LEMME TELL YOU A LIL’ THING ABOUT CONNECTIVE TISSUE - A REVIEW OF NIGHTMARE RADIO
The short-form horror tale. Popularised and perfected by EDGAR ALLAN POE, dragged through the sordid and seedy filter of pulp to be embedded further into the popular consciousness by writers like ROBERT BLOCH and RICHARD MATHESON, unleashed upon kids via EC COMICS and finally blasted directly into your eyeholes via such films as ASYLUM, THE HOUSE THAT DRIPPED BLOOD, TALES FROM THE HOOD, and, of course, CREEPSHOW. Often referred to as “anthology horror” or as a “portmanteau” (my personal favourite because it’s fun to say and makes you sound dead sophisticated), I have commented before about the relative bonuses the format allows. Don’t like the current story? Calm down, dude; another one’ll be along in a moment. Can’t decide if you’re in the mood for ghosts, ghouls, or vampires? Well, here’s a movie that has all three! It’s really a win/win for everyone involved.
Maybe I’m old fashioned, but I generally like my stories, whether short or long, to have a cohesive narrative. I like them to go from point A to point B in a linear fashion, and I like them to adhere to the basic rules of storytelling. This may go some way to explaining why I feel like NIGHTMARE RADIO: THE NIGHT STALKER is the worst thing I’ve ever seen.
Candy (PAULA BRASCA), a late night radio show host, invites her listeners to call in and describe their own real-life horror stories. In addition to the callers which inspire the individual segments of the movie itself, she is persistently called by some punk-ass, trick-ass, bitch-ass creep who calls himself “Jack” (AGUSTIN OLCESE). As the night progresses, Candy discovers that she and Jack share an uncomfortable and personal connection to each other…
A good anthology horror movie has to have at least a semi decent wrap-around story. Most of the time it’s not nearly as fully formed or as satisfying as the individual segments within the film but, again, it should adhere to basic narrative principles. The wrap-around story in this movie, however, plays like The Gas Station segment of BODY BAGS but without any of the charm, wit, skill, or even the most cursory of concessions to quality. Not helping matters in the slightest is that each segment, having been written and directed by someone entirely different each time, is entirely without any satisfying degree of set-up, pay-off, or a combination of the two. Case in point, let’s do a side by side between a segment from this, FOXES, and a segment from CREEPSHOW, THE LONESOME DEATH OF JORDY VERILL: -
THE LONESOME DEATH OF JORDY VERILL: Jordy Verill is a farm owner living in the shadow of his father. By his own admission, he consistently fails at every task he takes on and frequently plays out a series of imaginary conversations in his mind with various figures of authority who chide him for his incompetence. One evening, a meteor crashes on his land. He accidentally breaks the meteor which, in turn, spills its extra terrestrial contents onto the soil. Having touched the contents of the meteor himself, Jordy is doomed to suffer the consequences of his general stupidity as strange, alien foliage begins to engulf him and the farm. Failing to abate the onset of the alien greenery with alcohol and a hot bath, he awakens one morning to find that he is now more plant than man, and, in his final moments, as he points a shotgun at what used to be his head, he prays to God that he doesn’t fail at killing himself. He pulls the trigger, ending his life instantly. As the segment ends, we see that the alien plants are covering the landscape with no sign of stopping.
FOXES: A housewife who doesn’t speak to anyone acts all weird for an undisclosed reason. One night she sees foxes rummaging through the trash outside the home she shares with her husband. The next day, she takes some photos of their mouths and starts to act somewhat more feral. She runs away from home for an indeterminate amount of time in which she becomes a fox. The end.
In terms of a fully formed story, I think we can all agree that…
Now, I’m not asking everyone to be as adept at storytelling as STEPHEN KING. What I am asking for, however, is that any and every screenwriter that sits down to pen a short tale of the macabre at least try and demonstrate that they don’t suffer from foetal alcohol syndrome. The point is that Jordy Verill is a short story which establishes character, motivation, situation and consequence, whereas Foxes is a series of things just happening. In fact, the issue that persists with ALL of the segments in NIGHTMARE RADIO is that things just happen, and seemingly without any real reason or connection at their core. It’s simply not enough for a short story within any medium to base its premise on “yo, wouldn’t it be weird if…”. That’s stoner logic, and not even good stoner logic. This is like…Spice logic or whatever. Only one of the seven (SEVEN!) segments borders on being competent (Insane) while a further two segments (Playback and Chateau Savignon) posit interesting ideas but fall short of delivering on their promise (to be fair to Playback, within the context of the film, it is supposed to be half realised and cut short).
It’s a fun concept that takes itself entirely too seriously when it could have been a bit of schlocky, cult entertainment. Instead, it’s just a turd. In a ditch. Covered in piss. Oh, and don’t be fooled by this promotional poster: -
It’s a deeply cynical ploy designed to lure you into a false sense of security and appeal to your sense of cult nostalgia, and it should be put to death immediately.
NIGHTMARE RADIO: THE NIGHT STALKER is available to rent or buy digitally, but I don’t know where from and I don’t care to tell you either. You’re welcome.
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