B-Movie of the Week: Ticks

While most horror fans are awaiting the long-overdue DVD release of Night of the Comet, Night of the Creeps, and Fred Dekker's cult favorite Monster Squad, yours truly is impatiently tapping his narrow foot on the film industry's shifty hardwood floor in anticipation of something else entirely. Now, if I had a chance to speak one-on-one with the Lords of DVD Distribution, I would humbly request that they immediately release Tony Randel's 1993 direct-to-video classic Ticks some time before I die. You can have your college zombies and your deadly comets, my friends. I'd personally rather waste my time with a film dedicated to overgrown ticks created by an herbal steroid used in the growth of marijuana. Oh, and Ami Dolenz's midriff. Can't forget that, now can we? Of course not. We don't judge people here. Just the movies they make.

Before I belly flop into how impossibly enjoyable this stupid flick is, let me give you the low down on what's what and who's who. A pair of counselors for troubled teens (Rosalind Allen and Peter Scolari) take a group of ill-tempered kids into the countryside for a little tough love and rehabilitation. Though their game plan may seem a bit lackadaisical to some, their intentions are good and pure and quite stupid. You see, instead of taking them to a nice, clean campground with proper outhouses and running water, they've decided to dump them right in the middle of cash crop territory, an area of the nation most of us would probably like to avoid. Those of us who value our lives, anyway.

That's not to say that marijuana farmers are inhospitable skidmarks with bad teeth, mind you. Heavens, no. They're actually kind of sweet and more than willing to shoot anyone who happens to come within a few feet of their territory. To make matters worse, a chemical used to enhance the dope has mutated the local wildlife, in particular the hundreds of thousands of ticks that freely roam the landscape. Soon those lovely pulsating sacks you see dangling from nearby trees are unleashing a horde of blood-thirsty creatures on our heroes, forcing them to run for shelter. Who will live? Who will die? More importantly, will Alfonso Ribeiro ever stop whining about his dead dog? Enough, already. I haven't seen that much overacting since his turn in a very special episode of The Fresh Prince of Bel Air which finds Carlton overdosing on speed. Sheesh.

Article Author: T. Rigney

T. Rigney was specifically designed for the mass consumption of B-grade cinema from around the world. His roughly translated thoughts and feelings can be found lurking suspiciously at The Film Fiend, Fatally Yours, and Film Threat. …

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