GHOSTHOUSE (1988)
Directed by Humphrey Humbert (Umberto
Lenzi)
Imperial VHS
THE FILM
Feeling incompetent? Down in the
dumps? This is your lucky day. Impress
loved ones, make new friends, and
improve your self-esteem! Yes, all
this and more can be yours when
you invest in that technological
and social revelation...THE SHORT
WAVE RADIO!
Hey, it's sleaze merchant Umberto
Lenzi's Ghosthouse. Wow.
I guess a few "thank-yous"
are in order. First of all, I haven't
laughed so hard in a very long time.
Like maybe three weeks, since Rocktober
Blood. Secondly, the preoccupation
with "computers" and ham
radio "technology" was
much appreciated, as I gained a
true insight into what the imposing
"future" might have held
in 1988. Fascinating. Thirdly, the
inclusion of the phrase "You
wanna mind your own beeswax?"
sent me awash with warm nostalgia.
When my fourth grade crush, Chrissy,
stole my Duran Duran cassette (it
was "Seven And The Ragged Tiger,"
FYI), I timidly confronted her.
Beeswax was one of the words she
used in her reply. So was asshole.
Thank you, Ghosthouse. We're going
to be great enemies.
Prologue: two old ninnies meet an
ultra-gore death in a farm house.
There's a creepy little girl and
an oversized clown doll. Twenty
years later, super ass-head Paul
and his foreign girl friend Martha
overhear some strangeness on their
ham radio. That's only after discussing
Kelly LeBrock and Simon LeBon with
some fellow radio enthusiasts (see
-- Duran Duran!). Anyway, after
taping the weird noises (a guy screaming
and "Redrum" voices from
The Shining), Paul uses
his computer to trace where the
waves originated from. I know, I
know, but it gets better! Welcome
to the prologue house and a winnebago
full of mulleted rejects. In a haze
of Cosby Show music, Colecovision
radio farts, exploding glass objects,
and clown doll mirth, our Lenzi
players are gouged off by the haunted
house/killer caretaker. One deadly
milk bath later and everyone still
talks like cavemen.
With all the crazy horseshit flying
around, you’d think Ghosthouse
would make for a good time. This
hurts. Embarrassing acting, moth-eaten
plot, limp direction, an overly
long runtime...the list goes on.
The tease of a killer clown doll
turned out to be just that; a stationary
doll that gets flung over an actress's
shoulder in one scene. Some of the
effects were downright gruesome,
but that's no good when you’re
staring at a black screen. And what's
with these people? Memorizing your
lines is one thing, but RECITING
them seems to be a whole new can
of worms. Am I right? Paul? Martha...?
Hmm, seems everyone left Ghosthouse
in a hurry. That's OK. I'll just
fire up my "computer scanner"
and track 'em down.
AUDIO AND VIDEO
It's black. The blackest black that
ever was. So black that most of
the nasty gore is literally impossible
to see. Other than that, we had
the always annoying horizontal lines
and an occasional video burp. Looks
and sounds like a typical old rental.
EXTRAS
"The best man for the job is
Black Eagle." Black Eagle
is Jean Claude Van Damme. You can
watch the trailer and practice your
roundhouse kicks if your breath
isn't completely stolen from laughing
so hard.
FINAL THOUGHTS
Unbelievably inadequate and moronic,
but the laughs pretty much never
stop. At least, in my case, they
didn't stop until I fell sound asleep.
I told you so, Ghosthouse,
I told you so.
— Joseph A. Ziemba, 11.03.05 |
Kids corner
"All we know is computers."
Don't believe the hype
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