• Straight to Video
• Director: Tiffany Kilbourne
• Written by: Kyle Kline, David C. Hayes, Keith Knapp, Jeff Orig
• Running Time: 90 minutes
• Language: English
• MPAA Rating: UNRATED
• Cast: Lia Montelongo, Martin Shannon, Dave Larsen, Melissa Mountifield, Robin Brown, Peter Renaud, Kirsten Gibson, Carlene Orig, Laura Beverly, H. Murphy, Rusty Nails

          A wrong turn down a country road leaves a van filled with five vernal folks pulled over and scouring a map. One of them has had more to drink than she can handle and is hurling up a storm out the side of the van. The group has found themselves lost in the Galloway Woods, the same place that, thanks to a radio report, a number of girls have turned up dead, mutilated and or cannibalized in recent weeks. The five young people in the van consist of Lisa (Lia Montelongo); a buff and beautiful girl and the only female in the movie saddled with any kind of dimension. The second girl, Heather (Melissa Mountifield), is a virginal thing who seemingly exists solely to taunt her boyfriend, Terry, with promise of sex. Interestingly, she’s only female in the cast with real breasts. Former Penthouse Pet, Robin Brown, plays the third girl, Megan, the one with the inability to keep things down. This girl is so good at delivering her befuddled, vacant character that I’m curious to know how much is acting and how much is the real Ms. Brown shining through. Two bromidic male cads round out the crew. Kurt (Dave Larsen) is Lisa’s boyfriend, and, man, does he grate on you, with his stupid beer-can crushing antics and witless zingers. Blessed with one of those deep voices that doesn’t change in tone regardless of mood, he looks like the kind of guy that would beat you up before school for your lunch money. The last guy, Terry (Peter Ranaud), Heather’s long suffering boyfriend, is pleasant enough only because he disappears for large chunks of the film.

          Although the reason for their trip is never determined, they decide to make an impromptu stop at Lisa’s uncle’s pad. After a stretch of dullard dialogue and goofball attempts at comedy, they finally get to Uncle Marty’s place, a huge mansion out in the middle of nowhere. They soon discover that he’s not home. Since night has fallen and they really have no place to go, Lisa decides to pull a B and E, reasoning that it’s her uncle and that he won’t be angry. Terry is left outside to take an agonizing amount of time moving the bags from the van to the front door, as the rest of the herd shuffles inside to begin the festivities. Right off the bat, Lisa becomes some kind of conduit to the other side as she is overwhelmed by a strange high-pitched noise and bizarre surreal images as she enters the house, something nobody else seems to notice. Sadly, this very cool entrance will be followed up with heaping helpings of inane attempts at hilarity. With goofy fart and burp noises chasing her, Megan rushes upstairs to peel off her clothes and take a shower – something of which every female in the cast also does at some point. Lisa’s shower, the most effective, not to mention sexiest, of the lot, happens in a macabre dream sequence, something of which involves her lathering up her buffed up body with rose petals and blood.

          Jejune antics follow en masse as the various cast members banter, drink alcohol, eat food and get naked. Oh yeah, and Terry finally arrives at the front door of the house – twenty or so minutes later. He joins Heather in the shower and she reacts the way any girlfriend would, in utter horror. After some ham-handed attempts at melancholy dramatics, Terry finally gets to first base. That’s, of course, when old Uncle Marty (Martin Shannon) arrives to stir things up, berating the young couple for attempting to have sex in his shower. “I’m not running a whorehouse,” he tells them. Martin Shannon plays Uncle Marty and he’s absolutely great, attacking his role with the kind of honest zeal that the film does not deserve. Unlike the rest of the cast, his performance works. From his perfect comedic timing down to the way he runs away with his character, playing him as a sleazy 70’s lounge lizard type, with gold chains and chest hair exploding out of his shirt, he’s amazing. You’ll note how the film’s watchability increases tenfold the minute he appears on screen. Marty next heads for Megan, who is sleeping off her hangover in one of the upstairs rooms. This is definitely a girl who is comfortable in her milky white skin, as she has a full on introductory conversation with Marty, completely in the nude and without the benefit of a blanket.

          Later, upon learning that her Uncle has arrived, Lisa notes that he hasn’t changed at all. He tells her that he “just got back from the old country” and suggests that he’s been living a nomadic lifestyle, only eating what he kills. Later, Heather stumbles upon some ancient era photographs in an upstairs loft, which look like Marty, in eighteenth century garb. If this isn’t clue enough as to what direction the film is heading, well, you shouldn’t be watching. After Marty serves up Megan for desert, literally, we’re pretty much off to the races, as Marty seeks to claim the virginal Heather as his bride, by turning or killing each of the various friends. It culminates with a laughably bad symbolic baptism; a “shower of blood” vampire ritual that is as silly as it sounds, and for which the film derives its mediocre title. Lisa’s connection to the house, and her strange supernatural experiences are only briefly explained in a closing twister that is pretty much foreseeable from the outset.

          Directed by Tiffany Kilbourne this straight to video title is one of the least inspiring vampire films I’ve ever seen and I’ve seen a lot. The film is pretty much dead almost from the start and is only resuscitated briefly by a lively performance from Martin Shannon. The piece is so hunkered down by bad acting, a bad script (by four different people, nonetheless), terrible editing and lame, imprecise plotting, that it becomes a chore just to watch it. 

          The film does have a couple things going for it, number one being the an energetic soundtrack by Dylan Langhoff Moeller, and the other, the special effects, which really weren’t all that bad. I probably could have done without the lame “Star Wars” laser light show. Another thing to note was the opening homage to Sam Mendes’ overrated “American Beauty”, involving a nude Robin Brown writhing around on a bed covered in rose petals. Mena Suvari she is not, but what the hell?

          Lastly; call me a square, but I hate it when low-budget movie editors add caustic noises to footage after the fact – mostly commonly it's farting or burping noises, meant to garner a laugh or a smile. With "Shower of Blood" it’s a veritable caravan of noises; farting, burping, puking, cans being thrown into the trash, chewing and I could keep going. The sounds rarely match with the footage or, are so exaggerated, it works only to remove a viewer from the film wholesale. "Blood" is probably the most egregious offender in this regard that I’ve ever seen and trust me, after awhile, it wore me down. I have an image of some idiot sitting behind an editing board, farting into a microphone and fancying himself some kind of comedic genius when in reality he’s just another idiot farting into a microphone. Overall, not great.