Ah, Deathmoon. The 1978 made-for-TV horror flick that asks the burning question: what happens when you mix werewolves with a Hawaiian vacation? Spoiler alert — it’s not paradise.
Our hero, Jason Palmer (played by Robert Foxworth, who looks like he just wandered onto the wrong set), is sent to Hawaii on doctor’s orders. Because nothing says “rest and recuperation” like getting cursed by your grandfather’s ancient werewolf curse, right? Apparently, every male Palmer is doomed to transform into a ravenous werewolf every night and go on a quest to ravage young ladies. If you thought the worst thing about a Hawaiian getaway was sunburn, think again.
The plot is about as subtle as a tiki torch in a blackout. Jason shows up, inexplicably cursed, and then things go downhill faster than a tourist trying to surf for the first time. Cue the obligatory Hawaiian setting: palm trees swaying, waves crashing, and young women screaming as if the curse is the only real threat on the island (sorry, sharks). Meanwhile, the supporting cast, including Joe Penny and Barbara Trentham, do their best to look concerned, confused, or mildly annoyed — which, frankly, is about as much range as this movie demands.
Director Bruce Kessler seems more interested in showcasing how many clichés he can cram into 90 minutes than building any real tension or plot. The werewolf transformation scenes look like a budget horror film meeting a slow-motion nature documentary, while the “ravaging” of young ladies is thankfully more implied than shown — probably because they ran out of film or shame.
The Hawaiian atmosphere feels tacked on, like someone Googled “exotic location” and said, “Yeah, let’s go with that.” The cultural backdrop is treated with the same depth as a postcard: lots of pretty scenery and some generic island chatter that nobody bothered to fact-check. And the cursed lineage? Oh, it’s there, buried under layers of awkward dialogue and forgettable characters who shuffle through the story like zombies—except less scary.
For a werewolf movie, the scares are scarce. For a horror movie, the tension is nonexistent. For a vacation movie, it’s just… sad. Deathmoon is like the hotel buffet of horror flicks: it looks tempting from afar, but once you dig in, you realize it’s mostly filler and disappointment with a side of canned pineapple.
In short, if you’re into bad TV horror movies that feel like they were made during commercial breaks and starred a cast trying to remember their lines, Deathmoon might just be your dream (or nightmare) come true. Otherwise, stay far away — this curse is one you don’t want to catch.
