My quick rating – 1.4/10. Selected purely due to its merciful 74-minute runtime and my deeply unhealthy compulsion to consume every Amityville-branded atrocity known to mankind, Amityville Clownhouse somehow still managed to overstay its welcome. If watching this movie while laying in bed counts as self-care, then I’m in serious need of an intervention. (This is literally from my full movie database)
Let me start by saying: I cannot remember the last time I watched an Amityville movie that didn’t suck. Honestly, I’m beginning to suspect the curse of 112 Ocean Ave. is actually just the filmmakers themselves. This entry opens with a cheap re-enactment of the infamous family murders that, I’m guessing, was meant to be gritty and disturbing. Instead, we’re treated to bargain-bin Halloween-store blood and a clown thrown in for no discernible reason, like someone was dared to ruin two horror subgenres at once.
Enter three fearless explorers, because what better thing to do than hang out in a murder house with a haunted clown toy? They break in, poke around, and then we’re served a good ol’ fashioned found-footage flashback that looks like someone taped over their cousin’s third birthday party. It’s a monkey. A toy monkey. That’s the Big Bad. And yes, it’s as dumb as it sounds. And don’t mix it up with that quality Monkey production you recently read about.
Things escalate (or rather, devolve) when the cursed monkey spirit (??) possesses a man who immediately starts smacking his wife around like he’s in a soap opera directed by a sentient potato. It’s hard to judge the acting when you literally can’t hear a single word of dialogue. That’s right, despite clearly audible door slams, bird chirps, and probably the sound of my own disbelief, the conversations are mumbled into the void. I thought Mouse of Horrors had sound issues, but this is next-level. I considered turning on subtitles before realizing there were none and I may as well just imagine what they’re saying. Spoiler: it doesn’t help.
There’s a moment when the possessed husband tries to gaslight his wife with the classic line, “You’re neurotic, it’s the house that’s haunted.” Look, I get staying in a toxic relationship is complex and painful, but if your partner ever tries to explain away bruises by blaming an evil monkey spirit, pack up your clown shoes and leave.
In the end, Amityville Clownhouse is exactly what it promises: a clown show set in a house with Amityville slapped on the front like a fake Gucci label. The house they continually show doesn’t look anything like it, then again, that poster shows a house that also doesn’t match. Do not make the same mistake I did. Unless your shelf is already groaning under the weight of cursed mirrors, dollhouses, time-traveling clocks, and haunted VHS tapes all labeled Amityville, just walk away.
But if you must—if you, too, are a glutton for franchise punishment—then honk that red nose and dive in. Misery loves company, after all.
Not sure why but Troma Now has this one along with these other streamers and freebies.