Hey, everybody! The carnival’s in town! The carnival’s in town! And Death Screams takes place in the supposedly idyllic American small town where that kind of thing is Earth-Shattering News. Shot in North Carolina, it’s the rare slasher with no discernible lead and in which the killer has no discernible gimmick. To complete a hat trick of sorts, it’s also the only slice-and-dicer to be directed by a member of the Ozzie and Harriet Nelson family, early sitcom titans. While brother Rick zigged his way into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, David clearly zagged.

This hicksploitation horror’s biggest crime is being instantly forgettable. More screen time is given to quilt-selling than story setup. Had Nelson given any character half as many traits as the number of times someone mentions having to work tomorrow (three), we might relate to one of them. As is, they’re as fleshed-out as the fair’s “Junk Shop” booth, which literally has just a toaster. Having more presence than the appliance are H.O.T.S. honey Susan Kiger, who’s inappropriately wooed by the coach (Martin Tucker, Rockin’ Road Trip), and Jennifer Chase (1983’s Balboa) as the one ride that doesn’t leave town when the carnival does.

Amid all the toothpick activity of the sheriff (Earl Owensby Studios regular William T. Hicks, A Day of Judgment) and talk of mince pies are recurring cutaways to two teenagers floating the river like bobbed apples: the ones who were offed in the prologue for having hormones. By the time all the young people ditch the bonfire for an ill-advised trip to the graveyard, a guy named Diddle (John Kohler, Ownensby’s Dogs of Hell) excuses himself to “make heh-heh,” which is a first for my ears.

Aimless and ambling, Death Screams may not be painful, but it’s heh-heh all the same. —Rod Lott

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As residents of states in Tornado Alley know, the singular experience of hunkering down in the bathroom with your family as storm sirens wail can be frightening. It certainly is for the four-person fam of We Need to Do Something, but their sheer terror does not translate to the viewer, try as though director Sean King O’Grady might by adding a rather wily rattlesnake, disembodied voices and, well, other things.

Thick with tension among family members but not dread, the film traps the clan in the room for the duration, as a wind-transplanted tree blocks the one doorway out — effectively bringing the haunted house to them. Stress-reduced to knocking back Listerine, the father (The Innkeepers’ Pat Healy, who elevates everything he’s in) is ineffectual, which his may-as-well-be-estranged wife (Eyes Wide Shut’s Vinessa Shaw, ditto) does not let go unnoticed.

Her main concern is the safety of their children, little Bobby (John James Cronin, TV’s NOS4A2) and teen Melissa (Sierra McCormick, The Vast of Night), whose flashbacks of life outside these four walls are the only thing keeping the movie from a single-setting classification.

More often than not, We Need to Do Something’s title doubles as an audience demand. Indeed, not enough happens in 97 minutes to wring a winner, especially since it seems built for a half-hour TV episode; indeed, Max Booth III adapted it from his own novella. Similarly structured to 10 Cloverfield Lane, but without as much imagination or suspense, the film does climax with one hell of an image that wouldn’t be out of place in the better Elm Street sequels. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.