Effects (or The Manipulator, because why settle on one title when mediocrity allows you three) is a horror film that doesn’t just fail to scare—it manages to make you question why you’re still alive watching it. Dusty Nelson’s 1979 attempt at “meta-horror” is like a horror-themed college film project that someone accidentally released to the public and then forgot about for 26 years.
Here’s the setup: a low-budget filmmaker decides to make a horror movie while secretly filming a snuff documentary. A few people fall in love. Some people die. If it sounds confusing, that’s because it is. The film wanders around rural Pennsylvania like a lost extra in The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, unsure whether it wants to be horror, romance, or a cautionary tale about trusting indie filmmakers.
Tom Savini’s involvement is both a blessing and a curse. His makeup effects are decent—he knows gore—but they’re about the only thing in this mess you might call professional. Seeing him appear on-screen as Nicky, presumably because “hey, why not?” is almost the most compelling reason to keep watching. The rest of the cast, including Joseph Pilato and Susan Chapek, stumble through dialogue and romance like zombies who haven’t quite figured out which body part they want to eat first. And the director’s cameo is so painfully amateur that it makes you nostalgic for amateur high school plays.
The plot is less “twisty thriller” and more “watching a toddler try to perform brain surgery with spaghetti.” Everyone is doing something, nothing is clear, and there’s a sense that the filmmakers themselves probably weren’t sure what the movie was about until the DVD came out in 2005—26 years too late. Perhaps the only meta commentary here is realizing that watching this film is, in fact, a form of punishment.
Budget-wise, $55,000 may have sounded like a lot in 1979, but the film proves that money cannot buy suspense, acting talent, or a coherent plot. It can, however, buy an unsettling number of awkward long shots of cornfields. And while the romance subplot could have been sweet, it instead feels like an uncomfortable intermission while you wait for the horror you were promised to arrive—spoiler: it doesn’t, at least not in any way that registers beyond “mildly grossed out.”
If there’s any positive takeaway, it’s that Effects is so ineptly made that it achieves an unintended dark humor: watching a filmmaker sneak a snuff film past their cast is horrifying in concept, but the execution is so slapdash that it becomes unintentionally hilarious. It’s like someone tried to make The Blair Witch Project before it was cool, forgot the charm, and forgot to film it well.
Verdict: Effects is a movie that would be more effective as a cautionary tale about trusting amateur filmmakers than as a horror film. If you want thrills, look elsewhere. If you want dark, awkward comedy and an existential reminder of how cruel boredom can be, then congratulations—you’ve hit the jackpot. Somewhere, George A. Romero is quietly sobbing into a half-empty can of beer.
