Night of Horror

It took a very strong Long Island Iced Tea and a couple of other cocktails, but I managed to sit through this one from beginning to end. Mostly I stared at the ceiling, listened to the radio, or contemplated the massive pile of laundry that needed to be washed, because looking at the screen while trying to make sense out of the inaudible dialogue and threadbare plot was something I could do only sporadically. I always try to find some words of meager praise for even the worst movies, but staring into the empty void that is "Night of Horror" renders me too anaesthetised to pay compliments. I would not say that this film is actually painful to watch; rather, it is a black hole, a concatenation of nothingnesses, the bewildering cinematic equivalent of formless scribbles on a plain canvas. It induces no reaction in the viewer other than confusion and perplexity... and perhaps wonderment at Mr. Malanowski's ability to find a distributor. A person could make a more incomprehensible excuse for a film, but it would require an active hostility to the audience on his part. In Mr. Malanowski's case, I think this is just a particularly remarkable example of extreme laziness.