According to Wikipedia, Niccolò Paganini was a brilliant violinist — a stringed virtuoso who shocked the early 1800s with his nimble wrist and indelible skill. Also, in the case of the film Paganini Horror, he apparently sold his soul to Satan, a deal that results in terrible horror flicks usurping your name a few decades later.

A trio of somewhat hard-rocking chicks are looking for that “hot” sound that will take them to the top of the charts; they believe they’re going to find it by using a lost composition by the very late Paganini, sold to their producer by a badly dubbed Donald Pleasence. They’re wrong, of course.

As Pleasence goes to a tower and throws the money he made off the deal to all of Italy, the gang decides to record in Paganini’s old estate, where a small girl recently threw a radio in the bathtub where her mom was lounging. While I hope she got sent to timeout for that, concurrently a metal-faced killer is stalking the band as they try to record a “fantastic video clip” in the style of Michael Jackson’s “Thriller.”

Gleefully, when the producer (or is he the video’s director?) discovers a room with a comically large hourglass in it, the film goes right into a most bloody scherzo, defying description as the remaining rockers run around the mansion, cashing in a one-way ticket to hell, complete with a wholly nonsensical ending I hoped Pleasence earned an easy-enough paycheck for.

With a couple of decent power ballads, some powerful jump-scares and, of course, the participation of Daria Nicolodi, Paganini Horror is a trashy little film, one that for years I thought starred Klaus Kinski; turns out that’s Kinski Paganini, a film even Werner Herzog thought was “unfilmable,” so I really want to watch it more than this. —Louis Fowler

Get it at Amazon.

For the ideal Thanksgiving-themed horror film, watch Blood Freak. Then, if you have room for seconds, go for Blood Rage. It tops your relatives’ at-the-table political bickering with the lead character dropping this bon mot: “Looks like you’re gonna get a chance to meet the rest of the family. My psychotic brother just escaped. Could you pass the green beans, please?”

That plot-establisher comes from the mouth of Terry (Mark Soper, The Understudy: Graveyard Shift II), who, 10 years prior, hacked a guy to death at a drive-in movie and blamed it on his twin brother, Todd, who was instantly rendered catatonic upon witnessing the murder. Now grown up and living in mental institution, Todd (also Soper, but with messier hair) remembers the details, throws a fistful of pumpkin pie in frustration and flies the coop to make things right.

Todd’s unannounced homecoming coincides with Thanksgiving dinner, where the boys’ mom (Louise Lasser, Frankenhooker) announces her engagement at dinner. It’s enough to make a jealous son lash out — but which one? Knowing a killer is on the loose (if not his true identity) at the apartment complex, what do Terry and his teen pals do? Oh, just hang out, go here and there, play video games, fuck on diving boards — that sort of thing.

Not always the case for slasher movies, Blood Rage makes good on its title, as director John Grissmer graduates from Scalpel to machete, cooking up a cornucopia of dismemberment and decapitation from which his camera never shies. As the crazed sibling puts it, “That isn’t cranberry sauce, Artie. That is not cranberry sauce.”

Meanwhile, Lasser, collecting a day’s pay in Shirley Temple curls, mostly sits on a couch or the kitchen floor. As she utters early in the film, “Well, I say this big bird is ready for carving.” Couldn’t agree more, Louise! Happy Thanksgiving! —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.