A Low-Budget Dare That Pays Off
Every so often, a film emerges from the primordial ooze of the 1980s direct-to-video swamp that shouldn’t work, but somehow does. Truth or Dare? is one of those freak miracles. Written by Tim Ritter when he was barely old enough to buy beer, directed (well, hijacked) by Yale Wilson, and shot on 16mm for the VHS shelves of America, this movie shouldn’t have survived its own production. And yet here we are, nearly four decades later, still talking about Mike Strauber—the copper-masked, self-mutilating lunatic who puts Jason Voorhees to shame in the “bad day at the office” department.
Yes, it’s cheap. Yes, it looks like it was filmed during a student film workshop at the Burt Reynolds Theatre (because it basically was). But damn it, Truth or Dare? has something most polished horror films lack: a willingness to leap off the cliff of taste and land face-first in a puddle of blood, copper masks, and eyeball-stabbing pencils.
Mike Strauber: Businessman, Husband, Hobbyist of Gore
At the film’s center is Mike Strauber, played by John Brace, who delivers the kind of performance that makes you wonder if he was auditioning for Wall Street and wandered into the wrong room. Mike’s a businessman, sure, but more importantly, he’s a man unraveling. When he catches his wife Sharon in bed with his best friend Jerry, Mike doesn’t just get mad. He takes the scenic route through hallucinations, hitchhiker role-playing, and the kind of self-harm that makes you wince while nervously chuckling, “Well… at least he’s committed.”
And committed he is—literally. Sunnyville Mental Institution becomes his revolving-door Airbnb, where Mike slices his own face off, dons a copper mask, and graduates from mid-level breakdown to full-blown slasher icon. Unlike Freddy or Jason, Mike doesn’t need mythology. He just needs poor impulse control and a steady supply of sharp objects.
Death by Pencil, Copper Mask Chic
The kills in Truth or Dare? are gloriously tasteless. Mike jams a pencil into an orderly’s eye. He hacks and slashes through men, women, and even children with the casual detachment of someone picking items off a grocery list. It’s shocking, yes, but it’s also so gleefully absurd you can’t help but laugh through your grimace.
And that copper mask—let’s talk about it. Forget hockey masks and William Shatner knockoffs; Mike’s copper face plate looks like it was stolen from a high school metal shop project. Yet, it works. It’s unsettling, it’s weird, and it’s unforgettable. You can’t say that about most slashers from this era, which often recycled villains like bad leftovers.
A Soap Opera with Severed Limbs
The plot, if you dare call it that, is a mixture of soap opera melodrama and slasher lunacy. Sharon cheats, Jerry dies, Mike hallucinates hitchhikers who encourage him to mutilate himself, and then there’s Detective Rosenberg, who appears just long enough to offer the illusion of law and order before the carnage resumes.
But that’s the charm. The film doesn’t waste time pretending to be logical. Instead, it leans into its madness: flashbacks, hallucinations, dismemberments, shootouts—it’s all tossed into the blender. You don’t watch Truth or Dare? for coherence; you watch it for the cinematic equivalent of watching a teenager light fireworks in the garage while yelling, “Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”
Shot on 16mm, Written in Pure Chaos
With a budget somewhere between $200,000 and $750,000 (depending on who’s lying), the film was shot in Palm Beach County, Florida, a place better known for retirees than horror carnage. Ritter was just 18 when it was filmed, and it shows—though in the best way. The youthful recklessness gives Truth or Dare? its energy. It’s raw, scrappy, and doesn’t care if you think it’s art.
That said, the behind-the-scenes drama is almost as bloody as the movie itself. Ritter was removed from directing on day one, replaced by producer Yale Wilson. Normally, this is where a film collapses, but somehow, the chaos injected even more lunacy into the project. You can practically feel the spite dripping from the frame.
A VHS Legend That Refuses to Die
Released directly to VHS in 1986, Truth or Dare? became a cult classic in the rental circuit. It was the kind of tape you picked up at the video store not because you trusted it, but because you wanted to impress your friends with your tolerance for trash. And it worked—people remembered it. While dozens of cookie-cutter slashers faded into obscurity, Truth or Dare? carved out a legacy by being audaciously insane.
The fact that this little Florida-shot oddity still gets talked about is proof that ambition, even misguided ambition, is better than safe mediocrity. The gore is messy, the acting ranges from wooden to plywood, and the pacing sometimes feels like the editor was on his lunch break—but none of that matters. What matters is the sheer audacity of a movie that lets its protagonist carve up his own face, wear a copper mask, and keep killing without missing a beat.
A Dark Joke That Works
Here’s the truth: Truth or Dare? isn’t a great film. But here’s the dare: try watching it without being entertained. It’s impossible. The film takes itself so seriously, so earnestly, that it accidentally achieves greatness in its own low-rent way. It’s like watching a car wreck in slow motion—horrifying, ridiculous, and somehow mesmerizing.
In a genre drowning in clichés, Truth or Dare? at least dares to be different. It may not be polished, it may not be professional, but it’s unforgettable. And that’s more than you can say for half the horror films released in 1986.
Final Verdict
If you like your horror messy, mean-spirited, and tinged with accidental comedy, Truth or Dare? is essential viewing. It’s the perfect storm of youthful recklessness, family drama, and VHS-era bloodletting. Sure, you’ll laugh when you shouldn’t, cringe when you didn’t mean to, and probably question your life choices along the way—but isn’t that what horror’s all about?
So here’s my verdict: it’s not a good movie, but it’s a good bad movie, and sometimes that’s better. For all its flaws, Truth or Dare? is one of the most entertaining copper-plated disasters you’ll ever endure.
