Moronic teens vacationing in Demonwood Forest are terrorized by a shambling Neanderthal -- not the director, but a big goon in a fuzzy ape suit who attacks George Kennedy and hauls his daughter off into the woods to a fate worse than death... perhaps to a screening of this movie. As it turns out, the rampaging beastie (which looks like a soiled feather-duster on legs) is not the local monster of mountain legend but merely a front for the subterranean activities of a cult of devil-worshipping aliens (they could have just called the tabloids if they needed better PR), who pass the time turning the locals into zombies... not a difficult task, especially with this brain-dead bunch. Cheap sets, dime-store costumes and Dinner Theater thesping lend a certain chintzy Ed Wood charm to the proceedings, but even this level of absurdity can't cover up the fact that the film's investors -- to say nothing of the audience -- probably felt profoundly rooked.