A young man, who never knew his birth parents, receives an old farm in an isolated section of West Virginia upon the death of his natural father. He visits his property with a cross-section of potential victims including the comic relief black guy and a trendy lesbian couple. (Hmm, will there be skinny dipping? Take a guess.) Unfortunately, the party comes to an end when the spirits of drifters killed by his evil great-grandfather and used as scarecrows come back for revenge. This film starts out well. An artful montage of depression-era photographs and phony newspapers set against a speech by FDR - this, I believe, is his first appearance in a killer scarecrow movie- establishes the mood. I developed some hopes for the film, which were partially realized. The story was serviceable enough. The setting was sufficiently bucolic. The photography was mostly in focus. The acting, while no great shakes, was slightly above par for horror movies in this budget range. The film might've actually worked within the narrow demands of the genre if the scarecrows were scary. But they weren't They looked cheap. They weren't frightening at all. The better the monster, the better the movie. These scarecrows wouldn't scare Dorothy, let alone Toto.
