William Katt is a Stephen King-type writer who
gets a divorce and goes out to live in the haunted house where
his aunt killed herself and his little boy drowned in the pool,
so he can write a book about his Vietnam experiences that nobody
wants to read. Hey, we've all been there, right? But the problem
is, the guy can't get any work done because the fat neighbor
keeps showing up every time he rigs up his Minolta to photograph
the monster in the upstairs closet. And then when he starts
running around the house in his combat fatigues, shooting off his
shotgun at a Miss Piggy slime creature, the police come. It's not
that easy to kill this monster, because the house has a 12-foot-
long fish on the wall that's been zombified, and it starts coming
back to life--not to mention the seven farm implements from the
shed that start flying through the house, threatening to gouge
the guy's privates. In other words, what we've got here is one of
those nightmares-reflecting-me-screwed-up-life flicks, sort of a
cross between "Poltergeist" and "Rambo." Three quarts blood. A 21
on the Vomit Meter. Five dead bodies. Seven beasts. Zero breast
count, due to Kay Lenz's failure to pop her top. One hanging. One
drowning. Valium gulping. Flying skull bat. Chimney Gremlins.
Heads roll. Arms roll. Hand rolls. Gratuitous reptiles in the
bathroom mirror. Dead fish Fu. Dismembered hand Fu. Grenade City.
With Curt Wilmot as the Rambo Skeleton, the first soldier-of-
fortune monster, and George Wendt as the fat neighbor who tries
to kill the monster with a harpoon. 
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