Anthology horror is one of cinema’s oldest tricks. Creepshow made it a comic book nightmare. Tales from the Cryptturned it into weekly TV. Evil Streets, on the other hand, is what happens when you grab a handful of random short stories, shoot them in parking lots with car batteries for lighting, and then slap SaRenna Lee’s cleavage on the cover to sell VHS tapes to lonely men wandering Blockbuster.
Co-directed by Terry R. Wickham and Joseph F. Parda, this is indie horror in its rawest form—raw like undercooked chicken, not raw like edgy art. It’s a three-story collection of “urban terror” tales that desperately want to be New York’s answer to Clive Barker but instead feel like Tales from the Strip Mall.
The Downfall of Johnny Garrett – Revenge, Fog Machines, and Arm Props
The first story, “The Downfall of Johnny Garrett,” follows Sheila, a young woman seeking revenge on Johnny, a gang leader who raped her. She summons the ghost of her dead friend Wendy for help, because apparently the NYPD wasn’t taking calls that day.
Shot across Long Island in locations ranging from train stations to some guy’s backyard, the segment has the gritty look of a student film that got kicked out of half its sets. At one point, the production was so stripped down they literally powered lights with car batteries. If you’ve ever wondered what John Carpenter’s The Fog would look like on food stamps, here’s your answer.
The effects team worked hard—there’s an “arm chop” gag with blood pumps and prosthetics—but no amount of Karo syrup can disguise the fact that the acting is stiffer than a corpse left in a tanning booth. Steve Rodriguez, moonlighting from his day job as a rock band vocalist, plays Johnny with all the menace of a mall security guard on his smoke break.
The result is less “urban horror” and more “after-school special with extra blood.”
Szamota’s Mistress – Black-and-White Pretension, Now With More Moaning
The middle story, “Szamota’s Mistress,” is based on Polish horror author Stefan Grabiński’s tale of obsessive love. In theory, that’s an interesting literary source. In execution, it’s Joe Zaso staring longingly at Tina Krause in black-and-white, like a goth perfume commercial that won’t end.
Shot in stark monochrome to make it feel “artsy,” the short tries to channel David Lynch. Instead, it feels like David Lynch’s cousin who works at a video rental store and tells you Eraserhead is “deep, bro.” Joe Zaso, the indie horror staple, delivers a performance that can only be described as “man staring at woman until restraining orders apply.”
The film wants to be about desire consuming the soul. What it really is about: padding runtime. It’s a drawn-out exercise in obsessive breathing, melodramatic eye contact, and enough moody shots of Krause looking pained that you’ll start rooting for a dental drill from The Dentist 2 to just end it all.
Stalk – SaRenna Lee, Strip Club Garages, and a Bodybuilder With Nothing to Do
The final story, “Stalk,” is the one people actually rented this movie for. Why? Because it features SaRenna Lee, famous for her “big-bust” modeling career. This was her attempt at mainstream acting. Spoiler: there’s a reason her IMDb page didn’t exactly blow up afterward.
Lee plays Misty, an exotic dancer being stalked by a musclebound fanboy played by David Greggo. The stalker is less terrifying and more like a Gold’s Gym employee who forgot leg day. He looms, he sweats, he flexes. She shrieks, she writhes, she delivers dialogue like someone reading the phone book through a hangover.
The “strip club” set is actually built inside the director’s in-law’s garage, which might be the most authentic thing about this movie. The climax was filmed in Cold Spring Harbor High School’s basement, because nothing screams urban terror like gym mats and asbestos.
The story wants to be gritty, but it’s basically softcore horror in which everyone involved is too tired to commit.
Production Values That Belong on Public Access
Everything about Evil Streets screams bargain bin. Lighting rigs run off car batteries. Sound design that fades in and out like the boom mic operator was on lunch break. Editing that stretches 15-minute ideas into 30-minute marathons of staring.
The movie takes itself far too seriously. Each director tries to elevate the material with references to Carpenter and Lynch, but the reality is closer to “local Halloween attraction filmed without a permit.” Even the blood effects, lovingly pumped and splattered, feel wasted in a film that doesn’t have the energy to sell its own horror.
The Real Evil Streets: Boredom and Bad Acting
The anthology format can save weak stories by offering variety, but here it just highlights how uneven and dull everything is. “Johnny Garrett” is cheap revenge. “Szamota’s Mistress” is pretentious boredom. “Stalk” is softcore horror wrapped in stalker clichés.
The acting is universally dreadful. Nicole Bryl as Sheila delivers lines like she’s auditioning for a high school play. Joe Zaso spends half his screentime staring at Tina Krause’s cleavage like it’s the Holy Grail. SaRenna Lee does her best, but she’s clearly cast for her chest, not her chops.
Even the villains are bland. Johnny looks like he should be selling dime bags behind a 7-Eleven. The stalker could’ve been defeated with pepper spray and a restraining order.
Final Verdict: Potholes, Not Pavement
Evil Streets wants to be an exploration of urban horror, desire, and hell in New York. Instead, it’s an unpaved back alley of indie filmmaking, full of potholes, broken glass, and the lingering smell of Axe body spray.
Yes, it’s fascinating in a so-bad-it’s-interesting way. You can admire the gumption of filmmakers hustling in parking lots and garages with car batteries to power their lights. But artistic ambition only gets you so far when the final product looks like a cursed episode of America’s Most Wanted.
At best, Evil Streets is a time capsule of 1990s DIY horror, when VHS distributors would slap a buxom model on the cover and trick teenage boys into renting it. At worst, it’s a long, painful anthology that proves sometimes the scariest thing on screen is the acting.
Score: 1 severed arm, 2 prosthetic boobs, and a garage full of regret.
