The Funhouse Massacre (2015)
★ / ★★★★
In the middle of this torturously slow horror-comedy, I wondered if director Andy Palmer and screenwriter Ben Begley intended to make a movie to be enjoyed only by viewers who are stoned. Sure, it offers some neat practical effects like throat slashing, beheading, and skull drilling, but there is no sense of joy, creativity, or real wit emanating from it. Since its focus is on things like how to make plastic look like human flesh and how to create convincing blood spurts, one is better off watching a documentary of artists who specialize in special effects. I bet they’d have something interesting to say. In this film, the humor is so try-hard, so forced, even Gregory Plotkin’s “Hell Fest” is funnier by comparison—and that is a terrible movie regardless of the genre. One of the main problems is that every single character is written like he or she has only one brain cell and this neuron functions at half capacity. When confronted by a threat, not one person has iota of what to do in order to survive and so these potential victims are left running around like headless chickens. The filmmakers have forgotten that going through a haunted house or maze should be enjoyable, not a death march to the finish line. I hope the legendary Robert Englund, playing the warden of a mental facility that houses notorious serial killers, got paid well to appear in this junk. He should consider himself lucky that he’s only in it during the first ten minutes. The rest of us had to stay and be insulted.