The Cream of the Crap: ‘Killer Sofa’

In the horror genre, there’s no shortage of flicks about demons or other entities attaching themselves to inanimate objects that then go on to wreak bloody havoc. Not content to churn out another lackluster Chucky or M3gan knockoff, mad Kiwi writer/director/editor Bernie Rao goes all in with Killer Sofa, wherein a jilted lover transfers his homicidal essence not to a doll or book but to, well, a sofa. With razor sharp springs and other sundry hardware, the film’s upholstered villain–more hate seat than love chair–begins carving a path of death and destruction through the New Zealand countryside. But, like an old La-Z-boy parked outside a frat house, the plot of Killer Sofa gets pretty threadbare by the time its 81 minutes of mayhem are up.

From the jump, Killer Sofa treats us to a gruesome sight. Unseen hands are chopping to bits a figure we’ll come to know as Frederico. In the background of said abattoir looms a worn out old sofa with strategically placed buttons that look like giant glassy eyes. Cut to the inside of the storage unit where punk pixie Maxi and her friends are clearing out items for delivery. Lo and behold, behind the boxes and bins, is the creepy old couch. They attempt to move it out and, in the process, the fetid furniture almost takes the fingers off one unfortunate soul.

They truck it off to the pawn shop of junk dealer/rabbi Jack who, it turns out, has the “shine.” Upon touching the recliner, all sorts of evil visions beset him. Roused back to consciousness by his voodoo priestess paramour Ashanti, he pronounces that a dybbuk, a disembodied human spirit in Jewish folklore that wanders restlessly until it finds purchase in the body of a living person, has possessed the couch. Alas, he comes to this conclusion too late as the pawn shop delivers this couch to the tantalizing Francesca (Piimio Mei).  A woman of uncommon beauty, Francesca bewitches any man she comes into contact with and Frederico, the home surgeon enthusiast we see at the outset of the movie, fell deeply under her spell.

And with this tidy bit of exposition, the movie takes flight.

Fully imbued with the spirit of her jilted lover, the couch begins crushing hard on Francesca; watching her in the shower, peeping around corners, and decorating the room all romantic-like with candles and rose petals. But this satanic settee has a jealous streak a mile wide and Francesca’s sorta-gay roommate TJ is the first to feel its wrath. Stabbed through the legs by an errant spring and almost pushed into an oven, TJ miraculously survives the first assault only for the devious divan to hunt him down and dispatch him a second time (!) Ralph, Francesca’s ex who has a penchant for masturbation and home invasion, is the next to buy it, albeit in a pretty amusing way. And then cute Maxi, who it turns out is Francesca’s bestie, takes an unintended swan dive into a nearby recycling bin.

Desperate to turn this evil tide, Jack and Ashanti try to enlist the powers of Yaweh to exorcize Frederico’s spirit from the furniture and all but fail. Pushed to the brink of madness, Francesca takes matters into her own hands and tries to set the sofa alight but she is no match for the corrupted couch. When all seems lost, police officer/Francesca would-be paramour Bob Gravy (Wētā Workshop regular Jed Brophy) shows up, guns blazing and sorta kinda saves the day.

As alluded to earlier, the plot gets pretty muddy by the end of Killer Sofa’s brief runtime–what with a transferral of souls, the inclusion of an unnecessary police procedural, and the reunion of a pair of long dead lovers. There’s also a ridiculous deus ex-machina reveal that will definitely leave some viewers scratching their heads in confusion.

All that being said, Killer Couch is a ridiculous bit of b-movie fun. I mean, the shots of the couch standing up straight and watching his beloved like a lovesick puppy from the apartment’s bay window are pretty frickin’ funny. And, oh lordy, I lost it in the failed immolation scene when the petrol soaked sofa kept blowing out Francesca’s matches like a spoiled 10-year-old at a birthday party. So, on one of those days when the weight of the world gets you down, queue up Killer Sofa, as this silly import is sure to put a smile on your face. Be forewarned though: You’ll never look at your furniture the same way again.