Intones the narrator at the start of Frozen Scream, “Immortality? Why would anyone want to live forever in a world like this?” Mind you, because he states this as we see an attractive couple making out poolside under the stars and at a presumably pricey pad, you may be inclined to say, “Me! I do!”
But then, some goon bursts forth from the bushes and hammers the head of the dude half of the lovebird equation, then drowns the girl. Okay, Mr. Narrator, you have a point.
Directed by Frank Roach, whose only other credit is the obscure ’84 biker-revenger Nomad Riders, this gore-slathered thriller’s frosty cries of terror are triggered by black-robed guys bearing pornstaches, syringes and vaguely threatening greetings such as, “Judgment day! Time to pay your dues!” — at which point they clobber or slice their victim, or simply hold him/her down for a shot in the ol’ eyeball. Watching the plot clunk along is like getting orb-needled yourself for 85 minutes, and there’s no goddamn lollipop when it’s over! Plus, you’ve suddenly got AIDS!
Providing the narration — which often speaks over great swaths of dialogue, rendering the exchanges unintelligible — is Sgt. McGuire (Thomas McGowan, Die Hard Dracula), who’s investigating the disappearance of the two med students from paragraph one. McGuire’s detective work has him cross paths with Drs. Johnsson (Lee James, Cassandra) and Stanhope (Renee Harmon of Al Adamson’s Cinderella 2000), neither of whom seems on the up-’n’-up to Sarge. His hunch is valid; they’re busy trying to turn the living into the never-dead; the word “immortality” may be spoken more times than the movie has minutes.
In one of his drown-everything-else-out monologues, McGuire says of his suspects, “A pretty bad acting job, I’d say.” And how! Because Johnsson and Stanhope and their dull X-Acto blades are up to no good. Nor are James and Harmon; he’s an Aussie character actor whose voice appears to have dubbed by an African-American, while Harmon, who doubles as producer, has an indiscriminate accent thick enough to turn her lines indecipherable — even the ones not washed away by the diarrhetic narration.
But why pick on just those two? The acting is across-the-board deplorable — in some cases, so stilted that it attracts termites. Problems with the penny-ante production exist at the core, so even an influx of financial resources would not improve things. Frozen Scream is one tough sit. —Rod Lott