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TerrorVision

1986
6 min read
By VHS Heaven Team

Alright, fellow tapeheads, dim the lights, maybe crack open a Jolt Cola if you can find one, and let's journey back to 1986. Remember cruising the aisles of the video store, the lurid cover art practically screaming at you from the horror section? Sometimes, you stumbled upon a box that promised something so utterly bonkers, so uniquely eighties, you just had to take it home. Friends, let's talk about the glorious, gooey mess that is TerrorVision.

### Adjust Your Tracking: The Putterman Predicament

Forget your typical suburban family. The Puttermans, bless their synthetic hearts, are a Day-Glo nightmare of 80s excess. Stanley (Gerrit Graham, absolutely chewing the scenery with relish) is a gung-ho survivalist type, while his wife Raquel (Mary Woronov, bringing her signature arch coolness honed in films like Eating Raoul) is obsessed with swingers' hotlines and aerobics. Their daughter Suzy (Diane Franklin, instantly recognizable to fans of Better Off Dead... or Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure) is rocking the full punk look, while young Sherman (Chad Allen) is the slightly nerdy kid more interested in horror flicks and his grandpa (Bert Remsen), a grizzled war vet. Their world is loud, tacky, and blissfully unaware of the cosmic horror hurtling towards their brand-new backyard satellite dish. This wasn't just a family; it was a mood board for everything wonderfully garish about the decade.

### It Came From Planet Pluton (Via the Satellite)

The setup is pure B-movie gold: an alien sanitation system on the distant planet Pluton accidentally beams its monstrous garbage creature across the galaxy. Where does it materialize? You guessed it – right through the Putterman's new satellite system and into their television set. What emerges is... well, it’s something. Directed and co-written by Ted Nicolaou, a frequent collaborator with Charles Band at the legendary (and notoriously frugal) Empire Pictures, TerrorVision wastes no time getting weird. Nicolaou, who cut his teeth editing Empire flicks like Ghoulies (1985), leans heavily into a vibrant, almost cartoonish aesthetic. The lighting is often lurid pinks and greens, the sets look like they raided a furniture store going out of business in 1986, and it all contributes to a feeling of heightened, bizarre reality perfect for late-night VHS viewing.

### The Hungry Beast: A Masterpiece of Slime

Let's be honest, the star of the show is the creature itself. Dubbed the "Hungry Beast," this thing is a triumph of practical effects wizardry from the legendary John Carl Buechler and his team (Mechanical & Makeup Imageries, Inc.). Forget slick CGI – this is pure, tangible latex, slime, and puppetry. It's a pulsating, multi-eyed, tentacled blob with a cavernous mouth that looks genuinely, disgustingly hungry. Remember how real that goop looked dripping off its… appendages? That’s the magic of practical effects from this era – messy, imperfect, but with a physical presence modern digital creations often lack.

Retro Fun Fact: Operating the main creature puppet was reportedly a sweltering, exhausting job for the performer inside, requiring frequent breaks. Buechler's team really pushed the envelope with the limited resources typical of an Empire Pictures production (the film had an estimated budget that wouldn't even cover the catering on a modern blockbuster), delivering a monster that’s both terrifying and oddly comical. It’s a design that perfectly embodies the film’s chaotic energy.

### Performances Set to 'Overdrive'

The human cast fully commits to the absurdity. Graham and Woronov are a particular delight as the monumentally self-absorbed parents, delivering lines with a detached weirdness that’s hilarious. Franklin plays the exasperated punk daughter effectively, acting as the audience surrogate amidst the madness, alongside Allen's Sherman. And we can't forget Jon Gries (later beloved as Uncle Rico in Napoleon Dynamite) as O.D., Suzy's metalhead boyfriend who gets sucked into the chaos. Nobody is aiming for subtlety here; it’s all broad strokes and heightened reactions, fitting the film's B-movie, almost live-action cartoon vibe.

Retro Fun Fact: The film even spawned a music video for the theme song performed by the quirky new wave band The Fibonaccis, featuring the cast interacting with the Hungry Beast. It's peak 80s synergy and well worth seeking out online if you haven't seen it!

### More Than Just Monster Mayhem?

Beneath the slime and screams, TerrorVision offers a goofy satire of Reagan-era consumerism, television addiction, and the bizarre underbelly of suburbia. The Puttermans are so wrapped up in their own materialistic pursuits and vapid lifestyles that they barely notice the cosmic horror unfolding until it’s literally consuming them. It’s not exactly deep social commentary, but the critique adds another layer of fun to the proceedings. The monster literally arrives through the TV – it doesn't get much more on-the-nose than that, does it? Initially dismissed by many critics upon release, its sheer strangeness and memorable monster helped it find a devoted audience on home video, cementing its status as a beloved cult classic VHS staple.

### The Final Rewind

TerrorVision is undeniably a product of its time – loud, colorful, gooey, and gloriously unsubtle. It's a film powered by fantastic practical creature effects, committedly campy performances, and a gleeful embrace of its own absurdity. It perfectly captures that feeling of discovering something wild and unexpected on the video store shelf. Is it high art? Absolutely not. Is it a ridiculously fun slice of 80s horror-comedy that still entertains? You bet your satellite dish it is.

VHS Heaven Rating: 7.5 / 10 (Points awarded for creature design, sheer audacity, Woronov & Graham's performances, and peak 80s B-movie charm. Points deducted for occasional pacing lags and plot threads thinner than cheap VHS tape.)

Final Thought: They truly don't make 'em like this anymore – a time when cosmic horrors felt less like digital phantoms and more like something genuinely slimy you might accidentally track onto the living room carpet. A must-see for fans of practical effects and wonderfully weird 80s cinema.