BLOOD STALKERS (1978) Directed by Robert W. Morgan
Vidmark Entertainment VHS
THE FILM
If there was a "least likely to succeed" award in high school, I would've given it to Blood Stalkers. Then, at our ten year reunion, I'd feel like a total idiot.
Two-thirds of Blood Stalkers had passed. Several thoughts blew through me, but only a few repeated endlessly: "Please quit bitching...please kill the flutes...please let SOMETHING happen." Longing turned to rejection. This film was a flop. Then, instantaneously, the main hero says "Just quit yer bitchin'!" and something wonderful happened. The trash brilliance burned so bright that I was forced to ask myself: Am I really seeing what I think I'm seeing? Rewind. Play. Rewind. Play. My bitching ceased.
You've seen it all before. Two highly annoying couples gather together the pock-marks, plaid pants, and enormous cleavage for a weekend getaway to the stix. The girls would never be with the guys in real life. A skinny gas station attendant warns of the "blood stalkers" and a couple of redneck Rambos act tough. A wandering fool makes ping pong noises with his mouth. It's all quirky dialogue ("Big deal, fat ass! It's bat shit!"), bobcat sound effects, and painful relationship dramatics until that special something happens. Rubber masks? Missing links? Poetic garage gore courtesy Doug “The Professor” Hobart? My, my, how it happens.
Stick with it. The Fort Lauderdale-shot Blood Stalkers destroys 60 minutes of unfavorable doubts in a 20 minute, bizarro-blitzkrieg climax that'll leave you stuck to your seat. Nothing else stands out. Tension is deflated by a passé TV movie soundtrack, boring direction from ex-1950s DJ Bob Morgan, and endless padding. That's the kick. When that crescendo knocks you on your ass, the disorientation is so colossal that nothing else matters. Ain't forgiveness grand?
Somewhere between Gilligan's Island, Two Thousand Maniacs, and that cabin sequence from Screams Of A Winter Night lies Blood Stalkers. It'll make you squirm, then make you squirm some more, but for entirely different reasons. I revoke my negative hunch.
AUDIO AND VIDEO
The highly cropped print is dirty, but bright. Scratches swarm. Day-for-night reigns. The whole film has a hazy look to it. Works for me.
EXTRAS
Nothing, but Robert W. Morgan also narrated a Bigfoot documentary called In Search of Bigfoot. Another one for the list.
FINAL THOUGHTS
Since Blood Stalkers was such a schizo, I can't tell you to make a run for it. On the other hand, if you find the film for cheap and/or a rental, make a move. Then, hold steady and revel when the time comes.
Thanks to Eric Robitaille for providing a copy of this film!
— Joseph A. Ziemba, 05.18.06 | 
Here's your warning
Ol' skinny wrist
Gun hugs
Trust the cover
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