I starting writing this for Letterboxd and it just kept going: This is a movie made from the minds of those equally mad and outrageous. Tobe and Henkel's sense of humor and willingness to go for the jugular, never satisfied with restraint. Neville Brand could have fit right at home with the Sawyers in Texas. Missing a leg, his room filled with Nazi stuff among other things, Brand doesn't like women much, especially if they came from Hattie's brothel. Adding to Brand's mania is how he talks to himself, uttering about his croc's just acting on its instincts (that includes clamping down on passing motorists and outsiders unfortunate to stop by his red-hued, swamp-surrounded, rat-infested, secluded dustbin tourist trap), gibber-jabbering nonsensical mental swill. Swinging a scythe or pitchfork at these "intruders" he finds a bother, Brand has the appropriate means to dispose of them with his crocodile in a pool. With a filthy mop of stringy gray hair and with
Pure passion for all things horror