The Black Demon (2023)

If you ask me, the wrong sharksploitation movie hit theaters this summer, while the better one went straight to VOD: respectively, Meg 2: The Trench and The Black Demon. From Rambo: Last Blood director Adrian Grünberg, The Black Demon is, incidentally, also about the now-nonexistent Megalodon.

Poseidon’s Josh Lucas returns to ocean waters as Paul, a safety inspector for Nixon Oil (subtle!). With his wife (Fernanda Urrejola, Bring Me the Head of the Machine Gun Woman) and two kids in tow, he comes to Mexico to see about decommissioning an offshore rig (which should be the new “see a man about a horse”). To their surprise, the coastal town is nearly uninhabited. Might that have to do with the 70-ton giant shark? ¡Sí!

Bearing a “Based on the Mexican legend” credit, Grünberg’s likable Demon might play better to Those Who Believe, but it’s hardly a prerequisite. Compared to the Meg movies, it may be vastly smaller in scale, yet yields bigger entertainment returns for your time invested. Given its rig setting, its hot-wired execution and its Home Depot pitchman star’s resemblance to Thomas Jane, the film exudes more Deep Blue Sea vibes than the actual Deep Blue Sea sequels, not to mention snazzier shark CGI.

The worst element is an ending so cheesy, it practically suggests a chardonnay to pair. —Rod Lott

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Scream Queen (2002)

In Brad Sykes’ Scream Queen, real-life VHS scream queen Linnea Quigley plays the fictitious scream queen Malicia Tombs. On the set of her latest opus, she argues with her co-stars, director and crew members before leaving in a huff. Tragically, Malicia’s car crashes and explodes, killing her.  

The director, Eric Orloff (Jarrod Robbins, Sykes’ Zombie Chronicles), remains haunted by the events of his unfinished picture. One day, via an invite to a mansion, he’s offered $10,000 to complete it. Despite the place being located at 101 Killington Street, he shows up at the designated time, only to find a reunion of sorts of his ill-fated production’s cast and crew. They’ve been gathered for an evening of revenge in Malicia’s name — call it Six Little Indians with zero second takes. “Cut” means “cut.” 

Let’s acknowledge the obvious: Shooting on VHS presents several inherent and inescapable challenges, such as wind overpowering the camera’s microphone or night scenes looking especially ugly. The more SOVs you expose yourself to, the easier it is to forgive those limitations. Here, doing so leaves you with terrific fun. Your one true complaint may be the absence of nudity from the chesty Nicole West (Ted V. Mikels’ Dimension in Fear) in her animal-print underwear sex scene. I’m with you.

Building his slasher with a meta setup, Camp Blood creator Sykes gives the shot-on-video world its Scream. At the risk of oversell, it’s clear from the outset Sykes poured his all into the project, where others would half-ass it. His opening shot is Altman-style audacious for any format, running a couple of minutes as the camera moves from person to person, introducing viewers to each character and requiring every performer to be on their toes. 

Similarly, the prolific Quigley (Murder Weapon) is asked not simply to show up, but act. Don’t worry, kiddos, because your beloved kill scenes remain in full supply. Serving as host for the proceedings is a dwarf (Kurt Levee) — a nice Gothic touch, even if the guy is wearing a quasi-Christmas sweater. That’s just one element making Scream Queen the most wonderful kind of SOV horror. —Rod Lott

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5000 Space Aliens (2021)

WTF

Scott Bateman’s premise for 5000 Space Aliens is simple: 5,000 alien life forms walk among us. For your awareness and safety, this movie shows you what each of them looks like, at just one second per, because prolonged exposure is dangerous.

For the next 83.3 minutes (with the 3 repeating; I did the math), your eyes and ears are subjected to the kind of experimental work you don’t often see outside of film school. Luckily, this one is worth the sensory overload.

Instead of merely presenting static photographs, Bateman — perhaps best known for remaking 1960’s Italian trash classic Atom Age Vampire as an animated film — has constructed intricate, moving collages. Some have famous faces (POS evangelist Robert Tilton, who pops up more than once); others bear nonsensical phrases (“wooly coarse things”) or even a can of red kidney beans. Nearly every “alien” begs for a push of the pause button.

This could — would — get old quickly, if not for the kickin’ instrumental score, also Bateman’s, stringing you along. The more upbeat, the better the hold on your attention. Perhaps intoxicants level that playing field? You tell me.

This visual album is RIYL Koyaanisqatsi, but longed for more people and a less sleepy soundtrack. It’s a vibe. —Rod Lott

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Hayseed (2022)

In a small Michigan town known for faith, family and farming (probably in that order), a local reverend is found drowned in his church’s baptismal pool. Insurance investigator Leo Hobbins (Bill Sage, 2021’s Wrong Turn) drives in from Detroit to determine whether the death was an accident or a suicide. The late rev’s right-hand woman, Darlene (Ismenia Mendes, 2019’s Lost Holiday), attempts to convince Leo of Option C: murder. She’s also the policy’s primary beneficiary — freshly added, at that. 

As unassuming a film as the cozy, close-knit town in which it unfolds, Hayseed marks an exceptionally assured first feature from writer/director Travis Burgess. Although every resident exhibiting a quirk isn’t exactly innovative, his film is an arch, wry comedic whodunit, aiming more for smile-all-the-time than laugh-out-loud, and succeeding.

With Leo, Burgess has gifted Sage the leading role that’s eluded him since his Hal Hartley heyday in the indie-friendly ’90s. The deeper the evidence takes the former cop, the more his gruff peevishness melts drop by drop into something the everybody-knows-everybody populace recognizes as human empathy. (Not so much that Leo wants to stick around after case-closing to solve more crimes alongside Darlene … but if he did, I’d watch that TV series.) Sage is utterly charming in the part, giving the movie its heart and its ulcer. Imagine Robert Redford as Fletch, if your mind allows such a flight of fancy. 

Best exemplified in recent years by Rian Johnson’s Knives Out pair of films, this style of mystery thrives on support from a talented pool of suspects. Here, that ensemble includes Kathryn Morris (Minority Report) delightfully playing against type as a flirty waitress, Jack Falahee (TV’s How to Get Away with Murder) as a recovering addict who’s renamed himself Duck, and Blue Ruin sibling Amy Hargreaves. Their individual work adds color to a plot that’s not hard to solve, but a blast to watch unfold — and hear, thanks to Xander Naylor’s Farfisa organ-fueled groove of a score. 

Other than another tightening of the wrench, Burgess could do precious little to improve Hayseed without potentially upsetting the recipe that baked such an out-of-nowhere winner. With pleasant surprises so hard to come by these days, don’t let this one go unnoticed. —Rod Lott

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Pig Killer (2022)

Strangely, Pig Killer follows the superior Squealer as the second film released in as many months to tell the twisted tale of Canada’s felonious farmer, Robert Pickton — not exactly one of your A-list serial killers. Here, he’s played by Jake Busey (The Predator), whose hobby is murdering prostitutes and feeding their parts to his pet pig, Balthazar, most assuredly not named after the cinema of Robert Bresson. 

As the first sex worker dispatched and destroyed, Bai Ling (Southland Tales) does the “me so horny” bit from Full Metal Jacket and wears panties emblazoned with “ALL YOU CAN EAT.” With one hand petting Balthazar, Pickton has sex with her dead body while imagining he’s boning his own mom (Ginger Lynn Allen, Vice Academy). Not for nothing is Pig Killer produced by Girls and Corpses magazine.

The rest of the pic depicts the attempts of troubled young woman Wendy (newcomer Kate Patel) to keep from becoming a victim of Pickton’s, not to mention a gun with dildo silencer, antifreeze-filled syringes and penises I hope — nay, pray — are prosthetic. 

It’s an ugly picture further hampered by writer/director Chad Ferrin’s questionable decision to often present such brutal proceedings with his tongue pressed hard against his cheek, giving the effect of reveling in the sicko circus of Pickton’s creation. Also at odds with the grim subject matter is near-constant, mostly upbeat rock music — some 35 songs in all, most by one G Tom Mac (aka Gerard McMahon of The Lost Boys’ “Cry Little Sister” fame) and sounding like the clatter you’d hear from a stage at a state fair, adjacent to the fried footlong corndog vendor.

Pig Killer marks the third film I’ve seen from director Ferrin, and I think it will be my last. The other two, Easter Bunny, Kill! Kill! and Exorcism at 60,000 Feet, were odious enough, but at least they could lay claim to being spoofy. Based on the exploits of a real-life serial killer, Pig Killer has no such veil to hide its tastelessness behind. 

In one of the film’s final lines, from the back of a cop car, Pickton’s throat-cancerous comrade asks him about Wendy, “Did you ever get it in her pooper?” Did a 12-year-old boy write that? Or was he 13? Regardless, that’s the flavor of childishness running throughout two bloated hours; earlier, it plays an abusive sex scene for laughs. You can practically hear Ferrin giggling from behind the camera. Life is too short. —Rod Lott

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