Send in the (Dead) Clowns

When asked to name my favorite zombies on film, I usually don’t have to think hard (useful because I’m asked this question every time I go to the post office). To toss out a few:

-the ballerina zombie in Day of the Dead

-Fido

-the Hari Krishna in Dawn of the Dead

-the clown in Zombieland

-the clown in Land of the Dead

-the clown in Day of the Dead

and you’ve noticed the pattern! Like most human beings with any sense of what’s right and wrong, I have a minor case of coulrophobia. Typically, this enhances certain movie watching experiences, making the stangulation in Poltergeist all the more horrifying or the titular Killer Klowns From Outer Space strangely scary, despite also being ridiculous (and awesome).

Hence, when I spot a title like “Dead Clowns”, there’s really no possible reason I’m NOT going to watch it.

Quick Plot: Hurricane Jacob is heading into Port Emmet with a vengeance as the soft-spoken townspeople prepare their homes for torrential rain and high speed winds. Such a storm hasn’t been seen since 50 years earlier, when poor weather conditions and a drunk driver caused a passing circus to plummet into the sea. Most of the casualties were clowns, which of course, is pretty fabulous (I mean tragic, right, tragic).

This story is relayed twice, which is vital in making up about 80% of the dialogue in the entire film. Dead Clowns, a microbudgeted release that found its way into Lions Gate’s apparently large clown wing (as witnessed by the trailers on this DVD, three of which were for similarly themed films), isn’t an awful movie by any means. Sure, it’s clearly saving its pennies in just about every scene, but at the same time, the gore is decent, acting...passable, and dialogue not painful...mostly because there’s so little of it.

See, nothing really happens to anybody worth knowing in Dead Clowns. Seriously. The most interesting person onscreen is scream queen Brinke Stevens, whose richly deep voice sets up almost eerie possibilities. 

Unfortunately, she meets her blurry end far too early, leaving us with a random assortment of shy soon-to-be victims, including a dude in a wheelchair with no discernible personality outside of being in a wheelchair, a busty blond with no discernible personality outside of being busty and blond, a pair of goth kid murderers whose bark is worse than their bite, and in a true cinematic crime, a wasted Debbie Rochon who sports an unflattering Christmas sweater and spends the entire film hiding and saying absolutely nothing. NOTHING! Maybe the lovely Ms. Rochon had strep throat during the week of filming. 

High Points

Putting aside a few of the overused songs, Steven Sessions’ instrumental score is quite good, filled with clever circus homages at just the right time (including a clown-getting-into-the-canon worthy drumroll played as a character fights a knife slowly heading towards her eyeball)

Low Points

95 minutes isn’t a long running time for most films, but considering Dead Clowns has no actual story or protagonist and about 25 minutes are spread out footage of hurricane winds hitting palm trees, there really wasn’t much to keep us driving towards the anticlimactic finale

A lesson to all filmmakers from someone who used to play with a camera as a teenager: slowly zooming in for an extreme closeup during an intense monologue will make it seem as though you’re a teenager that plays with a camera

Lessons Learned

If you’re in a horror movie situation, just throw out your cell phone. Seriously, have you ever seen it actually help anyone?

Being buried at sea for thirty years will do nothing to fade the brightness of your primary colored pants and hair

Just because the lights don’t work doesn’t mean you won’t get fuzzy reception on your television set

It’s so effin awesome to comb brains out of your hair

Rent/Bury/Buy

There are few people who I would recommend Dead Clowns to, but that doesn’t necessarily mean I don’t recommend it. The zombies have a slightly Fulci-esque look that’s executed with skill, something that automatically makes Dead Clowns better than a good deal of the straight-to-DVD undead cinema lurking in your Netflix queue. The film has a ridiculous amount of problems and shouldn’t be shown to those with budgetary standards, but hey, I’ve seen worse, and when you add up the intrigue of Sessions’ score, Stevens' voice, and the basic neatness of zombie clowns, someone like me isn’t too disappointed. 

You Know You've Made the Naughty List When You Meet Santa Claws

One of the difference between films and flicks (according to Emily Intravia's Encyclopedia of Filmic Knowledge, copyright pending) is that a film stands on any ground while a flick is made--sometimes exclusively--for a very specific audience. I often look to movies classified in the children’s section as prime examples: I wasn’t charmed by The Lion King 2: Simba's Pride, but the kids I babysat for in the 90s could easily watch it all day long, while WALL-E and The Muppet Movie remain triumphant masterpieces for viewers of any age. As much as I'd like to, I find it hard to tear apart something like Beverly Hills Chihuahua; some films simply aren’t mine to destroy.

Santa Claws, a 1996 direct-to-video release, was not made with someone like me in mind, mostly because I’m not fourteen, male, or a Cinemax subscriber. It may be directed by none other than Night of the Living Dead’s screenwriter John A. Russo and feature several familiar horror faces, but this is not, I repeat, NOT the kind of film any old genre bug should rent on a whim and expect satisfaction.

Quick Plot: Scream Queen Illustrated is branching out for the holiday season with a new video series starring busty models rubbing gift boxes over their tanning booth certified skin. Star Raven Quinn (Debbie Rochon) is a tad distracted by her crumbing marriage to a greasy photographer. Thankfully, her kindly neighbor Wayne is harnessing a fatal attraction so he’s always around to babysit her daughters and sedate them with spiked hot cocoa.

Now surpisingly, Wayne’s infatuation grows to homicidal proportions. This has something to do with him once witnessing his mother and a Santa hat-clad stepfather doing it on Christmas Eve and promptly shooting them dead. Such a childhood experience will apparently inspire young men to don Street Fighter’s Vega-esque gloves made from a garden weasel and hunt down softcore porn stars with a fiery (eh, slightly warmed) hatred.

This is the kind of film with interesting enough cover art that any attentive video store clerk would simply refuse to rent out. There’s a mildly interesting (in theory) story thread about horror conventions and the potentially dangerous fandom/adoration they birth in lonely men, but you have to pretend that gigantic glass of heavily rummed eggnog is more than halfway full to consider any of the film worthwhile. It's not. In any way. At all.

High Points

Debbie Rochon is no Cate Blanchett, but she does put forth an enthusiastic energy that makes at least some of Santa Claws watchable enough, and her interview in the DVD's extras do prove her an intelligent and articulate performer deserving of far better work in film

Don’t be fooled by the two hour running time listed on the Netflix’s DVD jacket. If Santa Claws has nothing else going for it, at least it only clocks in at 80 minutes (about 30 of which are devoted to naked women gently violating stuffed animals,  another 15 to low rent Christmas songs played while characters drive, and 80 to a film that just should not be viewed)

Low Points

I didn’t really need elaborate striptease sequences, but if the whole appeal of the female cast is that they’re “scream queens,” wouldn’t it be more appropriate if the nudity had something to do with horror? A witches hat and broom don’t count.

There’s just about nothing remotely clever regarding any of the dialogue. Sample villain’s threat: "Seasons greetings. Santa Claws is coming to town!” Really? That’s all you got? 

Lessons Learned

Children are easily entertained by rather tragic stories of alcoholics stalking their mothers

A lot of people like looking at skin, especially when it’s mostly artificial and dry humping a teddy bear

Uptight in-laws have nothing better to do than wait at home to judge you

When your Santa suit needs some badass makeover, grab a can of spray paint

Rent/Bury/Buy

Um. I guess if you like watching women throw packing peanuts over their fake breasts as electric music plays on loop, this is the film for you. Plain old fashioned horror fans should stay as far away as absolutely possible, as there’s nothing but an uncomfortable actor muffling dialogue under a ski mask and occasionally hugging lax security guards to death. Even porn enthusiasts should be worn: while the writing seems catered to establishing boring conversations that will quickly escalate into X territory, there’s no actual sex scenes to not enjoy. Unless you need to stuff some DVD equivalent of coal in someone’s stocking, stay far away.