Some films are so bad, they loop back around to being fascinating. Others are so bad they make you wonder if your TV has been cursed by a warlock with a grudge against humanity. Merlin’s Shop of Mystical Wonders falls firmly into the second category—a cinematic dumpster fire that’s equal parts “children’s movie” and “midnight horror tape someone left in a cursed VCR.”
Directed by Kenneth J. Berton, this Frankenstein of a film stars Ernest Borgnine, who probably thought he was cashing an easy paycheck, only to discover he’d wandered into a movie that would later be roasted on Mystery Science Theater 3000. Borgnine plays a grandfather telling his grandson bedtime stories about Merlin opening a magic shop in modern-day America. Sounds whimsical, right? Spoiler: it isn’t. Unless your idea of whimsical involves demonic cats, psychotic toy monkeys, and a husband being reborn as his wife’s literal baby.
Story #1: When Magic Books Attack
The first tale is about Jonathan Cooper, a newspaper columnist who’s apparently paid by the word obnoxious. He and his wife, Madeline, desperately want a baby, which is probably the only relatable part of the movie. When they visit Merlin’s shop, Jonathan immediately insults the old wizard, as if his Yelp review would matter in a store that sells literal spellbooks. Merlin, instead of just zapping him into next Tuesday, decides to lend Jonathan his actual magic book. Imagine walking into Target, mocking the cashier, and then leaving with the nuclear launch codes.
Jonathan takes the book home and immediately proves why humans shouldn’t be allowed near magical objects. He summons Satan, breathes fire, and ages fifty years in ten minutes. Eventually, he tries to turn his cat into a magical servant, but it goes feral, attacks him, and gets flambéed for its trouble. If you’ve ever wanted to watch a demonic Garfield set ablaze, this is your movie.
By the climax, Jonathan has aged into a Crypt Keeper impersonator and decides to rejuvenate himself with a potion requiring his wife’s blood. Naturally, it backfires—because Merlin’s shop apparently has no return policy—and Jonathan de-ages into an actual baby. His wife, instead of fainting in horror, decides to raise him as her son. Nothing says “healthy marriage” like breastfeeding your reincarnated husband. Hallmark, take notes: this is the real Christmas miracle.
Story #2: The Killer Monkey Toy Nobody Wanted
The second story is ripped almost wholesale from Stephen King’s “The Monkey,” except with none of King’s talent and twice the boredom. A thief swipes a cymbal-banging monkey toy from Merlin’s shop. The monkey ends up as a birthday present for a boy named Michael, who probably thought he was getting a Super Nintendo. Unfortunately, this monkey isn’t just annoying—it’s homicidal. Every time its cymbals crash together, something dies. First the goldfish, then the dog. You know a movie’s in trouble when Old Yeller suddenly looks like light entertainment.
Michael’s dad, David, quickly realizes something’s wrong and consults a psychic, because in horror movies the cops are apparently allergic to helping. The psychic basically tells him to throw it away, which he does, only for Michael to retrieve it from the trash like a kid with questionable taste in Happy Meal toys. The monkey tries to orchestrate Michael’s death via traffic accident, but is foiled at the last second. Eventually, David buries it in a field, but the monkey summons a storm, an earthquake, and probably locusts if the budget hadn’t run out.
David manages to bury it anyway, but surprise! Grandma shows up later with the same monkey as a gift. Just when the family is about to die from primate percussion, Merlin appears, scoops up the monkey, and promises to “deal with it later.” Which is wizard-speak for “I’ll probably leave it on a shelf until some other idiot finds it in the sequel.”
The Tone: Kids’ Movie? Horror? Tax Scam?
Merlin’s Shop of Mystical Wonders has an identity crisis so severe it should be prescribed Xanax. On one hand, Ernest Borgnine is framed as if he’s telling harmless bedtime stories. On the other, the stories involve Satan, blood rituals, child endangerment, and a killer toy that racks up more deaths than most Chucky movies. It’s as if someone tried to merge Sesame Street with Faces of Death and thought no one would notice.
The editing is whiplash-inducing, the special effects look like they were crafted by a high school AV club with half a roll of duct tape, and the score seems lifted from royalty-free cassettes labeled “Ominous But Cheap.” The whole thing was clearly stitched together from two unrelated horror projects padded out by Borgnine’s narration to reach feature length. It feels less like a movie and more like a cursed mixtape.
The Acting: Shakespeare It Ain’t
George Milan plays Merlin with all the charisma of a department store Santa on his fourth unpaid overtime shift. Jonathan, the columnist, chews scenery like it owes him money. His cat delivers the most convincing performance in the first story, right up until it becomes a fireball.
As for Borgnine, the poor man spends the whole film in a recliner, telling his grandson stories with the expression of someone who lost a bet. His grandson, meanwhile, looks like he’d rather be watching Power Rangers. Honestly, same.
The Horror: Accidentally Hilarious
To be fair, the film does deliver some unintentional comedy gold. Jonathan regressing into a baby is played dead serious, but it comes off like a sketch from Saturday Night Live. The killer monkey sequences are shot with such poor lighting and shaky camera work that you half-expect someone to trip over the boom mic. And Merlin, the supposed hero, is so useless he only shows up after the carnage to collect his evil merchandise like a lazy recall notice from Mattel.
Final Verdict: Merlin’s Bargain Bin of Cinematic Blunders
Merlin’s Shop of Mystical Wonders is less a movie and more a warning label. It warns you what happens when you try to stretch two half-baked horror shorts into a feature and glue it together with Ernest Borgnine. It’s awkward, tonally schizophrenic, badly acted, and accidentally creepy in ways it didn’t intend. If this really is a “mystical wonder,” then I wonder how it ever got released.
By the time the credits roll, you’ll feel like you too have been cursed by Merlin’s magic, doomed to wander thrift store VHS shelves for all eternity.
