The scariest thing about HOUSE OF 1000 CORPSES is your own emotion, as you burn
with rage watching it. Angry that you've been hoodwinked into paying for such
slipshod work, you are not quite sure who to blame or what to do. The writer
and director of this truly awful horror picture is an aptly named Rob Zombie.
You have indeed been "rob"bed, and only a "zombie" could have made such drivel.
In its only semi-decent scene, the movie starts with four young adults who stop
at a combination gas station and horror museum in the middle of nowhere. Of
course, it is a dark and stormy night. This setup can still be mined for
considerable cinematic treasure as IDENTITY recently proved. But there is no
gold in HOUSE OF 1000 CORPSES, save the "murder ride" in the roadside museum
that the four twentysomethings go on. Propelled by one creepy guy rather than
electricity, their cart passes macabre settings of local horror lore.
Afterwards, the foolish four decide to find the "Dr. Satan tree" referenced in
their ride.
Will they come back alive? What do you think? More importantly, will you be
able to contain your anger at this stupid movie or will your outrage compel you
to take out your feelings on someone not responsible but handy, like say the
projectionist or the theater manager? Don't. Just ask for your money back
instead. That might cause some minor pain to Mr. Zombie who deserves to share
your pain.
HOUSE OF 1000 CORPSES runs an excruciatingly long 1:28. It is rated R for
"strong sadistic violence/gore, sexuality and language" and would be acceptable
for older teenagers.
Copyright © 2003 Steve Rhodes
