Having recently rewatched the superb Wake In Fright, I was reminded of just how impressive Australian horror can be. That nightmarish classic led me to revisit Picnic At Hanging Rock, Next Of Kin and Long Weekend. All particularly good, all well worth tracking down. Of course, you already know that, unfortunately, this review is of none of the aforementioned titles. No, I’m heading to the opposite end of the Antipodean chiller spectrum where you can find Houseboat Horror, a 1989 shot on video fright flick which has been often cited as the worst film ever made Down Under. Does it genuinely deserve that tag, though?
On the whole, I would say it’s in with a pretty big shout.
The story – such that it is – sees a “rock” band take a trip to picturesque Lake Infinity in order to shoot a music video for a song which, according to the clapperboard, is called Young And Groovey (sic). Of course, the four lunks and their film crew are totally unaware that they’re about to be targeted by a psycho with murder on their mind. It’s a warmer climes version of Swedish shocker Blood Tracks, if you will, except that Blood Tracks looks like an absolute masterpiece of terror compared to this. You’ll be praying for hair metal quintet Easy Action to show up in order to lend this thing a bit of dubious cred. Spoiler: they don’t show up.
The arguable draw here, is the toplining talent of Alan Dale, who at the time was approaching the middle of his stint as soap patriarch Jim Robinson in Neighbours. He’s joined by a load of other folks who, unlike Dale, didn’t go on to appear in 24 and the skills of his oppos extend to spending various scenes talking over each other, occasionally at the expense of expository dialogue. Don’t worry, you won’t miss the twists, because there aren’t any.
Directed (well, kind of) by Kendal Flannigan and Ollie Martin, this is visually drab, 1980s horror by numbers which at least has the good sense to kill off a couple of folks – okay, one of them isn’t that great at playing dead for the camera – before the titles roll, but then faffs about for the next thirty-five minutes with character non-development and a screenplay that’s chocka with stilted exchanges before the carnage recommences in the second half and the bodies pile up.
It has to be said that there’s a pretty nasty, if undetailed, repeated stabbing which actually works, but that turns out to be a fluke as the other suspense sequences are clumsily handled, mostly consisting of shots of the killer’s boots as they close in on their next victim. The gore is far too brief to make any impact either, often seen after the fact or, when it is shown in real time, cutting away quickly from an unconvincing effect. The filmmakers clearly saved their effects money shot – a head being sliced in half – for near the end and do you know what? It’s not worth it in the slightest, losing out in the memorability stakes to the least spectacular death by harpoon ever committed to celluloid, which culminates in a hilariously low key reaction by the character being offed.
If the houseboat lifestyle is for the more affluent, there’s no evidence of that here, the operation being run by the Victorian version of supporting characters from Minder and an unrelenting lack of glamour on board said vessels, with one person proclaiming “This is living,” while standing in an unremarkable kitchen with an open box of Corn Flakes on the worktop. It’s details such as this which kept me watching. There you go, “kept me watching” is a pull quote that can be used totally out of context.
The dialogue is mostly of the type uttered by no human being ever, be it the interminable chit chat between the thinly drawn characters or the odd rural weirdo showing up to talk in a tone which only requires them to be wearing an “I AM MENTAL” T-shirt to make matters a tad more obvious. The one note of realism, I will concede, is the very Ocker reaction of “Piss off!” to someone confronting them with a massive knife, and I will admit to having to pause the film at that point in order to collect myself.
Is there anything positive to say? Well, compared to other SOV fare, it’s edging towards technically competent and it all cuts together more smoothly than, say, Boardinghouse. However, anyone who’s seen that hot mess from ’82 will know that’s damning Houseboat Horror with the faintest of praise. At least Boardinghouse’s bizarre plotting and chainsaw edits make it a memorable experience, even if it’s absolutely no good. What we’re presented with here is a sluggish, cut and paste slasher complete with the usual, far too obvious, suspects and a late in the day, undercooked revenge motive. It ends up being The Burning on an extremely low heat.
Quoting directly from the end credits, complete with unnecessary upper case emphasis, Houseboat Horror was “Produced with the assistance of the entertainment development branch of AUSTRALIA’S WORLD FAMOUS, UNDERGROUND Nightclub, Melbourne” and this does go some way to explaining the end product, which possesses those classic nightclub staples of annoying twats, random drinking, a bit of uncomfortable nudity and the feeling that you’ve had enough of it all after eighty-five minutes.
For folks who love bad, shot on video horror movies, this is bad and it’s shot on video. For everyone else, the prospect of hearing Jim Robinson drop the F-bomb is no reason to watch this. If you really need to see a Neighbours actor in an Aussie horror film, Ian Smith – none other than Harold Bishop – is in 1993’s gloopy and bonkers Body Melt. It’s no classic, but it’s a bloody ripper compared to Houseboat Horror.
Masochists take note: Houseboat Horror (1989) is somehow now available on Shudder and other streaming outlets.