Ghost Town
Some bad films at least have the courtesy to be funny, delirious or self-aware enough about their own cheapness to become oddly likeable. Ghost Town does not even manage that. It mixes supernatural horror, teen-slasher conventions and Z-grade western imagery, a combination that could have produced a very entertaining mess, but the result is flat, predictable and boring.
The idea of confronting modern young people with gunfighters, curses and a lost Old West town has possibilities. The contrast between both worlds could generate humour, tension and a distinctive visual identity. The film, however, mostly places those elements next to each other and expects the mixture to work by itself. There is dust, there are revolvers, superstition and familiar western codes, but almost no personality behind them.
The direction has an overly obvious made-for-television quality. The staging rarely creates atmosphere and the supposed ghost town feels more like an available set than a place marked by a sinister past. The influence of classic westerns and spaghetti westerns is easy to recognize, but more as a catalogue of references than as inspiration transformed into something personal.
The main problem is the absence of tension. Horror works when the viewer feels that something may happen without knowing exactly what; here the opposite happens. The mechanisms are so recognizable that they could almost be checked off with a marker. The characters behave like horror-movie characters rather than people, and every decision seems to exist only to lead them toward the next cliché.
That is especially noticeable in the relationships between the younger characters. They are defined by two or three basic traits, and it is difficult to care about them because very little writing turns them into anything more than potential victims. The conversations are schematic, the reactions unnatural and many situations seem constructed solely to satisfy the genre manual.
It is also obvious in how predictable everything becomes. The moment someone separates from the group, a couple appears or a scene adopts a certain shape, we can already sense what will follow. There is no conscious play with those rules and no serious attempt to overturn them. They are simply there because this type of movie is apparently supposed to contain them. And when you have seen a lot of horror, that lack of surprise becomes even more visible.
Billy Drago has the kind of presence that could have offered much more. His face and physicality fit a supernatural western perfectly, yet the film wastes even that. Instead of building a genuinely memorable threat, it settles for a generic figure wrapped in iconography without much depth. Having an actor with such a distinctive presence and reducing him largely to atmosphere is a good summary of the film's problems.
The effects do not help either. Limited resources would not be a problem if imagination compensated for them, but many images suggest exactly the opposite: basic solutions, modest make-up and a constant feeling of filler material. Some B-movies turn their limitations into style. Here they simply look like limitations.
The strange thing is that the horror-western combination still sounds attractive. That is exactly why the film disappoints more: it takes a relatively underused mixture and turns it into something completely generic. It did not need major stars or a huge budget; it needed atmosphere, characters and imagination. Almost none of those elements appears with enough force.
It also does not help that the film never decides whether it really wants to be horror, supernatural adventure or simple video-store entertainment. It passes through all those registers without finding one that gives it an identity. The result feels like a production made to fill a programming slot: recognizable plot, eye-catching set, a familiar face or two and a running time to occupy.
The worst thing is not that it is cheap. B-movies can be wonderful when they have energy, creativity or nerve. The worst thing is that everything here feels routine. There is no fear, almost no suspense and not enough accidental humour or excess to enjoy it as a disaster either.
Ghost Town could have been a gleefully trashy supernatural western about cursed cowboys and students trapped somewhere impossible. Instead, it becomes a chain of clichés without force, tension or much fun. One of those films where you start by predicting what will happen and end simply waiting for it to finish. Terrible.
The idea of confronting modern young people with gunfighters, curses and a lost Old West town has possibilities. The contrast between both worlds could generate humour, tension and a distinctive visual identity. The film, however, mostly places those elements next to each other and expects the mixture to work by itself. There is dust, there are revolvers, superstition and familiar western codes, but almost no personality behind them.
The direction has an overly obvious made-for-television quality. The staging rarely creates atmosphere and the supposed ghost town feels more like an available set than a place marked by a sinister past. The influence of classic westerns and spaghetti westerns is easy to recognize, but more as a catalogue of references than as inspiration transformed into something personal.
The main problem is the absence of tension. Horror works when the viewer feels that something may happen without knowing exactly what; here the opposite happens. The mechanisms are so recognizable that they could almost be checked off with a marker. The characters behave like horror-movie characters rather than people, and every decision seems to exist only to lead them toward the next cliché.
That is especially noticeable in the relationships between the younger characters. They are defined by two or three basic traits, and it is difficult to care about them because very little writing turns them into anything more than potential victims. The conversations are schematic, the reactions unnatural and many situations seem constructed solely to satisfy the genre manual.
It is also obvious in how predictable everything becomes. The moment someone separates from the group, a couple appears or a scene adopts a certain shape, we can already sense what will follow. There is no conscious play with those rules and no serious attempt to overturn them. They are simply there because this type of movie is apparently supposed to contain them. And when you have seen a lot of horror, that lack of surprise becomes even more visible.
Billy Drago has the kind of presence that could have offered much more. His face and physicality fit a supernatural western perfectly, yet the film wastes even that. Instead of building a genuinely memorable threat, it settles for a generic figure wrapped in iconography without much depth. Having an actor with such a distinctive presence and reducing him largely to atmosphere is a good summary of the film's problems.
The effects do not help either. Limited resources would not be a problem if imagination compensated for them, but many images suggest exactly the opposite: basic solutions, modest make-up and a constant feeling of filler material. Some B-movies turn their limitations into style. Here they simply look like limitations.
The strange thing is that the horror-western combination still sounds attractive. That is exactly why the film disappoints more: it takes a relatively underused mixture and turns it into something completely generic. It did not need major stars or a huge budget; it needed atmosphere, characters and imagination. Almost none of those elements appears with enough force.
It also does not help that the film never decides whether it really wants to be horror, supernatural adventure or simple video-store entertainment. It passes through all those registers without finding one that gives it an identity. The result feels like a production made to fill a programming slot: recognizable plot, eye-catching set, a familiar face or two and a running time to occupy.
The worst thing is not that it is cheap. B-movies can be wonderful when they have energy, creativity or nerve. The worst thing is that everything here feels routine. There is no fear, almost no suspense and not enough accidental humour or excess to enjoy it as a disaster either.
Ghost Town could have been a gleefully trashy supernatural western about cursed cowboys and students trapped somewhere impossible. Instead, it becomes a chain of clichés without force, tension or much fun. One of those films where you start by predicting what will happen and end simply waiting for it to finish. Terrible.
Mini Review: Some bad films at least have the courtesy to be funny, delirious or self-aware enough about their own cheapness to become oddly likeable. Ghost Town does not even manage that. It mixes supernatural horror, teen-slasher conventions and Z-grade western imagery, a combination that could have produced a very entertaining mess, but the result is flat, predictable and boring. The idea of confronting modern young people with gunfighters, curses and a...
