All right, I'm going to be frank: you might have noticed that this review is a little bit of a departure for me. Not in the sense that it's done over a terrible, terrible horror film. (I hold those to my bosom and perhaps coo over them a little bit. The neighbors ask me to stop in increasingly worried tones. We have a fun relationship.) Rather, in the sense that it's a review of a horror film made in 1995 with the proceeds of my couch cushions delivered from the future. The only two cast members who are remotely famous today are Nicholas Brendan, who is a basketball-playing extra, and Charlize Theron, who dies of being stabbed through the vagina. I'm relatively certain that they both have attorneys drawing up C&Ds for me purely for mentioning their names in connection to this glorious hot mess.
Children of the Corn III first came to my attention due to the thespian talents of Mari Morrow and Duke Stroud, they who inspired the very astute question: "I write about superheroes. Why the hell do people keep finding a straight-to-VHS mess when they search for my name?"