Written and directed by Damien Leone, the "Terrifier" films have a cult following unlike any other of recent memory; you're just as likely to see the series' slasher icon "Art the Clown," played in absolute silence by David Howard Thornton, merchandise next to more mainstream villains like Jason Voorhees or Chucky at those popup Halloween stores that disappear November 1st.
But by virtue of being an entry in a franchise, the other films unseen by me, the plot had a considerable amount of, well, plot. In fact, to someone new to these movies, it was basically incoherent, sometimes being your basic (albeit extremely gory) slasher and other times involving a sacred sword and spirits. Or demons. Or something like that. Guess that's on me for not having done my horror movie homework.
But no, it's not entirely my fault- why does Art sometimes kill innocent bystanders and other times not? Why is one Santa explicitly targeted and not another? Why do some killings happen off screen in a series famous for its bloodshed fetish? Or, perhaps the best question of all, why am I even bothering with a review?
The story mostly follows Sienna (Lauren LaVera) right before Christmas, who leaves the hospital to spend the holiday with her aunt Jess (Margaret Anne Florence), uncle Greg (Bryce Johnson) and their young daughter Gabbie (Antonella Rose). Sienna, who's explained to have killed Art in a previous movie (or did she??), still suffers what is clearly some type of PTSD from the events, who soon becomes convinced the clown is back.
We the viewers, of course, know he is; we watch him slice through nameless tertiary and background characters as he makes his way to her, using everything from hammers to bombs, filmed with a sensual thirst as every ounce of blood is drained from his screaming casualties. But the police never seem to care that bodies are piling up; the world of the "Terrifier" exists in a most make-believe world where only cruelty exists.
Damien knows that the series' whole appeal is its unflinching mayhem, but even he seems to be operating with some level of restraint; the opening, which depicts a seemingly random slaughter of some random family, lingers over the onscreen murders of two adults, but cuts away from showing the slashing of children. Why?! This is a gross film, unfettered by morals and frequently logic, but if he's willing to show male genitalia being chainsawed, the victim's body jiggling against the blade's vibration, then why are kids off-limits? I'm not in anyway shape or form saying I want to see that, but clearly the fans would eat it up. It seems like a surprisingly chaste decision in light of two-plus hours of otherwise absolute depravity. You're telling me this guy has any ethics? Please!
Seen in a relatively packed theater, the audience laughed at nearly every act of violence, no matter how nasty, which aligns with Art's frequent exaggerated facial expression and gestures. Filled with cameos and callbacks, the interwebs tells me this had the highest budget out of franchise, clocking in at two million, so Damien clearly has found, and knows, his audience, mainstream be damned, but I sat mostly unfazed, not that I'm showing off- the abhorrent rampaging is disgusting and very-much intended, but so what? He fails to have a single piece of clever dialogue in this dense story, scenes between killings are talky and downright boring, and Art's goofy antics as he shoots, slices, and dices come off as a big joke, staged without menace or atmosphere, lacking the surreal punch of giallo films or the visceral dread of George A. Romero's work, just to name a few. He lays it all out there, and it just sorta lies there as a giant lump of rotting flesh.
Not to try and defend myself, but I'm not cinematic prude: "Zombi 2" and "Bone Tomahawk" are just a few of my top gory picks, but they have personality or interesting characters to help give impact to the brutality. Not here; at one point the music's lyrics include "a Terrifier Christmas," as if that makes it a satire.
Maybe that's the point, perhaps this is all an attempt at some sort of exploitative comedy act? That or the others in their own reclining seats of worn leather next to me were all sickos.
