There are low-budget horror films, and then there is Carnival of Blood, a movie so thriftily made it feels like the cast paid it for the privilege of being in it. Directed by Leonard Kirtman—possibly during his lunch break—this 1972 carnival-set slasher is the cinematic equivalent of getting stabbed with a butter knife: technically violent, mostly confusing, and probably unsanitary.
Watching Carnival of Blood now feels like discovering a cursed VHS tape left behind by a serial killer whose crimes were “being very bad at filmmaking.” It’s a strange, ramshackle piece of Americana held together with duct tape, spare parts, and the sheer determination of its hunchbacked carnival worker, Gimpy, played by a baby-faced Burt Young in his screen debut. Yes—that Burt Young from Rocky, starting his career carrying giant teddy bears and looking like he regrets all of his life choices.
Step Right Up, Folks—The Plot Is a Ride With No Seatbelts
The story is simple in the way only extremely messy things can be. A married couple goes to a carnival, and moments later, the wife is found decapitated on the dark ride. You might think this would shut down the ride, or the park, or at least prompt someone to hose down the cart. But nope—this is the 1970s, baby. OSHA is a myth, and everything smells like shrimp and cigarettes. Someone probably rode the same cart five minutes later.
The fortune teller warns them. The ride still kills her. Gimpy steals the teddy bear. The medical examiners wheel out a headless corpse while cotton candy wafts in the background. It’s grotesque. It’s bizarre. It’s… honestly pretty funny.
From there, the plot becomes more tangled than a carnival prize goldfish bag left in the sun. Laura, an art student, keeps visiting the carnival even though people keep dying there. Dan, her attorney boyfriend, is assigned the murder case despite appearing to have the investigative instincts of a distressed pigeon. Tom, the weird middle-aged neighbor, creepily consoles Laura and immediately sets off serial-killer alarms so loud you can hear them through the screen.
The murderer is obviously Tom. The film pretends it’s a mystery anyway. And honestly? That’s kind of adorable.
Welcome to the Carnival: Where Teddy Bears Are Terrifying and Logic Goes to Die
This entire film is drenched in that unmistakable 70s New York sleaze: sticky boardwalks, broken lightbulbs, carnival barkers yelling over drunk crowds, and rides that look like they’re held together with rusty nails and hope. If the smell of stale popcorn and mold had a visual representation, it would be Carnival of Blood.
The killer’s weapon of choice?
Trauma. And occasional knives.
But the real stars of the film are the teddy bears. They’re everywhere—on shelves, on walls, in the killer’s apartment, in Gimpy’s hunchbacked arms. These bears look like they’ve seen war. They look like they whisper threats in the night. They almost out-act the human cast.
Tom lovingly displays rows of them in his apartment, calling them his “real friends.” If that doesn’t scream “this man is an eyeball-gouging murderer,” I don’t know what does.
Kills So Low-Effort They Deserve Participation Trophies
The murders in this film are… well, “murders” is generous. They’re more like enthusiastic inconveniences.
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Claire’s decapitation: Offscreen, probably accomplished by the ride operator forgetting to lower a pipe.
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The prostitute under the pier: Tom emerges from the shadows like a drunken seagull and stabs her repeatedly. It’s messy, it’s clumsy, and it’s hilariously staged.
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The “Dumpy Woman” (the film actually calls her that): She’s insulted everyone in the carnival, possibly as revenge for existing in this movie. Then a killer gouges out her eyes in an alley. The editing suggests the cinematographer also had their eyes gouged out mid-scene.
And poor Gimpy—sweet, lurching Gimpy—gets stabbed because he accuses Tom of being the killer. Which is, let’s be honest, the most correct thing anyone says in the entire film.
Characters Who Make Slasher Victims Look Like Mensa Members
Laura and Dan fight constantly. They fight at home. They fight at the carnival. They fight during murder investigations. Their chemistry is so nonexistent it could be studied by scientists. Laura covers her teddy bear in black paint because she’s angry, which is possibly the film’s strongest artistic symbolism… or maybe just a moment where the director ran out of pages in the script.
Tom, meanwhile, roams the carnival with the energy of a man whose favorite hobby is definitely “staring too long at mannequins.” When Laura destroys the teddy bear he gave her, he calls her a “selfish slut,” which is less an insult and more an immediate confession.
The film attempts to give Tom a tragic backstory involving neglect, fires, and a psychotic break. But the Ferris wheel sequence where he monologues about mommy issues sounds like improvisation from an actor trying desperately to get out of his contract.
The Carnival: A Character in Itself, and Not a Good One
There’s something charming about the grime of early-70s boardwalk culture… which makes it even more tragic that Carnival of Blood makes the setting feel less atmospheric and more like a tetanus shot waiting to happen.
The dark ride is literally just a series of cardboard cutouts painted with existential dread. The pier scenes are lit like someone held a flashlight wrong. The Fortune Teller seems to have wandered in from a better movie. Even the carnival patrons look like they’re paid in hot dog coupons.
The Grand Finale: The Killer Dies as He Lived—Confusingly
After stalking Laura through the carnival, Tom forces her onto rides in a bizarre attempt to reenact his childhood trauma. Laura attempts therapy techniques on him mid-Ferris wheel, which is brave considering he’s actively trying to hurl her off.
Then Tom leaps off the ride and gets hit by a car.
Not a dramatic chase.
Not a final confrontation.
Just thwump—car comes out of nowhere, Tom is gone.
It’s the most realistic moment in the film.
Dan and Laura run to him. He apologizes. He dies. The carnival continues running like nothing happened. Honestly, that might be the funniest part.
Performances: The Acting Equivalent of Cotton Candy—Fluffy, Sweet, and Mostly Air
Judith Resnick (Laura) does her best, even though half her scenes involve screaming or regretting her life choices. Earle Edgerton plays Tom with such sweaty intensity it’s a wonder he didn’t spontaneously combust.
And Burt Young, bless him, wanders through the film like a confused raccoon wearing a fake hump.
Final Verdict: A Bloody Mess Worthy of Its Carnival Setting
Carnival of Blood is terrible in the most watchable way possible. The acting is stiff, the plot is predictable, the editing is atrocious, and the killer’s motives feel like a psychology quiz gone wrong.
And yet…
There’s something endearing about its earnest incompetence.
It’s a time capsule of grit, bad lighting, and worse decisions.
So yes. It’s awful.
And yes. You should absolutely watch it—with friends, with drinks, and with the lights low enough to hide your secondhand embarrassment.
Step right up. The carnival is open. And it is very, very bloody.
