Curse of the Headless Horseman (1972)

Too much of everything

Sick Product of a Sick System

Absolutely Brilliant!

By the time the dramatic fireworks start popping off, each one feels earned.

CURSE OF THE HEADLESS HORSEMAN opens w/ mindless narration, while various hippies drive, dance around, and eat pizza. All while murmuring. A random fight breaks out. Said hippies "split" to a ranch, and they "dig it". More pointless narration blathers on, like a vocal skewering of our ear-holes! Cowboys appear, their guns contrasted against the hippies' guitars. The narrator is the voice of doom. Milling around ensues, accompanied by some Joan Baez / Joni Mitchell super-hybrid. Dear god! Improvisational "theater" takes place! The hep cats love it! After all, it's drug-related. Meanwhile, the cameraman decides to film something else in another movie somewhere. All the hippies chatter at once. Solomon, the caretaker (B.G. Fischer), looking as though he's swallowing his own face, tells the tale of the legend of the something or other. As near as can be discerned, someone was killed and revenge shall come! Or, something like that. The narrator cackles, and the curse begins! Apparently, the hipsters will perform for any unfortunate tourists happening by. Solomon disapproves, in his velvet vest. Near tragedy almost, sort of happens. Almost. Solomon gets crabbier and more puckered, like he's chewing on a turpentine-soaked lemon. Alas, he's the most interesting character in this cinematic donkey log! That is, unless a Victor Buono look-alike, sporting astonishing lamb chop sideburns sounds intriguing. A harmonica plays a dirge. Time passes. Eons come and go as mountains crumble into the sea. As we watch, our skulls cave in, and our souls shrivel and die. The title equestrian arrives at last, rubber head in hand! Uneventful death results. The narrator spouts more claptrap. Demons on acid play synthesizer-kazoos, while a hippie chick twirls to her demise. Solomon glares, judging the hippies for involving him in this film. The "shock" finale reminds us that we're watching a movie of some sort. Chickens peck at piano keys. A bell tolls. THE END. Most sub-sludge films don't cause this much agony! There should be a special commendation, like a silver doggy-do cluster medal, for anyone who survives to the end! I endured so that others may not have to. Where's my medal?!...

A phantom horseman who appears every night with a human head tucked under his arm lets it be known that he is searching for eight gunfighters.Not sure I really get the bad reviews who all say it's a lot of fun, etc. This movie is written like an Ed Wood film and directed like a porno. In fact the director did some porn and the flick is filled with actors who did porn or soft core largely in the 70s. Others are one shot wonders who never worked again and some are whose character names are their actual names.I disagree with the reviewers who say this is a hoot and then give it one star. I think it deserves one star. It's actually a horrible movie filled with bad kumbaya folk music and even worse acting.They should have made this as a porno. The title character is dismal and you can see his head under the robe. He doesn't really show up until the movie is nearly done and that's after you're forced to listen to all that horrible hippie folk music.

Amateurish and virtually incoherent with little sense, structure, plot development or solid narrative, there's very little to recommend. A voice-over tells us that Mark's uncle has died leaving to him a tourist ranch that he'll only fully inherit if he can turn it into a profitable concern in six months. Gathering up his hippie mates, he embarks on the ambitious task of converting the struggling backwoods amusement park into a viable business, with the aid of his willing friends -that is until a headless horseman appears to cause havoc in the commune.The acting is rank amateurish with only B.G. Fisher as the scar-faced old salt Soloman attempting to act, his mysterious ramblings and incantations warning of the imminent danger. Most of the cast looks like an amateur theatre company, excepting Marland Proctor, truly awful as the medical student Mark, while Andy Warhol's one- time muse Ultra Violet has a frivolous, marquee cameo as an eccentric French tourist. Lots of blood splattering but little actual violence, a mind-warping acid trip and some pop gun stunts set against a dreary folk song soundtrack offer little respite from the abomination. The concluding voice over promises that the curse will begin again (incessantly) to which I could only plead for mercy that the 75 minutes were up. Make no mistake, this is a howler but if it's your mission in life to experience it all, then I'm afraid you will need to see this dross.

"A young man inherits his uncle's western ranch and invites his friends to come along and help out with the operation. After arriving, the caretaker explains to the group the legend of the headless horseman who roams the area to seek revenge. Laughing off the legend as the ramblings of an old man, the group are then shocked when the phantom rider appears, causing the deaths of some of the group," according to the DVD sleeve's synopsis… This is one of those films for which even the lowest ranking seems too elevated - but, perhaps it's earned by walk-on Ultra Violet's "Superman" lunchbox.* Curse of the Headless Horseman (1974) Leon Gucci ~ Marland Proctor, Don Carrara, Ultra Violet