Wacko in the woods body count splatter slaughterfests became all the rage in the early 80's after "Friday the 13th" hit it big at the almighty box office. This staggeringly sloppy'n'slipshod shot-in-Utah no-budget atrocity could very well be the most unbelievably inept and unintentionally sidesplitting entry in this frequently pretty pathetic horror sub-genre. A grimy, husky, deranged, murderously misanthropic survivalist mountain man maniac nastily butchers assorted hideously obnoxious and unappealing chowderheads who unwisely venture into his lethal section of the forest. A nerdy ornithologist has his arm yanked out of its socket; hilariously fake-looking blood squirts out of the even more hilariously phony stump. A fat jerk gets tossed off a cliff so he can be turned into a mushy pulp when he lands on the jagged rocks below. The fat jerk's equally rotund whiny mom likewise buys it in a similarly gruesome fashion. A jarringly ugly middle-aged couple who are trying to do just what you think in their RV have their would-be sexual encounter rudely disrupted by Mr. Nutso. A painter erupts with a virtual geyser of the red sauce when she's repeatedly stabbed by our sanguinary sicko. A backwoodsman accidentally impales a luckless hick on a tree branch and tries to make amends by blubbering "I'm sorry!" three times in a row. Four insufferably irritating backpackers gripe, moan, bicker and generally get on each other's nerves while aimlessly ambling through the woods. A girl who stumbles into the killer's lair eats some machete. Two folks dozing in their sleeping bags are savagely offed. In arguably the most mean-spirited scene a helpless cripple in a wheelchair gets decapitated! Meanwhile a plodding, obscenely oafish and obese hillbilly sheriff investigates various disappearances to no avail. The slackly plotted narrative meanders from gory kill scene to gory kill scene sans reason or rhythm. The unlistenably abominable score alternates between eardrum-rupturing high-pitched synthesizer blaring and s**t-kickin', banjo-pluckin', dung-a-dung-dung hayseed bluegrass music. The shaky 16 mm cinematography features lots of nauseating whiplash pans and unsteady hand-held camera-work. The dreadful post-sync sound makes the whole shoddy shebang seem like a poorly dubbed foreign flick. The rambling direction suffers from a crucial lack of both focus and finesse. The acting by the no-name rank amateur cast is absolutely abysmal. None of the astonishingly irksome characters are even remotely likable. The gore effects are uproariously cheesy and unconvincing. And the incredibly asinine ending credits theme song concludes the marvelously messed-up merriment on a properly pitiful note.