Nothing much happens in the relatively quiet college town of Murfreesboro, Tennessee. That's why the re-opening of the Sunshine 6 Cineplex is such a big deal. One ticket buys you a pass to six movies, each one played back to back and repeated six times, so you can set your own itinerary, watch what you want, and skip what you don't.
Got a hankering for masked killers wielding off-the-shelf hardware store merchandise? Lead off the show with Chainsaw Maniac. Vampires more your thing? Grab some popcorn and sink your teeth into Blood Lust. Or maybe you've a fever, and the only prescription is more cowbell zombies, in which case Rise of the Dead will feed your addiction. 'Doctor Ominous' (whoever he is) has promised a full-featured buffet of cheesy B-movie goodness at a rock-bottom price ($25 per ticket to see all six, so that's like...four dollars per film), and he's going to deliver.
He's just left out one minor detail: the customers, the patrons, who queue up for this incredible, one-in-a-lifetime horror extravaganza are going to be playing slightly more. . .active. . .roles than they were expecting. Doctor Ominous has discovered a way to redefine "audience participation" in a way that would shame even The Rocky Horror Picture Show. It's no longer a case of "Fuck the back row!" vs. "Fuck the front row!", now it's a case of "Fuck every row!".
Audience-goers often ask themselves if they'd have what it takes to survive a horror movie. Tonight, in Murfreesboro, a few dozen gore-hounds will find out for themselves.
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I've never read Bryan Smith before, but after The Late Night Horror Show, I'm definitely going to be back for more.
This is a love letter to trashy B-horror films. Cabin in the Woods and Scream deconstructed A-list horror fare, but The Late Night Horror Show pays tribute to all the knock-offs, wannabes, and Asylum-Studio-style, straight-to-video rejects of the horror world. Smith has also come up with a premise that incorporates some scientific principles into the story to explain how a bunch of movie-goers get sucked into the stories they've paid money to see. I'm not going to spoil anything, and the execution still requires some hand-waving to connect the dots, but let's be honest, nobody reading a book like this is going to DNF it due to some unexplained science. It's a fun idea that Smith drags out to a little under 300 pages. This, by the way, works perfectly: 266 pages is the literary equivalent of a 90-minute run time on a DVD. It doesn't overstay its welcome, it just shows up, does what it needs to do, and rolls the credits.
What I'm most impressed with is Smith's ability to deliver a story this enjoyable within that page count while juggling five separate plots, and never dropping the ball. He introduces every one of his primary and secondary protagonists within the first few chapters, brings them together at the cinema, and then splits them all up as they go to view different movies and thus get caught up in different stories. Even people who wind up in the same film don't always wind up in the same place or the same scene, though they usually wind up crossing paths with other cinema-goers at some point or another. Balancing all these point-of-view characters, including one guy who does not wind up on the wrong side of the screen for reasons explained towards the end of the book, gives me a headache just thinking about it. Yet Smith's rapid-fire prose and stripped-down presentation make it look effortless. I'm not sure how much editorial input the great Don D'Auria (formerly of Leisure, now attached to Samhain) had on Smith's story, or even how much it required, but whatever he did helped shape this book into a lean, mean, character-vivisecting machine.
In true Splatterpunk style, there's an over-abundance of violence and horrible things happening to people, but Smith doesn't focus on these elements for very long. He's content to say what's happening, and give some punchy description of the aftermath, but unlike, say, Edward Lee (who never met a pile of grotesque he didn't want to put under a microscope with the magnification cranked up, oh, 40,000 or so times), he doesn't spend a lot of ink drilling what happened into the reader's head. There's a lot of "left to your imagination" here, and while this can be annoying, in this situation it really works. Remember, Smith is writing about low-budget horror films here -- the best way to save money is to reserve your special effects shots for the times when they're most effective. No need to use 120 gallons of corn syrup when a liter or two can work just as effectively and the audience's brain fills in the rest.
Besides, if he lingered on everything, The Late Night Horror Show would have run afoul of 400 pages, and that's far too long for this kind of thing.
I'm not saying The Late Night Horror Show is perfect, because it isn't. Many of the main protagonists are downright awful and hard to root for. There are some who come out of the other side when they really shouldn't have, and an attempt at redeeming one character who, before all the cinemassacring, committed a truly irredeemable act. But when all is said and done, I burned through all 266 pages in a single sitting. That's damn impressive, and I won't do that for just anybody. Smith kept me entertained and wondering how he was going to end it the whole way through, and even managed to surprise me with a couple of details towards the end. With as much horror fiction as I've read, that's hard to do, so I will happily give props to anyone who pulls it off.
Four awesomely bad straight-to-video Netflix streams out of five.