Open House (1987)

Open House (1987) is the kind of oddball slasher that wins you over less by polish than by personality: a neon-lit slice of late-’80s paranoia where therapy-talk earnestness collides with pulpy, tabloid menace. It’s drenched in period aesthetics—big hair, glossy interiors, and that unmistakable VHS-era mood—while leaning into a strangely “New Age” vibe that makes the whole thing feel like a nightmare drifting in from a self-help seminar. Adrienne Barbeau brings real presence to the madness, grounding the film just enough that the outrageous moments land as amusing instead of merely clumsy. If you need your horror sleek and scary, this may not be your house; but if you enjoy cult curios with endurable schlock charm and a few genuinely memorable beats, it’s a surprisingly fun open house to attend.

Open House wants to mash up a sleazy late-’80s slasher with a “psychologist talk-show” hook, aiming for a cat-and-mouse vibe as the killer taunts the hero and closes in on his real-estate-agent lover. The problem is it rarely builds real suspense, leaning on predictable beats and a plot that can feel more random than frightening, with pacing that lurches between filler and abrupt kills. Performances don’t do much to sell the danger, so the whole thing plays more like a checklist of genre habits than a coherent thriller. If you’re only happy with slashers that bring inventive set pieces or a clever mystery, this will waste your time, but if you’re a completist for obscure, trashy ’80s horror and can enjoy it as background schlock, there’s a certain grimy period charm to it.