AM I BUGGIN' YA? DIDN'T MEAN TO BUG YA...
I wanted to like this again, I really did, because back in 1984 I really loved it. But then again, I tucked my shirt in and listened to Devo records. Truthfully, NIGHT OF THE COMET bites and bites HARD by today's standards - it's not scary, the makeup is dreadful, and the 80's fashions (particularly the all-boy mall gang) are downright embarrassing.
The end of the world is depicted with a red sky and a lot of human dust, and for a few minutes, it's actually kind of chilling even if it comes nowhere near as close as 28 DAYS. But then a zombie shows up in a Spencer's Gifts latex mask and bad 80's plaid, and the mood's shot to hell.
Okay, I know I'm pissing on a cult classic here, and I guess if you're really REALLY drunk and still fantasize about boffing Pet Benatar while Molly Ringwald watches, I guess you could have some fun with NIGHT OF THE COMET. But otherwise, some memories are better left alone. Oh, and Kelli Maroney as a high school kid is about as convincing as Oprah Winfrey as an anorexic.
NIGHT OF THE COMET's as good as any time to introduce my new rating system, and what better way to rate B-movies than on a scale of 1 to 5 Kari Wuhrers (Five Kari's being the best, as well as a good way to die). And so, like Razzles and Pop Rocks, the memories of NIGHT OF THE COMET are far better than, y'know, actually watching the damned thing today, I give it a rather generous 2 and a half Karis. In other words, still a good time, but it ain't gonna kill ya.