DRIVEN-IN SATURDAY
When you live in Manhattan and ride the New York City subway system daily, if s not easy to get worked up about Terror Train, a Canadian-made horror flick that isn't as scary as a routine trip on the IRT 7th Avenue Express. Leave it to those north of the border numbnuts.
Mom Amtraks It
Edouard Dauphin
When you live in Manhattan and ride the New York City subway system daily, if s not easy to get worked up about Terror Train, a Canadian-made horror flick that isn't as scary as a routine trip on the IRT 7th Avenue Express.
Leave it to those north of the border numbnuts. This time our Canadian film-making , brethren have taken an innocent-looking excursion train, peopled it with nymphomaniacs, dopeheads and drunkards, then left it at the mercy of a psychopathic slasher. There hasn't been this much potential for depravity and violence since Johnny Lydon was introduced to Brooke Shields.
The flick opens with a cruel fraternity hazing stunt at the expense of Kenny, a goofy-grinning, four-eyed nerd. Still a virgin at 18, he is cautiously hopeful when his pre-med buddies set him up with a blind date reputed to be a sure thing. She turns out to be a cadaver, natch, but with her pallid face, sunken cheeks and caved-in chest, Kenny almost mistakes her for Patti Smith.