Is this camcorder creature feature the future of Z-level video schlock? If it is, could you be so kind as to pass me the straight razor? Because this repulsive, unprofessional, piece of shit is so crude and vile-headed it's like some deviant's chromosome-damaged home movies. The picture goes in and outta focus during close-ups, the lighting shifts in mid-sentence, the looping is hit-and-miss, and the soundtrack music is often so loud you can't hear the dialogue (which might be a blessing in disguise). In other words, it's so god awful I couldn't help but gawk in amazement at it. The culprit is director/writer Chester N. Turner, who must've been damned proud of his work since his directorial credit is held on the screen for a full 30 SECONDS! It's a blaxploitation take on TRILOGY OF TERROR (remember Karen Black and her Zuni warrior doll?), starring a pack of Turner's pals from the neighborhood -- actors so inept they make Rudy Ray Moore look like James Earl Jones!... At the forefront is Shirley L. Jones (I assume she added the "L" so we wouldn't confuse her with the Partridge Family mom) as our god-fearing heroine, Helen Black, who has enough religious literature littering her apartment to start her own Catholic Shop. One day this Bible-boob purchases a sinister little dredlocked ventriloquist dummy, takes it home, and gets worried when she starts having fantasies about getting fucked by the dummy (not to mention chancing a serious case of splinters). The Devil Doll begins moving from room to room whenever her back is turned, talking in a baritone growl, and it climaxes at midpoint with her long, protracted rape by the horny puppet. Guess what? She loves it! In other words, Willie Tyler and Lester this ain't! Soon she's seducing the dummy, because she's addicted to his pinewood pecker, and when she straps on some of the neighborhood studs they don't come close to measuring up to her Little Fella...Believe it or not, this flick is SEVERELY offensive to women, and by the end it mutates into a black REPULSION, though without a shred of good taste or technical savvy. It revels unashamedly in its own misogynistic mindset and utter incompetency, and I can't imagine an uglier, more unbelievably inept piece of rotgut. Difficult to endure, impossible to forget, and loads of fun to discuss afterward (sorta like bragging about battle wounds).

© 1991 by Steven Puchalski.