A Civil War, a Fog Machine, and a VHS Relic
When people say, “They don’t make ’em like they used to,” I’m convinced they’ve never seen The Supernaturals. This 1986 zombie-horror relic—directed by Armand Mastroianni and written by Michael S. Murphey and Joel Soisson—proves that yes, they do make them like they used to: cheaply, badly, and designed primarily to occupy a $1.99 slot in the dusty corner of your neighborhood VHS rental rack.
Set in the deep backwoods of Civil War–era America (or at least a Southern California park with some hastily planted Spanish moss), the film opens with Union soldiers herding Confederates across a minefield like it’s the saddest version of “The Oregon Trail.” A boy named Jeremy survives, his mom steps on a mine yet mysteriously keeps walking, and the audience immediately realizes the script probably should’ve died with her. Jump ahead to 1985, where a platoon of the modern-day 44th—the descendants of those Union goons—are out on maneuvers in the same woods. Cue ghostly revenge, Confederate zombies, and enough artificial fog to choke half of Hollywood.
The Cast: A Cosmic Joke on the Viewer
The movie actually ropes in some names you’d recognize—Nichelle Nichols (forever Uhura of Star Trek) plays the commanding sergeant, while a young LeVar Burton cashes an early check before Reading Rainbow and Star Trek: The Next Generation saved his dignity. Maxwell Caulfield—forever the guy who tanked Grease 2—is our bland hero Pvt. Ray Ellis. Talia Balsam shows up as the love interest, her primary function being to look confused and occasionally scream.
The casting is almost cruel in its irony. Watching Nichols bark orders at these halfwit soldiers is like watching Shakespeare perform in a Chuck E. Cheese—it’s noble, but you wish she’d left the paycheck on the table. Burton is wasted as cannon fodder, and Caulfield somehow manages to look less alive than the Confederate zombies he’s fighting. If there was ever a film that could make a viewer root for the undead, this is it.
Zombies by Party City
Let’s talk special effects. Bart J. Mixon, who later worked on Hellboy II and Elm Street 2, has said the crew was talented but shackled by a shredded budget. That’s putting it kindly. The zombies here don’t lurch with menace—they shuffle around like mall Santas on a smoke break. The “prosthetic makeup” looks like Halloween masks rejected by Party City, and when the fog rolls in, you wonder if the real villain is the overworked smoke machine.
It’s not that the movie couldn’t have been scary. Civil War ghosts rising for revenge could’ve been eerie, gothic, even unsettling. Instead, it looks like your high school’s theater club was handed gray face paint and told to “act spooky.”
The Plot: Digging Up Nothing
At its heart, the movie tries to weave a tale of sins of the past haunting the present. The Union’s cruelty, Jeremy’s supernatural curse, Melanie’s eternal youth—it’s all ripe for a Southern Gothic horror. But instead of tension, we get soldiers drinking, bickering, and dying in ways so predictable you can set your watch by them.
By the time Pvt. Cort is found shot in the head, you’re not shocked—just relieved one more character has been taken off the payroll. The platoon finds Melanie and her decrepit old companion (the grown-up Jeremy), but what should be a revelation turns into a confused exchange of diary readings, melodramatic stares, and dialogue that sounds like it was written during a lunch break.
The climax involves Ellis persuading Jeremy to finally end his curse, sending Melanie and the zombies back to the great beyond. Jeremy dies, Ellis lives, and the locket that ties it all together gets lost in the leaves. Subtle symbolism? Hardly. It’s more like the script lost interest in itself and wandered off.
Direction Without Direction
Armand Mastroianni, who also directed He Knows You’re Alone, seems completely uninterested in pacing, tension, or mood. Scenes meander endlessly—soldiers setting up camp, soldiers drinking, soldiers walking in circles—while the supposed horror elements sputter in the background. The editing feels like it was done by someone who had never actually seen a horror film but once heard about one at a dinner party.
Even the supposed romantic angle between Ellis and Lejune lands with a thud. Their chemistry has all the spark of a wet match, and when Ellis is distracted by the ghostly Melanie, it feels less like dramatic tension and more like a man who got lost on his way to a soap opera set.
Humor, Unintentional and Otherwise
What redeems The Supernaturals—and I use “redeems” loosely—is how unintentionally funny it becomes. Watching grown soldiers tiptoe through fog while being picked off one by one is less “nail-biting suspense” and more “Scooby-Doo episode without the dog.” Nichols, a consummate professional, delivers lines about Confederate ghosts with such gravitas that you can’t help but laugh at the absurdity. Burton tries his best, but no amount of Shakespearean training can save dialogue like “Something’s out there!” delivered into the mist.
And then there’s Caulfield, who stares blankly at Melanie like he’s wondering if his agent still has a working phone number.
A VHS Fossil
The fact that The Supernaturals never made it past its VHS release tells you everything you need to know. It’s not “underrated.” It’s not “forgotten.” It’s simply… there. Existing in the cinematic graveyard alongside other mid-’80s horror films that mistook fog for atmosphere and zombies for plot. That it now streams on Amazon Prime is less an act of resurrection and more a cruel joke on unsuspecting horror fans scrolling late at night.
Final Verdict
There are bad horror movies that are charmingly bad—films that wobble but manage to entertain with camp and energy. Then there’s The Supernaturals, which feels embalmed even as you’re watching it. Its cast is wasted, its effects are limp, its pacing is glacial, and its story has all the impact of a Confederate ghost politely asking you to move your tent.
