-headed hooker being pulled into an alley by a man in a giant owl head who does flips? And a Marilyn Monroe lookalike playing the sax while her dress billows up? No? Good, because it only exists in Stagefright, so you passed the liar test.

The Italian horror film follows the foibles of the cast and crew attempting to mount this ambitious production. Rehearsals aren’t going great, and that’s before their troupe is infiltrated by a crazed killer. A wardrobe lackey is the first to be murdered (in the face!), and the director eats up the idea of using the publicity to his advantage, because he’s in dire need of a hit.

That’s before he and the thesps get locked in the theater with the killer, who’s now using the aforementioned owl head as his trademark, so take that, hockey mask! Members of the musical get stabbed, drilled, sawed and axed, and they all wonder who, who could it be? (That’s an owl pun.) Meanwhile, the oblivious cops sit outside, talking about James Dean and Popeye.

With its behind-the-scenes setting most of us never see, Stagefright feels more unique than it would otherwise. (The owl head doesn’t hurt, either.) As with many ’80s Italian horrors, it’s heavily stylized — read: MTV-influenced and, therefore, awfully and wonderfully dated. Director Michele Soavi (The Church) hails from the Dario Argento school of filmmaking, so people bleed and get torn apart in graphically gruesome ways. It’s slow as first, but once the killings started, I was prepped to cry, “Bravo! Bravo!” —Rod Lott

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At a time before the word “horror” even had a translated equivalent in Japan, writer/director Nobuo Nakagawa gave the country something to be all shook up about: a cinematic trip to Hell, and one full of gore of that! Jigoku is a real freaker-outer, starting with credits that suggest an Asian 007 adventure, but only if the guy in the audio booth tripped and fell on every SFX button at once. Your ears will hate it.

But your eyes will love it! College student Shirô (Shigeru Amachi, The Tale of Zatoichi) is having a bad run, starting when a drunk yakuza fatally stumbles into path of the car in which Shirô is a passenger. Then his fiancée dies in a wreck, so he drowns his sorrows in the bodily fluids of prostitutes. Then his mom falls critically ill. Then he becomes partly responsible for the deaths of several more people.

Finally, with a little more than half an hour to spare in the running time, he goes to Hell. Worse, Buddhists believe in a Hell comprised of eight Hells, so buckle up! Upon arrival, he gets his throat pierced, has to view a Your Life’s Greatest Fuck-Ups reel and learns just how hot flames of eternity can be. Shirô gets the 25-cent tour and sees the newly dead being flayed, boiled and spiked for punishment — different strokes for different folks, all rather graphically depicted with lots of red acrylic paint.

Weird and wild, Jigoku does drag in the middle, kinda like life itself. But its Hell sequence — if one could call a third of a film a “sequence” — is quite something to see, from both a visual and a historical standpoint. I would’ve loved to witness how it went over with audiences upon release. However, if you want to see some really crazy Asian shit without the heavy-handed morality tale but with all of the “Huh?,” 1977’s Hausu is your best bet. —Rod Lott

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Quarantine 2: Terminal is among that rarest breed of direct-to-video sequels: those not only actually good, but better than the original. Whereas 2008’s Quarantine was a faithful remake of 2007’s Spanish horror hit [REC], Quarantine 2 takes off on its own course, while [REC] 2 revisits the exact same territory by staying in the apartment building whose residents have been zombified.

A good chunk of Quarantine 2, however, takes place on a commercial airliner, where one of the passengers has brought infected lab rats from said apartment building as his carry-on. Another passenger gets his finger nipped trying to help fit the damn thing in the overhead compartment, and before long, he’s puking violently and going berserk, headed straight for the cockpit.

One emergency landing later, the remaining passengers and crew disembark into a terminal that’s sealed off from the airport. They’re flat-out stuck, which wouldn’t necessarily be bad if the infected weren’t hiding in the shadows, either. The behind-the-scenes luggage area gives newbie director (and Rollerball remake screenwriter, but we won’t hold that against him now) John Pogue lots of opportunity to turn his set labyrinthian, at which he excels.

As the lead flight attendant, Mercedes Masöhn (Red Sands) is your sub for Jennifer Carpenter, and thank God for that. You won’t miss Carpenter, nor the camcorder concept. Pogue still keeps things claustrophobic without having to resort to that no-longer-novel technique. Quarantine 2 isn’t perfect — some performances could be better — but it’s effective, and more so than its big brother. —Rod Lott

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