It starts on a note of what appears to be reverent satire — vomiting pea soup, a cry of “the power of God compels me” — and quickly delivers what is quite simply one of the most inept horror films since we lost Ed Wood. What drew me to this Red Box refugee? Danny Trejo, that’s who. I am sad to report that for the first time in his career, Trejo is an active contributor to the awfulness. It’s as though “writer-director” Robin Bain handed the venerable character actor his lines two minutes prior to calling “Action!” Still, he’s Olivier compared to Rachele Brooke Smith and Terri Ivens, the two “actresses” hired to play sisters tormented by evil spirits from the past. (Smith’s transformation scenes are particularly rewarding in their putrescence.) There’s but one thing keeping me from heartily endorsing this mess. As if a rape scene weren’t bad enough, Bain uses the resulting pregnancy as a means to give the film its final snicker. Get past that, and you’ll be laughing about this film for weeks to come. (2020) — Scott Marks
This movie is not currently in theaters.