Desert of Blood

Desert of Blood starts well enough. There’s some topless nudity and a good, efficient setup to unearth the vampire antagonist. Unfortunately, from there the film starts to fall apart.

For starters, despite being buried alive in the early 70’s, our vampire awakes sporting contemporary clothes and hair. He also seems perfectly adjusted to today’s world, again, despite being underground for 35 years. Much of the blame goes to writer/director Don Henry, whose script fails to address these issues, but some of the fault is also actor Justin Quinn, who fails to convince as a nearly 60-year-old man trapped in the body of a man in his twenties. It’s a problem common to many vampire pictures, albeit one Henry mitigated somewhat by having his vampire only be 60 years old instead of 600, but even with that handicap, the movie fails in that respect.

This wouldn’t be as big an issue if Henry didn’t paint his antagonist as an angst-ridden, introspective bloodsucker more akin to Anne Rice’s Lestat than Stoker’s Dracula. Again, Quinn simply isn’t up to the part. He may have a model’s good looks, but he lacks the range and depth necessary to convey the tortured soul he’s peddling. It’s a problem that extends to the entire cast, all of whom look great but lack the innate charisma and presence necessary to carry a feature.

Which itself wouldn’t be as big an issue if the film were actually scary. But its not, so there’s little to distract you from the shortcomings in the performances. Watching the film, you want to applaud Henry for striving to make a deeper than average thriller, but ultimately, it’s clear he bit off more than he could chew.