J. Reifel

J. Reifel’s filmography reads like a late-night sci-fi fever dream, honestly. Let’s start with Convict 762 (1997)—a gritty, claustrophobic space thriller that shoves you right into the middle of a prison ship gone totally sideways. The setup? A ragtag salvage crew stumbles onto an abandoned penal vessel, only to find themselves playing hide-and-seek with a mysterious, maybe-not-entirely-human killer. The mood’s dark, a little grimy, full of that sweaty paranoia you get from movies where you’re never quite sure if the next person around the corner is friend or foe. There’s a constant sense of dread and, let’s be real, not everyone’s making it out alive. Then you’ve got Timelock (1996), which is basically what happens when you mix prison break stories with a dash of time-bending chaos. Imagine a high-security prison orbiting some distant planet, everything locked down tighter than a drum, until—surprise!—the inmates stage a riot, and the whole system collapses. There are androids, desperate guards, and a main character who’s just trying to survive long enough to see the next sunrise. The action never really lets up, and things spiral fast. It’s messy, loud, intense—exactly what you want from a ‘90s sci-fi romp. Dark Planet (1997) rounds out the trio with its own brand of space madness. Earth’s a lost cause, so humanity’s last hope is a bunch of misfits on a spaceship, desperately searching for a new home. But, come on, nothing ever goes smoothly. Factions form, tempers flare, and it all feels a bit like Lord of the Flies in zero-G. Reifel’s work definitely has that grungy, apocalyptic charm, the kind of movies you watch with popcorn and a sense of impending doom.