In 1988 Killer Klowns From Outer-Space cost two million dollars (about ten million dollars in today’s terms – or £12.58 given the current exchange rate). Martin McGrath discovers that the amount of money wasted is the both the funniest and scariest things about the film.

What are you doing behind the sofa?
I’m hiding!

What from? Global warming? Terrorist attacks? Michael Howard’s crowd discovering you’re an immigrant?
No. It’s Killer Klowns from Outer Space.

You’re hiding from a third rate 80s “B” movie?
Yes.

You’re not one of those sad people who think klowns are scary, are you?
Don’t be daft! I confess that old people in heavy make-up freak me out a bit – especially Barbara Cartland – but even I could outrun a clown – or a klown.

I doubt it tubby!

Of course I could. Those big shoes would slow them down then I’d just lead them towards the nearest primary school and let the kids sort them out. They’d have no chance out in the open against sixty screaming six-year-olds.

So you’re not scared of clowns. Why not come out from behind the sofa?
Don’t want to.

If it isn’t the klowns, is it the acting?
No… I mean it is frighteningly bad – especially that bloke who was Dean Wormer in Animal House and the mayor in Dirty Harry. He really should know better. And the girl really stank. Oh and those two idiots playing the ice-cream selling brothers were terrible. But that’s not why I’m hiding.

Did you know that neither of the ice-cream guys have acted since 1989?

I can’t see any evidence of them doing any acting before 1989.

Ba-dum-chich!
I fank yew.

I’m starting to get a crick in my neck trying to talk to you back there, come out, the film is nearly over.
I can’t.

Well if it isn’t the kl– I mean clownd – and it isn’t the cast, is it the script?
The script isn’t scary, it’s just sad. Here’s a film that snags Royal Dano, one of Hollywood’s great old time character actors. He was in everything from The Red Badge of Courage to The Right Stuff.  He might have been a bit past his prime, but the best the idiots who made this film can do with a man of his talent was to give him a dog called Pooh Bear and the line: “Well I’ll be greased and fried!”  He doesn’t even get a funny death!

Not the klowns, cast or script… Is it the wacky spelling?
That’s just proves the producers were an annoying bunch of ku–uh–klots.

Then what’s wrong?
Shame!

Shame? You’re not in it, are you?
No.

Tell me you didn’t write this crap.
I didn’t write this crap… it just, that, well… I liked it.

What do you mean you liked it?
When I was younger, I saw it when it came out. I was eighteen and I thought it was funny.

Oh dear, that is embarassing.
It was the eighties. I was young. I didn’t know any better. I blame Thatcher. And Tebbit. I was only following orders. Please come back! Don’t leave me here alone with it. I’ve confessed, please forgive me…

(Originally published in Matrix 172, Jan/Feb 2005)

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