I have a new favorite bad movie, and it's called Winterbeast. When director Chris Thies agreed to send me a screener copy of his 1991 opus (now available on DVD through Amazon.com or the film's official site), the last thing he said in his email was "brace yourself." I took this for mere hyperbole, a director trying to talk up his creation. For the record, he was not exaggerating, and should you also attempt to watch this one, I would take things a step farther and suggest you gird your loins and perhaps assume a crash position. This isn't just a bad movie, this is the holy freakin' grail of bad movies, a film whose badness is so epic that the works of Ed Wood look downright competent by comparison, and I'm not ashamed to say I loved every minute of it.

Apparently there was an actual script at some point, but based on info in the disc's extras, much of the story was made up on the fly. Our main character is a forest ranger named Bill Whitman, played by Tim Morgan, whose stiff and uncharismatic performance is made up for by a mustache whose behavior can only be described as magical. It changes size frequently, often in mid-conversation, and I half expected it to leap off his face and claim a victim or two of its own. Whitman is told by Deputy Stillman (Mike Magri) that one of their men is missing. Despite the raging storm we hear during this scene, and the fact that the movie is called Winterbeast, there's not a speck of snow on the ground once the movie ventures beyond the confines of the cheap sets. There are monsters in them thar woods, and Whitman and his people must do their best to protect the public at large. We've got totem poles with skeletons tied to them, giant monsters wandering around the woods, a mummy and the titular Winterbeast who is saved for the film's climax.

What we have here is a string of scenes that just doesn't quite fit together. Much of the plot (such as it is) involves Whitman trying to convince resort owner Dave Sheldon (Bob Harlow) that he should close down his business for the safety of his guests. Whitman reasons that whatever got his deputy is still out there. The writers have seen Jaws, though, so Sheldon refuses to let the greater good get in the way of his profits.

Most of the performances have the feel of a middle school play performed by drunk seventh graders with concussions. Harlow isn't good, but he steals the show when he performs a creepy little dance set to the tune "Johnny's So Long at the Fair" before his head literally and inexplicably explodes. Magri presents a conundrum as his sunglass-wearing too-cool-for-the-room New Yorker character is irritating as hell, but his performance is the most convincing in the film.

I'm a sucker for stop-motion animated monsters, and this film boasts an interesting menagerie ranging from a walking totem pole to (loins girded?) a giant demonic chicken. These things are fun to watch, particularly, since they don't blend well, or even at all, with the live action footage. The aforementioned totem pole attacks a woman in a cabin (the film's only instance of gratuitous nudity), pulls her out the window and crushes her to death against the cabin wall. At least I think this is what's going on. The figure the monster kills is so laughably crude that a Barbie doll would have been more believable.

The ideal situation for watching this film is in the company of some like-minded lovers of bad cinema and, let's face it, alcohol can only help. I feel this is a beer drinker's kind of movie, but if you're in the mood for something girlie with a paper umbrella, then I say have at it. Just get drinking, pal. This certainly isn't a film for everyone, but if you have any affection at all for trashy horror, then give this a look. The DVD features some nice extras, including an audio commentary from the director, producer and cinematographer, a making of featurette, deleted scenes and a collection of stills. Several scenes were shot on video for whatever reason (the movie itself is shot on film) and they are strung together here in what the filmmakers are calling the soap opera version. This last bit is of questionable value, but everything else makes for a nice little package. My only real complaint is that a feature length film, even one this magnificently bad, needs more than six chapters.