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descent, reeking of Brut 33 and broken dreams – finally emerged. He fixed me with a baleful eye and intoned, “I’m afraid the prognosis isn’t good, Mr. Bowen. You’ve got... (dramatic pause...) Boogens!” “Boogens?” I echoed weakly, “Is that serious?” “Serious?” he barked with a mirthless laugh. “I’ll


I


be back tomorrow with my men and the appropriate equipment.” Okay, so that’s not how it really went down, but


that’s what the term “boogens” has always brought to mind. Here, on the other hand, is the real deal. The Boogens (1982) is yet another of those fun lit-


tle films that fell between the cracks largely due to bad timing: a monster movie that had the misfortune to drop during the dawn of the slasher film craze. Oh sure, the creature feature wasn’t exactly facing ex- tinction by the end of the ’70s, but if you weren’t building a bigger, badder space monster (Alien, The Thing), breathing new life into tired old European ar- chetypes for American au- diences (An American Werewolf in London, The Howling) or just gleefully ramping up the gore and nudity (Humanoids From the Deep), you were kinda doomed. And this was ex- actly when The Boogens – low-budget, slowish and, while not timid by most standards, not exactly splatter-intensive – en- tered the fray. We open on that time-


tested set-up device, the Montage of Mouldy Old Newspaper Headlines from a Bygone Era™, inform- ing us that a silver mine in a small Colorado town is closing down after a series of cave-ins, disappear-


RM44


ances and fatal accidents. Then, KABOOM! A dyna- mite charge goes off, it’s suddenly the ’80s and the mine is reopened despite the protestations of the local Old Crazy Dude™. “You’re all doomed! It’s got a death curse!” Crazy Ralph rants at the camp counsellors, who… oh wait, wrong Old Crazy Dude™ from the early ’80s – they all kind of run together after a while, don’t you find? Anyhow, shit starts going hor-


ribly wrong again, and there are growing suspicions that it can’t all be chalked up to bad luck or workplace safety standards that would barely make the grade in China. Nope, it’s the fabled “tun- nel creatures” that have been awakened by the blasting and are once again skulking about in the dark, murdering miners, causing cave-ins and commit- ting various other wanton acts of boogenry like they fucking well own the place or something.


They also manage to infiltrate various local domiciles through heating ducts and such, but except for brief glimpses of slimy appendages, we don’t get a


proper Monster Reveal Shot™ until around the third act, a factor that has reputedly caused prob- lems for some viewers. Our boogens turn out to be rubbery, puppety, turtle-lookin’ amphibly-oids with big teeth and gnarly tentacles, the latter being the species’ weapon of choice most of the time. When I was researching The Boogens recently,


I was surprised to discover it’s actually an Ameri- can film. I’d spent years under the misapprehen- sion that it was Canadian, a typical product of the tax shelter era, but no – it’s just cheap and very snowy. It’s directed by TV veteran James L. Con- way, whose credits range from Matt Houston to Star Trek: Deep Space Nine and Supernatural; and the cast is competent, headed by Rebecca Balding (TV’s Charmed), an appealing girl-next-door type who gamely supplies us with a bit of nudity. Hey, who doesn’t like some boobies with their boogens? Stephen King gave The Boogens a surprisingly


good review in Twilight Zonemagazine back in the day, but despite retaining a significant following, it remains unavailable on DVD. I’d invite you to stick around and watch my ancient VHS copy, but the ex- terminator’s due back any time now, so you’d best get the hell out of my basement, lest you get your ass fatally blasted with Boog’ spray.


’d been waiting anxiously outside the basement door for nearly 45 minutes when the extermina- tor – a dour, fish-faced gent of vaguely Slavic


Boogen Nights


by John W. Boogen


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