There are bad movies. There are unwatchable movies. And then there’s Things—a 1989 Canadian VHS horror experiment that somehow managed to slither into existence like one of its own bug-eyed creatures, clutching a six-pack of beer and a complete lack of shame. Directed by Andrew Jordan, written by Jordan and Barry J. Gillis (who also stars, proving that Canada really does let anyone take a swing at filmmaking), Things isn’t so much a movie as it is a long hostage tape set in a suburban basement.
Yes, it’s technically the first Canadian shot-on-Super 8 horror film released on VHS. But bragging about that is like being the first person to fry bacon on a car engine: sure, it’s pioneering, but nobody asked for it and the results are nauseating.
Plot, or Whatever This Is Supposed to Be
The story (and I use the term loosely) begins with Doug and his wife Susan trying to have a baby. When nature doesn’t cooperate, they turn to Dr. Lucas, a mad scientist whose résumé apparently includes “causes insect demons with his experiments.” Susan promptly gives birth to wriggling nightmare larvae, which kill the dog and eventually infest the house.
Enter Don (Barry J. Gillis) and his buddy Fred, who stop by the house with the noble Canadian goal of drinking beer and accomplishing absolutely nothing else. They discover the creatures, stumble around in circles for 78 minutes, and provide some of the most aggressively bad line readings ever captured on film. The creatures, meanwhile, look like mutated puppets discarded from a failed Sesame Street spin-off.
By the time Don accidentally kills Doug with a hammer, Fred gets eaten alive, and Dr. Lucas returns just in time to get chewed on, the audience is already pleading for a merciful death. Instead, the movie pulls a “maybe it was all a dream” ending, proving even the filmmakers wanted an excuse for this fever swamp of nonsense.
The Acting: Please Make It Stop
The performances in Things make middle school plays look like the Royal Shakespeare Company. Barry J. Gillis, our hero, spends the entire film staring wide-eyed and slack-jawed, as though he wandered onto set after smelling pizza. Bruce Roach as Fred has one acting setting: “yelling while confused.” Doug Bunston as Doug is the film’s emotional core, which is tragic, since his main talent is looking vaguely irritated.
And then there’s Amber Lynn. Yes, that Amber Lynn—the adult film star—randomly appears as a TV reporter who occasionally cuts in with updates that have nothing to do with the film. It’s like the filmmakers decided, halfway through shooting, that what their home video monster movie really needed was softcore star power. Her scenes are shot on a blank set with lighting so harsh it feels like an interrogation room, and she delivers the news like she’s waiting for her paycheck to clear.
Dialogue Carved from Pure Madness
If you’ve ever wanted to hear the worst dialogue ever written, Things has you covered. Gems include:
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“I need some beer, or I’m gonna die.”
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“I’m so damn cold, I’m freezing my nuts off.”
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“Look, I found some bread!” (delivered with the enthusiasm of discovering the Holy Grail).
The characters talk like they’re auditioning for a parody of Canadian horror that doesn’t actually exist. Every line is either mumbled into a beer can or screamed into the void. If you muted the film, you’d swear it was a live-action adaptation of a migraine.
The Special Effects: Bugs, Blood, and Bargain Bins
The “monsters” are rubber insects that look like someone hot-glued googly eyes onto hand puppets. They crawl across the set like confused cockroaches, and the camera lingers on them so long you can practically see the glue melting.
The gore consists of ketchup, dollar-store Halloween masks, and a drill scene so poorly staged it looks like the actor is massaging himself with power tools. There’s a chainsaw at one point, which sounds promising, until you realize the film doesn’t have the budget to show it doing anything.
Even the blood looks embarrassed to be here. It splatters like watery tomato soup, dripping down actors’ faces as if even gravity has given up.
Pacing and Editing: Time Loses All Meaning
At 78 minutes, Things somehow feels longer than Lawrence of Arabia. Every scene drags on for an eternity. Characters sit around drinking beer, mumbling about being cold, or staring into space like they forgot what movie they’re in.
The editing is an assault on coherence. Scenes cut randomly, dialogue overlaps in ways that make no sense, and Amber Lynn keeps interrupting with her off-brand news reports like she’s hacked into the wrong VHS tape. It’s less a movie and more a drunken uncle trying to splice together his fishing trip footage with The Fly.
Atmosphere: If Hell Had a Basement
The entire movie is set in a house that looks like your grandma’s unfinished basement. Wood paneling, bad carpeting, cheap lamps—it’s all here. The lighting ranges from “blinding spotlight” to “can’t see anything.” Every frame is grainy, fuzzy, and feels like it was filmed through a dirty beer bottle.
Add to that a sound design where every creak, scream, and line delivery sounds like it was recorded in a tin can, and you’ve got an atmosphere so depressing you start rooting for the monsters just to end it all.
Cult Status: Because Pain Loves Company
Here’s the thing: Things has developed a cult following. Why? Because it’s so incomprehensibly bad that it crosses over into comedy. Watching Don and Fred bumble around the house in search of beer while insect puppets chew on people is the cinematic equivalent of watching two drunk raccoons fight over garbage. It’s horrifying, but you can’t look away.
The film is regularly screened at bad movie nights, often alongside Troll 2 or Birdemic. And while those movies are delightfully silly, Things feels more like an endurance test. It’s not just bad—it’s aggressively bad, like the filmmakers had a personal vendetta against the audience.
Final Thoughts: The Worst Thing is Things
If cinema is an art form, then Things is a war crime. It’s a film so devoid of talent, craft, or entertainment value that it feels like a punishment for something you didn’t do. Watching it is like chewing tinfoil while listening to a fire alarm.
And yet, in its own deranged way, it’s unforgettable. You’ll never forget Don mumbling about beer. You’ll never forget Amber Lynn awkwardly reading lines about insects from Hell. You’ll never forget the creatures that look like rejected Muppets stuffed with cat hair.
Is it the worst film ever made? Quite possibly. But like a car crash on a frozen Canadian highway, it demands your attention. Not because it deserves it, but because sometimes you just have to stare at the wreckage.
