Of all the imitators spawned in the wake of 1973’s The Exorcist, why did Warner Bros. legally suppress Abby? It is hardly a Xerox, even if director William Girdler (Grizzly) attempts an uncomfortable medical-test scene and also has his possessed protagonist orally expel fluids — not pea-soup vomit, but that watery foam my shih tzu yaks up on the carpet instead of the tile.

Abby is infamous for being the blaxploitation genre’s take on William Friedkin’s aforementioned film, following other Afro-centric boogeyman-benders as Blacula, Blackenstein and Dr. Black, Mr. Hyde. (I guess The Blaxoricst was deemed too crass?) The God-fearing Abby (Carol Speed, The Big Bird Cage) and her reverend hubby, Emmett (Terry Carter, Foxy Brown), move into a new home while Emmett’s dad, Prof. Williams (William Marshall, the two-time Blacula), investigates a cave in Nigeria that once was the site of black-magic rituals. In doing so, he opens a box that unleashes a demonic spirit that somehow — Girdler does not explain it — enters Abby’s body half a world away, causing her to masturbate in the shower.

At first, signs of her soul takeover are fairly benign, like stuff blowing around the room — the kind of paranormal activity that can be defeated with a paperweight. But then shit gets real as Abby deliberately slices open her arm with a knife, curses in a deep voice (“I’m not your ho!”), kicks Emmett in the nuts and laughs about it, and tries to hump the male clientele at her marriage counseling office — a real practice-killer, that. The prof hurries home to play Max Von Sydow to his son’s Jason Miller before this Linda Blair lays every dude in a bar within a six-block radius. The devil literally made her do it!

A step above Girdler’s usual level of awfulness begets entertainment, as Abby turns out rather well, rip-off or not; “opportunist” is a more correct term for the director than “thief.” Marshall is, as always, a commanding presence, and it’s as if the rest of the main cast rose to the task. Speed delivers a solid and sympathetic performance, except when she is called upon for lip-and-tongue action, and as brothers, Carter and Austin Stoker (John Carpenter’s Assault on Precinct 13) make an appealing pair of grounded heroic Everymen. Cartoon voice actor Bob Holt deserves some credit for embodying Satan’s pipes in order to sell Abby’s Ol’ Scratch routine, but I’ve got to give it up to Girdler: His not-quite-subliminal cuts of the demon’s face register as legitimately disturbing. —Rod Lott

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Popcorn exhibits a deep, abiding love for the movies: the content, the concessions, the venues, the experience. That it does so within the constraints of a slasher film severely limits its audience, both then and now. Their loss.

Hungry for funding, a class of film students decides to put on a one-night-only triple feature of horror — or, as teacher Tony Roberts (Amityville 3-D) pronounces it, “har-ar.” The B titles selected for exhibition in the abandoned Dream Land theater all were released originally with William Castle-style gimmicks, which the kids aim to recreate with full ballyhoo:
• Mosquito!, an Atomic Age tale of giant-bug rampage, in the three dimensions of “Project-O-Vision”;
• The Amazing Electrified Man, a black-and-white Poverty Row shocker with Tingler-esque wired seats, aka “Shock-O-Scope”; and
• The Stench, a Japanese sci-fi stink bomb in “Aroma-Rama.”

While cleaning up for the night of 1,000 frights, the students unearth a dusty reel of an avant-garde short made by acid-tripping cultist Lanyard Gates (makeup artist Matt Falls). Years ago, the guy killed his family at the Dream Land screening of his film. While his body never was identified, good-girl student Maggie (Jill Schoelen, 1987’s The Stepfather) recognizes him as the star of her recurring nightmares. The reason why will be as evident to viewers as the identity of the killer punching the tickets of those in attendance.

Although equal time is not in the cards, Popcorn’s punch comes less from the villain and more from the movies-within-the-movie, pieces of each we see projected with tongue planted firmly in cheek. Director Mark Herrier (aka Billy from the Porky’s trilogy) took just enough care to make the fake films look enough like the real deal … or perhaps the credit is due to Popcorn’s original kernel colonel, Deranged’s Alan Ormsby, who wrote the script, but was fired from helming after production began. Whoever deserves the applause, Joe Dante took the facsimile-flick idea to an even more nostalgic degree just two years later in his underrated Matinee, but of course, he had the means (read: studio budget) to provide such a polish.

Smarter than it gets credit for, Popcorn is able to do a lot with a little. While it would be interesting to see the result with more money and less behind-the-scenes turmoil, what we’re left with is worth its weight in artificial butter. —Rod Lott

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It takes a bit for Jack Weis’ Crypt of Dark Secrets to achieve any sort of lucidity, as the NOLA-lensed, swamp-set “whore-or” indie begins wordlessly, with a witchy woman writhing in nature for a good two minutes before finally levitating up — and up against — a tree trunk. She is Damballa (Maureen Ridley), the rumored mystical “woman who lives in the lake and turns into a snake.” (Local legend ignores or fails to make clear whether she’s immune to splinters in the rear.)

What’s this have to do with anything? Well, cut to Sheriff Harrigan (Wayne Mack, The Savage Bees) discussing Damballa with Charlie the librarian (Donn Davison, Blood Beast of Monster Mountain), who found some of them there facts about her in one of those book thingies: “It’s very interesting. There’s pictures,” says Charlie, who had to go through “damn near every one” of nearly 6,000 volumes to find it, because apparently the Dewey Decimal system had yet to make it to their neck of the woods.

What’s this have to do with anything? Well, Harrigan boats over to Haunted Island, Damballa’s stomping grounds, to meet Ted (Ronald Tanet of Weis’ better-known Mardi Gras Massacre), a Vietnam vet who loudly tells everyone that he keeps his cash literally in a breadbox.

What’s this have to do with anything? Well, three ne’er-do-well rednecks take advantage of this financial tip, despite Damballa’s supposed presence there; says one, “I ain’t afraid of no ghost and no voodoo and no snake lady!” When the gents rob Ted — oh, and kill him in the process — that “snake lady” appears, fully naked and partially oily, to revive our fallen solider. Upon resurrection, he notes, “You’re the girl that lives in the lake. The one who turns into a snake,” as if the first sentence wasn’t specific enough and required a second to narrow the field.

What’s this have to do with anything? Yeah, damn good question, because it’s ol’ Damballa who does so much of the revengin’. And it’s a hoot to see her do that, because when she does, her eyes crudely go all-white, as if Weis cut them out frame by frame with an X-Acto knife — which he probably did, assuming the budget could afford one. The man is no director — nor writer nor producer — yet against all odds, Crypt is exceedingly well-photographed (if you can ignore that everyone appears in a shade of Oompa-Loompa orange). How it can look so good when the movie falls short in every other area — especially acting, since the leads speak … as if they … memorized their … lines only a … few words at a … time — is its only true Dark Secret. —Rod Lott

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Having paid homage to old-school slashers with the Hatchet trilogy, writer/director Adam Green tries a far more contemporary style of horror on for size: the mockumentary.

Playing himself to an assumedly exaggerated degree — one not far from the character he plays on his Holliston cable-television series, which is to say they reside on the same map point — Green documents his dealings with William Dekker (Ray Wise, TV’s Twin Peaks), who not only claims monsters exist, but that he can deliver undeniable proof. Amusement grows to amazement as Green — accompanying Dekker on nocturnal trips to Rocky Pointe Natural Park — begins to believe the truth is out there … right in front of his smirking face.

Remarkably, Digging Up the Marrow is what the Hatchets were not: scary. Genuinely freak-me-out scary. (Making this all the more rare: how purposely humorous much of the film is.) The monsters may be fleeting, but the appearances they make are frighteningly memorable. That may not be the case if someone else had designed them other than Alex Pardee. His work was foreign to me before this film, but the supremely gifted artist must be known well enough in some circles to merit equal billing with Green atop the poster. The placement is deserved.

From years of observation and study, Dekker has catalogued the creatures extensively, giving them names (like Vance) and knowing their quirks (“They like pancakes”). Sharing these tidbits deadpan is where Wise’s casting proves pitch-perfect. Without someone that solid an actor, who can straddle the beam of crazed yet likable, Digging Up the Marrow would be a pointless endeavor. Luckily, like Green’s 2010 thriller, Frozen, it shows his talents extend far beyond depicting ultrarealistic gushes of blood. —Rod Lott

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Despite its incredible simplicity, Unfriended is a tough film to review. Its characters are utterly vapid, hateful, spoiled, self-centered, despicable young people. But isn’t that its point?

The entirety of its story unfolds on the Mac laptop screen of high schooler Blaire (Shelley Hennig, Ouija), beginning with a conversation between her and her boyfriend, Mitch (Moses Jacob Storm), via webcam. (Were this section extended to feature-length, I’d be tempted to call it The Blaire Mitch Project.) Soon, they’re joined by three or four friends of varying superficiality, and the longest group Skype in cinema history begins. May its record never be shattered.

With Facebook, Gmail, Spotify, iMessage and Chatroulette serving as subplots, Unfriended keeps Blaire’s trackpad finger busy when an anonymous, unwanted icon gloms on to their call. Never heard, the presumed hacker claims to be Laura Barns (Heather Sossaman, 10.0 Earthquake), which would be NBD except the girl died the year before. In fact, she committed suicide on school grounds after a video of her drunk to the point of soiling herself earned her instant YouTube infamy … and a barrage of cyberbullying.

Now Laura wants revenge on those responsible. #andthentherewerenone

How could a dead student possibly wreak online havoc? Simple: Unfriended comes from Jason Blum, producer of Paranormal Activity, Insidious, Sinister and other evil-spirit horror movies more enjoyable than this one. It is not without welcome bursts of humor, mostly in its ironic song choices, but if watching entitled assholes bicker before an icon-strewn desktop for about 80 minutes sounds like fun, do log on.

But if watching entitled assholes bicker before an icon-strewn desktop for about 80 minutes sounds like torture … well, give Unfriended a shot anyway, because it seems to make a subversive statement about social media technically making us anti-social by bringing out the worst in us. It is a shame that members of its core audience may be too shallow to grasp its stance or in denial.

Directed by USSR-born Levan Gabriadze and originally intended as an MTV premiere, Unfriended is not scary in the slightest, but at least it’s different … until the microbudgeted copycats flood the torrent sites, that is. —Rod Lott