As the third entry in Hammer’s Mummy series, The Mummy’s Shroud faced an uphill battle to live up to the studio’s past successes. Despite its chilling premise involving a cursed shroud and the inevitable vengeance it unleashes, the film struggled to achieve the tension and excitement expected from Hammer’s golden age. Its release coincided with the closing chapter of an era, marking the final Hammer production to be filmed at the iconic Bray Studios. Unfortunately, the lackluster performances of the lead cast diminished the impact of the film’s otherwise atmospheric storytelling.
One saving grace was the work of Hammer veteran Michael Ripper, whose performance as the beleaguered Longbarrow stood out amid the weaker portrayals of the principal characters. Ripper’s innate charm and subtlety helped maintain audience engagement, even as the narrative faltered. While some gory scenes were cut to meet censorship demands, the special effects used in the Mummy’s demise were exceptional for their time. The climactic disintegration scene became a technical highlight, showcasing Hammer’s ingenuity in visual effects design. Despite its shortcomings, the film retains nostalgic appeal and is notable for its craftsmanship, though it remains overshadowed by Hammer’s more compelling creature features. Released alongside Frankenstein Created Woman as part of a double bill, The Mummy’s Shroud paled in comparison, offering modest thrills but failing to achieve the same level of ambition or resonance.
This Night I’ll Possess Your Corpse (1967), José Mojica Marins’ sequel to At Midnight I’ll Take Your Soul, dives deeper into the twisted world of Coffin Joe, expanding on themes of existential defiance, legacy, and brutal self-justification. The film builds on the reputation of the sinister undertaker, who now intensifies his search for the “perfect” mother of his progeny. With higher stakes, more explicit brutality, and an even stronger commitment to thematic audacity, This Night I’ll Possess Your Corpse pushes the boundaries of Marins’ original vision.
The film’s plot follows Coffin Joe (Zé do Caixão) as he continues his obsessive quest for a worthy woman to bear his child, a pursuit that becomes even darker and more violent. After surviving the retribution faced in At Midnight I’ll Take Your Soul, Joe, unrepentant and emboldened, begins torturing and testing women, pushing them through horrifying trials to determine if they meet his twisted criteria. While his earlier blasphemy and moral nihilism painted him as a provocateur, Joe now appears even more ruthless, embodying a sort of twisted Darwinism as he justifies his crimes in the name of securing his legacy. The sequel effectively ups the ante, making Coffin Joe’s deranged quest for immortality and control over fate feel more visceral and disturbing.
The film’s visual style expands as well, reflecting the broader canvas Marins had to work with. There’s a particularly memorable scene where Coffin Joe dreams of Hell, shot in lurid colour, providing a startling contrast to the film’s otherwise stark black-and-white palette. This scene remains one of the most striking and surreal moments in 1960s horror cinema, reinforcing the film’s surrealist roots and adding a vivid, almost expressionistic element to Joe’s nightmarish world. Marins used his limited resources creatively, and this bold use of colour makes an already intense story feel even more haunting and visually ambitious.
In terms of character, Coffin Joe is more complex here, though still equally loathsome. Marins’ portrayal captures Joe’s internal contradictions—the philosophical musings, violent nihilism, and brazen self-confidence—that make him such a compelling anti-hero. Joe’s obsession with purity and genetic perfection not only reflects his ego and disregard for human life but also serves as a grim satire of authoritarian ideals. His monologues delve further into his worldview, questioning religion, morality, and society, challenging the audience directly as he did in the first film, but now with even greater force. Marins’ unhinged commitment to the role provides a dark charisma that keeps the viewer hooked, even if the character’s acts are nothing short of monstrous.
The film’s pacing and plot structure, however, have their challenges. While This Night I’ll Possess Your Corpse benefits from a clearer narrative arc than its predecessor, some scenes feel repetitive, with certain trials and tortures overstaying their welcome. The intense focus on Coffin Joe’s sadistic “experiments” on the women he encounters might leave some viewers feeling fatigued, as the shock value loses impact with repetition. Additionally, the sequel’s reliance on violence and shock elements over psychological horror can sometimes feel less innovative than the original’s eerie atmosphere and unstructured approach.
Nevertheless, This Night I’ll Possess Your Corpse is a provocative work that explores the darker sides of human nature with a gleeful defiance of conventional morality and cinematic norms. While not perfect, the film stands as a testament to Marins’ singular vision, and his fearless approach makes this entry a cult classic in its own right. For those willing to venture into Coffin Joe’s demented quest, the film delivers a rare and unique horror experience that continues to resonate as both an unsettling thriller and a pointed critique of authoritarian ideals.
For fans of At Midnight I’ll Take Your Soul, the sequel is a must-watch, pushing Coffin Joe’s story further into the realm of mythic horror while reflecting the raw inventiveness of 1960s horror cinema.
Shudder Original Series Series Premiere Date: November 15, 2024
The double-episode premiere of The Creep Tapes plunges us back into the disconcerting world of Mark Duplass’s chilling serial killer. In Mike, the first episode, a familiar formula greets us as Mike, a hopeful videographer, accepts a job to shoot an acting reel for a prospective client. The twist? That “client” turns out to be none other than Duplass’s now-iconic antagonist, bringing with him all the self-deprecating charm and unsettling humor we’ve come to expect. Episode two, Elliot, introduces a shift in tone, as a hapless birdwatcher stumbles into the killer’s orbit, sparking a disturbing game of manipulation.
The Good The series premiere hits the ground running with Mike, diving into territory fans of the original films will relish. Duplass’s performance anchors the episode, weaving humor, unpredictability, and genuine menace into every interaction. The callbacks to Creep and Creep 2—from Josef’s cinephile tendencies to his darkly comic musings—strike a nostalgic chord while setting a brutal tone. The climax delivers a shocking punch, ensuring audiences won’t underestimate this series’ capacity for horror.
In Elliot, the series ventures into slightly more harrowing emotional terrain. The gentle, unassuming Elliot proves a sharp contrast to his tormentor, heightening the tension and giving Duplass even more room to showcase his character’s manipulative prowess. The second episode suggests a broader exploration of the killer’s impact on different personality types, teasing the psychological depth the series might delve into as it progresses.
The Less Good While Mike benefits from familiarity, it treads so close to the original Creep that it risks feeling derivative. The reliance on established beats could leave some viewers wanting more innovation in its approach. Meanwhile, Elliot is a more engaging departure but lacks the humor and levity of its predecessor, leaning heavily into discomfort without providing much narrative payoff.
Key Standouts Duplass once again proves he’s the linchpin of this series. His ability to balance Josef’s disarming charm with an undercurrent of malice remains compelling, ensuring viewers are as entertained as they are unnerved. The visual style—grainy, intimate, and voyeuristic—draws audiences into the killer’s unsettling perspective, reminding us why Creep thrived as a cult favorite.
The Prognosis:
The premiere of The Creep Tapes captures the essence of what made the original films so effective: a low-budget, character-driven approach to horror that feels personal and claustrophobic. While Mike sticks closely to the formula, Elliot hints at darker, more introspective possibilities. Together, these episodes lay a solid foundation for a series that promises to unsettle and entertain in equal measure.
Saul Muerte
The Creep TapesSeries are currently streaming Exclusively on Shudder and AMC+
Blood of the Virgins (1967) is an interesting attempt at vampire horror that stumbles through its narrative despite its atmospheric promise. Directed by Emilio Vieyra, the film tries to capitalise on the familiar gothic elements of betrayal, seduction, and the eternal curse of vampirism, but its low budget and muddled storytelling prevent it from fully sinking its teeth into viewers.
The film opens with Ofelia, who’s set to marry Eduardo but finds herself in a tangled web with her lover Gustavo. Despite some pre-wedding jitters, Ofelia goes through with the marriage, only for Gustavo to interrupt their wedding night with murder and a fateful bite, turning her into a vampire. Fast-forward to the 1960s, where a group of travellers takes refuge in a deserted lodge after their van breaks down. Ofelia reappears, now a tragic figure caught between the pull of seduction and her growing weariness with the vampire’s curse.
While the setup is promising and echoes classic vampire tales, Blood of the Virgins falters in its execution. The transition from Ofelia’s tragedy to the modern-day storyline is rough, leaving viewers with little investment in the new characters. The young travellers quickly fall into horror stereotypes, and their interactions feel shallow, making it hard to care about their fates as they encounter Ofelia. The central mystery surrounding the vampire’s motives and how the group will survive unfolds predictably, with suspense largely absent and horror scenes lacking bite.
Visually, Blood of the Virgins does manage to capture some atmospheric shots with moody lighting and a dreamy, surreal quality. However, it doesn’t do enough to maintain tension or provide any significant scares. Vieyra’s direction seems uncertain, as if torn between crafting a horror film and leaning into the film’s more exploitative elements. The horror never reaches the eerie or unsettling, instead landing in a kind of melodrama that drags down the pacing.
Ofelia, the story’s would-be tragic heroine, lacks the depth that might make her journey compelling. Her transformation and internal conflict about her cursed life could have added emotional weight, but they’re skimmed over in favour of a few romanticised seduction scenes that lack nuance. The attempt at sensual horror falls flat, feeling more like an obligatory nod to the eroticism associated with vampire lore than an organic part of the story.
While Blood of the Virgins holds some intrigue as a piece of Argentinian horror cinema from the 1960s, it ultimately fails to deliver as either a compelling vampire story or an effective horror film. It’s an uneven experience best suited for those curious about vintage Latin American genre cinema, but for most viewers, it’s likely to feel like a missed opportunity. Vieyra’s vision doesn’t quite come together here, leaving Blood of the Virgins feeling more like a hazy, half-formed nightmare than a film that truly haunts.
As horror fans know, some of the most unsettling scares don’t come from elaborate effects or high budgets—they emerge from intimate, character-driven stories that crawl under the skin. The Creep Tapes, a Shudder Original Series premiering on November 15, aims to deliver just that. Building on the spine-tingling foundation of the 2014 cult hit Creep, the series reunites the original creators, Mark Duplass and Patrick Brice, who brought us the disturbingly charming yet unnervingly unstable protagonist, Josef. With Duplass returning to the role of the enigmatic serial killer, this series promises an eerie experience that pushes boundaries and keeps audiences riveted.
The original Creep film thrived on its low-budget charm, turning a stripped-down, found-footage setup into an intensely unsettling experience. The series appears poised to follow suit, proving once again that horror doesn’t need lavish sets or CGI to get viewers’ hearts pounding. Here, the atmosphere is everything—raw, grainy footage brings a voyeuristic quality that makes each scene feel real, as if the terror is unfolding in the next room over. The simplicity of the setup—a videographer unknowingly documenting his own descent into darkness—creates a dread that builds with every frame. With The Creep Tapes, Shudder taps into the appeal of Creep and Creep 2, delivering a gritty, claustrophobic look into the killer’s mind that only becomes more menacing with each episode.
At the heart of this series’ potential is Duplass’s haunting performance. His portrayal of a maniac whose motives are as confusing as they are sinister is nothing short of mesmerising. Playing a predator who is both disarming and unhinged, Duplass infuses the character with a subtle, unpredictable menace that’s as charming as it is chilling. It’s this very duality that made the original film so effective, drawing audiences in with Josef’s unsettlingly friendly nature only to shatter any semblance of safety with his underlying menace. With Duplass back at the helm, viewers can expect an even deeper dive into this chilling character, one that will likely push The Creep Tapes into “must-watch” territory for horror fans seeking psychological tension and atmosphere over jump scares.
This new series amplifies the simplicity that made the original such a success. As each videographer steps into Josef’s twisted game, the narrative explores not only their harrowing experiences but the dangerously manipulative charms of the killer himself. The viewer becomes a silent observer, drawn closer and closer to the horrors unfolding on screen. And with Duplass and Brice’s creative control, fans can expect a series that honours the first two films while expanding the lore, providing more insight into the mind of this manipulative predator and his increasingly sinister tactics.
For those looking for horror that strips away Hollywood polish to reveal something raw, The Creep Tapes may be a dark horse that leaves a lasting impression. In an age of sleek, glossy productions, Duplass’s Josef reminds us that horror is sometimes most potent when it’s uncomfortably close, blurred, and right in your face. Prepare for The Creep Tapes to lure you in and make you question if you’re ever truly alone—on or off camera.
Saul Muerte
The Creep Tapes – Shudder Original Seriespremieres exclusively on Shudder and AMC+ from Friday 15 November
– Saul will be posting weekly ep reviews each week, so keep your eyes peeled.
Neil Jordan’s Interview with the Vampire (1994) is a lush and lavish exploration of eternal life, where the shadows of New Orleans and Paris are as inviting as they are haunting. Adapted from Anne Rice’s celebrated novel, the film is a powerful blend of gothic romanticism, bloodlust, and erotic tension, but its leading men—Tom Cruise as the charismatic vampire Lestat and Brad Pitt as the tormented Louis—remain a point of contention to this day. With Rice’s novel as its beating heart, Jordan’s adaptation brought a nuanced, sensuous exploration of love, horror, and longing that has endured for nearly three decades, despite those famously bold casting choices.
Jordan’s direction underscores the sensuality that made Rice’s novel iconic. The story is imbued with themes of lust and longing, extending beyond mortal desire into a deep, predatory hunger that consumes its characters, literally and emotionally. Cinematographer Philippe Rousselot bathes the world in warm, seductive lighting that makes the vampire’s nocturnal existence a beautiful nightmare. The story’s vampire leads are creatures driven by a desire that is both deeply romantic and undeniably grotesque, elevating the traditional horror elements of vampirism into something more profound and captivating.
The two vampire leads are captivating in their own way, but critics were polarized by the casting of Cruise and Pitt as Lestat and Louis. For Rice, Lestat was an iconic antihero, an exuberant villain with a touch of madness and charisma that commands the screen. Cruise, already a megastar, seemed an odd choice for the role, and while his performance is flamboyant and committed, it doesn’t always capture the layered, dark humour or philosophical weight of Lestat. Pitt, as the brooding Louis, offers a more subdued, sorrowful portrayal, but at times it veers into passivity, making the character feel too reserved to fully connect with Lestat’s extravagance. In that sense, while Cruise and Pitt deliver star power and charisma, it’s arguable that they miss some of the existential torment and depth that Rice imbued in her protagonists.
Even so, Interview with the Vampire shines when it focuses on the delicate, almost familial connection between the vampires. The introduction of the child vampire Claudia, portrayed by an astonishingly talented Kirsten Dunst, injects a fresh dynamic into the film. Claudia’s tragedy, as a woman trapped in a child’s body, intensifies the film’s exploration of love, loss, and identity, with Dunst’s performance stealing many of the film’s most powerful moments. Claudia’s frustration with her unchanging form and her love-hate relationship with Louis and Lestat elevate Interview beyond a typical vampire tale into a complex character study of immortality’s price.
In the end, Interview with the Vampire is a mesmerizing, albeit imperfect, gothic romance—a film that drips with atmosphere and raw emotion. Jordan’s vision, although sometimes hindered by casting choices, remains a powerful cinematic translation of Rice’s narrative, filled with seduction and existential dread. In fact, its occasional missteps in casting have ironically become part of its charm. Whether or not Cruise and Pitt were ideal as Lestat and Louis, their portrayals have carved a unique place in the pantheon of vampire lore.
Decades later, Interview with the Vampire holds its place as a defining piece of 1990s horror, a moody, romantic, and darkly beautiful portrait of an eternal struggle with mortality and morality. It’s a film that leaves you transfixed by its dark allure and makes you ponder what it truly means to live forever.
So here we are reviewing another sequel, and how long will we go this time before referring to the SOH list of what makes a good sequel? Well for a start, Smile 2 does the right thing by starting soon after the last film, which (if you remember) ended with the lead character’s ex-boyfriend/cop friend Joel (played by Kyle Gallner) watching her self-immolate. So, by the rules established from the first movie, that means the Smile Curse has been passed onto him. And the opening of this new instalment deals with that, as we discover Joel at the end of his 6-day run (the length of the curse before the Smile Demon has to kill its host and choose another victim). Having been put through the wringer that this creature puts you through, Joel’s course of action is very predictable in a: if-you’re-gonna-go-down-take- somebody-with-you kind of way. From here we discover this film’s protagonist, Skye Riley (played by Charlie’s Angels / Aladdin’s Naomi Scott). A mega popstar who’s half Lady Gaga, half Britney Spears (at the time she was conceived by writer / director Parker Finn, that’s who he had to go off as inspiration, although today the only parallel you immediately think of is Tay Tay). With the demon latched onto her, what ensues is 2 hours of the same sort of relentless trauma the original film’s lead – Rose Cotter – suffered through. And that’s where we hit the crux of it all. The film’s spirit (as set by its predecessor) is to put the lead through relentless hell. Till she loses. And then the hell passes on to another for the next film. It’s a cliché production line approach that one expects from this sequel, but hopes will have the courage to break. Or at least warp.
Spoiler alert, it doesn’t. But it does end with a twist that is both daring and limiting in terms of where it leaves off for Smile 3. But that’s for that review. This is Smile 2, and essentially what this film does well – very well in fact – is exactly what it did the first-time round (see above re: hell). There’s a nice old skool rhythm to Finn’s directing. Whether it be his audacious use of the pan function on his tripod head, or pretentious use of wide-angle lenses, or the gratuitous use of 70’s style GFX for the opening titles (all of which – as cinematic storytelling devices go – seem to be making a bit of a comeback lately. Especially in other medium to small budget horrors like Barbarian and The Black Phone etc). But does all this make Finn a leader or a follower? All we know is that the afore mentioned thing this movie does well is also its prison. For this Demon has an invincibility to it that makes it all so… pointless. There is nothing anyone can try to defeat it. And even then, they only start trying AFTER they chew up most of the movie runtime wondering if they are going crazy, believing they are not going crazy, and figuring out what is making them go crazy. And even then, once they try stuff, there’s nothing this creature can’t defeat with a flick of the lazy writer’s wand…. Ie: “It was all in your head”. For anything approaching a plan or a way to combat it is basically an illusion conjured by the demon itself to give you false hope, so why bother? Even the method that Scott’s Riley tries to beat the creature this time round feels eerily similar to the first film. So straight away you know it’s not gonna work. And spoiler alert, when it doesn’t, you do feel decidedly annoyed. Because, as with the golden rule of writing (where the protagonist has to make the hard choice) you, as a storyteller HAVE to give your protagonist (and therefore your audience) hope. Otherwise there are no stakes, and instead what you are watching is porn. Which is fine. Who doesn’t love porn? But porn is not great story-telling.
In terms of performance – Scott does a good job of portraying a mega star under the sort of strain unique to individuals who are also a living breathing multimillion-dollar brand. And in her case, she is also combating a personal trauma in the form of a tragedy that takes place before the film (when do lead characters NOT have a harrowing event defining their backstories these days?)
The Prognosis:
Smile 2 has earned a lot at the box office and is a critical hit because admittedly it is a very good horror film. It’s just not a good film. Oh, and also, Jack Nicholson’s son has a small part in it. Smile if you can pick him.
When Anne and Patrick stumble into a black cab after a rough night out, they’re expecting a typical ride home—a relief from the cold night and the tensions simmering between them. However, the journey quickly turns dark as the cabbie, initially cheery and talkative, veers off course and takes them down a haunting, deserted road. It’s not long before the couple realises they’re locked in, trapped with a man whose jovial front hides something far more sinister. The setup is promising, drawing viewers in with an eerie atmosphere and unsettling undertones as the cab glides through unknown territory. Nick Frost’s cabbie is a captivating presence, maintaining a blend of unnerving charm and cryptic intent that keeps you guessing, at least at first.
The initial intrigue fades, though, as the film’s promise gets buried under an overly complicated narrative. It hints at folklore and supernatural elements but becomes too tangled in its own mythology, leaving audiences grasping for clarity. What could have been a tight, suspenseful thriller becomes increasingly disjointed, as each twist raises more questions than it answers. The film’s ambition to intertwine folklore with psychological terror is admirable, but it ultimately muddies the plot rather than enhancing it. By the midway point, it’s difficult to know whether the driver is meant to be supernatural, insane, or something in between. This indecisiveness leaves viewers adrift, and the potential fear factor wanes as confusion grows.
Frost delivers a solid performance, balancing his sinister and offbeat personas with the kind of ambiguity that could have made for a terrifying antagonist. Unfortunately, the script doesn’t give him enough to work with, pulling him—and the story—in too many directions to sustain a cohesive character arc. Anne and Patrick’s characters, while positioned as central to the driver’s twisted motives, remain frustratingly thin, with little to root for in their strained relationship. Their lack of depth also makes it harder to invest in their fate, leaving the suspense feeling lukewarm as the stakes grow unclear.
While Black Cab certainly has moments that showcase a creepy atmosphere, the lack of a clear trajectory undermines the tension that should be building. The deserted road setting, dark and mist-filled, is effectively spooky, yet the narrative undercuts the potential of this location, losing itself in meandering explanations of haunted histories that detract from the urgency of the couple’s plight. As the film lurches towards its bewildering conclusion, the story collapses into a mishmash of horror clichés and unfulfilled setups.
For horror fans seeking a taut, edge-of-your-seat thriller, Black Cab may be disappointing. The movie teases a terrifying ride but fails to stay on track, bogged down by a script that confuses mystery with aimlessness. With a stronger focus and a leaner narrative, it might have delivered on its bold premise, but as it stands, Black Cab is a missed opportunity that only occasionally taps into the horror lurking in the dark.
The horror community has lost one of its most towering presences with the passing of Tony Todd, a beloved actor whose rich, resonant voice and formidable on-screen presence made him unforgettable. Known for his role as Candyman—the haunting figure who lured audiences into a story of terror, racial injustice, and folklore—Todd’s portrayal captured a timeless menace and a tragic allure that few others could have achieved. His work across film, television, and stage influenced generations, earning him a reputation as one of horror’s most enduring icons.
Born in Washington, D.C., Todd trained at the Eugene O’Neill National Theatre Institute, honing the craft that would make his performances powerful and deeply felt. Though he appeared in a wide range of genres, his lasting impact lies in the horror world. His breakthrough role in Night of the Living Dead (1990) positioned him as a new face in horror, but it was Candyman in 1992 that immortalized him. Directed by Bernard Rose and based on a story by Clive Barker, Candyman intertwined urban legend with societal themes, giving Todd a platform to bring depth to a character as sympathetic as he was terrifying.
Todd’s Candyman wasn’t merely a ghost story villain; he was a symbol of betrayal and vengeance, embodying the horrors of systemic injustices. His physical presence and chilling, honeyed voice gave Candyman a gravitas that turned what could have been a simple slasher film into a commentary on the cyclical nature of violence and despair. The hook-handed specter went on to haunt audiences for decades, and Todd reprised the role in sequels, keeping Candyman’s legend alive.
Beyond Candyman, Todd’s talents continued to bring richness to horror through roles in the Final Destination series, Hatchet, and countless other features. His versatility was evident in every role he played, from supernatural harbingers to resilient survivors, imbuing each character with a weight and intensity that horror fans revered. Todd’s impact also extended into television, with memorable appearances in shows like The X-Files, 24, and Star Trek, showcasing his range and enduring appeal across genres.
Tony Todd’s legacy is more than his roles; it is the dedication he showed to his craft and the connection he fostered with fans. He was a frequent presence at horror conventions, meeting admirers with genuine warmth and appreciation. His influence on horror has left an indelible mark, as has his kindness and humility in life.
As we mourn the passing of Tony Todd, we remember him not just as the boogeyman of our nightmares, but as a gifted actor and a cherished figure whose spirit will forever echo in the halls of horror. His voice, deep and unyielding, will always haunt the genre he helped define.
Freddie Francis’ The Deadly Bees may not have the same cultural cachet as his other horror offerings, but it brings with it a certain charm that’s hard to ignore. Written by Psycho author Robert Bloch, the film suffers somewhat from missed casting opportunities; Bloch had originally envisioned horror titans Boris Karloff and Christopher Lee in lead roles, but neither were available. This might have robbed the film of the eerie gravitas it aimed for, though it remains a curious entry in the 1960s horror catalogue.
In the absence of genre icons, Suzanna Leigh takes center stage as a pop singer sent to recuperate on a secluded island, only to find herself amidst a swarm of sinister, trained bees. Supported by Guy Doleman and Frank Finlay, Leigh provides a solid performance that keeps things engaging, even when the plot begins to unravel into the typical B-movie chaos. Doleman and Finlay hold their own with performances that embrace the film’s campiness without undercutting its more intense moments, giving the story a grounding it might otherwise lack.
Despite its flaws, The Deadly Bees is unmistakably Freddie Francis, with flashes of atmospheric tension and distinct visual flair. Known for his craftsmanship behind the camera, Francis injects a surprisingly effective suspense into scenes where the buzzing insects become the ominous harbingers of doom. The film’s strengths lie not in polished narrative but in its quirky nostalgia; it’s a feature that echoes the drive-in era of horror, trading complex thrills for straightforward, almost endearingly clunky frights. For those who fondly recall late-night horror viewings, The Deadly Bees offers a reminder of that unrefined yet entertaining genre spirit, leaving a mark that’s pleasantly out of place in horror history.
Surgeons of Horror 