At least one positive emerged from the heavy-metal hysteria of the ’80s: We got a pretty goofy movie satirizing the whole thing — albeit at featherweight — in Trick or Treat. Directed by actor Charles Martin Smith (1987’s The Untouchables), the schlocky Dino De Laurentiis production centers on the kind of misfit teen Smith became famous for playing in George Lucas’ American Graffiti. That 1973 film’s nerdy Toad may as well be this 1986 film’s Eddie.

But the part belongs to Marc Price, then still ripe in his second-banana role as Skippy on TV’s Family Ties. Eddie wouldn’t dare sit near Skippy on the bus, but both are outcasts all the same. Eddie’s attic room is practically wallpapered with posters of the hair-metal bands in which he finds escape from daily abuse by preppy bully Tim (Doug Savant, the token gay of TV’s Melrose Place), but outright worship is reserved for Satan-loving singer Sammi Curr (former Solid Gold dancer Tony Fields). Moments after writing Curr a gushing fan letter, which he signs “Ragman,” Eddie learns via the TV news that his idol has perished in a hotel fire. Bummed out, Eddie seeks solace in the local rock DJ (Kiss front man Gene Simmons, sans makeup), who gifts the boy with a valuable slab of vinyl: the only pressing of Curr’s Songs in the Key of Death.

Playing the record from “rock’s chosen warrior” backward, Eddie not only hears personal messages from Curr emanating through his stereo speakers — he summons him from the dead! With half his mug burned and blistered, but spiked mullet intact, the resurrected Curr looks like Two-Face for the Kerrang! set. At first he helps Eddie exact revenge through high-school high jinks, but quickly takes things too far; the best example gives us Trick or Treat’s most memorable scene: Tim’s girlfriend (Elise Richards, Valet Girls) being stripped, fondled and plateaued by green mist swirling from a Walkman playing Curr’s lost album on cassette. Is it live or is it Memorex? (The second most memorable bit is Savant’s near-tears line reading in the aftermath: “He put Genie in the hospital with his voodoo witchcraft! Or whatever the hell it is!” Trust me: You gotta be there.)

Bearing only a minimal connection to the title-tied holiday of Halloween, Trick or Treat aims for subversion by casting metal legend Ozzy Osbourne, a real-life target of the Parents Music Resource Center, as a man of the cloth preaching against the evils of rock ’n’ roll, yet the movie goes no further than that. All the time Smith and the script spent trying to turn Curr into the next Freddy Krueger (by way of Penelope Spheeris) should have been invested in making our supposed hero more than a petulant mouth-breather, coming up with more imaginative ways for Eddie and his crush (Lisa Orgolini, Born to Ride) to defeat Curr than the ol’ laundry hamper/flushed toilet combo, and writing a conclusion that wrapped up well before Trick enters a cycle of repetition — or, as the music industry calls it, heavy rotation. —Rod Lott

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Presented by some organization calling itself The October Society, Tales of Halloween makes a bid for annual play with an anthology of 10 stories, each by a director whose name is likely familiar to the horror faithful. More treats exist than tricks, and the whole party is hosted (although almost exclusively through a vocal performance) by scream queen Adrienne Barbeau in full Foggy DJ mode.

The Hills Run Red’s Dave Parker leads the parade with “Sweet Tooth,” relaying the urban legend of a child who was allowed to trick-or-treat, but never to consume his loot. The ending is predictable, but comfortable, and the segment houses one genuine scare. By contrast, Darren Lynn Bousman (Saw II through IV) goes for straight comedy — complete with cringe-inducing cartoon SFX — in “The Night Billy Raised Hell.” Its highlight is Rocky Horror Picture Show alum Barry Bostwick’s game portrayal of a devil introducing a child to the wonderful world of All Hallows’ Eve prank-pulling.

Adam Gierasch (2009’s Night of the Demons remake) pulls a “Trick” of four adults under siege in the dead of night, while Grace’s Paul Solet reworks the Western into a modern-day BMX bike chase in the wanting “The Weak and the Wicked.” Tales creator Axelle Carolyn (Soulmate) gets things bouncing back with “Grimm Grinning Ghost.” It’s another urban-legend story, this of a dead woman who comes back to taunt the living — namely, Starry Eyes starlet Alex Essoe. Its final shot provides a welcome jolt.

Lucky McKee (May) goes “Ding Dong” with an equally amusing and confusing look at how a couple (Filth’s Pollyanna McIntosh and The Devil’s Carnival’s Marc Senter) unable to conceive copes with a constant stream of children at their door. (Spoiler: not well.) Splatterpunk pioneer John Skipp teams with Andrew Kasch (Never Sleep Again: The Elm Street Legacy) to declare “This Means War,” as neighbors James Duval (Go) and comedian Dana Gould do battle via their very different yard decorations; results are tragic for them, funny for us.

With “Friday the 31st,” Mike Mendez (Big Ass Spider!) pays tribute to Friday the 13th with a Jason Voorhees-esque slasher, Sam Raimi-style shenanigans and stop-motion animation — a winning mix. Abominable helmer Ryan Schifrin (son of the legendary Lalo, who composed Tales’ theme) reworks an O. Henry classic into “The Ransom of Rusty Rex,” in which two crooks kidnap the Tigger-masked tot of a wealthy man (played by An American Werewolf in London helmer John Landis) in hopes of scoring a $5 million ransom. The key word is “hopes,” as the tables so deliciously turn.

Finally, they’ve gone and saved the best for last: “Bad Seed.” It begins with a pumpkin carver making a real “monsterpiece” of a gourd … that somehow comes to life, chomps off its creator’s head and goes on to terrorize the town. Although we’re not used to seeing something this lighthearted from Neil Marshall (The Descent), perhaps we should start; it’s a well-concocted, good-humored riot that weaves in elements and characters from several of the nine previous chapters.

Even with nearly a dozen cooks, Tales of Halloween benefits from a cohesive look. Cameos abound, including such genre stalwarts as Sleepaway Camper Felissa Rose, Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2 final girl Caroline Williams, the ever-Insidious Lin Shaye, frequent Stephen King adapter Mick Garris (donning the iconic half-mask of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s operatic Phantom), Re-Animator director Stuart Gordon (dressed as Sherlock Holmes!), that film’s Barbara Crampton and Hatchet man Adam Green. And that’s just for starters! So much footage of George A. Romero’s Night of the Living Dead is here and there that it practically merits a cast credit itself.

This Halloween love letter — written in a tube of fake vampire blood, one assumes — ends with the credit, “Animals were not hurt during the production, but we sure killed a lot of pumpkins.” Normally I detest these “cute” disclaimer jokes, but here, it’s 100% in the project’s celebratory spirit. As with Michael Dougherty’s similarly enthused Trick ’r Treat goodie bag of 2007, seasonal repeatability is assured. —Rod Lott

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In perhaps the most unlikely franchise in horror history, I Spit on Your Grave III: Vengeance Is Mine is, despite its number, a direct sequel to the 2010 remake of Meir Zarachi’s notorious 1978 rape-revenger. With flashbacks to her ordeal throughout, Jennifer (Sarah Butler, reprising her role) has rechristened herself as Angela, part of her strategy to carve out a new life far removed from her trauma and its associated demons.

This proves impossible, because Jennifer/Angela is a veritable perv magnet, attracting unwanted glances, attention, touches and threats everywhere she goes. (Seriously, it is ridiculous how many men are shown checking out her behind, whether followed by a lewd comment or not.) She is encouraged to attend group therapy for rape survivors; reluctantly, she does and ends up making an empowering friend in the emo wild child Marla (soap star Jennifer Landon, daughter of Michael). Marla hatches an interesting plan for coping — one that involves ski masks and tools pilfered from hardware stores.

Just when Vengeance Is Mine veers too much toward made-for-TV territory, it more than lives up to its sleazy lineage, once Marla’s hobby rubs off on our heroine, and she takes to it with uncomfortable ease, thereby reverting to her old ways. (Remember, the remake drew heavy influence from the Saw oeuvre.)

Two scenes in particular outdo (read: outgross) the ’78 original’s bathtub bit, which made male viewers reach for their crotches and cross their legs in empathetic pain: First, Jennifer/Angela pierces and slices a ballpark frank — yes, I’m being euphemistic, lest readers faint — with a knife and then, using just her bloodied hands, yanks its halves apart as if competing for a Fastest Taffy Pull trophy. Next, she tells another unfortunate male chauvinist, “You don’t deserve lubricant, but it just won’t go in otherwise.” Pipe, sledgehammer — you could use your imagination, but director R.D. Braunstein (100 Degrees Below Zero) assumes you don’t have one, so he shows it all. Ouch! —Rod Lott

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