Alright fellow tapeheads, dim the lights, maybe crack open a Tab if you’ve still got one stashed away, and let’s rewind to a truly peculiar corner of the mid-80s video store shelf. I’m talking about 1985’s Evils of the Night, a film that feels less like a coherent movie and more like someone threw darts at a board covered in genre tropes – horny teens, space vampires, aging screen legends, questionable science – and somehow, miraculously, hit them all. Finding this gem felt like unearthing a weird, slightly sticky artifact, the kind of tape whose worn cover promised something wonderfully strange.
When Legends Meet Low-Budget Lust
The setup is pure 80s B-movie gold: a group of hormonal college kids heads to a remote lake house for some unsupervised fun, blissfully unaware that their temporary neighbors are actually extraterrestrial bloodsuckers disguised as creepy doctors. These aren't your sophisticated Anne Rice types, mind you. They need fresh human blood to survive, harvested via a clunky, jury-rigged machine that looks like it was assembled from spare vacuum cleaner parts and Christmas lights. You gotta love the ambition!
But here's where Evils of the Night transcends typical drive-in fodder and becomes something... else. Lurking around the periphery, initially hired just to fix the aliens' van, are none other than grizzled screen icons Neville Brand and Aldo Ray. Seeing these two tough guys, veterans of countless classic war films and gritty noirs, trading bewildered dialogue while intergalactic shenanigans unfold is both surreal and oddly poignant. Add horror legend John Carradine into the mix as one of the vampiric aliens, looking frail but still delivering that unmistakable voice, and you have a cast that feels wildly out of place yet strangely compelling. This wasn't just stunt casting; for Brand and Ray, Evils of the Night marked one of their final screen appearances, a bittersweet footnote to legendary careers. Knowing that adds a layer of unexpected weight to their scenes, even amidst the absurdity.
Cheesy Charm and Practical Problems
Let's be honest, the younger cast fulfills their 80s archetypes with gusto – the jocks, the nerds, the eager couples looking for privacy. The dialogue often aims for witty banter but frequently lands closer to unintentional comedy gold. Director Mardi Rustam, known more for producing and distributing exploitation fare than directing classics (though he did helm the notorious Psychic Killer in '75), keeps things moving at a decent clip, never letting coherence get in the way of the next awkward seduction attempt or alien abduction.
The production values scream "low budget, high hopes." The alien makeup is... memorable. Think less Alien (1979) and more community theatre Star Trek. But that’s part of the charm, isn't it? Back then, you saw the seams. The blood-draining machine, the pulsating lights, the slightly-too-bright gore – it was all tangible. There's a definite hands-on feel to the practical effects here that you just don't get with today's slick CGI. Remember how real even slightly dodgy effects felt when that tracking line flickered at the bottom of your CRT screen? That’s the vibe. Was it convincing? Maybe not. But it was there. It felt crafted, built, not just rendered. Filmed primarily around Southern California locations standing in for the generic lakeside setting, the movie makes the most of its limited resources, leaning into the inherent cheesiness.
More Than Just Space Junk?
The film tries to juggle slasher tropes, sci-fi horror, and teen sex comedy, and the resulting blend is undeniably uneven. The tone whipsaws between goofy teen antics and moments of genuinely creepy alien menace (mostly thanks to the inherent strangeness of the premise and Carradine’s presence). It’s not scary in a modern sense, but there’s a certain unsettling quality to the aliens' clinical approach to harvesting their victims, juxtaposed with the almost mundane way Brand and Ray stumble through the plot.
You get the sense that Rustam and co-writer Phillip Dennis Connors knew exactly what kind of movie they were making – a drive-in quickie designed to deliver some cheap thrills, some skin, and a high-concept hook. It reportedly came together quickly, as many such low-budget genre pictures did back then, aiming to capitalize on the booming home video market. It wasn't a box office smash, nor was it lauded by critics, but it definitely found its audience on those glorious VHS shelves, becoming a cult curio primarily for its bizarre concept and that incredible veteran cast.
***
VHS Heaven Rating: 4/10
The Justification: Evils of the Night is undeniably clunky, poorly acted in spots, and sports some truly baffling creative choices. However, its earnest B-movie energy, the sheer weirdness of its sci-fi/horror/teen-comedy mashup, and the melancholic spectacle of seeing Brand, Ray, and Carradine slumming it elevates it beyond mere trash. It's not "good" in the traditional sense, but it's a fascinating, often hilarious, artifact of its time.
Final Thought: Forget slick modern terrors; sometimes you just crave that grainy, wonderfully weird feeling of space vampires needing a jump-start while screen legends scratch their heads nearby – pure, uncut 80s video store strangeness.