A horror film in the most literal sense of the word, Wishmaster sends viewers screaming into the lobby demanding refunds, terrified that director Kurtzman might be allowed a sequel. Not bloody likely, given the sparse attendance at the screening I took in. Why Wes Craven allowed his name to be used in conjunction with this production is anyone’s guess, and fans of that director’s brilliant Scream will be sorely disappointed at this disjointed, laughable mess. Kurtzman, who in the past has served as point man for the noted KNB EFX team, proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that his directorial skills are no match for his mastery over red dye and Caro Syrup. Based on the Persian myth of the Djinn (that’s “genie” to you and me and Walt Disney), Wishmaster tells the jumbled tale of an evil demon from “the spaces between the worlds” who is released into our own dimension when a magical crystal turns up in modern-day New York. This “bloodstone” makes its way into the hands of spunky archeologist Alexandra Amberson (Lauren, looking and acting way too much like Linda Hamilton-lite), who soon finds the vicious Djinn sucking the souls of those around her in an attempt to rule the world, or something like that. Wishmaster’s cast includes such notable horror players as Tony Todd (Candyman, Night of the Living Dead), Kane Hodder (Friday the 13th’s Jason), Robert Englund (A Nightmare on Elm Street ad nauseam), and Sam Raimi’s little brother Ted, which results in a kind of Where’s Waldo? of gore-stars. That’s amusing for a good four minutes, but the film goes downhill from there when the splatter effects overtake the script (by Peter Atkins, who also penned the godawful — and I mean that in a bad way — Hellraiser: Bloodlines). Come to think of it, Wishmaster is nothing but a supremely uninteresting way for Kurtzman to string together a bunch of his nastiest effects sequences, a sort of extended demo reel for the sick set. Even with all that jetting crimson and exploding innards, however, the film is a stunningly boring and forgettable piece of work, entirely worthy of nothing at all. Here goes: I wish I may, I wish I might… have never seen this piece of shite. Can I open my eyes yet?
This article appears in September 26 • 1997 (Cover).