Coconutdaddy Productions

  Some cult films creep up on you. Others sneak in through the morgue door carrying a hacksaw and a punchline. The Undertaker and His Pals (1966) does both — and it does it with a wicked grin plastered across its low‑budget, high‑chaos face. This is the kind of movie that could only have been born in the wild, anything‑goes back alleys of 1960s exploitation cinema. It’s part horror, part comedy, part fever dream, and part “did they really film that?” The answer is yes. Yes, they did. At the center of this delirious little nightmare is a crooked undertaker who’s figured out the perfect business model: create the corpses and cash in on the funerals. His partners in crime? Two leather‑jacketed biker goons who look like they wandered off the set of a lost Three Stooges episode and decided to start moonlighting as serial killers. The plot — if you can call it that — zips along like a chainsaw on roller skates. Victims appear, limbs fly, the undertaker rubs his hands together, and...