But by no means is Chris Lukeman’s shot-on-video flick a case of false advertising. A nerd named Casey (Paul Karpenko) leads a small group of fellow first-year Fighting Illini through the halls of the natural history building to locate the 75-year-old mummy murdering undergrads. Its killer bandages shoot out in all directions — a nifty cheap effect — and no student appears safe. The mummy’s name is Ted.
Heavy in puns and slapstick, Illinois vs a Mummy reminded me a little of Zucker/Abrahams/Zucker’s solo-effort spoofs and a lot of Ray Dennis Steckler‘s misadventures with The Lemon Grove Kids, but using possibly less money. I don’t know whether the movie was made for a grade or just for fun; either way, Lukeman succeeded, even if most of the ingenuity comes front-loaded.
It’s never better than an early scene that gives new meaning to “freshman musical”: an all-out song-and-dance number that’s massively impressive in tune, delivery, choreography and sheer scope. Later, his editing skills are showcased in a video game-inspired fight sequence.
No doubt The University of Illinois vs a Mummy is best enjoyed by the school’s alum, but enough pieces are relatable for any one-time undergrad, what with the awkward first dates, parking tickets, crappy roommates, football rivalries and Egyptian slaughter. —Rod Lott
Word of Robert Eggers’ Nosferatu remake whets most of our appetites. But before we get a taste of Bill Skarsgård’s bug-eyed Count Orlok, André Øvredal (The Autopsy of Jane Doe) seeks to drench us with his unintentional appetizer, The Last Voyage of the Demeter.
Though pitting it against Eggers’ upcoming flick isn’t exactly fair — Demeter spent two decades in development hell. Plus, the film isn’t even a complete Dracula adaptation. It’s almost obnoxious in how often it reminds us that this feature-length film emerges from just one of the novel’s chapters, “The Captain’s Log.” Unfortunately, this bloodthirsty commitment to adhere to the source material also leaves it writhing in the sun.
Case in point: the movie’s opening sequence. After a constable finds the captain’s journal in the wreckage of the Demeter, Øvredal deploys a voiceover narration pulled almost line for line from Bram Stoker’s book. On one hand, you could argue this solidifies its connection to Dracula. But in execution, it’s script filler. It doesn’t enhance what we see, nor weave its way into what transpires in any imaginative manner. It’s as if Capt. Elliot (Liam Cunningham, TV’s Game of Thrones) has a once-every-15-minutes obligation to remind us that Demeter is indeed, derived from Dracula. (Check out the episode “This Extraordinary Being” from Damon Lindelof’s Watchmen for a great example of how classic prose can be woven into timely, modern storytelling.)
This seemingly small issue detracts from an otherwise compelling tale. Demeter primarily follows Clemens (Corey Hawkins, Straight Outta Compton), a Cambridge-educated doctor who can’t find steady work on account of 19th-century racism. The Demeter’s first mate (David Dastmalchian, The Suicide Squad) reluctantly brings Clemens aboard after the doctor saves the captain’s grandson (Woody Norman, Cobweb).
The ship then sets sail against the warnings of damn-near everyone in Bulgaria. Less than a day in, Clemens discovers Anna (Aisling Franciosi, 2018’s The Nightingale), a stowaway who would make for a far more interesting main character despite Hawkins’ strong performance. From there, it’s basically Alien on a boat.
Demeter oddly takes liberties with Stoker’s text, especially in the conclusion. But the film’s unwillingness to take those same risks where it matters sucks the blood out of a plot that otherwise would be powerful and fresh. Instead, they relegate the most fascinating details into one of Anna’s many exposition-heavy monologues. We frankly have enough stories about Belmonts, Helsings and countless other dudes trying to snuff out Dracula. Why not give a few more women a shot?
That being said, The Last Voyage of the Demeter still manages to do a lot with the coffin it nails itself into. Dracula (Javier Botet, Slender Man) is genuinely creepy with his anglerfish teeth, bright white eyes and towering presence. Like Evil Dead Rise, Demeter doesn’t waste any time establishing that in modern horror, them kids ain’t safe. It also avoids the trap that made the Demeter’s segment in previous adaptations so easy to gloss over. Instead of Dracula just picking off the crew members one by one, he infests them physically and psychologically. It packs in enough Dracula to justify him as more than a regular ol’ vampire without leaning on too many tired conventions.
2023 hasn’t been great to the Count. Demeter doesn’t do too much to correct the course, either. It has its suspenseful moments, but overall, it’s in desperate need of a narrative transfusion. —Daniel Bokemper
Following the funeral for their friend who died in an auto accident they survived, pals Tilly, Monica and Peter (Anna Bullard, Annie Hamilton and Rory Alexander) escape to a farmhouse owned by Monica’s grandparents. Quaint, cozy and desolate/rural, the place offers much-needed solitude.
But, hey, who invited the masked killer? I’m no psychologist, but I do know this: The way to process trauma is not to throw more gasoline on the fire.
From awkward passes to alcoholic tendencies, the three friends of Dark Windows speak realistically and act realistically, which is to say they also react realistically. These characters are depicted as just all-around normal people. That’s refreshing for a horror film, particularly for a slasher, which tends to treat its players as stereotypes.
Their pain is real — not just physical, but emotional, adding all the difference. Conceivably, this one could happen. I’d call it a mature slasher if that didn’t sound like such a preachy fun-sapper. So I’ll do the Hollywood pitch thing and say it’s … oh, I Know What You Did Last Summer meets The Perks of Being a Wallflower. Sound good? Dark Windows is great, actually.
Economically staged without sacrificing quality on any level, it’s a gem from Norway, although in English. Aside from Hamilton (The Wolf of Snow Hollow), the young actors were unknown to me, all to Windows’ favor — unlike, say, its moniker, straight from the Spooker GeneroTitle-a-Tron (patent pending).
Norwegian-born helmer Alex Harron (Leave) impresses with an outsider approach to an all-American subgenre. He casts a pallid mood and remains in control of it throughout. He also offers an excellent jump cut; you’ll know it when you see it. And please do see it. —Rod Lott
On one hand, I can count the number of times a movie’s audience burst into applause at the climax:
• In 1981, when E.T. levitates the kids and their bicycles o’er the heads of authorities.
• Six years later, in Fatal Attraction, when Anne Archer shoots Glenn Close dead.
• And now, when four dogs — spoiler — rip Will Forte’s dick off.
Strays, ladies and gentlemen. Whereas singer Sarah MacLachlan famously tugged at your heartstrings in ASCAP commercials to get you to spend $18 a month to rescue dogs, Universal Pictures spent $30 million on a live-action comedy in which dogs’ mouths are animated to say “fuck” a lot. We’re talking Scorsese and Scarface level of “fuck”s. Add all the humping and the pooping — oh, do they ever hump and poop — and Strays is nothing if not filthy.
To be clear, that’s a plus, but only because the doers are adorable dogs instead of asshole adults. Will Ferrell voices Reggie, the canine so clueless he has no idea his ever-stoned, trailer-trash owner, Doug (Forte, MacGruber), has ditched him. Jamie Foxx’s Bug, a Boston Terrier, immediately befriends Reggie to share his street smarts. That includes an intro to his park-hanging pals, a pretty Shepherd (Isla Fisher, 2018’s Tag) and a cone-necked Great Dane (Randall Park, Office Christmas Party) who go all-in for a sausage string of episodic encounters — involving hungry eagles and hallucinogenic mushrooms — accompanying Reggie on his way back home to de-dick Doug.
Is there a normal child in America who wouldn’t laugh their ass off scene to scene? But Strays is hard-rated R on purpose, and that subversiveness often compensates for its narrow range of jokes, much like how Bug talks big to make up for his small size. And I don’t mean his penis, although the movie sure does. Several times.
Like Reggie, the film from director Josh Greenbaum (Barb & Star Go to Vista Del Mar) and screenwriter Dan Perrault (TV’s American Vandal) is cute, scruffy and just dumb enough you can’t resist giving it a little affection. Even if the CGI to animate the mutts’ mouths is often dodgy, like a paid version of your iPhone’s My Talking Pet app. —Rod Lott
To consider Vincent A. Albarano’s look at SOV horror movies, Aesthetic Deviations: A Critical View of American Shot-on-Video Horror, 1984-1994, knowing what it’s not is the best starting point. As he makes clear from the outset, the paperback is neither a review guide nor a work of reference; by no means is it complete, restricted to a 10-year period.
The book’s subtitle wasn’t assembled for SEO purposes; Albarano has written a work of true scholarship, conceived as a thesis, which accounts for the use of words like “pugnacity,” “egalitarian” and “simulacrum.” It just so happens to study, in part, a horny ventriloquist’s dummy that looks like Rick James. (If your reluctance needs further calming, remember this one unassailable fact: Guys, it’s published by Headpress, K?)
After a brief history lesson on SOV’s start with such slashers as Blood Cult and Sledgehammer, Albarano combs through an overlooked, often spurned subgenre of “cinematic undesirables” in which “subtext is removed from the equation,” he writes. “They stick with the viewer despite their every wrong move. As a fan of these films, I’ve been puzzled by their very existence as much as I’m transfixed by their unique operations.”
Works from such backyard-and-basement moguls as Charles Pinion, J.R.Bookwalter, Carl J. Sukenick, Todd Cook and occasional punching bag Todd Sheets are examined. Other than the sheer range of titles covered, from the obvious to the unexpected, what I like most about Aesthetic Deviations is the author’s honesty; while he’s a fan of SOV, that doesn’t translate to slavish hyperbole. Instead, he’s unafraid to highlight both the uniqueness and misogyny of Chester N. Turner’s Black Devil Doll From Hell, praise the bravery of the Polonia Brothers’ Splatter Farm as he questions its anal-trauma fixation, or call out Gary P. Cohen’s Video Violence for reveling in the very thing it purports to vilify.
Although I didn’t realize until a footnote mentioned it, I’d read earlier drafts of two chapters in 2020, through Albarano’s one-shot zine on the topic, When Renting Is Not Enough (worth tracking down if you’d rather dip your toe before taking the full plunge). I’ll admit being skeptical of such a serious look at movies that “gain points,” per Stephen Thrower, “for being truly incoherent.” Yet like that lone issue of Albarano’s zine, the book that’s grown out of it is intelligent, thorough and, if you’ll grant it patience to make its case, accessible. —Rod Lott
Frisbee! Hacky sack! Sarcophagi! All abound the college campus in The University of Illinois vs a Mummy.
Word of Robert Eggers’ 
