I find it hard to believe that The Wind (AKA The Edge of Terror) is from the same man who gave us the incredibly perverse video nasty Island of Death: it's such an unremarkable movie -- an interminably dull, virtually plotless, extremely predictable slasher with little in the way of bloodshed or scares. And definitely no goats.
Writer/director Nico Mastorakis's set-up is simple -- TOO simple: psycho Phil (played by Wings Hauser) terrorises novelist Sian Anderson (Meg Foster) in a virtually deserted Greek village beset by howling gales; there really is little more to it than that. Mastorakis goes heavy on the '80s atmosphere, with lots of strong lighting (the village really is extraordinarily well-lit considering how few people live there), plenty of smoke, and a powerful wind machine, but his direction is clumsy and his writing even more-so, making the film a real bore.
Even after Sian arms herself with a pump-action shotgun, it doesn't get any better, the woman using all of her shells to shoot at dirt and flowers from a distance, rather than -- I don't know -- waiting until her target is nearer. Just when you think the film can't get any more dumb, Mastorakis pulls another doozy out of the bag: having wasted all of her ammo blasting plants, Sian rigs up a trap using a piece of string and a window shutter, and somehow manages to make Phil stab himself in the stomach with his sickle. Whodathunkit?
Satisfied that she has killed her assailant, the plucky writer staggers around the village, falling down a couple of holes before trying to get the attention of a newlywed couple who drive to the village, bicker, and then drive away. Of course, with Mastorakis displaying not one iota of originality, his killer isn't dead, returning to take one more swipe at Sian with his sickle before a strong gust of wind blows him (or rather, the dummy standing in for Hauser) off a precipice. That's right, folks... the supposedly resourceful protagonist is saved by a random act of nature. Gah!
Writer/director Nico Mastorakis's set-up is simple -- TOO simple: psycho Phil (played by Wings Hauser) terrorises novelist Sian Anderson (Meg Foster) in a virtually deserted Greek village beset by howling gales; there really is little more to it than that. Mastorakis goes heavy on the '80s atmosphere, with lots of strong lighting (the village really is extraordinarily well-lit considering how few people live there), plenty of smoke, and a powerful wind machine, but his direction is clumsy and his writing even more-so, making the film a real bore.
Even after Sian arms herself with a pump-action shotgun, it doesn't get any better, the woman using all of her shells to shoot at dirt and flowers from a distance, rather than -- I don't know -- waiting until her target is nearer. Just when you think the film can't get any more dumb, Mastorakis pulls another doozy out of the bag: having wasted all of her ammo blasting plants, Sian rigs up a trap using a piece of string and a window shutter, and somehow manages to make Phil stab himself in the stomach with his sickle. Whodathunkit?
Satisfied that she has killed her assailant, the plucky writer staggers around the village, falling down a couple of holes before trying to get the attention of a newlywed couple who drive to the village, bicker, and then drive away. Of course, with Mastorakis displaying not one iota of originality, his killer isn't dead, returning to take one more swipe at Sian with his sickle before a strong gust of wind blows him (or rather, the dummy standing in for Hauser) off a precipice. That's right, folks... the supposedly resourceful protagonist is saved by a random act of nature. Gah!