Grave robbery! What a hoot! If ever a raunchy movie fully deserved the full Mystery Science Theater 3000 treatment, this dismal cheap horror film does. And it got it. RING was one of the films the award winning TV series selected for personal attention during its long television run.
The aim of the producers was obvious. Studios like American-International were tapping into the "youth" market that crowded the nation's drive-ins on weekends. In the years after the conclusion of WWII, the ages of the lead characters of films had dropped markedly, in a concession to this new cash cow, teens began carrying the action in films such as REBEL WITHOUT A CAUSE and...well...RING OF TERROR.
Let me qualify that. These are supposed to be college aged kids, though if you look closely, you might want to card them. To all indications, these zany collegiates are mostly in their 40s. Their...upper 40s.
The plot is unambitious. Everyone at college is having a ball. Forget the future! Parties, slandering the overweight...nothing's out of bounds for these hep puppies.
The sole exception is one student who takes things completely seriously. No operation is too gross for him (conversely, everybody else whoops their cookies at the slightest flash of dead skin). He alternately impresses and scares his girlfriend by this Vulcanish display.
Naturally, the other funsters decide to see just how fearless he really is. They set him up with a somewhat unique fraternity initiation stunt: he has to remove a ring from the finger of a corpse he's just helped autopsy. Said corpse is now waiting in a nearby crypt.
In the meantime, we learn that the would-be medico has one weakness. Darkness and a fear of death are sort of mixed together in the hazy refuges of his aged "teenage" mind. Throw in a cat in the mausoleum, his losing his flashlight, and the still, cold arm of the corpse snagging his jacket, and he's ripe for a heart attack.
Needless to say, he fails to make the frat.
Dismal. Bad. Painful. Scar inflicting. All these words ring grimly, terribly true. The film itself is framed by footage of a chatty mortician who rather deliberately rocks over his cat's tail in order to get us out and to the dead man's tombstone, so he can spin this yarn. He wanders out into the poorly done day-for-night shot grounds and follows the spooked kitty (who's even more upset at this lumbering goober galumping after it as it flees) to the boy's graveside.
So true to life. I frequently begin stories for family and friends by dashing out to the boneyard and recalling something dull and pointless that happened sometime in the dim, "who care" past.
Let's just say the following 80 minutes maintain the low standards established by this opening sequence.
Not suggested unless you're desperate to avoid a summer night of reruns.
Not for human consumption.
The aim of the producers was obvious. Studios like American-International were tapping into the "youth" market that crowded the nation's drive-ins on weekends. In the years after the conclusion of WWII, the ages of the lead characters of films had dropped markedly, in a concession to this new cash cow, teens began carrying the action in films such as REBEL WITHOUT A CAUSE and...well...RING OF TERROR.
Let me qualify that. These are supposed to be college aged kids, though if you look closely, you might want to card them. To all indications, these zany collegiates are mostly in their 40s. Their...upper 40s.
The plot is unambitious. Everyone at college is having a ball. Forget the future! Parties, slandering the overweight...nothing's out of bounds for these hep puppies.
The sole exception is one student who takes things completely seriously. No operation is too gross for him (conversely, everybody else whoops their cookies at the slightest flash of dead skin). He alternately impresses and scares his girlfriend by this Vulcanish display.
Naturally, the other funsters decide to see just how fearless he really is. They set him up with a somewhat unique fraternity initiation stunt: he has to remove a ring from the finger of a corpse he's just helped autopsy. Said corpse is now waiting in a nearby crypt.
In the meantime, we learn that the would-be medico has one weakness. Darkness and a fear of death are sort of mixed together in the hazy refuges of his aged "teenage" mind. Throw in a cat in the mausoleum, his losing his flashlight, and the still, cold arm of the corpse snagging his jacket, and he's ripe for a heart attack.
Needless to say, he fails to make the frat.
Dismal. Bad. Painful. Scar inflicting. All these words ring grimly, terribly true. The film itself is framed by footage of a chatty mortician who rather deliberately rocks over his cat's tail in order to get us out and to the dead man's tombstone, so he can spin this yarn. He wanders out into the poorly done day-for-night shot grounds and follows the spooked kitty (who's even more upset at this lumbering goober galumping after it as it flees) to the boy's graveside.
So true to life. I frequently begin stories for family and friends by dashing out to the boneyard and recalling something dull and pointless that happened sometime in the dim, "who care" past.
Let's just say the following 80 minutes maintain the low standards established by this opening sequence.
Not suggested unless you're desperate to avoid a summer night of reruns.
Not for human consumption.