The tale of Two Thousand Maniacs! and its remake, 2001 Maniacs, is a lesson in what makes for compelling exploitation motivations. Herschell Gordon Lewis’ beloved 1960s splatter picture is the despicable grandpappy of Hickspoitation cinema. Tim Sullivan‘s lecherous 2005 remake is brutally gory, but softcore skin-flick desires cheapen the product. That’s not to say exploitation […]
The tale of Two Thousand Maniacs! and its remake, 2001 Maniacs, is a lesson in what makes for compelling exploitation motivations. Herschell Gordon Lewis’ beloved 1960s splatter picture is the despicable grandpappy of Hickspoitation cinema. Tim Sullivan‘s lecherous 2005 remake is brutally gory, but softcore skin-flick desires cheapen the product. That’s not to say exploitation cinema can’t include nudity or fornication of any sort, but it’s more how creators lean on T&A to fill in blanks. Lewis’ 60s-era production abides by a certain historical prudeness, sure. But as made evident by Sullivan’s update, it also wasn’t missing girl-on-girl incest or tits galore for added shock value.
One might consider Hicksploitation a tad outdated—these yokel stereotypes of Cletuses and Billy Joel Bobses—but horrifically, Two Thousand Maniacs! boasts a suspicious timelessness. Lewis’ societal commentaries about the Southern and Northern divide rear their ugly heads high as kites when watched in 2025. The concept of Confederate loyalists keeping bigoted, nationalistic traditions alive while the rest of the world moves on is a warning that hits just as hard today. “The South will rise again” and “Make America Great Again” sure do sound alike, especially when uttered by a government that continues to try to walk back strides for equality that have withstood decades of opposition. Over fifty years later, Two Thousand Maniacs! continues to preach terribleness about the backwards-thinking ghosts who haunt America.
Sadly, 2001 Maniacs soils its roots in an attempt to out-perv any of those 2000s Road Trip or American Pie spinoffs.
2001 Maniacs is famously one of only three films under Eli Roth, Scott Spiegel, and Boaz Yakin’s Raw Nerve production banner. Of those names, it’s got the most Roth DNA due to its frat house male gaze and more juvenile (derogatory) approach to pushing exploitation’s boundaries. The concept stays untouched—a vanishing Confederate town planted in Georgia that murders Northerners—but Sullivan and co-writer Chris Kobin don’t have further insightfulness to add. Instead, they lean on grotesque practical effects and sins of the flesh to try and sell an even nastier experience than Two Thousand Maniacs!.
This time, three fraternity horndogs—Anderson (Jay Gillespie), Cory (Matthew Carey), and Nelson (Dylan Edrington)—find themselves taking a backroads detour on their way to Daytona Beach for spring break. They end up in Pleasant Valley, where they’re welcomed by Mayor George W. Buckman (Robert Englund) as guests of honor for the town’s Guts N Glory Jubilee. Three other hardbody travelers arrive in Ricky (Brian Gross), Kat (Gina Marie Heekin), and Joey (Marla Malcolm), followed by an interracial biker couple: Malcolm (Mushond Lee) and Leah (Bianca Smith). Promises of “Southern Hospitality” erase any concern over the mayor’s Confederate-flag eyepatch or flaunted Civil War beliefs, presented like a reenactment, so the group stays to celebrate—and are killed one by one.
It’s a veritable who’s who of horror folks, beyond the above names. Lin Shaye is added as a psychopathic matriarch named Granny Boone, while Peter Stormare gets a bit part as a professor teaching Civil War history. Giuseppe Andrews parleys his Cabin Fever role into another Roth collaboration, this time as Pleasant Valley’s suspect heartthrob, Harper Alexander. The Taking of Deborah Logan and Escape Room filmmaker Adam Robitel tries to hump a sheep named Jezebel as Lester, Roth reclaims his Cabin Fever doofus Justin, and of course, there’s a Kane Hodder sighting for good measure. It’s all aimed at the horror in-crowd, but what’s missing is the uncanny realism of Two Thousand Maniacs!. Lewis filled his on-screen crowds with the actual residents of St. Cloud, Florida (where production took place), which makes the centennial events feel overwhelmingly organic. Sullivan isn’t able to achieve that added layer of discomfort, settling for bargain-barrel performances commonplace in B-Movie output.
Does It Work?
2001 Maniacs
In the spirit of Herschell Gordon Lewis, Sullivan does not let slaughter sequences slacken. Lewis’ works are sicko material, and 2001 Maniacs doesn’t skimp on its blood feasts. Everything’s taken further, from an opening drawn-and-quartered death that pulls poor Kat in four different directions. From there, Sullivan challenges his SFX team to meet Two Thousand Maniacs! in visual comparison. It’s a tall order, but if there’s something the mid-2000s favored in horror movies, it was copious amounts of squeamish mutilation. In those moments, maximizing where Lewis could not, there’s value to the remake’s intentions.
As a reinvention of Pleasant Valley’s Union-hating terrors, there’s less appreciation. Everything’s copied and pasted, but with these simpleton takes on racial jabs and seething hatred. By writing in multicultural characters, it opens the door to Englund’s oh-so-unlikable readings (complimentary) of “Negro” and “Chinawoman”—but it’s that unnecessary brand of exploitation, showing something bad without payoff. It also confuses certain aspects of universe-building, as other Black characters appear in Pleasant Valley but are happily part of the community. Anderson’s journey is more successful, as Mayor Buckman cherry-picks him to join their ranks if he accepts his Southern heritage anew (full name: Anderson Lee).
Then there’s the handling of supernatural reveals, although fans of Two Thousand Maniacs! already know where the story is headed. Even so, Sullivan’s lack of subtlety squanders suspense as Pleasant Valley’s inhabitants exhibit undead characteristics too soon. Maybe it’s the “Milk Lady” who apparates from outdoors into Nelson’s bedroom in a blink, or the denim-bikini babe Peaches (Wendy Kremer) showing a darkened, zombie-like vein in her neck. It adds clear elements of imminent danger that the remake’s moronic victims keep brushing off, which grow stupider and stupider as the movie progresses.
The Result
2001 Maniacs
There’s a “pizza and beer” appeal to 2001 Maniacs, but barely. It’s aiming to be a rompy, campy brand of horror that’d crush on Cinemax at 3:00 AM. In that respect, Sullivan gives horror fans something to talk about. From Peaches’ metallic chompers that give a fanged blowjob, to the “Playmate of the Praire” cousins who can’t stay clothed, 2001 Maniacs takes the low road to genre outlandishness that’s all about sex, blood, and banjo riffs. The problem is, where Two Thousand Maniacs! helped mold subgenres into form (whether Hicksploitation or slashers), 2001 Maniacs is the braindead example of those territories’ worst impulses. Trade the unnerving sociopolitical satirization for stripteases and easy-pluckin’ insults, and ta-da, quickie but shallow exploitation.
Lewis’ execution matches The Town That Dreaded Sundown in its authenticity, with its regional attributes. Sullivan doesn’t boast that same accomplishment. The closest replication that works is the two bearded musicians who lurk around singing songs about characters’ fates, much like the Orlando-based bluegrass country group—The Pleasant Valley Boys—do in Two Thousand Maniacs!. But the Nu-Horror-ification of 2001 Maniacs is primarily not in the film’s favor (outside what sounds like Powerman 5000 singing “The South Will Rise Again” over the film’s climactic cannibal dinner scene). It’s cartoony in the way Englund stands at attention like a Confederate general, sword in hand, leading his “troops” in rebel yells, but that exaggeration does not beget amplified intensity. There’s a reason Two Thousand Maniacs! is still studied academically, while 2001 Maniacs has fallen to the wayside (even by 2000s horror standards).
Somehow, the film has a scant few progressive tendencies by the era’s standards—mainly Ricky, an openly gay character. But it’s not enough to balance out the leery dudebro antics that are an unfortunate byproduct of the teen sex comedy craze. Lewis so nimbly lets libidos drive his characters, but doesn’t get distracted by masturbation jokes or corny lovemaking interludes that whiff on laughs. In 2001 Maniacs, the protagonists are all lambs to slaughter, whom we don’t much care to see survive. In Two Thousand Maniacs!, we witness the gruesome massacre of passersby who are sacrificed to a vengeful cause—and each, or at least most deaths, sting. Celebratory gallows humor is traded for dick-in-hand goofs, which get old before Anderson’s easily aroused pack even reaches Pleasant Valley.
‘The Lesson
2001 Maniacs
2001 Maniacs might assemble the right cast, but it’s a disappointing microcosm of the 2000s’ worst indulged horror tropes. Watching Robert Englund and Lin Shaye yuck it up in 1800s costumes should be a treat, but it’s not their movie. Instead, we’re forced to stomach horrendous dialogue that’d make EuroTrip blush, as the party-sex vibes tank whatever B-Movie magic might exist. Films like Monster Man and Drive-Thru are in the same boat, beholden to the pie-fuckery that spawned a million rock-hard wannabe American knockoffs. Wrong place, wrong time, wrong remake.
So what did we learn?
Herschell Gordon Lewis was doing exploitation better in the 1960s than today’s filmmakers.
The Teen Sex era of comedy and horror is tough to watch back at times, given how poorly some filmmakers handled the material.
When something is written about and analyzed by scholars for its impact on the horror genre, maybe going the “dumb fun” route isn’t a clever play?
Robert Englund in a Confederate eyepatch is, unfortunately for him, a really good look.
I know I defend 2000s remakes quite often in these pieces, but I’ll admit when the material is a wash. I think, specifically in the case of 2001 Maniacs, my back-to-back examination highlights how impotent specific horror trends were at the time. Platinum Dunes, for all the backlash they endured, at least focused on the scares in their remakes. Two Thousand Maniacs! is hardly a comedy despite its knee-slappin’ redneck personality, and that might be the remake’s paramount misunderstanding. Reducing Lewis’ vile small-town entrapment to another “boys will be boys” mold is so wrong for the tone, as proven. This one can stay in 2005, where it belongs.
