Alright, fellow tapeheads, dim the lights, maybe crack open a beverage you definitely shouldn't have had on a school night back then, and let's talk about a VHS discovery that practically vibrated with weird energy on the rental store shelf. I'm talking about 1988’s unforgettable, unhinged, and utterly gooey slice of Belgian splatter, Rabid Grannies (originally Les Mémés Cannibales). If that title alone didn't make your teenage self grab the box, check your pulse.
This wasn't a film you stumbled upon expecting high art. The cover art, often featuring some devilish-looking elderly women, promised pure, unadulterated B-movie mayhem. It was the kind of tape whispered about, rented under dubious circumstances, and watched late at night with the volume low and the tracking slightly off, adding to the grungy charm. And boy, did it deliver on its bonkers premise.
Not Your Average Family Reunion
The setup is deceptively simple, almost quaint: a group of greedy, unpleasant relatives gathers at the remote mansion of their wealthy elderly aunts, Victoria (Danielle Davies) and Elizabeth (Catherine Aymerie), hoping to curry favour and secure their inheritance. There’s the cheating husband, the vain actress, the stuffy businessman – a whole gallery of unlikeable characters ripe for... well, you know. The atmosphere is initially one of awkward pleasantries and simmering resentment, lulling you into a false sense of security before the demonic rug pull.
The catalyst for chaos arrives in the form of a cursed gift from a disgruntled nephew dabbling in Satanism. One sniff of the demonic whatsits inside the ornate box, and our dear old aunties undergo a transformation that has to be seen to be believed. Forget gentle aging; think bulging eyes, sharp teeth, demonic voices, and an insatiable hunger for human flesh – specifically, the flesh of their awful relatives.
A Practical Effects Gorefest
This is where Rabid Grannies truly earns its cult stripes. Director Emmanuel Kervyn, who was apparently quite young when he made this ambitious splatter-fest and even pops up in a small acting role, clearly revelled in pushing the boundaries of practical gore effects. Remember how real things felt before CGI took over everything? This movie is a prime example. The transformations are gloriously grotesque, achieved with latex, prosthetics, and buckets of stage blood. When the grannies go full demon, it's wonderfully tactile and messy.
The ensuing carnage is relentless and inventive. Victims are dispatched in increasingly creative ways, showcasing the kind of low-budget ingenuity that defined so much beloved 80s horror. We get stabbings, decapitations, impalements, and some truly stomach-churning moments involving bodily fluids and questionable demonic anatomy. It's excessive, it's ridiculous, and it’s undeniably entertaining if you have the stomach for it. The effects might look a bit rubbery or unrefined by today's standards, but there's an undeniable charm and visceral impact to seeing real stuff being ripped apart on screen, performed by stunt people presumably having the time of their lives (or perhaps questioning their career choices).
It’s worth noting that this film found its audience largely thanks to Troma Entertainment, those champions of cinematic oddities, who picked it up for distribution in the US. Lloyd Kaufman and Michael Herz knew exactly what they had – a film whose title and premise were pure gold for the direct-to-video market. The Troma association instantly signalled the kind of gleefully offensive, boundary-pushing content fans could expect.
Charm Amidst the Chaos
Let's be honest, the acting is… well, it's enthusiastic! The cast leans into the absurdity, playing their unlikeable characters with a certain gusto before meeting their sticky ends. Caroline Braeckman as one of the granddaughters navigating the horror provides a semblance of a protagonist, but the real stars are the grannies themselves, chewing the scenery (and eventually, the cast) with demonic glee. The dubbing on some versions adds another layer of delightful B-movie weirdness.
Emmanuel Kervyn directs with a certain raw energy. While it lacks the polish of bigger-budget productions, there’s a palpable sense of ‘let’s put on a horror show!’ enthusiasm permeating the film. He keeps the pace brisk once the mayhem starts, understanding that the audience is here for the grannies and their gory antics. Shot on location in Belgium, the stately mansion provides a surprisingly effective, almost gothic backdrop for the bloody bedlam.
Legacy of the Loony
Rabid Grannies wasn't a critical darling upon release, and it certainly wasn't mainstream fare. But like so many films championed by Troma and discovered on dusty VHS shelves, it found its people. It became a cult classic, a go-to for bad movie nights, and a testament to the wild creativity bubbling in the independent horror scene of the late 80s. It’s a film that knows exactly what it is and revels in its own absurdity. It doesn't aspire to be anything more than a gory, darkly comic romp, and it succeeds admirably on those terms.
VHS Heaven Rating: 7/10
Why the Score? This isn't high cinematic art, but for fans of outrageous 80s splatter and practical effects showcases, Rabid Grannies is a gore-soaked gem. It delivers exactly what the title promises with infectious energy and surprisingly effective low-budget carnage. It loses points for some rough edges in acting and pacing before the action kicks off, but gains them back for sheer audacity and memorable, messy effects work.
Final Thought: A gloriously grotesque party favour from the era of peak video store craziness, Rabid Grannies is proof that sometimes, the most unhinged ideas make for the most memorable late-night viewings. Just maybe skip watching it with your grandma.