text: A real head scratcher of a film by Bill Rebane who appeared to be getting worse in his trade throughout the eighties. Three crackpot millionaires invite nine people to a remote hotel to compete in a last person standing contest in which the final contestant will be given $1 million provided he or she makes it that far. A series of lame pranks are pulled on some of the guests while the others engage in what most adults would do under the circumstances namely get shatfaced at the hotel bar. Most scenes are merely an excuse to focus the camera on various female body parts including an opening dance number that is a crossover of American Bandstand meets geriatric aerobics complete with hookers. If there was any hesitation that white people can't dance this scene hammers the final nail in that coffin. Pay close attention for the nipple slip. This continues on for about forty-five minutes until Bill Rebane begins throwing darts at various plot twists and whatever he hits becomes the inspiration for the next scene making this one incoherent mess. It's a game until it's not a game. The three old coots are in complete control until they're not. The hotel is possessed by a supernatural force until it becomes just props. They're dead until they're not. Even the narrator at the end replies that he doesn't know what the hell happened. I defy anyone to reason where Rebane was going on this one. The acting is dinner theater caliber minus the dinner. Most of the actors probably went back to their day jobs at the local Stuckey's. I give it a few points for the scene where the yuppie broad opens the closet and a skeleton is inside skull humping himself. Let's see Gone With the Wind do that! This Chilling Classics collection is really becoming the bane of me. Bane, Get it! Like Rebane! I hate myself.