Three women — er, better make that four — have been disemboweled by an unseen killer in requisite black gloves. Because all of the deceased were models, suspicion falls upon strip-mall photographers Dave (James Hansen, Streets of Death) and Mitch (Larry Thomas, aka Seinfeld’s infamous Soup Nazi). Now, Mitch is creepy AF, but Dave sure seems like a nice guy — you know, for someone who takes boudoir, swimsuit and nudie pics of strange women in the shop’s back room, away from all those nice frames my mom would like.

Although engaged to be married (albeit to a cheating hussy), Dave is smitten when into the store walks Jill, a lovely lady with an indiscriminate European accent and a pressing need for glamour shots for her beau. Uh-oh, doesn’t her posing in a soccer mom-friendly one-piece technically qualify her as a model? Will this innocent sesh of snapshots place Jill on the radar of the titular Night Ripper!? Those questions are as rhetorical as whether this shot-on-video slasher will culminate in a mannequin factory.

Night Ripper! marks the sophomore movie for Victims! writer, director and producer Jeff Hathcock, who clearly has a thing for emphatic punctuation. He also has a thing for showing characters both major and minor getting both in and out of cars both arriving and departing. And yet, Hathcock manages to work in effective misdirection and uniquely staged kill scenes that belie the near-nonexistent budget — enough for Night Ripper! to earn that exclamation point for being entertaining in spite of all its faults, rather than solely because of them.

Believe me, they’re there — none more amusing than a mistress’ post-coital argument with a red herring who won’t leave his wife: “This isn’t love. This is two sweaty bodies fucking a flood lamp!” she cries, then pausing for a delicious four seconds. “And I’m tired of flood lamps!” Seconded. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.

As if America’s current discourse over this amendment and that amendment weren’t enough of a Gordian knot, Todd Sheets’ Final Caller lays down even more convoluted rules from our crazed druid ancestors: To appease the gods every eight years, eight people must be killed on Aug. 8. So says cannibal/serial killer Edward Ray Hatcher (Jack McCord, Sheets’ Dreaming Purple Neon), a pot-bellied pig of a human being who dubs himself “The Outsider.”

Hatcher relays all this info by calling into the live radio show hosted by FM shock jock/gaseous blowhard Roland Bennett (Douglas Epps, Sheets’ Bonehill Road). What Hatcher doesn’t specify is how many of the endangered octet will be sacrificed on station property. As a murderer, Hatcher doesn’t screw around. Among other savage things, he removes fingers via DeWalt hand saw, hammers foreheads, nails palms, razor-knives necks and, most sphincter-clenching, jams wooden handles into poop chutes. As little as you’d want to carry on a conversation with him (“You’re already seniors. With cobwebs in your pussies.”), you wouldn’t want to pay even the minimum amount due on his Home Depot bill, either.

Unrelated to his radio DJ-centric segment of 2013’s Hi-8 horror anthology, Final Caller is well-trod territory for Sheets as a showcase for torture-porn gore and gallows humor. Although the very bloody effects are convincing in their refusal not to flinch, one still can sense a giddiness among the cast members in making this microbudget mash-up of Oliver Stone’s Talk Radio and, oh, every subtlety-free indie slasher. A character’s T-shirt boasting the logo of Wild Eye Releasing, the flick’s distributor, establishes the level of seriousness we’re supposed to take all this.

An icon of shot-on-video horror, Sheets boasts a filmography of 50 some-odd titles across an astounding near-four decades. With that much hands-on experience, you’d expect progress and growth; indeed, Final Caller allows him to demonstrate a true knack for the rhythms of editing and setting up his shots. I’d love to see what he could do with an actual budget. Until then, however inconsistent, this effort lives as an example of doing better with next to nothing. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.