Things turned rather sour rather quickly.
Based on the 1972 short story by Stephen King, 1995’s The Mangler was likely not intended to be the launching point for a franchise, regardless of how small, but it certainly found itself in that position, and the world is just a bit stranger for it.
The plot of this initial film starts out in an industrial laundry facility, wherein sits a massive mangler, one of those machines that presses large textiles. With the addition of some blood from a worker employing the machine and an ice box being moved through the nearby area (strangely, it looks as though the ice box and the movers both bear the logo of the laundry company, making me wonder what the hell it is they actually do), we soon find out that the titular contraption is possessed. As such, it gobbles up any unfortunate worker that gets too close. Gotta feed that blood wall, no matter its form, we all get that, right? Soon to be on the case is policeman John Hutton, aided by his brother-in-law, who just so happens to be a demonologist. Convenient!
And that’s pretty much it, honestly. Sure, there are side bits with some of the workers and Robert Englund’s maniacal laundry owner (who seems to be acting with a hyperbolic George C. Scott affectation, for better and much worse), but it’s mostly just spinning wheels all around. Tobe Hopper’s direction (I know, I was kinda surprised, too) and the overall production design make things look like an episode of a ’90s horror anthology show, like Goosebumps or Are You Afraid of the Dark?, replete with vivid colors, loose editing, and a strangely fish-eye-feeling lens throughout. Though the machine looks pretty neat at first, it loses its luster rather quickly and doesn’t fully recover as time presses on. All of the action is slow, telegraphed, and as overly contrived as you can get without becoming a less interesting version of an OK Go video. Sometimes scenes just kinda happen: Near the beginning, when we’ve only just become acquainted with Hutton, we see him in some outdoor setting, blocked with string lights, eating a strangely angular steak that looks to be about two or three inches thick, talking to some mildly strange dude we’ve not yet seen. Having finished the film, I have no idea why that scene was shot the way it was, what it told me about either character (I didn’t know the man with Hutton was even his brother-in-law until pretty deep into things, though that may have just been me not paying enough attention, admittedly), or anything else. And the whole movie just proceeds in that cooky manner, little making all that much sense, and never does a meaningful atmosphere or plot surface. I think I got some sort of revolt-of-the-exploited-worker vibe at times, but it’s never clear or powerful enough to really ever resonate. It’s just a weird flick, one that I’m not surprised has flown under my radar for so long, even with the King connection.
And, go figure, the thing got a sequel seven years later!
Well, I say it’s a sequel, and the title seems to really suggest such a situation, but there’s almost no connection between these films. This one is set at a high-tech-ish private school (filled with a bunch of snot-nosed asshat teens, natch), where a complex, top-of-the-line security system is being installed. Whilst being essentially in detention, a student uploads a virus to the system, which somehow goes horror-movie haywire and causes all sorts of problems for everyone on the property. Insert hijinx here.
At first, I was gonna jump on the film for being computer-centered and having the gall to spell things like “transferring” wrong (they left off one of the Rs), but then I re-watched Alien for the first time in years, and noticed a bunch of similar errors. Instead, I’ll start with the music, much of it done by the band Sunlikestar. These tunes have such a 2002 bland nu-metal-ish feel that I felt transported back to my high school days with the very sort of dread and anti-nostalgia the filmmakers were likely trying to avoid. Cool this ain’t, kids: never was, never will be, unfortunately. After that, everything is pretty much bad, from the lackluster writing (though I will give points for the proposed fake porn parody title of “Gladheateher” (just say the syllables separately, kisd, you’ll get there), that’s just great), the acting is even more lazy (including the only time I can easily remember that Lance Henriksen felt like he was sleepwalking through things), the boring direction and editing, and the lack of anything to care about whatsoever. I was more drawn into figuring out where I recognized main character Jo’s driver from (turns out it was from a few softcore outings from the heyday of Skinemax, go figure) than anything that was happening on screen, and things didn’t improve from there. This is just a nothing offering, no real connection to the already poorly-received original and nothing of value being presented. Fun.
But the franchise wouldn’t end there, kids, nope. Three years after the phoned-in sequel, we got a third entry in the series, something of a soft reboot in The Mangler Reborn.
This entry centers on a repairman who seemingly inexplicably becomes obsessed with rebuilding and maintaining the erstwhile possessed mangler from the first film in his house (in an upstairs room, for some reason, despite the basement or ground floor being both creepier and more sensical, but whatever). He’s soon actually consumed by the thing, being forced to feed the blood wall with new victims in order to maintain his corporeal self. Insert hijinx with would-be burglars and other soon-to-be mangler fodder.
I have very little to say here, aside from the fact that this film somehow falls below even the wackiness of the original and the laziness of the sequel. The production values have plummeted, the design of the machine changed, and the plot just as off-kilter as ever. It’s sort of nice to see things get back on track, but that track wasn’t all that sound to begin with. The acting does the already weak script absolutely no favors (especially when it comes to main character Hadley, the guy responsible for bringing the mangler back into our lives), and everything has a cheap, plastic-y feel to it. It’s insanely forgettable, to the point that I’m having trouble remembering anything of value or depth at the moment, and I wasn’t even drinking. Well, not ’til afterward, anyway, and even then.
Bottom line, this series is just the pits. It started off on the wrong foot (an entry Tobe Hooper likely wished he could scrub from his filmography) and only stumbled from there, all the way to some cracked ankles, ’98 Jordan style. There’s really nothing to see here, but if you’re deathly curious enough, the first does have a couple bright spots alongside the over-the-top acting of the leads. Other than that, feel free to skip these guys with all sorts of prejudice.
Allusions of Grandeur 