With its silly script, lame acting, naff special effects, and laughable model work, this unfunny supernatural comedy looks like the sort of film its leading characters - a pair of teenage home movie-makers (Lively and McDaniel) - might have made themselves. Lively is hoping his grandfather's bequest will save their latest production and lure back his much put-upon leading lady, Whitlow. His inheritance, however, turns out to be a suitcase of junk, including an old clock. But piranha-loving studio boss Gleason is very interested in the suitcase, and hires a bumbling Kraut stereotype (Lansink) to steal it. The clock's chimes at midnight fail to turn McDaniel into Orson Welles, but they do help him to dream up some ideas for a new movie. Wisps of fog then bring to life an animatronic model of grandfather's old butler, and a predictable tale of stolen inheritance unfolds. The most inventive thing here is footage from Night of the Living Dead shown on a projector without the spools going round.