Review: Winterbeast (1992)
Directed by: Christopher Thies
Starring: Tim R. Morgan, Mike Magri, Bob Harlow
Written by: Christopher Thies
Music by: Michael Perilstein
Country: United States
Available on: Blu-ray (Vinegar Syndrome), DVD (Sub Rosa Studios)
IMDb
Although I generally appreciate the slew of special features that many boutique labels include with their careful restorations of weird, forgotten indie gems like Scuzzy Steve and the Salmon Sloths and Onslaught of the Virgin-Munching Mermen, sometimes I don’t want to know how the sausage was made because the sloppy, malformed, overcooked “meat” in front of me that tastes kind of like garlic and fennel, as it’s supposed to — but also like caramel, bubble gum, and tuna fish — is oddly satisfying. I’d rather believe the chef was a culinary madman with a heretofore unparalleled understanding of food alchemy than a slovenly creep who hasn’t washed his hands since the shitter and has been snagging expired ingredients from the dumpster behind the Wawa.
Writer/director Christopher Thies’ regional disasterpiece, Winterbeast, is the sort of sausage best left unexplained. What we’ve got, story-wise, is a couple of park rangers investigating the disappearance of someone staying at the Wild Goose Lodge. Following that, a whole bunch of monsters that may be Indian totems come to life and start eating people. The sassy-ass proprietor of the lodge, one plaid-suited, bowtied Mr. Sheldon, ain’t too keen on the investigation because it’s messing with his business! (And his predilection for evil shenanigans!) That’s about best anyone’s going to be able to discern what’s going on in this fucking movie, because it’s primarily 90 minutes of sometimes macabre, nearly always fascinating gobbledygook held together with scotch tape, fishing line, and good intentions.
Winterbeast is a collection of scenes that were filmed over the course of most of a decade. They’ve technically been edited together, but there was no concern for continuity of any kind. Characters have a full, glorious mustache in the first half a scene, then a mere 5 o’clock shadow to close it out. Sometimes people have hats on and then they don’t. Sometimes people have ties on and then they don’t. Scenes flip between day and night and day-for-night. People show up, gather, and look terrified or astounded by something, but the camera never cuts to what’s terrifying or astounding them. The score, which is actually good (by Michael Perilstein, who did the music for The Deadly Spawn), cuts in and out like a stereo panning between blown speakers. A generator near-constantly whirs just off screen. There is no set-up for anything that happens in this flick, but that’s okay because there wouldn’t be any payoff, either. Winterbeast is an always-churning, sometimes acrid, sometimes delectable chum of horror movie things. Monsters. Zombies. Chest-bursting skull-caterpillars. Towering stilt-devils. Totems. The undead picking at their gooey flesh like it’s a charcuterie board. Spooky Indian legends. Desiccated corpses used as dance routine props for sassy-ass lodge proprietors wearing creepy clown masks. Boobs for some or perhaps no reason. Totems. But absolutely no winter.
I’ve listed a lot of strange shit, and there are still so many wonders to behold. Thies and friends go for absolute broke, stuffing the movie with craziness with all the spastic grace of a newborn fawn. Every handful of minutes, some new, fun beastie — might be a four-armed alien thing, could be a monstrous chicken or iguana, or maybe a bug-eyed yeti — comes along to gobble someone, and that’s pretty awesome. And though none of it is done well, you really have to appreciate its earnest and shitty attempts at so many old-school special effects gimmicks, like stop-motion, forced perspective, trick editing, and more. It’s all really imaginative and delightful. This film was made by people who grew up watching and loving the right kinds of horror movies, but didn’t have the patience, aptitude, or sanity to learn the right way to make them. And that’s okay! There’s a very large place in the souls of weirdos like me, a warm place that welcomes these misshapen children of the night and loves them for the screwball treasures they are.
Overall rating: 8.5 out of 10
