All posts by Gregory J. Smalley (366weirdmovies)

Gregory J. Smalley founded 366 Weird Movies in 2008 and has served as editor-in-chief since that time. He is a member of the Online Film Critics Society, and his film writing has appeared online in Pop Matters and The Spool.
366 Underground

366 UNDERGROUND: SWOLLEN CREEK (2026)

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Beware

DIRECTED BY: Dominic Martella

FEATURING: Mandy Lahey

PLOT: A woman with a conjoined twin in her torso seeks romance, but runs into an evil insect queen and her fly-headed, dung-harvesting assistant instead.

Still from swollen creek (2025)

COMMENTS: Once upon a time, making a feature film required commitment: cameras were expensive, technical expertise was rare, and even film stock cost money and reshoots were costly. Even the most cynical exploitation pictures had to reach a certain level of skill and resources before they could proceed, and if you actually persevered and made your movie, you’d need to find a distributor with knowledge and contacts to get the finished work in front of an audience. And although today serious films still have those requirements, the advent of iPhones, free software editing suites, and YouTube uploads have meant that the only commitment required of anyone wanting to make their own movie today is time and friends who will work for free. This has unleashed a wave of vibrant creativity on the world. It has unleashed a much larger wave of dreck that never could have seen the light of day in a gatekept era.

The taxonomy of these no-budget movies, which now find ready homes on Tubi, YouTube, and similar non-to-lightly curated venues, is more fascinating  than the vast majority of films themselves. Why were these things made? Some are by young film students more interested in learning the craft than creating a marketable project. Some are experimental films from artistically-oriented filmmakers with no resources at their disposal (the majority of films covered on this site fall into that category). Some moviemakers just hope to make a few meager bucks while having a good time on set. A few are made by delusional folk who, inspired by the legend of ‘ $5000 hit El Mariachi, believe that their stories are so compelling that they can compete for eyeballs with Hollywood (or at least budgeted indie) productions. And some movies are just made as a goof, to amuse the filmmakers themselves, with no serious intent of appealing to a wider audience.

I suspect the last is the category Swollen Creek falls into. Though pitched as a surreal anthology, it’s a complete narrative, not an anthology at all. And it’s “surreal” in only the most bastardized sense: the tone could charitably be described as absurd, although ridiculous and goofy are even better fits. Almost everyone in this movie, even disposable victims, wears an ill-fitting rubber mask. Rubber flies are pulled by strings with no attempt made to hide them. The protagonist has a Siamese twin in her belly—which I’m guessing is a blow-up doll—but the character never has any payoff. The film is congested by pounds of poop and fart humor. The moral seems to be that romance isn’t for freaks, and you should trust your controlling, repressive mother when she says the external world is full of nothing but cruel normies who will try to kill you. Swollen Creek seems like the kind of movie that would be made by teenagers in their back yards over the course of a few weekends, but the only unmasked actor we see—Mandy Lahey, who gamely plays 3 roles—is middle-aged. It’s all less amusing than it sounds, although it’s clear the cast had a blast. And somehow they got to show up for five minutes, either under a mask or providing voiceover for a stand-in under a mask.

I bear no ill will to the makers of Swollen Creek, but I must conclude it is not intended for an audience beyond friends and family. If you’re a non-professional and you’re tempted to try one of those obscure little movies with weird amateurish box cover art on Tubi, I recommend you don’t try it—not even once.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“Will SWOLLEN CREEK win many awards or grace the screens of thousands of people’s home televisions? Probably not. Is this one for people who love the truly bizarre and things that are so in left field that you are left scratching your head in the end? Absolutely and 100%, Yes!”–K. Sellers, Sound View

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Swollen Creek

Swollen Creek

  • It’s all here at Swollen Creek. Enjoy.

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List Candidates

APOCRYPHA CANDIDATE: SCARLET WARNING 666 (1974)

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AKA It Happened One Weekend; It Happened on Sunday; Scarlet Love; Love Is Deep Inside; Rockey’s Style (?); Scarlet Love 666

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Beware

 

DIRECTED BY: Palmer Rockey

FEATURING: Palmer Rockey

PLOT: A detective, and his twin, investigate the murder of their sister at the hands of a money-worshiping cult.

Still from Scarlet Warning 666 (1974)

 

WHY IT MIGHT JOIN THE APOCRYPHA: The eccentric Palmer Rockey exhibits a complete failure to communicate his intentions with the baffling Scarlet Warning 666. Is it a legitimate attempt at an occult thriller, an arty anthem of nonconformity, an avant-garde meta-movie spoof, or just an excuse to cast himself in awkward sex scenes with buxom women? You’ll have no idea. File it with After Last Season as one of those mysterious objects you can’t believe actually exists.

COMMENTS: Bruce (the good twin) is walking in the park, as he often does when investigating the death of his sister Jackie. Spread out on a yellow napkin, he discovers flowers and feathers covered in sticky stage blood. A clue? But what about the swinging knife? The pirate hat perched on the coffin? The totemic feathered rattle? The spinning plastic skull lit by a flashlight? The belly dancer? The silent topless woman with big “pineapples”? All clues?

No, the movie does not have a clue. This impenetrable mystery is the magnum opus of one Palmer Rockey. Rockey was not an idiot. He was an army veteran and, surprisingly, he had a Ph.D. and had translated theology books into German. He was also a huckster, a womanizer, and some kind of sui generis madman. The opening of the film brags that Rockey plays 54 different roles—7 in front of the camera, and 47 behind it—but on screen, there are only 2 or 3 (it is often near-impossible to distinguish which character he is portraying). The film did, apparently, did go under 7 different titles, however. After its disastrous reception after its four-walled debut, a devastated but defiant Rockey further tinkered with his masterpiece for two decades, adding narration and reshooting scenes (removing his ex-wife Cookie, the former female lead, whenever possible). He incorporates footage from a student film he shot in the 50s, which is positioned as a nightmare/flashback and has nothing whatsoever to do with the later scenes. Knowing that Rockey added exposition throughout the years in an attempt to make the plot more comprehensible makes you wonder how puzzling the original must have been. His later narration is particularly bizarre, as he engages in dialogue with a falsetto version of himself discussing the movie’s genius, but also disparaging his own actors and deflecting criticism by claiming that the entire movie is a satire of some kind.

If you like bad acting backed by bad singing (also courtesy of Rockey, naturally), mismatched film stocks, continuity errors, characters who appear without being introduced, randomly edited footage, and jarring sound edits, have I got the movie for you! Despite the added exposition, I doubt the film’s plot can be reconstructed even by the most dedicated scholars. There is an artistic intent here—Rockey depicts himself as a little guy, a nonconformist fighting an evil, greedy cabal—but it’s essentially undecipherable. We will simply note that it all ends on a bare stage with blue walls and a blue floor, which is either the site of a cult ritual or a symbolic psychodrama. A shirtless Rockey poses in front of spinning yellow wheel of justice while impassive bikini-clad women stand around in the background, and later spin in a circle dance. It segues into some kind of trial, followed by an action sequence of some variety with wrestling, gunplay, and a surprise twist reveal. All acted out in front of an idol of a plywood eagle inscribed in magic marker with a dollar sign. And as the credits roll, the audience leaves none the wiser as to what just went on.

Scarlet Warning 666 (or whatever name the movie was known by) was lost for years, whispered about by and a few lucky others who caught it at its Dallas premiere. The flame was kept burning by obscure record collectors, who treasured Rockey’s supremely awful lounge-rockabilly soundtrack, and wondered in vain about the movie that had inspired such a bizarre artifact. Grindhouse Releasing actually tracked down a copy of the current version of the film and, in 2026, finally put out a Blu-ray for the first time, so everyone could see this astounding monument to one man’s misplaced egotism. The release is filled with interviews, including fans Stang and Dead Kennedys frontman Jello Biafra, alongside contemporaneous witnesses like Rockey’s ex-wife Cookie and actor Ron DeSilva. But the portrait that emerges of the mysterious Rockey remains as inexplicable as Scarlet Warning 666‘s occult plot. The film, and the man, remain oddities of the weirdest stripe.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“…a study of storytelling madness that will either test the patience of even the most adventurous cult film explorer or make them dizzy with delight…  if one can make it past the first ten minutes of the film, there’s a chance for some fun to be had, with the movie gradually becoming an alt-universe ‘Twin Peaks: Fire Walk with Me’ as Rockey attempts to mix vanity, inscrutability, and desperation into a single offering of cinematic puzzling.”–Brian Orndoff, Blu-ray.com (Blu-ray)

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Palmer Rockey's Scarlet Warning 666

Palmer Rockey's Scarlet Warning 666

  • Move over, Ed Wood and Tommy Wiseau. Stupefying, incomprehensible, and utterly insane, SCARLET WARNING 666 goes beyond THE ROOM and PLAN 9.

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Capsules

CAPSULE: CAMP (2025)

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DIRECTED BY: Avalon Fast

FEATURING: Zola Grimmer

PLOT: A traumatized college girl reluctantly volunteers as a counselor at a camp for “damaged” kids, but when she gets there she finds the other female counselors are practicing homemade witchcraft.

Still from Camp (2025)

COMMENTS: Poor Emily has had it rough the past couple years. Already wracked with guilt for a fatal accident that wasn’t really her fault, she finds herself responsible for a second unintentional death, making her feel like a serial killer. She leans on her father for support, and when he suggests the depressed girl could benefit by serving as a counselor at a Christian-themed camp for “damaged” kids, she agrees. There, she finds herself eagerly embraced by her fellow counselors, who aren’t nearly as Christian as management would prefer: every night is an campfire bacchanalia of dancing, flirting, pot, and alcohol. But, just as the Christians warn, weed, booze, and dancing are inevitably a gateway to witchcraft—and, perhaps, to psychic healing as well.

Where Camp is good is in the dreamy cinematography and imagery. Fast’s movie is shot through with experimental impulses, from fuzzy montages underlaid by indie ballads to a red-midnight rendezvous to overlays of twinkling stars as females cavort (and levitate) in the moonlight. Although the Alberta forest is entrancing, occasionally, mountainous backdrops seen from out the window are obvious matte paintings instead of natural vistas. After the indie dramatics of the first two acts, things slide towards the surreal: there’s a pay phone that pops up in the middle of a sylvan glen in the late going at a moment of crucial decision for our protagonist. In terms of setting a dreamy mood, Camp hits the notes it aims at, and for some, that will be enough.

But where Camp is bad is, sadly, pretty much everything else. Not only does the plot wander around aimlessly for most of the film, the characters are unmemorable. Emily’s female confidants are hardly developed: there’s the ringleader, there’s the kinda sexy one, and there’s… two others. The male characters are even sketchier, with only the camp’s senior leader, a wait-until-marriage hymn-singing straight-arrow, receiving significant attention. (There’s another guy who’s positioned as a potentially darker influence, but his plotline seems to fall victim to the cutting room floor.) And, although other critics seem to disagree, Emily herself is too much of a cipher: a knot of guilt, and little more. (What are her interests and hobbies, besides self-medicating and moping?) It’s not the actress’ fault: Grimmer portrays all the appropriate emotions, but why (beyond the obvious) and, more specifically, how her tragedies makes her “damaged” remains something of a mystery.

The overall result is disappointing, because Fast’s visual sensibilities are so engaging and the story has such a weighty theme that you wish these virtues had been wedded to a more affecting narrative. Instead, we get an often lovely mood piece with sincere impulses that’s undone by draggy pacing. If you’re looking for fun at a late-summer Camp, book Miasma instead.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“Surreal in a manner that evokes aspects of David Lynch by way of Jane Schoenbrun, Fast’s atmospheric film is more interested in embracing the protagonist’s emotional damage than presenting her with a tidy way out from under it.”–Josh Goller, Spectrum Culture (contemporaneous)

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