The Unnamable 1988 Review – Bold, Bizarre, and Unforgettable

A candid look at a campy cult classic that toggles between humor and horror.

Written by Buttonface

Genres: Cosmic Horror, Creature, Horror, Lovecraftian Horror, Supernatural

College students check out a haunted house where in the 1800's an ugly monster called "the Unnamable" was trapped in a vault.

This flick is absolutely drenched in pure, undiluted 1980s. I wonder, if I were to film something today, decades from now would critics smugly claim, “Ah yes, this is just so 2020s”? Because from the second The Unnamable rolls, you’re drowning in shawl-draped sweater dudes who somehow defy gravity. Seriously, how did those sweaters stay casually draped over shoulders in the 80s? As someone who was 12 back in ’88, let me tell you—I tried it. Repeatedly. The damn thing never stayed. Maybe it was a fabric issue, or perhaps my shoulders were simply too weak compared to douchey 80s high-school and college bullies. (I think I just answered my own question.)

The movie kicks off with some ambitious time-jumping: first, we’ve got an old man coddling a screaming demon like it’s his precious little offspring. She’s clearly unappreciative, promptly dispatching his ass. Then suddenly we’re with puritan Jesus freaks solemnly burying the old man’s corpse while the creature lurks and watches—reminding me suspiciously of my dog’s expression whenever my wife cleans the carpet where he just dropped a deuce. But then, of course, we realize that none of that matters because it’s all just a tale spun by our film’s hero, Randolph Carter.

Speaking of Carter, the supporting dude’s puppy-dog infatuation with the hot chick echoes Night of the Creeps—except that movie’s girl was way nicer. Here, she’s honestly kind of a jerk. But I digress. Can we talk about the incessant daring? I lived through the 80s, and I seriously don’t recall everyone always daring each other to explore haunted houses. Was it really that common, or is it just Hollywood rewriting history?

There’s also an infuriating library scene where another guy totally ignores an obviously interested girl. Let me be clear—when I was in my 20s, if a girl showed any hint of interest, I damn well knew it. Either hormones or paranoia made me hypersensitive to that stuff.

Don’t get me wrong, though. I’m not just dumping on this flick—I fucking love it, having watched it multiple times. One particularly heartwarming bit is when Randolph, initially uninterested in visiting the haunted house, suddenly changes his mind after overhearing the cool kids (and notably, hot chick #2) planning to go. Aww, peer pressure and lust, you never fail.

But some scenes do leave a sour taste—like when they openly discuss hooking up with chicks. It’s gross enough I felt compelled to ask my wife if this is authentically how guys talk. Honestly, maybe they do, but I’ve always steered clear of the distinctly more “rapey” types.

Where the movie shines, though, is its soundtrack—Lovecraftian horror tunes straight out of Re-Animator. I’m convinced this era’s music style deserves a deeper dive. Is this distinctively Lovecraftian horror music? Also, is my brain so saturated with horror films like Night of the Demons that I’m destined to always see echoes of what I love?

Let’s address the naked elephant in the room—I have a thing for evil naked chicks. I admit it; not everyone shares the specific thrill of arousal interwoven with fear, but as someone raised on horror nudity, I can’t help it. That’s what you get for discovering horror as a tween.

This genre doesn’t get enough respect for expertly toggling between emotional extremes. Take the scene where the tone shifts seamlessly from stupid bickering and attempts to hook up to violently bashing a jock’s head into oblivion—it’s astonishingly smooth. Sci-fi films like District 9 receive praise for transitioning smoothly from reality TV satire into hard-hitting commentary and action, but horror rarely gets credit for similar feats.

Finally, let’s be real—the choice to make the Unnamable sexy was bold, if odd. Sure, her face is thoroughly messed up, but growing up watching musicals taught me one important lesson: legs in tights and furry leg warmers do not go unnoticed.

In short, The Unnamable is goofy, dated, problematic in parts, yet utterly lovable. It deserves its niche, shawl-draped place in 80s horror nostalgia.