Terror Circus (1973), or The Barn of the Naked Dead, is one of those movies where you sit there, scratching your head, trying to figure out how such a concept—kidnapped showgirls held captive by a madman in the desert—could end up as a dull, meandering mess. Directed by Alan Rudolph (under the pseudonym Gerald Cormier, which only adds to the confusion), this supposed horror film somehow manages to feel more like a tedious chore than a thrilling ride through the grotesque.
The premise sounds promising: three showgirls—Simone, Sheri, and Corinne—are stranded in the Mojave Desert after their car breaks down. A man named Andre, who appears to be as bizarre as he is creepy, offers to help them. And help them, he does—by taking them to his remote desert compound, where he has a barn full of shackled women who perform twisted circus acts for his sadistic pleasure. Andre, in his delusional mind, fancies himself a ringmaster, but his “circus” is more a nightmare of broken dreams, poorly executed torture, and a string of unconvincing performances.
The first problem with Terror Circus is that it never decides what it wants to be. It tries to be both an exploitation film and a psychological horror flick, but fails at both. The pacing is so lethargic, you’ll find yourself wondering if the characters are being held captive by time itself. The film lingers on moments of tension that never materialize, wasting too much time on awkward dialogue and nonsensical character interactions. There’s a sluggishness to the entire film that makes even the mildest of shocks feel forced, like someone is desperately trying to squeeze horror out of a rock and getting a trickle of stale water instead.
The performances are similarly uninspired. Andrew Prine plays Andre, the demented “showman” with a tragic backstory involving nuclear fallout and childhood abandonment. He’s about as menacing as a garden gnome—his performance is so wooden, it could be the next construction material for a barn. Manuela Thiess as Simone, the presumed heroine of the piece, doesn’t fare much better. She spends most of her time locked in a cage or running around the desert, and her attempts at playing the character with empathy or even a hint of intelligence fall flat. The rest of the cast—Sherry Alberoni as Sheri and Gyl Roland as Corinne—do their best to add a little life, but they are hamstrung by the script’s inability to make them more than one-dimensional captives.
Then there’s the matter of the film’s attempts at horror. If your idea of suspense is watching a man smear calf’s blood on a woman’s body before releasing a wild cougar to hunt her, then you might find something of value in this. But for the rest of us, it’s an awkward spectacle that raises more laughs than gasps. The film is crammed with bizarre sequences like this, meant to shock but instead leave you scratching your head. Andre’s treatment of the women—forcing them to perform circus acts or subjecting them to animal attacks—has the kind of grotesque whimsy you might find in a grade-B exploitation flick, but with none of the flair or camp that might have made it enjoyable.
And if you thought the film’s title, Terror Circus, hinted at a crazed, chaotic climax, think again. The film’s finale, in which Andre’s deranged father goes on a killing spree, is a bloated mess that feels tacked on. There’s no tension, no emotional payoff, just a series of random deaths that fail to create any lasting impact. Even the film’s final shot, which hints at Andre’s father still being out there, is less of a cliffhanger and more of an eye-roll. You’re left with a vague sense of “so what?” rather than the satisfaction of a resolution. The film does little to address the reasons behind the madness, leaving everything in a half-baked haze of confusion.
In terms of production, Terror Circus is as unremarkable as its plot. The desert setting, which could have been used to heighten the isolation and claustrophobia, instead feels like a convenient backdrop for the low-budget limitations of the film. The barn, which should be the heart of the horror, is merely a shabby set piece, and the scenes within it feel like the actors are wandering through a poorly lit storage unit rather than a place of terror. As for the special effects, they’re minimal at best and laughable at worst. The cougar attack, in particular, comes across as more of a joke than a threat.
The film’s few attempts at depth are undermined by its lack of coherence. Andre’s tragic backstory, involving his father’s disfigurement due to nuclear testing, is meant to add psychological weight to his actions. But this backstory is rushed and handled so poorly that it adds little more than confusion. The film dips its toes into psychodrama, but the waters are too shallow to dive in.
There is, however, a certain campy charm to the film—if you can stomach it. Terror Circus will likely appeal to die-hard fans of ’70s exploitation flicks, but even then, it’s a stretch. The film is a mess of clumsy direction, bland performances, and meandering storylines. It never takes full advantage of its potential to shock or horrify, instead offering a dull and, frankly, tedious viewing experience.
In conclusion, Terror Circus is a failed attempt at combining horror, exploitation, and psychological drama. It’s a film that should have been a ridiculous, over-the-top cult classic but ends up as a forgettable slog through desert nonsense. It’s as if someone tried to make a horror film with a circus theme, forgot to add any fun, and then stumbled their way into the world of nuclear fallout and psychosis. It’s an experience that could only be recommended for the most dedicated lovers of obscure trash—everyone else should save themselves the trouble. Terror Circus is a mistake, plain and simple.
