'Tales from the Quadead Zone' (1987) - Chester N.Turner.
Cult Writer/ Director Chester N. Turner's frequently eerie, low budget terror triptych, 'Tales from the Quadead Zone' (1987) is a rightly revered, supernaturally skewed S. O. V, weird-beard horror anthology that I have been especially keen to view for quite some time and as an ardent fan of hearty, homemade horror fare, this surprisingly spooky, not infrequently kooky, delightfully doom-laden drama certainly didn't disappoint! Right from the fabulously garish titles Chester N. Turner's rudimentary electronic music creates an off-kilter, harshly foreboding vibe, almost absurd in its naivety but undeniably compelling at the same time!
The opening wraparound segment is a bitter sweet, melancholic sequence showing a kindly mother (Shirley L. Jones) reading aloud from the cumbrous looking tome 'Tales from the Quadead Zone' to the ghost of her dead child 'Bobby', utilizing a number of nifty old school practical effects along with some refined thesping from the absolutely adorable Shirley L. Jones we are thusly transported into the anthology's first sombre story concerning a financially depleted, close to starving family's crudely pragmatic approach to maximizing the penurious food budget that spectral scamp Bobby plainly enjoyed a little more than I did!
Keen for yet another marrow-frostingly fearful, spleen-sifting tale of bizarre misanthropy, Mr. Turner displays a divinely morbid sense of black humour in the more rigorous second instalment, being a sardonically downbeat descent into an especially sinister sibling rivalry that features some especially grave, creepy-crawly clowning about! It should also be noted that any individual that so exultingly brandishes a handy, mammary-shaped coffee mug is immediately conferred some righteous Dude-lord status! There is a vintage, agreeably bloody-minded H. G Lewis quality to the murky milieu of deeply entrenched hatred and long fulminating familial resentments whereby the film's brusque, unlovely editing, poor sound and stilted 'acting' seem to have miraculously increased the overall impact of this macabre sequence! Perhaps due in part to the earnest, unfussy filmmaking process it still translates remarkably well, with the brother's heated discourse within the claustrophobic confines of a dismal-looking basement culminating in a diabolical display of ghoulishly gung ho, lo-Fi grue!
The last instalment is by far the darkest tonally, both visually and emotionally raw, being richly imbued with a surprisingly stark emotional ferocity as the dire domestic drama erupts nastily with a palpably nasty edge, the grisly conclusion given additional gravitas by the capable, sweetly empathic performance by pretty Shirley Latanya Jones who not only delivers the most credible acting performance of this audaciously screwball horror anthology but also endows stalwart Indie filmmaker Chester N.Turner's rough-hewn horror gem with genuine pathos, and for an invisible, ethereal tyke, 'Bobby' still makes quite an impression! The mooted sequel to this underground cult classic is long overdue!
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