Filmmakers like Tim Kincaid exist to prove to the world that it really does take more than a lurid plotline and a group of actresses willing to embarrass their families to make a decent exploitation movie. By that standard, Breeders would seem like a sure thing, but Kincaid’s incompetence is so persuasive and omnipresent, it robs the film of any guilty pleasure it might otherwise have allowed.
A group of H.R. Giger-wannabe aliens located beneath the Empire State Building have determined that only hot virgin female humans are capable of carrying their offspring to term without mutation, and proceed to impregnate a bunch of them by force. On their trail is a young detective and the female doctor tasked with treating the violated women. In a rather convenient plot contrivance, it turns out that — like every other female character in the movie — the good doctor has never known the touch of a man and, therefore, is a ripe subject for impregnation herself.
Although the movie’s nonexistent budget does factor into its failure, the majority of blame rests squarely on Kincaid’s shoulders. While his filmmaking technique renders every frame in a squalid, ugly urban reality, his scripting sets the plot in a strange fantasy world where photographers tell bikini models they should eat before they continue their photo shoots, and 20-something city women spend their time snorting coke and exercising naked, but are still innocent enough to “save themselves” for marriage. Watching Breeders, it quickly becomes clear why Kincaid eventually gave up mainstream filmmaking for the much less demanding world of gay porn. —Allan Mott
The original 1978 
And now here is where I’m supposed to tear apart 
When I first saw the movie’s trailer, which includes the moment when an asp slithers into the coffin through a crack, I thought the film would be a tough sell — not because it plays so strongly on the common fear of enclosed places, but because its lack of action would bore younger audiences. 
The answer: Because Arthur Penn was awesome.