While Chris Elliott developed a cult following during his years as the resident weirdo on "Late Night with David Letterman," there was no guarantee his audience was going to follow him once he left the beloved talk show. There was the problematic run of the Fox comedy, "Get a Life," but 1994's "Cabin Boy" was the real test of Elliott's lasting appeal, challenging fans to actually make a trip to the multiplex and spend money on his alt-comedy antics, with co-producer Tim Burton adding some creative legitimacy to the Disney production. "Cabin Boy" was a spectacular bomb 24 years ago, becoming an industry punchline, and it's easy to see why the movie failed to entice anyone beyond the completely devoted into theaters. It's not that the picture is lazy, it certainly isn't, but it's entirely dependent on Elliott's ability to be the center of attention, which isn't the best use of his particular sense of humor. Read the rest at Blu-ray.com

First and foremost, 1989's "The House on Tombstone Hill" has a bit of trouble with titles. It was shot as "The Road," and presented on Blu-ray as "The Dead Come Home." The feature was ultimately sold to the video market as "Dead Dudes in the House," with Troma Films electing to entice renters not paying close attention to the details of the picture by pushing the effort as a hip-hop comedy, with title font that resembles a UPN pilot. It's a wild, wacky world of identification for the endeavor, with "The House on Tombstone Hill" the most accurate description of the material, which plays like a slasher version of an HGTV show, pitting home rehabbers against a ghostly opponent who enjoys killing those with big plans for her house. Writer/director James Riffel aims to please with a low-budget chiller, and while the movie has pacing and overcrowding issues, the helmer understands gore zone needs, keeping the feature excitable with violent encounters and panicking characters, offering a simple ride of single location terror. Read the rest at Blu-ray.com

In an interesting creative quest, writer/director Valeska Grisebach takes the mood, characters, and conventions of the American western movie and replants them near Eastern Europe. She keeps the attitude and the bulging masculinity, but the setting has changed, finding that most of what's used in American cinema applies everywhere with a little finesse. "Western" sustains such experimentation throughout its run time, with Grisebach crafting an effective experiment that eventually becomes its own dramatic creation, and one that's deepened with unusual, pained characters and a Bulgarian setting that's not normally associated with cowboy adventures. Read the rest at Blu-ray.com

1993's "Body Melt" is one of Australia's rare forays into gross-out territory during the decade, with co-writer/director Philip Brophy aiming to generate is own swirling brew of liquefied body parts, social commentary, and regional extremity. Brophy's backed by quite a varied cast and a solid team of energized tech departments, aiming to make the feature appropriately disgusting and slick for a B-movie, with the effort retaining all sorts of disgusting visuals while maintaining a professional edge, missing the questionable grunginess this type of entertainment usually provides. "Body Melt" isn't big on story or connective tissue between subplots, but it does maintain menace, often the cheeky sort, giving the viewer exactly what the title promises, tricked out some with a defined Aussie sensibility. Read the rest at Blu-ray.com 

A BBC production, "The Miniaturist" is an adaption of Jessie Burton's 2014 novel, which explored the mystery and shock of a young woman pushed into an arranged marriage in 1686, experiencing a rush of turmoil in Amsterdam while dealing with an enigmatic craftsman using miniature dolls and furniture to communicate with the new bride. The material has been hammered into place over three episodes of crisis and suspicion, with Burton's plotting making an easy transition to the ways of BBC programming, which always seems to favor period settings, tight corsets, and characters experiencing all types of strife. "The Miniaturist" starts out very strong, but it struggles to maintain energy and shock value as it distributes horrors to most of its players, often electing to go the soap opera route out of fear of losing its audience with a more sophisticated take on an interestingly bizarre tale of stalking and identity. Read the rest at Blu-ray.com

Perhaps writer/director Ken Wiederhorn just wasn't in the mood to manufacture an intense sequel to 1985's "Return of the Living Dead," possibly fearful that he couldn't recreate the limited magic helmer Dan O'Bannon brought to the original picture. The first film wasn't a sobering look at the birth of a zombie apocalypse, but a grungy, gory genre romp that dived into complete goofiness from time to time. 1988's "Return of the Living Dead: Part II" does away with any seriousness, becoming a slapstick comedy that just so happens to detail the premier horror experience of running away from the undead. Wiederhorn goes wild with "Part II," invested in making a gut-buster, not a fright machine, offering a rather severe tonal change that demands viewers relax a lot of expectations, especially for anything even remotely scary. Read the rest at Blu-ray.com

We all know Eugene Levy as an ace comedian with a lengthy history of dynamite performances, even securing legend status with his work on "SCTV." However, in the 1990s, Levy was looking to build a directorial career for himself, stepping behind the camera to try his hand at crafting funny business using his distinctive sense of humor. 1992's "Once Upon a Crime" is Levy's big feature-length helming debut, and to secure some interest in the creative endeavor, he's collected quite a cast to help bring the screenplay (co-written by Charles Shyer and Nancy Meyers) to life. Trouble is, "Once Upon a Crime" fails to follow through on its initial promise, with Levy so concerned about achieving the speed of a proper farce, he misses nailing as many jokes as possible. The picture isn't very funny, which feels like a crime itself, wasting considerable talents on fruitless mischief often performed at top volume. One can easily sense Levy's intent with the project, but the results are disheartening to watch. Read the rest at Blu-ray.com

Make no mistake, Jocelyn Moorhouse is a very talented filmmaker. She's proved herself with pictures such as "Proof," "How to Make an American Quilt," and the recent Kate Winslet dark comedy, "The Dressmaker." Most helmers have rough patches, and Moorhouse finds hers with 1997's "A Thousand Acres," which not only gives her an impressive cast to manage, but there's the source material, with the feature an adaptation of a 1991 Pulitzer Prize-winning novel by Jane Smiley, which originally attempted to rework the characters and themes of Shakespeare's "King Lear," moving the setting to a family farm in the 1990s. I doubt few directors could successfully carry the pressure to realize a beloved, respected book, but Moorhouse stumbles particularly hard here, showing uncharacteristic ineptitude with performances and basic editing, making a laborious soap opera that's loaded with half-baked drama and characterization. Read the rest at Blu-ray.com

With a title like "Dear Dead Delilah" (not to be confused with the recent Blu-ray release of "Deadly Daphne's Revenge"), there's a certain expectation put in place for a sinister tale of murder, with the possibility of a ghost story setting. Writer/director John Farris doesn't exactly pursue a hardcore tale of diabolical happenings, preferring to settle into the dismissive ways of southern folk in Tennessee as they deal with plantation life, a hidden inheritance, and a rising body count due to the presence of an ax-swinging killer. Farris prefers family business over chopped-up bodies, making "Dear Dead Delilah" more of a psychodrama than a slasher film. There's some disappointment with the end results, but Farris isn't completely removed from the demands of the genre, putting together a few suspenseful scenes, one genuinely weird kill, and nurtures fine performances from the cast, with lead Agnes Moorehead giving the helmer more than he deserves as the titular woman, who's very much alive during the endeavor. Read the rest at Blu-ray.com