God and Satan are on a train, debating over the souls of three people: Harry, who winds up in a mental hospital where the doctors use him in their plot to harvest and sell body parts; Gretta, a struggling musician who makes pornographic movies for Youngmeyer, who refuses to let her leave him for her true love, the saintly Glenn; Claire, a surgeon whose husband James (Richard Moll) catches the attention of demon Olivier after writing a book that claims God is dead. As the stories unfold, the characters’ souls are up in the air until the train crashes and final decisions are made.
I first saw Night Train to Terror after my well-meaning girlfriend at the time bought me a box set of horror movies. (A nice idea—too bad they’re all terrible.) It embodies all of the nasty clichés that give horror movies a bad name (and it’s not even a slasher): no plot, gratuitous nudity and violence (like the scene when a guy’s face blows up for no particular reason), the Token Black Guy who dies first, and painfully bad acting. You can add to that low budget, bad editing, bad special effects, and bad dialogue. Not to mention the rock band on the train, complete with backup dancers and mist, that keeps singing their aggravating song over and over:
Granted, the filmmakers try to make their audience consider the nature of good and evil, but it’s difficult to take it seriously when characters say things like, “What can I do for you, Mr. Satan?” And “I’m still burning with revenge.” (I think there’s a cream for that). But my favorite horrible thing is Youngmeyer’s group of dastardly friends, who get together to tempt death. (They call themselves The Death Club, showing they’re just as unimaginative as they are crazy.) There’s a guy who’s supposed to be Russian, but sounds just like Triumph the Insult Comic Dog. Even the actors don’t wanna be here:
Ultimately, this movie’s only redeeming quality is that it’s so awful it’s funny. Truly, words cannot describe it—you have to see this movie to believe it.