52 Weeks: Shock and Nah…
The Horror Show (1989) (a.k.a. House III)
★★★☆☆☆☆☆☆☆ (3 out of 10 stars)
Directors: James Isaac
Producer: Sean S. Cunningham
Starring: Lance Henriksen, Brion James, Rita Taggart, Dedee Pfeiffer
“You can’t kill me… I’m already dead.” – Max Jenke
The Review:
There are films that unfold like dark revelations—each act peeling back another layer until the full, dreadful design is laid bare before us. Others seize us immediately, their terror undeniable, their grip unrelenting from first frame to last. And then… there are those curious misfires that promise nightmares, yet deliver only restless fragments of other, better dreams.
There are films with qualities that are not clear first but with the viewing, reveal themselves as the story comes together and ultimately create a satisfying narrative, there are also those that are good from the first creaking door to their jaw-dropping end. Of course this film is sadly not either of those. It is something much more troubling; it is one of those film that pull together a capable cast good lights and sound equipment, only to stumble and falter, almost from the beginning, spiraling through series uninspired events, or perhaps they were too inspired by other horror movies. Those were great movies, but I have already seen Nightmare on Elm Street, Chucky, and Shocker. This tried to copy what they did, but was unable to achieve their high levels of fear and shock. In its attempt to capture the dark magic of those films, it also failed to hold onto the disharmonic tone of its own franchise, as well (Originally called House III, and meant to be the third installment of the House series).
The Horror Show—or House III, depending on which crypt you unearthed it from—exists in a peculiar limbo, wearing borrowed garments stitched from the remains of late-’80s horror trends. What begins as a potentially grim tale of justice and vengeance quickly devolves into a chaotic parade of electrical hallucinations, supernatural revenge, and tonal confusion; not quite hijinx and not quite horror.
Lance Henriksen, ever the stalwart of genre cinema, does what he can to anchor the picture. His weary, haunted lawman carries the burden of a narrative that seems increasingly unwilling to support him. Opposite him, Brion James as the sadistic killer Max Jenke delivers menace with a crackling, almost feral intensity—yet even his presence cannot fully electrify a script that feels assembled rather than conceived.
The film’s central conceit—an executed killer returning through electricity to torment his executioner—has a certain macabre charm. One can almost admire its audacity. Yet the execution (forgive the expression) falters. Scenes drift without cohesion, scares arrive without proper build, and what should feel like escalating dread instead becomes a series of disconnected jolts.
And oh, how familiar those jolts feel.
The dream-invasion antics evoke Elm Street, though without its surreal poetry. The killer’s taunting persistence echoes Chucky, but stripped of its wicked humor. There are even shades of Shocker in the electrical mayhem, though lacking its anarchic energy. One senses not homage, but imitation—an echo chasing echoes until nothing distinct remains.
There are moments—fleeting, fragile—where something sinister stirs. A flicker of light. A presence just beyond perception. A whisper of what might have been a far more unnerving film. But these moments vanish almost as soon as they appear, leaving behind only the hollow resonance of missed opportunity.
Ultimately, The Horror Show is less a descent into terror and more a wandering through a funhouse where the mirrors reflect other films more vividly than the one you are watching. It is not devoid of effort, nor entirely without merit—but it is undeniably lost.
And as the lights flicker and the current hums with unnatural life, one cannot help but feel…
The real horror is not the monster in the wires—
…but the spark that never quite ignited.
Yes child, there is more…so much more. See what you have missed: T. Glenn Bane’s 52 Weeks of Halloween Index.