terrorvision

The adage “You can’t intentionally create a cult movie” is still true, by and large. Original midnight movies like Rocky Horror and Eraserhead were financial flops that found an audience almost by accident. Attempting to recreate that sort of “accidental success” takes away most of the magic, leaving an unpleasant manufactured aftertaste. That certainly doesn’t stop people from trying, though.

Producer Charles Band – founder of Empire Pictures and later Full Moon Entertainment – churned out dozens of cheap, fast and quirky pictures that crowded video shelves in the ‘80s. Reanimator (1985) was his biggest hit. By comparison, TerrorVision was a colossal failure.

A strange set-bound production about a mutant alien “pet” that is accidently beamed into a family’s new satellite dish and proceeds to devour everyone in sight, TerrorVision looks like the illegitimate love-child of Tim Burton and John Waters. Actually, it was directed by long-time Band collaborator Ted Nicolaou, whose film debut is an intentionally campy, pervasively juvenile yet genuinely endearing little misfit that seems to have stuck somewhere deep inside of the subconscious of everyone who ever took it home and popped it in their VHS.

Starring a who’s who of cult actors - Jonathan Gries (Napoleon Dynamite), Mary Franklin (Better Off Dead), Gerri Graham (Phantom of the Paradise) and Roger Corman’s queen bee, Mary Waranov – it’s actually surprising TerrorVision didn’t make more of an impact when it was released in 1986. The warped family dynamic and day-glo aesthetic anticipate Burton’s Beetlejuice just two years down the road. While the affection for pre-CGI monsters and B-movie aliens will appeal to anyone raised on late-night horror hosts like Elvira (an Elvira look-alike named Medusa plays a bit part in the film).

The mood is set right off the bat with a new wave theme song performed by art-rockers the Fibonaccis (warning: you will be singing this for days). The effects by John Carl Buechler are intentionally goofy, yet remarkably well executed. The “Hungry Beast” itself is a multi-tentacled, largely immobile pile of space poo with googly eyes; yet it has just as much personality as E.T. TerrorVision might be a little too twisted to compare to Spielberg, but in the world of cult cinema it’s certainly a rising star.

The second half of the blu-ray double bill is The Video Dead (1987), which owes most of its notoriety to its creative poster art of a zombie smashing through a 27-inch Zenith (who wouldn’t want to see that!). Director Robert Scott comes up with some creative low-budget solutions and impressive zombie make-up – shot often in full daylight, which is tough – in his story of a cursed television set tuned that releases a gaggle of undead troublemakers.

The film is best appreciated as a technical achievement, overcoming the usual micro-budget obstacles to provide a calling card to Hollywood (much like Sam Raimi’s Evil Dead). Only trouble is Hollywood never came calling. Although Scott has an impressive amount of Assistant Director credits listed on IMDB, his film never made a breakthrough. Likely because the regional actors involved create an amateurish atmosphere and shot-on-video feel. Depending on when you discovered it, The Video Dead is either a fond video-store memory or a blu-ray bore.

That said, Scream Factory’s blu-ray / DVD combo-pack might set the new standard for giving cult films the red carpet treatment. TerrorVision gets a great 30-minute Making Of, director’s commentary and trailers. The Video Dead adds two commentaries, interviews, posters and stills.