Not an outright comedy/spoof, unfortunately—even with the casting of a young Pauly Shore, in a supporting best-pal bit - Phantom of the Mall: Eric's Revenge was a fairly common find on horror racks (after a fleeting 1989 theatrical release) in the era of VHS. It does not top Fangoria Magazine reader's best-of list, and nobody seems to think it even commands "cult" cred. Yet Arrow Video has given this horror also-ran a sumptuous, deluxe two-disc 2K restoration treatment that would the envy of a Gandhi or Out of Africa. That's scary.
The scenario takes the essential premise of Gaston Leroux's 1909-1910 literary serial Phantom of the Opera, so often adapted, and superimposes 1980s West-Coast stereotypical teen kitsch. As the new "Midwood Mall" has its soft opening (actually portrayed by the storied Sherman Oaks Galleria; readers may get nostalgic at the sight of a B. Dalton Bookseller), a mysterious figure lurks behind the walls in a high-school letter jacket (nowhere near as gothic as Leroux, we can all agree), committing gore murders.
Young mall employee Melody (Kari Whitman, once a Playboy model and thus accommodating a few topless dream-sequence love scenes) is the center of the killer's attention. In fact, the phantom is Melody's old boyfriend Eric (Derek Rydall), disfigured and vengeful after his family home on the proposed Midwood site was torched in an arson fire set at the behest of corrupt developers and the ambitious local mayor (guest starlet Morgan Fairchild), an act in which Melody nearly perished. Presumed-dead Eric now continues to protect her whilst keeping in shape with martial arts and secret gym workouts. His revenge, telegraphed by the title, climaxes with the mall's official grand-opening gala.
It is played with a straight face, camp elements and all. The borderline-ridiculous tonnage of making-of material here informs us that the script was much-reworked en route to cinematic immortality, and the production company had high hopes Eric would somehow spawn a Halloween-style franchise. Arrow's collection includes the original theatrical feature, the TV-broadcast edit, and Arrow Video's own "fan" version incorporating deleted scenes (and a bit more Pauly Shore footage, for completists).
There is also a mini-documentary devoted to the closing theme, a goofball punk-rock tune by the Vandals, arguably the single most entertaining element of the production (listen for the lyrics about victims killed at minimum wage). Three, count 'em, commentary tracks round up director Richard Friedman (who is enjoyable and philosophical about the whole thing), author/film historian Amanda Reyes, soundtrack composer Stacey Widelitz and associate producer Robert J. Koster.
As a movie, it's still not much (apparently a Footloose-sounding phantom dance number was filmed but not used; actor Rydall begs for it to never be shown). But the Blu-ray set, taking viewers back to an MTV yesteryear of tacky B-horror and big hair might find a niche with curio seekers. An optional purchase.