Pocket-Sized Soul


Four teens with nary a driving skill between them crash their car. See ya, wouldn’t want to be ya.

They were all supposed to die, but didn’t. Even though the comatose bodies were taken to the hospital, their souls, which look a heckuva lot like their bodies, run around while the Soultaker hunts them down to make them 100% deceased instead of only 98.3% dead.


The taker of souls doesn’t look too imposing: long black leather coat, motorcycle boots, nice hair that could use some Just For Men™ to take out the grey around the temples, a collection of harvested souls in his pocket.


To complicate this matter, one of the hot chicks he’s chasing was his boinking mate in his previous life. But there are rules about not taking souls, as the Angel of Death himself arrives on the scene to lay a little corporate down-sizing on the procedure-ignoring Taker.


The race is on for the screamy teens to get to their bodies in the hospital before A of D, with his weird, big-jowled face, sucks their chi into his pocket.


While you and I are e-chatting, when a soul gets appropriated, it glows and poof, it’s gone. No sparks, colored smoke or other nicely-packaged illegal fireworks to commemorate your last moment on Earth. The movie’s best line: “Led Zeppelin was wrong, man – there is no Stairway to Heaven.” I KNEW it.

Soultaker (1990) had a lot of potential, but it chose to go the standard “chase teens and kill them” route. If the Soultaker comes for me, I’ll kick him.

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