Herschell Gordon Lewis, Florida's pioneering father of low-rent gore, is an Ed Wood type with a fixation on gushing blood, severed limbs, and ridiculous story lines. Whereas "Blood Feast" once stood as a revelation within the horror genre (coming 5 years before George Romero gave us the serious, straight-faced gore of "Night of the Living Dead"), it now plays like a sincerely-intended romp. From the mad caterer with the huge eyebrows and bug eyes, to the cardboard acting of Playboy centerfold Connie Mason, to a plot that has something to do with body parts being turned into stew to resurrect an Egyptian goddess, Mr. Lewis clearly has his tongue planted firmly in cheek. If you go into "Blood Feast" expecting full-bore terror, you'll be disappointed, but if you're looking to kill 67 minutes (and aren't we all?), its cheesy charm will do the trick.
Review of Blood Feast
