Robert Englund is a horror maven, a man whose name has become so large in the pop culture ethos that his reputation transcends both genre and generation. Here's a man who, in a volatile industry, has steadily been able to keep his work vital and forefront in the horror realm of American cinema. Since Fred Krueger's inception in 1984, scratch that, since Eaten Alive in 1977, Robert Englund has built a 30 year niche career that has catapulted him into the pantheon of all time greats; Chaney, Lugosi, Karloff. I wish I could say he had such gravitas behind the camera. He doesn't! Killer Pad, Englund's second foray into film directing, is so awful that it can hardly be construed as an actual movie.
Is that the Grim Reaper or a Ninja Turtle?
There are few things in this world that are more terrifying than a bad mushroom trip, as I can confirm from firsthand experience. Unfortunately Irish horror film Shrooms, which is about a group of teenagers high out of their minds and trapped in the forest with a deranged killer after them, does not capitalize on this fear. Shrooms ultimately ends up being another mediocre low-budget slasher that no one will remember a year from now.
Shrooms' maniacal monk hunts his next victim.
You know how in most action flicks when someone dies in an explosion it's almost like a Bugs Bunny cartoon? The dude flies into the air, possibly flipping a few times in the process, and then lands somewhere next to the blast, entirely unscathed other than the cheap charcoal makeup smeared onto his face. Well, you'll see none of that in Rambo. Oh enemies of Rambo do get FUBAR all right--just to an extent that you've never seen before.
And all he did was ask Rambo for the time.
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