The folks over at Warner Archive have found a need some movie fans have been dying to see filled. Tired of dealing in barely-visible bootlegs or haggling with merchants over an obscure film or two? Warner Archive has you covered, offering a sizeable selection of little-seen and hard-to-find flicks through their burn-to-order DVD service. Praise from  cinephiles for this service is well-deserved, and that includes fans of all things horror. Among the Technicolor musicals and westerns are a fine line-up of offbeat horror treats, three of which I recently had the opportunity to take in.

From Hell It Came (1957). It walks! It stalks! It gives its victims an inordinate amount of time to get away! It's Tabonga, an executed tribal prince who rises from his grave as a revenge-seeking tree monster. You don't need me to tell you that From Hell It Came is a gold medal winner in the B-Movie Olympics -- the low-rent effects and rampant misogyny do a fine job of that on their own. But while it isn't the pride of the homicidal shrubbery subgenre, From Hell It Came is just too weird to be boring. Its stone-faced delivery of a ludicrous concept makes it more entertaining than if it were totally slathered in self-aware campiness. Silly as the whole mess may be, From Hell It Came comes with too much kitschy charm to hate it.

Razorback (1984). When his activist wife disappears in the Australian outback, Carl Winters (Gregory Harrison) heads down under himself to get some answers. But he soon learns that his beloved fell victim not to shady locals or an errant dingo but a razorback, a wild boar tearing through all that gets in its way like a bullet train from Hell. For your average "when animals attack" flick, Razorback has a good deal of pedigree behind it. Director Russell Mulcahy would go on direct cult favorites Highlander and The Shadow, and the movie's cinematographer, Dean Semler, later won an Oscar for shooting Dances with Wolves. As great as it looks and tense as certain moments are, Razorback tends to meander and emerges as an overall slow watch. But if you're a child of the '80s who grew up watching this in the golden age of cable, enough of nature runs amok to warrant a revisiting.

Two on a Guillotine (1965). A magician like the Great Duquesne (Cesar Romero) just couldn't shuffle off this mortal coil without executing one last trick. The man's estranged daughter (Connie Stevens) is his sole heir, but collecting her inheritance means living in a house filled with every practical joke known to man -- as well as a secret that a nosy journalist (Dean Jones) is determined to sniff out. Two on a Guillotine is right up the alley for those who prefer spooky old houses and gallows humor over outright monster mayhem. But be warned: this is as focused on the romance between Stevens and Jones's characters as it is on the mystery at hand. Although  one wonders why the movie concerns itself with mushy love matters when there's a whole house of horrors to explore, Two on a Guillotine's wicked spirit and brief but memorable Romero performance make this perfect viewing on a dark and stormy night.

Find these and other cinematic treats you never knew existed at www.warnerarchive.com .