Bad Movies Beware!
I don’t usually mind indie(independent) films, and I have seen a few good ones. This was not one of them. The House that Screamed took campy porn acting and plotline to a whole new level of sucktacularness that not even Witchcraft 11 could touch. The main character, we’ll call him Captain Hair Recession due to his EXTREME and obviously fake receding hairline, is a writer who has just lost his family in a house fire cause by his wife(who looks old enough to be his mother) dropping a cigarette on the carpet. His son dies in the fire, though in the iconic(read hokey) scene where H.R. is screaming over his dead son, the kid is still kicking and squirming. Yeah, zombie kid. Go fig. H.R. decides to move into a known haunted house and try to write a book about his exploits in the place. What follows is a series of events that would have been more frightening in an episode of The Smurfs than in this movie. The first real haunting takes place while H.R. is in the bathtub. He hears a knock at the door that will not go away, and the scene cuts to the Grim Reaper knocking on his front door. Yes, THE GRIM F$%^ING REAPER!!! Of course, when he answers the door no one is there. After another pointless round of this stupidity he is locked out of the house because it is funny to lock a hairy, half-bald man who can’t act out of his house in the middle of the night while he is wearing only a towel and no dignity. He finds his way back in and turns in for the night. Eventful, right. By the time we were halfway through Day 2, I was pleading for there to not be a Day 3. Not only was I given the finger with Day 3, I was kicked square in the brown-eye by Day 4! The acting in this movie was worse than any porn or children’s show I have ever watched, and the sound was so bad and over-done that most of the worthless dialogue was drowned in thundering sheet-metal and music played on a cowbell. No, I am serious. Cowbell. Insert Christopher Walken reference here. After his seduction by a morbidly obese zombie hooker(not kidding), he realizes that he is in a world of trouble and does his research only to be visited by a dead Civil War vet(random) and told that he is essentially screwed. I will not sugar-coat it, folks. This movie gave me a migraine headache, only cured by turning it off after the credits rolled.
VERDICT: DESTROY!! Independent films are the bread and butter of the industry, but this movie was the diuretic aftermath. Even though everything about this crappy flick says eighties, it was actually shat onto film in 2000, which somewhat validates the monotone scrolling words at the beginning of this massive waste of mental functionality. This movie is so bad that any movie critic in his right mind would shoot heroine after watching it just to forget the pain. What were they thinking, anyway? “Hey guys! Mom just gave me a twenty-spot! Let’s make a movie!!” Do not watch this movie, whatever the cost. It will sap you of your dignity and have you thinking that William Shatner’s Oscar for Best Actor Ever is long overdue. This movie is the reason doctors prescribe anti-depressants.