Man, is this messed-up movie an unbearably dumb, lousy and often downright dreary piece of junk! A crazed, bloodthirsty trio kill and terrorize several luckless individuals around the titular area. The freaky threesome are actually a nice, happy dysfunctional family: a crackpot dad who likes to do the dirty murderous deed while wearing a rubbery Richard Nixon mask, a bumbling imbecile son, and another insane, sanguinary idiot male offspring with live maggots residing in his scrambled cranium (!).
A clumsily sincere attempt at a perversely humorous, darkly tongue-in-cheek backroads psycho picture parody, this film's extremely forced, spiritless, grinding-its-wheels-in-the-mud slack execution completely ruins its chances at being a reasonably on-target and effective send-up: Richard Casey's wan, idle direction, mostly flat acting from a generally insipid cast (only legendary gonzo rock critic Richard Meltzer manages to deliver a lively, up to par performance as a cranky, ill-fated drunken motorist), lethargic pacing, weak stabs at grotesque warped humor (e.g., one victim steps on a rake right after having his throat cut), and a plodding, disjointed narrative all prevent this potentially fun flick from ever kicking into high gear. However, both the fairly rollicking score by Keith Grady and Suzanne McDermott and the passably professional photography by David Golia and Bill Pope neatly rise above the pervasive mediocrity. If it had been done with more polish and vigor this wash-out could have made for an amusing and enjoyably quirky little horror black comedy, but since it's really bland and slapdash it instead qualifies as a very middling and forgettable cinematic dead end.
A clumsily sincere attempt at a perversely humorous, darkly tongue-in-cheek backroads psycho picture parody, this film's extremely forced, spiritless, grinding-its-wheels-in-the-mud slack execution completely ruins its chances at being a reasonably on-target and effective send-up: Richard Casey's wan, idle direction, mostly flat acting from a generally insipid cast (only legendary gonzo rock critic Richard Meltzer manages to deliver a lively, up to par performance as a cranky, ill-fated drunken motorist), lethargic pacing, weak stabs at grotesque warped humor (e.g., one victim steps on a rake right after having his throat cut), and a plodding, disjointed narrative all prevent this potentially fun flick from ever kicking into high gear. However, both the fairly rollicking score by Keith Grady and Suzanne McDermott and the passably professional photography by David Golia and Bill Pope neatly rise above the pervasive mediocrity. If it had been done with more polish and vigor this wash-out could have made for an amusing and enjoyably quirky little horror black comedy, but since it's really bland and slapdash it instead qualifies as a very middling and forgettable cinematic dead end.