The story does ramble all over the place and then splinters in random directions. There’s Randy’s origin story, the loan shark, Becky’s relationship to Owen, Owen’s friend whose girl needed a boob job, the wrestling school, Becky’s brother (?) in a pretty good sex scene.
Let’s face it. We’re not here for acting and story. Directed Brad Twigg knows precisely what he needs to deliver to fans on-screen. He makes effective use of the crew, actors, and limited resources at hand to make one of those “you’ve got to see this” type of film. Heaven forbid, WWE Studios should forego making The Marine 19 and produce an actual wrestling horror film. No, we have to do it ourselves.
“What he does with the collected body parts is classic horror.”
The film’s fun comes from its low-budget gore as Randy has a predilection for ripping body parts off his victims. What he does with the collected body parts is classic horror. The “wrestling” is OK, and I’m sure if filmmakers could afford professional stunt actors, along with insurance, they could have pushed the action higher. As stilted as the dialogue is, there are some funny moments, including a seemingly improvised moment from Tony Atlas that is spectacularly groan-worthy. Did I mention the nudity? There’s nudity.
WrestleMassacre is a so-bad-its-good horror worthy of a Friday night out with friends or better yet lockdown watch-party worthy.
"…Directed Brad Twigg knows precisely what he needs to deliver to fans on-screen."
