There are bad movies, and then there are movies that feel like they were shot on a dare in the back of a liquor store parking lot. Evils of the Night is one of the latter, a film that combines the worst parts of 1950s drive-in sci-fi, 1970s softcore, and 1980s slasher leftovers into something so incoherent, so utterly tasteless, that you start to wonder if the real “evil of the night” is you for pressing play.
The Plot (And I Use That Word Generously)
Space vampires—yes, that’s really what they are—come to Earth because their planet is dying. Their solution? Hire two aging, lecherous mechanics to kidnap horny teenagers, deliver them to a rural hospital, and have them drained of blood by a cast of faded Hollywood legends who were clearly tricked into signing contracts by promises of free sandwiches.
John Carradine, looking like death’s understudy, plays Dr. Kozmar, a vampire-alien-scientist who spends most of the film mumbling about blood. Julie Newmar is Dr. Zarma, who slinks around in a silver jumpsuit with the energy of a woman who once had a career and is now wondering why her agent hates her. Tina Louise—yes, Ginger from Gilligan’s Island—also shows up, proving that even sitcom immortality doesn’t protect you from this kind of paycheck gig.
And then there’s Aldo Ray and Neville Brand as Fred and Kurt, the two mechanics. They’re basically your creepy uncles who would fix your brakes but also leer at your girlfriend. They kidnap teenagers with all the stealth of bulldozers and all the menace of drunk mall Santas.
The Teenagers: Meat With Dialogue
The “victims” are a parade of college-age nobodies whose only requirement was to look good naked and be willing to scream on cue. Enter Amber Lynn, in her first mainstream role, along with other adult film stars tossed in to guarantee nudity levels that would distract from the lack of actual filmmaking. The script calls them “teenagers,” but they look like fully grown adults who just happened to be on break from filming Debbie Does Dallas Part 17.
Every scene with them plays like a Cinemax after-dark outtake until one of the mechanics barges in and ruins the mood with a chloroform rag. If you’ve ever wanted to watch a film that feels like Porky’s crashed into Plan 9 from Outer Spaceand then got dismembered by a chainsaw, congratulations—you’ve found it.
The Stars: Dignity Not Included
John Carradine should’ve been at home napping, but instead he’s here, delivering his lines like he’s trying to order soup at a Denny’s. You can almost hear his bones creaking between takes. Julie Newmar, the once-great Catwoman, struts around in a way that screams “Yes, I was glamorous once, now please ignore the sound guy snoring in the corner.”
Tina Louise looks like she’s regretting every second, her eyes begging the camera operator to just kill her off so she can go home. Aldo Ray and Neville Brand, both once-respected actors, spend most of their screen time leering, groping, or grunting, their dignity evaporating faster than the budget.
The film is less a cast list and more a Hollywood yard sale: “Once-famous actors, slightly used, no refunds.”
Production Values: Bargain Bin Horror
This was shot in Los Angeles in the summer of 1984, but it feels like it was filmed on Mars with a broken camcorder. The lighting is dim to the point of invisibility, the sets look like abandoned high school auditoriums, and the special effects could’ve been outdone by a child with ketchup packets.
When the aliens drain blood, you don’t get any spectacular gore effects—you get people lying on tables while someone shines a red flashlight on them. It’s not so much horror as it is low-budget dental surgery.
Even the soundtrack feels cheap, a collection of random synth noises that sound like your neighbor learning to play the keyboard while drunk.
Sex, Blood, and Boredom
The producers clearly wanted this to be “sexy horror” for the video rental crowd. So you get long, awkward sex scenes that are as arousing as a tax audit, followed by stabbings and laser beams that look like they were drawn on with crayons.
It’s the kind of movie where you spend the first hour waiting for something—anything—to happen, then spend the last thirty minutes wishing it would stop. By the end, the only thing drained of life is the audience.
The Real Horror: Watching Careers Die on Screen
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution nailed it when they called it “an appalling new genre: The Teen Sex Comedy-Slice ‘N’ Dice Thriller-Martians Have Landed Combo.” That’s exactly what this feels like—some fever dream mashup where no single element works.
Watching Carradine stumble through his lines is more disturbing than any on-screen murder. Seeing Julie Newmar reduced to this silver-suited embarrassment is heartbreaking. And realizing Tina Louise went from Gilligan’s Island to this is enough to make you believe in curses.
The garage mechanics? They’re not scary. They’re just gross, like if the guys who failed your emissions test also tried to sell you black-market organs.
So Bad It’s… Not Even Fun
There’s a kind of joy in bad movies—Troll 2, The Room, Plan 9. They’re inept but entertaining, little disasters you can laugh at with friends. Evils of the Night doesn’t even have that. It’s boring, sleazy, and depressing, like finding out your childhood pet became a mall cop.
Instead of laughing, you sit there numbly, asking yourself questions like: Why did I choose this? Am I being punished? Is this what hell looks like?
Final Verdict: The Real Evils Were Behind the Camera
Evils of the Night isn’t just bad—it’s an endurance test. It’s what happens when a director throws together washed-up stars, porn actors, and a script scribbled on a cocktail napkin, then hopes nobody notices. The only thing truly alien here is the concept of competent filmmaking.
If you want to see John Carradine humiliate himself, Julie Newmar cash a check, and Tina Louise give up on life in real time, this is the movie for you. For everyone else, avoid it like you’d avoid an unmarked van outside a high school parking lot.
The title says it all: this isn’t just Evils of the Night. It’s an evil done to cinema, to actors, and to anyone unfortunate enough to watch it.
