"Canadian horror... isn't that kind of like Polish science?"
A man (Michael Sarrazin) begins to experience disturbing dreams of a murder long past. The dreams are too vivid and numerous to be explained as mere brain-pukes, so the dude goes to a researcher (Paul Hecht) to get an explanation. They hook him up to an EKG and then wonder why his dreams aren’t registering on the machine… uh, I’m no doctor but I think I can figure that one out.So dude gets his Playboy-standard girlfriend (Cornelia Sharpe) in the car and decides to go look for the mystery town he sees in his dreams. Eventually she loses patience and bails on him mid-search but not before she lets us see her deliciously tan-lined cans, her scrumptiously peachy butt and then dishes out a few ridiculously corny lines of dialogue. And then she’s gone, never to be heard from again, which is good since as soon as Sarrazin finds the family involved in he murder, he starts screwing the daughter (Jennifer O’Neill).
Which is where this film gets ridiculous. Sarrazin is apparently channeling the spirit of the old dead guy, murdered by his wife (Margot Kidder) a few years before Sarrazin was born. Or maybe he’s the reincarnation of the guy but if that’s the case the title of the movie is completely incorrect since Sarrazin is playing Peter Proud, not the reincarnated guy.
This movie is a mess, even if you catch it without the horrific network TV cuts which delete all nudity and thus render the storyline virtually unintelligible. The writing is the worst kind of dime-store garbage, the acting sucks even by 1970’s made in Canada standards and the entire premise is fatally flawed. It’s supposed to be spooky but the only thing that scared me about this thing is that so many at the IMDB seem to have been genuinely scared out of their wits by it… when they were 9.
Margot Kidder provides the only truly compelling moment of the film when she kicks back in the bathtub, fantasizes about being raped by her now-murdered husband and pleasures herself. It makes no sense, it serves no purpose but it does get your mind off the terrible aging make-up used to attempt to make Kidder look like O’Neill’s mom. I could have done better with a trowel, a pound of putty and a yellow highlighter pen.Monotonously slow, interminably hokey and totally predictable, this is the sort of movie that makes you happy we moved on from the 70’s.