related items
While the location, location, location mantra is one typically uttered by real estate agents, it can be just as important for a haunted house. Taking a long, winding drive on a dark night can do a lot to prep the scare seeker with anticipation for the frights to come.
Phobia, the haunted house put on by the Tucson Screamers, does not have this advantage: This year, the Screamers have taken over a former Linens N Things space at Foothills Mall. And while the lingering remnants of a national chain can be scary in its own fiscal kind of way, the drive to the mall and the activity that spills over from nearby restaurants does little to get you in that Halloween state of mind.
The setting: That said, the Screamers have transformed the space. Once inside their haunts—there are two, Asylum and Voodoo—the attention to detail is everywhere. Their various vignettes of violence are cram-packed with props—furniture, body parts, fake blood, and smoke—more than are noticeable on a quick trip through.
Low lighting goes a long way, too, as does the ever-present chain-link fencing, which carves up the building into a series of pathways that sure seem like a maze when you're in them. Something about chain-link is inherently creepy, anyway—you can't get in, but you also can't get out.
The haunts: You're sent through each in small groups, although I was lucky enough to end up as just a duo. If you do get ushered through with several people, linger so that you get behind, because it's the person in the front of the pack who gets the most jolts. In first place, I turned a corner only to have The Butcher jump out a me, banging pots and pans together. Normally kitchenware doesn't concern me much, but I also don't typically have it jump clanking in my face. Well played, Butcher.
Asylum is, naturally, housed with inmates, Voodoo with an array of monsters (vampires, the evil Butcher and, oddly, a guy in diapers). That's about where any sense of story ends. And that's too bad, because a truly frightening narrative sticks to your ribs, as opposed to quick hits that merely startle.
But while it's unclear exactly what the link between vampires and voodoo is, it's always up to the actors to bring the frights home. In most cases, these folks deliver. A sadistic nurse in Asylum, experimenting on a leg-less inmate, shouts, "I'll make you pretty!" A cook in Voodoo with a leg sticking out of the oven asks "Are you hungry?" And there are those characters who like to follow behind for a few creepy seconds too long, like the "Ring"-inspired, mangy girl who crawls on her fingertips.
Visuals range from gross-outs—a row of filthy toilets overflowing with body parts and bodily fluids, partly thanks to nearby Puking Girl—to whirling, disorienting lights. Both Asylum and Voodoo play with sight by taking it away, too, with pitch-black portions to navigate.
Sound is also used for some satisfying jolts. A guy in a Jason mask tosses a barrel with some force at the Plexiglas that separates him. Occassional bursts of air are shot at ankle-level. And our universal fear of chainsaws is exploited.
Probably the smartest part of both haunts is how they play upon expectations. A scary clown room that seems to be staffed only with mannequins becomes sinister when one of the dolls moves; suddenly, every inanimate object is suspect. This concept repeats throughout the haunts, keeping the stomach in a nice, tense knot.
Bottom line: Phobia is not cheap; both haunts will set you back $20. But the scares, backed up by tons of props, decent costuming and in-it-to-win-it actors, are worth the time. Phobia proceeds go to charities (including schools), so if you think of the ticket price as a donation, you'll come out ahead.
Add a comment
Please log in to comment