The Jeffrey Dahmer Files (2012)

As brave and unsettling as Evan Peters is in the title role of Dahmer — Monster: The Jeffrey Dahmer Story, that Netflix series won’t likely stick with me the way 2012’s The Jeffrey Dahmer Files has for a decade.

The documentary is built largely on interviews with three people tied directly to the notorious, 17-time serial killer: apartment neighbor Pamela Bass, medical examiner Dr. Jeffrey Jentzen and aggressively mustachioed police detective Pat Kennedy. Each grabs your attention and holds it with his or her recollections, but given this most unusual case, that’s expected.

The wild card is the other half of the movie, in which pieces of Dahmer’s ho-hum life — trips to buy bleach, to acquire a barrel for acid, to solicit a trick — are depicted via re-enactments, with co-writer Andrew Swant portraying Dahmer. He does so without any hint of playing a monster; not once does he appear unhinged or go over the top, yet somehow, Swant’s performance rings super sinister.

Similarly, Chris James Thompson (We Are Not Ghouls) directs with a clinical detachment, which I mean as a compliment. His decision not to show any acts of violence is genius — not for reasons of prudishness, but because he relies on viewers’ minds to fill in the blanks. You imagine what’s going on behind that closed door, what’s in that suitcase, and whatever your brain whips up is more chilling than Thompson could fake.

Even if you already know the story, it sounds all the more terrifying when told from the mouths of those who were close to the case. Produced in part by American Movie’s Chris Smith (look for that doc’s subject, Mark Borchardt, in the optical-shop scene), this film will haunt you. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.

They Crawl Beneath (2022)

Move over, turkey! In They Crawl Beneath, the Thanksgiving menu is nematodes! (You and I call them worms.) They’re big, venomous and causing all sorts of shit in a rural garage after an earthquake. They look not unlike House II’s doggy-worm hybrid, minus the cute face and plus all the gnarly teeth.

Whereas most Americans spend the fourth Thursday of November slaving in the kitchen or slugging on the couch, police offer Danny (Joseph Almani, who looks like AI art of “Dean Cain but studious and learned”) is helping his alcoholic uncle (Michael Paré, The Wild Man) work on a car. That’s because Danny’s been dumped by his chipmunk-cheeked scientist girlfriend (Karlee Eldridge, Fired Up), whose job comes in handy when the drunken uncle gets bitten by a huge worm.

From there, you prep yourself for a Tremors facsimile. However, director Dale Fabrigar (Area 407) is working with means presumably below any Tremors direct-to-video sequel, so Danny never leaves the garage. Taking away subplots and flashbacks, They Crawl Beneath is a one-roomer. To get around that, Tricia Aurand’s script gives that nematode venom hallucinogenic properties. While this trick can liven up a scene, it’s also a bridge too far, because the movie is constantly pulling a “JK! Didn’t happen.”

Juggling old-fashioned elements (giant creatures) with current-world issues (ACAB), They Crawl Beneath collapses more often than succeeds, but because it bears competency throughout, I admire its gumption. The practical worms look terrifying, even if the movie is not. For true big-beastie wackadoo this T’giving, put Blood Freak on your viewing plate. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.

The Last Trick or Treater (2011)

Tulsa-based filmmaker Darla Enlow’s The Last Trick or Treater seems calibrated to get viewers into the Halloween spirit. While only around a half-hour, so was Walt Disney’s The Legend of Sleepy Hollow cartoon. Flaws and all, I embrace it with as much love as went into it. Play it as an aperitif before any All Hallows’ Eve film of your choice.

In the Headless Horseman’s place, this shot-on-video shocker has the hobo-masked Scabby Bobby (Gavin Wells). As terminal cancer patient Morley (Chris Cameron) tells his hospice nurse (Dana Pike, Enlow’s Toe Tags) on Halloween night, Scabby Bobby was a stuttering kid they bullied mercilessly at school. Each Oct. 31, he returns to take vengeance on those who taunted, terrorized and traumatized him, one tormenter per year. Tonight, it’s Morley’s turn, and never has the playground rhyme of “Trick or treat, smell my feet, give me something good to eat” sounded like a legitimate harbinger of doom.

From Scabby Bobby, we go to serial killer Mr. Buttons in Carthage, the bonus movie on Last Trick or Treater’s difficult-to-find DVD. Turns out, it’s a dry run for Enlow’s The Stitcher, her 2007 feature. One more segment and she would have a full anthology of colorfully named killers. We should be so lucky! —Rod Lott

The Wild Man (2021)

In the Florida Everglades, several locals have vanished; Bigfoot is blamed. Making a documentary about the cases, Sarah and pals hire a self-proclaimed skunk ape tracker to help them investigate. One guess as to whether The Wild Man is shot as cost-conscious found footage.

Director Ryan Justice (Followers) offers a unique climax, in that the cryptic carnage unleashes inside a “gubermint” (to quote the locals) lab facility. Unfortunately, it takes a load of filler to get there, including too many too-long confessionals Sarah (Lauren Crandall, Share or Die) delivers straight to camera — snot-free!

Crandall is fine in the lead, and Michael Paré (Dawn) does his reliable cameo duty, but most of the cast members aren’t convincing as “real” people. Some don’t appear to be trying; in particular, David E. McMahon (Bonehill Road) as the aforementioned tracker seems to approach the material as an SNL sketch — and not a good one. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.

Massacre at Central High (1976)

When I was around 8 or 9, an edited-for-television version of Massacre at Central High played one evening on an UHF station. A few minutes into it, my mother came in the living room and started watching. She recalled she had seen it and, even worse, that Andrew Stevens was in it.

I don’t remember anything else, except mostly that my mother knew who Stevens was; either way, this snippet of conversation was rediscovered when I watched the new-to-Blu-ray Massacre at Central High, which leads to more questions, but I digress …

As the syrupy song “The Crossroads of My Life” imbues on the soundtrack, Robert Carradine is pushed by a bunch of bullies in the school hallway, which sounds bad, but to be fair, he was drawing a swastika on a locker. Good for the bullies, I guess.

Even with that exercise of antifascism, they are pretty bad, too; their gratuitous disciplining includes a chubby student trying to scale a rope in gym class, the school’s hearing-impaired librarian being harassed and, yikes, raping some girls in the chemistry lab.

As the new student David (Derrel Maury) sees the terrorism taking place, he seeks what any student would: revenge. On my count, he takes down a rockin’ hang glider; a rockin’ surfer in a van driven off a cliff; and a rockin’ swimmer who takes to a pool with no water.

You would think everyone would be satisfied by this conclusion, but they are not, instead repeating the cycle, but with a bigger body count and so on. The characters are so strange, even with director Rene Daalder’s foreign direction skills, they act like they are in a stage play in an actual stage play. It gives the movie a real meta scenario, even if they don’t know it.

But to think my mother saw this at a first-run theater in the ’70s: What other skeletons does she have in the closet in there? More importantly, is Andrew Stevens in there? We’ll never know. —Louis Fowler

Get it at Amazon.

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