31 Days of Hallowe’en, Day 12: Microwave Massacre (1983)

Look, I knew this was going to be trashy. They (it doesn’t matter who ‘they’ are) knew I would pick this based on the stupid campy title and nothing more. Well, it turned out to be delightful garbage cheapness and my soul feels all the better for having made room for this degenerate concoction of bad acting, tawdry SFX and shit plot in my life.


Microwave Massacre follows construction worker Donald (the late comedian Jackie Vernon in his last role), a man fed up with his wife May (Claire Ginsberg)’s overly-fancy cooking tendencies. One night he comes home near black-out drunk and the two have a fight; engaged, Donald comically beats her to death with a giant pepper mill (savour that scene for the dazzling POV shots). So hungover the next morning that he can’t even remember what happened, he sees May’s body in their new microwave (the size of two ovens – lol, ’80s). He shrugs off a small panic attack at his discovery, then sets about chopping her up into fridge-friendly morsels. He foil-wraps everything but her head, which remains perched on a middle shelf like a terribly unfunny Troma bust.


One night, in search of a midnight snack, he groggily grabs some foil-wrapped raw meat and wolfs it down with orgasmic nomming…only to realise it’s May’s arm. Oops! It’s so delicious that he actually decides to cook it and eat it steak-style, like a breadless sandwich. His workmates salivate over his gluten-free delicacy and declare it to be the most delicious thing they’ve ever fought over. But May’s body parts aren’t going to last forever, so Donald starts bringing hookers home…

Here’s where the real horror begins. As charmingly goofy as Jackie Vernon apparently was, in this movie he firmly espouses everything I’d always imagined an unwitting pederast to be: dark-blonde perm, greasy upper lip, shimmering bug-eyes, and an exaggerated ‘meh’ delivery of his lines with a sticky-sounding dry-mouth. So every time we get a fishbowl-lens-POV of him bumpily plugging a prozzie, it queases my stomach more than any Fulci close-up.

Blepdog, the actual star of this film

Blepdog, the actual star of this film

It’s a fun ride nonetheless, and something you could half-watch at a horror sleepover and still get enough of its enjoyment.


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