‘Wow, it looks like the boogeyman has been here!’
You just know that Home Sweet Home is going to be an irritating, unwatchable mess when in the first ten seconds the killer is revealed to be a musclebound oaf, who throttles a man while giggling inanely and leering into the camera lens.
Things do not improve.
Honestly, out of the 154 Nasties, it’s these third rate slasher films that are the hardest to find anything interesting to say about. Movies like this, Terror Eyes and Unhinged are so bland, so pedestrian, that you might as well be staring through a child’s kaleidoscope, watching the same shapes form over and over again with nary a twist or quirk in sight.
Being the only film on the entire list to be directed by a woman, I thought maybe there would be something to distinguish Home Sweet Home from myriad other stalk and slash flicks from around this time, but alas the only thing that sets it apart is the beefy, grinning killer. This jackass is an escaped mental patient who runs over a granny in a car and then arrives at a family Thanksgiving party where he proceeds to knock off the guests one by one. I say family, but apart from two brothers, I failed to find any connection between any of the insipid losers present. Maybe I wasn’t paying attention, which is entirely possible. I’m only human, and this film would try the patience of a saint.
There is a kid there who is someone’s son, who revels in the unlikely name of Mistake. He’s almost as insufferable as the killer, as he spends the whole film covered in white face paint (perhaps auditioning for Graduation Day’s band Felony?) and carrying an electric guitar and portable amp. Throughout the movie he wails incessantly on his axe until he is murdered by being electrocuted by his amp, I think. There’s a Latin lady who is someone’s girlfriend, but I’m not sure who that someone is related to either. We know she’s foreign because she doesn’t speak English and at one point someone says, ‘She is so Latin I don’t believe it.’ Like Mistake, she too carries a guitar that she constantly plays, though hers is acoustic and arguably less annoying. When these two wankers aren’t playing the guitar, the score is an execrable mix of solo cello and occasional synth stabs. Latin lady’s boyfriend is a greasy slob who, I have to assume, is someone’s brother. When his probable brother enters with his girlfriend, he looks her over and says, ‘And who is this lovely bitch?’
Nothing works, nothing makes sense, nothing is worth watching.
It’s the sort of film where there is so little invention, two separate sets of characters’ cars breakdown due to a faulty battery. I mean, couldn’t one of them at least run out of gas or something, y’know, just for variety?
It all wraps up with the least exciting conclusion to any Nasty, with the killer gambolling around our heroine, who’s one scream is endlessly looped while the police slowly drive up in front of them and shoot the Hulk dead. But by then it’s too late – you’ve just wasted another eighty minutes of your life. Sometimes I wonder why I even bother.