Don't Open Till Christmas (1984)
Dir: Edmund Purdom
"The gift of terror that just won't wait..."
'Twas the night before Christmas
And all through the house
Not a creature was stirring
Not even Michael James Harmon
He was comatose on the couch
And watching the shit out of Don't Open Till Christmas!
A quick note before getting to the entry. I realize I haven't exactly been prolific with the Basement the past month or two; I've had a lot going on and, believe it or not, maintaining this shitty blog takes effort that I'm not always willing/able to put in at the end of the day. I TRULY appreciate all of you who've stuck with me this long; you're comments and support (mostly in person) mean A LOT. I'm hoping to crank out entries at a steadier pace in January. Alright, enough with the touchy-feely horseshit; let's get to the goddamn movie!
Alright, this British slasher opens with a way-too-skinny department store Santa meeting his (unrealistically well-dressed and hot) girlfriend in an alley. They are followed POV-style by an unseen, heavy-breathing assailant who proceeds to slaughter them both when they try to fuck in their car. THEN we get to the opening credits, which are set against a burning Santa Claus candle (subtle!). Next, a (much more suitably chubby and middle-aged) Santa is killed with a sword through the back of the head at a bitchin' Christmas costume dance party (has that ever been a thing? Maybe in Europe? One of German readers should lemme know...). It doesn't take long for the crack minds at Scotland Yard to determine that they've got a Santa serial killer on their hands, and Inspector Harris (director Purdom, Ator: the Fighting Eagle, 2019: After the Fall of New York) and Detective Powell (Mark Jones, Tales of the Unexpected, The Empire Strikes Back-"Captain Needa, the ship no longer appears on our scopes!") are assigned to the case, just as another Santa is garroted and fucking burned alive! Meanwhile, Kate, the daughter of one of the victims ("My father's just been killed...I can't concentrate!" Belinda Mayne, Krull, Lassiter) and her boyfriend Cliff (Gerry Sundquist, Boarding School) begin their own investigation and are hounded by tabloid newsman Giles (Alan Lake, TV's Hart to Hart). Cliff's clearly not the sensitive type, as not a day after her father's death he tries to pressure Kate into doing a nude, Santa-themed photoshoot with his sleazy pornographer friend, Gerry (Kevin Lloyd, Britannia Hospital, Link, in a great, super-scuzzy performance). Cliff and Kate end up reconciling, and the killer pops up again, this time dispatching a Santa using a goddamn knife-shoe, and another by CHOPPING HIS FUCKING DICK OFF with a straight razor in a urinal (think about THAT next time you're taking a leak in public!)! In a totally nonsensical plot twist, it turns out that the killer is Giles, who is the long-lost brother of Powell; they were separated at birth at Christmastime and Giles is out for revenge! Giles murders Kate and, after he's offed by a peep-show worker he'd kept hostage, the sanity-doubting denouement reveals that Giles, after receiving a knife for Christmas, witnessed his mother accidentally murdered by a man in a Santa suit.
To say that this scuzzy import resembles Silent Night, Deadly Night with the sleaze quotient turned WAY up doesn't really do it justice. Oddly, though released the same year, it didn't cause nearly the uproar Silent did (possibly because that film's misleading ad campaign featured Santa as a serial killer; in this film, ol' St. Nick is the victim). While the plot is threadbare and Purdom is a pretty blase director, he fills the flick with a an endless display of blood, boobs and seedy 80's London locales; enough to make this a yuletide classic for sleaze enthusiasts.
So, from the bottom of my heart: whether you're spending time with family, swilling hooch in a gutter somewhere or beating off or finger blasting yourself in a peepshow booth, merry goddamn Christmas from the Basement of Sleaze!
Enter...If you dare!
Big thanks to "Diamond" Dave Wheeler for the bitchin' logo!
Thursday, December 24, 2015
Saturday, December 5, 2015
Entry 92: The Incredible Hulk (1977)
The Incredible Hulk (1977)
Dir: Kenneth Johnson
"Within each of us, ofttimes, there dwells a mighty and raging fury."
Well, here it is...I've had a few folks ask me if ol' Greenskin was ever going to make an appearance in this blog; see, in addition to off-kilter cinema, I'm also a huge fan of comics, and the Hulk is my absolute favorite. While many superhero film adaptations are a little too big/mainstream to pop up here in the Basement, there are a few that fit my (admittedly pretty goddamn lax) criteria. So toss on your best pair of purple pants, dial up the gamma radiation and join me for the 1977 telemovie The Incredible Hulk!
Years after failing to save his wife from a fiery car wreck, brilliant but obsessive biologist Dr. David Banner (Bill Bixby, TV's My Favorite Martian and The Magician) is determined to discover why some human beings are able to exhibit feats of superhuman strength during times of crisis while others are not. He is aided by foxy fellow scientist/love interest Dr. Elaina Marks (veteran TV actress Susan Sullivan). Determining that increased gamma radiation from the sun's rays effects human strength, Banner accidentally exposes himself to a gamma overdose during a botched experiment, which causes him to painfully transform into a 7-foot green creature (Lou Ferrigno, Pumping Iron, Hercules) whenever he grows angry or terrified. After spooking some hunters, the creature draws the attention of tabloid reporter Jack McGee (Jack Colvin, Embryo, Child's Play), who comes snooping around Banner's lab. After McGee's meddling and the creature's destructive rage cause an accidental explosion, Marks is killed and Banner, believed to be dead, is forced to go on the run in hopes of finding a cure for his affliction...
I'm pretty goddamn fond of 70s TV movies in general, and The Incredible Hulk is at the top of the heap of my personal favorites. Writer/director Johnson (TV's Bionic Woman and V) was famously bewildered by comics and threw much of the source material away, choosing instead to base the tone of his film on Victor Hugo's Les Miserables and the melodramatic angst and mad scientist-trappings of Universal's classic Frankenstein and Wolf Man movies. The comics fan in me may chaff at this, but I can't deny the effectiveness of the results. As Banner, Bixby gives a soulful, riveting, haunted performance and grounds the film in broken human emotions. His remains the DEFINITIVE screen Banner. Ferrigno is imposing and genuinely scary as the monster and Colvin brings the right amount of sleaze and slime to his reporter role. While the time-elapse transformation effects and slow-mo action sequences (something Johnson perfected during his tenure as showrunner on Bionic Woman) feel extremely dated today, the film carries an emotional weight that still resonates and is often lost amid the bombast of today's superhero blockbusters. Jesus Christ, I'm getting all touchy-feely about a 70's superhero movie...Somebody get me a box of tissues! The Incredible Hulk was a ratings smash and led to a 1978-82 regular television series. That occasionally-effective, often-silly series never quite matched the high watermark set by this impressive movie. Do check it out. Fun fact: though he's become indelibly linked with the character, Ferrigno was Johnson's third attempt at casting the role. First choice Arnold Schwarzenegger was deemed too short and too handsome; second choice Richard Kiehl (Jaws from the Roger Moore Bond films) was actually cast and filmed for a few days, but was ultimately deemed "too skinny" to play the Hulk.
Dir: Kenneth Johnson
"Within each of us, ofttimes, there dwells a mighty and raging fury."
Well, here it is...I've had a few folks ask me if ol' Greenskin was ever going to make an appearance in this blog; see, in addition to off-kilter cinema, I'm also a huge fan of comics, and the Hulk is my absolute favorite. While many superhero film adaptations are a little too big/mainstream to pop up here in the Basement, there are a few that fit my (admittedly pretty goddamn lax) criteria. So toss on your best pair of purple pants, dial up the gamma radiation and join me for the 1977 telemovie The Incredible Hulk!
Years after failing to save his wife from a fiery car wreck, brilliant but obsessive biologist Dr. David Banner (Bill Bixby, TV's My Favorite Martian and The Magician) is determined to discover why some human beings are able to exhibit feats of superhuman strength during times of crisis while others are not. He is aided by foxy fellow scientist/love interest Dr. Elaina Marks (veteran TV actress Susan Sullivan). Determining that increased gamma radiation from the sun's rays effects human strength, Banner accidentally exposes himself to a gamma overdose during a botched experiment, which causes him to painfully transform into a 7-foot green creature (Lou Ferrigno, Pumping Iron, Hercules) whenever he grows angry or terrified. After spooking some hunters, the creature draws the attention of tabloid reporter Jack McGee (Jack Colvin, Embryo, Child's Play), who comes snooping around Banner's lab. After McGee's meddling and the creature's destructive rage cause an accidental explosion, Marks is killed and Banner, believed to be dead, is forced to go on the run in hopes of finding a cure for his affliction...
I'm pretty goddamn fond of 70s TV movies in general, and The Incredible Hulk is at the top of the heap of my personal favorites. Writer/director Johnson (TV's Bionic Woman and V) was famously bewildered by comics and threw much of the source material away, choosing instead to base the tone of his film on Victor Hugo's Les Miserables and the melodramatic angst and mad scientist-trappings of Universal's classic Frankenstein and Wolf Man movies. The comics fan in me may chaff at this, but I can't deny the effectiveness of the results. As Banner, Bixby gives a soulful, riveting, haunted performance and grounds the film in broken human emotions. His remains the DEFINITIVE screen Banner. Ferrigno is imposing and genuinely scary as the monster and Colvin brings the right amount of sleaze and slime to his reporter role. While the time-elapse transformation effects and slow-mo action sequences (something Johnson perfected during his tenure as showrunner on Bionic Woman) feel extremely dated today, the film carries an emotional weight that still resonates and is often lost amid the bombast of today's superhero blockbusters. Jesus Christ, I'm getting all touchy-feely about a 70's superhero movie...Somebody get me a box of tissues! The Incredible Hulk was a ratings smash and led to a 1978-82 regular television series. That occasionally-effective, often-silly series never quite matched the high watermark set by this impressive movie. Do check it out. Fun fact: though he's become indelibly linked with the character, Ferrigno was Johnson's third attempt at casting the role. First choice Arnold Schwarzenegger was deemed too short and too handsome; second choice Richard Kiehl (Jaws from the Roger Moore Bond films) was actually cast and filmed for a few days, but was ultimately deemed "too skinny" to play the Hulk.
Thursday, December 3, 2015
Entry 91: Snowbeast (1977)
Snowbeast (1977)
Dir: Herb Wallerstein
"An unknown terror stalks a ski resort!"
How does that song go..."Baby, it's cold outside/I gotta go away/Baby it's cold outside/Holy shit! There's a goddamn Yeti trying to rip my fucking arms off?" Well, here in the northland it certainly IS cold outside, so take off that jacket, grab a hot cup of coffee and join me in the Basement for the seasonally-appropriate 1977 telemovie Snowbeast!
As the movie opens, shit's not going so well for Gar Seberg. The former Olympic Gold-medalist skier is broke, out of work and hasn't been up on his skis in years. At the end of his rope, he packs up his reporter wife Ellen (Yvette Mimieux, The Time Machine, The Black Hole) and heads to celebrated Rill Lodge to beg a job off of his former rival, Tony (Robert Logan, TV's 77 Sunset Strip). To make matters worse, Tony was once Gar's romantic rival for Ellen, and seeing him again brings her old romantic feelings bubbling to the surface. Oh yeah, while all this is happening, a rampaging Yeti-type monster is killing off skiers at the lodge, a fact that owner (and Tony's grandmother) Mrs. Rill (Sylvia Sidney, God Told Me To, Beetlejuice) insists on covering up so as not to endanger the tourist dollars brought in by Rill's 50th anniversary winter carnival. Ordinarily, this would be a problem, but Gar is played by Bo-goddamn-Svenson (Breaking Point, Walking Tall Part 2), a genre icon so manly that he can deliver the most mundane of expository dialogue while looking like he's fully prepared to beat the living shit out of somebody. After the creature attacks Rill's gymnasium during a performance by a high school marching band, Gar straps those skis back on, reignites the fire in Ellen's loins and kills the shit out of the Snowbeast using skiing poles during a Mano-y-mano final battle!
The way I see it, there are three kinds of people in the world: those who love Snowbeast, those who've never seen Snowbeast, and those I have no use for. This movie-of-the-week hits all the right marks: knockoff of a popular theatrical blockbuster (Jaws), a cast of B-listers and slumming A-listers and ties to then-popular cultural phenomena (Bigfoot, inspirational sports stories). It's also really well-made (director Wallerstein conjures genuine suspense and dread and the POV stalking scenes predate the slashers that would make them cliche by a couple years) and effectively acted. Of course, I'm slightly biased; this was a staple of the Turner networks when I was a kid and is one of my earliest horror movie memories; as such, it's at least partially responsible for making me the unfortunate and depraved individual I am today. Oh, did I mention this picture was written by Joseph "Psycho" Stefano? Snowbeast is available in it's entirety on YouTube, check it out; you're welcome. One last thing-Caligula fans take note: this movie features an advertisement for "Longines" ski equipment!
Dir: Herb Wallerstein
"An unknown terror stalks a ski resort!"
How does that song go..."Baby, it's cold outside/I gotta go away/Baby it's cold outside/Holy shit! There's a goddamn Yeti trying to rip my fucking arms off?" Well, here in the northland it certainly IS cold outside, so take off that jacket, grab a hot cup of coffee and join me in the Basement for the seasonally-appropriate 1977 telemovie Snowbeast!
As the movie opens, shit's not going so well for Gar Seberg. The former Olympic Gold-medalist skier is broke, out of work and hasn't been up on his skis in years. At the end of his rope, he packs up his reporter wife Ellen (Yvette Mimieux, The Time Machine, The Black Hole) and heads to celebrated Rill Lodge to beg a job off of his former rival, Tony (Robert Logan, TV's 77 Sunset Strip). To make matters worse, Tony was once Gar's romantic rival for Ellen, and seeing him again brings her old romantic feelings bubbling to the surface. Oh yeah, while all this is happening, a rampaging Yeti-type monster is killing off skiers at the lodge, a fact that owner (and Tony's grandmother) Mrs. Rill (Sylvia Sidney, God Told Me To, Beetlejuice) insists on covering up so as not to endanger the tourist dollars brought in by Rill's 50th anniversary winter carnival. Ordinarily, this would be a problem, but Gar is played by Bo-goddamn-Svenson (Breaking Point, Walking Tall Part 2), a genre icon so manly that he can deliver the most mundane of expository dialogue while looking like he's fully prepared to beat the living shit out of somebody. After the creature attacks Rill's gymnasium during a performance by a high school marching band, Gar straps those skis back on, reignites the fire in Ellen's loins and kills the shit out of the Snowbeast using skiing poles during a Mano-y-mano final battle!
The way I see it, there are three kinds of people in the world: those who love Snowbeast, those who've never seen Snowbeast, and those I have no use for. This movie-of-the-week hits all the right marks: knockoff of a popular theatrical blockbuster (Jaws), a cast of B-listers and slumming A-listers and ties to then-popular cultural phenomena (Bigfoot, inspirational sports stories). It's also really well-made (director Wallerstein conjures genuine suspense and dread and the POV stalking scenes predate the slashers that would make them cliche by a couple years) and effectively acted. Of course, I'm slightly biased; this was a staple of the Turner networks when I was a kid and is one of my earliest horror movie memories; as such, it's at least partially responsible for making me the unfortunate and depraved individual I am today. Oh, did I mention this picture was written by Joseph "Psycho" Stefano? Snowbeast is available in it's entirety on YouTube, check it out; you're welcome. One last thing-Caligula fans take note: this movie features an advertisement for "Longines" ski equipment!
Saturday, November 28, 2015
Entry 90: The White Buffalo (1977)
The White Buffalo (1977)
Dir: J. Lee Thompson
"Two legendary enemies unite to fight the charging white beast!"
Alright folks, it's time for another theme cluster down here in the basement...This time, it's not tied to a particular month, but it should carry me through the next 10 entries up to #100. Those of you who know me well in "real life" will probably figure it out pretty goddamn quickly. Actually, it's more like two sub-themes that'll unite...Fuck it, you'll find out.
I'm currently dealing with the fallout from two (mostly) sleepless nights, Thanksgiving, and a hectic Black Friday at work...Let's see if a little booze and a lot of Bronson can prepare me for a solid night of rest! Join me now as I journey back to the rootin', tootin' old west, where Charlie goes on a perilous hunt for The White Buffalo...
In this 70s oddity, Chuck plays "Wild" Bill Hickok, returning to the west late in his life after working as an actor in the east because he's haunted by eerie dreams of the titular creature. Clearly, Bill left a lot of enemies behind when he headed east, 'cause he isn't in town for more than 10 minutes before he's forced to blow away an entire platoon of horse soldiers who try to jump him...Fuck yeah! At the same time, an Indian village is attacked by the albino beast, an attack which claims the life of the daughter of Crazy Horse (Will Sampson, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, Orca). After a village elder witnesses him crying like a pansy over the death of his child, Crazy Horse is stripped of his name and honor and informed that they won't be restored until he slays the creature. Once Bill has killed the shit out of a few more "old acquaintances" and gotten some sweet poon from a former lover, he meets up with 'Horse, and "Wild" and Crazy decide to set aside their differences and hunt down the mythical beast together.
I initially caught this one on TBS with my dad in the 80s and really enjoyed it; rewatching it as an adult, I still enjoyed it, but my abiding thought was: "Who the fuck was this movie made for?" By '77, the western's decades-long heyday was well behind it; kids were more likely to idolize Steve Austin or Spider-Man and Post-'Nam, Post-Watergate adults had turned their attention to morally-ambiguous cop thrillers and nihilistic political-conspiracy films. The oversized, rampaging title creature was clearly inspired by the success of Jaws, but the dwindling old-timers eager to see a western in the theatre would've been totally put off by the inclusion of a fantastical monster going on a gory rampage, while monster movie buffs would be bored by the then-quaint, old-fashioned western atmosphere. I'm sure this only saw the light of day because it was backed by megalomaniacal huckster-producer Dino De Laurentiis (who never met an idea too absurd to turn into a multi-million dollar spectacle), who was in full-on monster movie mode (he made this between his ill-advised remake of King Kong and Orca). The film plays out as if De Laurentiis and director Thompson (Cape Fear, The Guns of Navarone; at the beginning of a serious career slump) wanted to make something envelope-pushing, but kept backing down out of fear of alienating one of several (and dwindling) audiences. At it's best, it's a post-Wild Bunch, pre-Unforgiven revisionist western (bloody violence, soiled clothing, occasionally grimy, on-location sets), but dilutes that by filming half it's scenes on surreal-looking, very obvious soundstages and giving the Native characters incredibly miscalculated, anachronistic "How, white man"-type dialogue. The promise of an aging Hickok's quest to return to the site of his past glories, battle a "dream-demon" representative of past mistakes and the regrets of old age and make peace with a former enemy is tossed away in favor of a literal monster movie. Having said all that, I can't deny that it's just strange enough to be a lot of fun to watch, the buffalo effects (by Carlo Rambaldi of Alien and Dune) are pretty damn good and Bronson gives one of his better post-Death Wish performances. Also, Thompson stages a marvelously surreal, eerie scene in which Bronson casually strolls past a literal mountain of buffalo bones; one of the film's more interesting suggestions is that the white buffalo is a spirit animal seeking vengeance for the hunting-to-near-extinction of it's species. The eerie score is by John Barry (StarCrash, a shitload of Bond movies). Film fans take note; this has an incredible supporting cast, including Kim Novak (Vertigo, Just a Gigolo), Jack Warden (12 Angry Men, Used Cars), Clint Walker (The Dirty Dozen, Killdozer), Slim Pickens (Dr. Strangelove, The Howling), Ed Lauter (Raw Deal, The Rocketeer), Martin Kove (Death Race 2000, The Karate Kid) and John motherfucking Carradine as an Irish undertaker! Worth your time, but a bit bewildering (which isn't necessarily a bad thing).
Dir: J. Lee Thompson
"Two legendary enemies unite to fight the charging white beast!"
Alright folks, it's time for another theme cluster down here in the basement...This time, it's not tied to a particular month, but it should carry me through the next 10 entries up to #100. Those of you who know me well in "real life" will probably figure it out pretty goddamn quickly. Actually, it's more like two sub-themes that'll unite...Fuck it, you'll find out.
I'm currently dealing with the fallout from two (mostly) sleepless nights, Thanksgiving, and a hectic Black Friday at work...Let's see if a little booze and a lot of Bronson can prepare me for a solid night of rest! Join me now as I journey back to the rootin', tootin' old west, where Charlie goes on a perilous hunt for The White Buffalo...
In this 70s oddity, Chuck plays "Wild" Bill Hickok, returning to the west late in his life after working as an actor in the east because he's haunted by eerie dreams of the titular creature. Clearly, Bill left a lot of enemies behind when he headed east, 'cause he isn't in town for more than 10 minutes before he's forced to blow away an entire platoon of horse soldiers who try to jump him...Fuck yeah! At the same time, an Indian village is attacked by the albino beast, an attack which claims the life of the daughter of Crazy Horse (Will Sampson, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, Orca). After a village elder witnesses him crying like a pansy over the death of his child, Crazy Horse is stripped of his name and honor and informed that they won't be restored until he slays the creature. Once Bill has killed the shit out of a few more "old acquaintances" and gotten some sweet poon from a former lover, he meets up with 'Horse, and "Wild" and Crazy decide to set aside their differences and hunt down the mythical beast together.
I initially caught this one on TBS with my dad in the 80s and really enjoyed it; rewatching it as an adult, I still enjoyed it, but my abiding thought was: "Who the fuck was this movie made for?" By '77, the western's decades-long heyday was well behind it; kids were more likely to idolize Steve Austin or Spider-Man and Post-'Nam, Post-Watergate adults had turned their attention to morally-ambiguous cop thrillers and nihilistic political-conspiracy films. The oversized, rampaging title creature was clearly inspired by the success of Jaws, but the dwindling old-timers eager to see a western in the theatre would've been totally put off by the inclusion of a fantastical monster going on a gory rampage, while monster movie buffs would be bored by the then-quaint, old-fashioned western atmosphere. I'm sure this only saw the light of day because it was backed by megalomaniacal huckster-producer Dino De Laurentiis (who never met an idea too absurd to turn into a multi-million dollar spectacle), who was in full-on monster movie mode (he made this between his ill-advised remake of King Kong and Orca). The film plays out as if De Laurentiis and director Thompson (Cape Fear, The Guns of Navarone; at the beginning of a serious career slump) wanted to make something envelope-pushing, but kept backing down out of fear of alienating one of several (and dwindling) audiences. At it's best, it's a post-Wild Bunch, pre-Unforgiven revisionist western (bloody violence, soiled clothing, occasionally grimy, on-location sets), but dilutes that by filming half it's scenes on surreal-looking, very obvious soundstages and giving the Native characters incredibly miscalculated, anachronistic "How, white man"-type dialogue. The promise of an aging Hickok's quest to return to the site of his past glories, battle a "dream-demon" representative of past mistakes and the regrets of old age and make peace with a former enemy is tossed away in favor of a literal monster movie. Having said all that, I can't deny that it's just strange enough to be a lot of fun to watch, the buffalo effects (by Carlo Rambaldi of Alien and Dune) are pretty damn good and Bronson gives one of his better post-Death Wish performances. Also, Thompson stages a marvelously surreal, eerie scene in which Bronson casually strolls past a literal mountain of buffalo bones; one of the film's more interesting suggestions is that the white buffalo is a spirit animal seeking vengeance for the hunting-to-near-extinction of it's species. The eerie score is by John Barry (StarCrash, a shitload of Bond movies). Film fans take note; this has an incredible supporting cast, including Kim Novak (Vertigo, Just a Gigolo), Jack Warden (12 Angry Men, Used Cars), Clint Walker (The Dirty Dozen, Killdozer), Slim Pickens (Dr. Strangelove, The Howling), Ed Lauter (Raw Deal, The Rocketeer), Martin Kove (Death Race 2000, The Karate Kid) and John motherfucking Carradine as an Irish undertaker! Worth your time, but a bit bewildering (which isn't necessarily a bad thing).
Friday, November 20, 2015
Entry 89: StageFright (1987)
StageFright (1987)
Dir: Michele Soavi
"The theatre of death."
When Alicia (Barbara Cupisti, New York Ripper, Opera), lead actress in an "intellectual, new wave musical" (read: pretentious, off-Broadway claptrap which includes a man dancing around in an owl mask), injures her ankle, she seeks medical treatment at the nearest available facility, which, of course, happens to be a mental institute housing insane actor Irving Wallace. Wallace follows Alicia back to her theatre, dons the aforementioned owl mask and begins stalking and killing off her co-stars and her tyrannical director (David Brandon, Emperor Caligula: the Untold Story, The motherfucking Blade Master!). That's about all the plot you need to know.
I enjoyed the hell out of this stylish, MTV-inspired late-entry giallo from the director of The Church and the cult hit Cemetery Man. It begins with an effectively grotesque murder that is revealed to be a fictitious sequence in Alicia's play and ends with a baroque setpiece involving staged corpses, flying feathers, hissing cats and rickety theatre scaffolding. While the script relies on hoary cliches (the actors are forced to stay in the theatre even after the killer is revealed due to either injury or desperate need of a paycheck; the cops assigned to the scene after the first murder is reported suffer car trouble), Soavi (who had acted for Fulci and served as an ADA for Argento and made his directorial debut here) keeps the pace fast enough, and expertly fills the picture with enough well-handled genre requisites (cacophonous rock score, neon colors, masked killer, murder set pieces) that the film is over before you really notice. Speaking of murders, the effects are great, and highlights include a pick axe through the eye, drill through the stomach and a man bisected via chainsaw (illuminated by flashlight in a particularly effective sequence). Genre vet Giovanni Radice (AKA John Morghen, Cannibal Ferox, City of the Living Dead) is a hoot in an against-type role as a bitchy gay dancer. I can't recommend this enough to genre fans; it's stylish, artistically-mounted and FAR more entertaining than films produced by mainstays Fulci and Argento during the same period. I need to show this one to Mrs. Basement of Sleaze; she LOVES owls! As the stage director in this film is fond of saying "the show must go on," I'll leave you with this gem:
Fucking. A.
Dir: Michele Soavi
"The theatre of death."
When Alicia (Barbara Cupisti, New York Ripper, Opera), lead actress in an "intellectual, new wave musical" (read: pretentious, off-Broadway claptrap which includes a man dancing around in an owl mask), injures her ankle, she seeks medical treatment at the nearest available facility, which, of course, happens to be a mental institute housing insane actor Irving Wallace. Wallace follows Alicia back to her theatre, dons the aforementioned owl mask and begins stalking and killing off her co-stars and her tyrannical director (David Brandon, Emperor Caligula: the Untold Story, The motherfucking Blade Master!). That's about all the plot you need to know.
I enjoyed the hell out of this stylish, MTV-inspired late-entry giallo from the director of The Church and the cult hit Cemetery Man. It begins with an effectively grotesque murder that is revealed to be a fictitious sequence in Alicia's play and ends with a baroque setpiece involving staged corpses, flying feathers, hissing cats and rickety theatre scaffolding. While the script relies on hoary cliches (the actors are forced to stay in the theatre even after the killer is revealed due to either injury or desperate need of a paycheck; the cops assigned to the scene after the first murder is reported suffer car trouble), Soavi (who had acted for Fulci and served as an ADA for Argento and made his directorial debut here) keeps the pace fast enough, and expertly fills the picture with enough well-handled genre requisites (cacophonous rock score, neon colors, masked killer, murder set pieces) that the film is over before you really notice. Speaking of murders, the effects are great, and highlights include a pick axe through the eye, drill through the stomach and a man bisected via chainsaw (illuminated by flashlight in a particularly effective sequence). Genre vet Giovanni Radice (AKA John Morghen, Cannibal Ferox, City of the Living Dead) is a hoot in an against-type role as a bitchy gay dancer. I can't recommend this enough to genre fans; it's stylish, artistically-mounted and FAR more entertaining than films produced by mainstays Fulci and Argento during the same period. I need to show this one to Mrs. Basement of Sleaze; she LOVES owls! As the stage director in this film is fond of saying "the show must go on," I'll leave you with this gem:
Fucking. A.
Saturday, November 14, 2015
Entry 88: Witchery (AKA Evil Encounters-1988)
Witchery (AKA Evil Encounters-1988)
Dir: Fabrizio Laurenti
"A nightmare possession, horrific satanic rites and a gruesome sacrifice."
Basement MVP Linda Blair is back, baby, and this time she's got the Hoff riding shotgun! If you're not on board already, get out of my basement and go fuck yourself. Those of you who are still here, sit back, get cozy and settle in for a night of Witchery!
David Hasselhoff (TV's Knight Rider and Baywatch) is photographer Gary, who's come to a small New England island with virginal girlfriend Leslie (Leslie Cumming, Killing Birds), a writer who is working on a book on a local witchcraft legend. Horny-as-shit Gary can't stop "Hassel"ing Leslie to jump in the sack, calling her twentysomething virginity "unnatural." Gary and Leslie keep witnessing strange prismatic lights around their spooky old hotel, which Leslie attributes to witchcraft, and a creepy old woman (Hildegard Knef, a LONG way from her appearances in classics like The Snows of Kilimanjaro and The Dirty Dozen) is lurking about the premises. Linda shows up as Jane, a pregnant Bostonian woman who is plagued by nightmares of witches being persecuted. Jane glimpses one of the prisms and, in a scene that has to be seen to be believed, gets sucked down the drain of a dirty bathtub through a Laser Floyd-like vortex and winds up in hell, where she witnesses two old folks roasting and eating a GODDAMN FETUS while Knef skulks around and laughs. A convenient storm arrives, and Gary, Leslie, Jane, Jane's parents and little brother and real estate agents Linda (Soap star Catherine Hickland) and Jerry wind up trapped in the hotel together. Soon, Blair's mom gets sucked into the hell vortex and has her lips graphically sewn shut (this sequence features VERY good makeup effects and is legitimately tough to watch); she's then stuffed in the fireplace and burned alive when her (unknowing) family and friends start a fire to keep warm ("That wood sure smells funny!"). Linda and Jerry get zapped to hell when they slink off for some intense, haunted hotel fucking; she's garroted until unconscious, then impaled through the neck on a mounted swordfish (!) and he ends up crucified and burned on an upside-down cross. Leslie dreams of being raped by a lipless demon, then awakens to find her hymen broken, and Blair's dad hemorrhages uncontrollably from his neck until he bleeds to death. Anyway, it turns out that Knef is actually an emissary from hell, and she's chosen each of our victims based on their correlation to one of the seven deadly sins. She ends up possessing Blair through her unborn child, heroic Hoff gets messily impaled and Blair gets to homage her own The Exorcist by killing herself during a moment of clarity by throwing herself out of a window. In the final scene, Leslie makes it out only to realize she's become pregnant by her demon-dream...
I have to be honest, I set out to rip this movie a new one; why did it have to be so fucking likable? Witchery is everything you'd expect/want from a low-budget, late 80s Italian horror flick! It grabs shamelessly from The Exorcist, The Sentinel, The Beyond, The Evil Dead and The Shining, but director Laurenti is thoroughly incapable of replicating any of the artistry or enthusiasm of those classics. That said, it's impossible to hate a film that so brazenly rips off so many genre mainstays, casts both Blair (who seems bored during most of the film, but seems to be having a blast once possessed!) and Hasselfhoff (who plays meathead Gary exactly the way you'd want/expect him to) AND features some top-notch, over-the-top gore effects. Witchery has nothing new to say, and will likely have no place in the pantheon of horror greats, but I implore you to toss it in the player and have a couple beers with some horror aficionado friends...I guarantee you'll have a blast!
Dir: Fabrizio Laurenti
"A nightmare possession, horrific satanic rites and a gruesome sacrifice."
Basement MVP Linda Blair is back, baby, and this time she's got the Hoff riding shotgun! If you're not on board already, get out of my basement and go fuck yourself. Those of you who are still here, sit back, get cozy and settle in for a night of Witchery!
David Hasselhoff (TV's Knight Rider and Baywatch) is photographer Gary, who's come to a small New England island with virginal girlfriend Leslie (Leslie Cumming, Killing Birds), a writer who is working on a book on a local witchcraft legend. Horny-as-shit Gary can't stop "Hassel"ing Leslie to jump in the sack, calling her twentysomething virginity "unnatural." Gary and Leslie keep witnessing strange prismatic lights around their spooky old hotel, which Leslie attributes to witchcraft, and a creepy old woman (Hildegard Knef, a LONG way from her appearances in classics like The Snows of Kilimanjaro and The Dirty Dozen) is lurking about the premises. Linda shows up as Jane, a pregnant Bostonian woman who is plagued by nightmares of witches being persecuted. Jane glimpses one of the prisms and, in a scene that has to be seen to be believed, gets sucked down the drain of a dirty bathtub through a Laser Floyd-like vortex and winds up in hell, where she witnesses two old folks roasting and eating a GODDAMN FETUS while Knef skulks around and laughs. A convenient storm arrives, and Gary, Leslie, Jane, Jane's parents and little brother and real estate agents Linda (Soap star Catherine Hickland) and Jerry wind up trapped in the hotel together. Soon, Blair's mom gets sucked into the hell vortex and has her lips graphically sewn shut (this sequence features VERY good makeup effects and is legitimately tough to watch); she's then stuffed in the fireplace and burned alive when her (unknowing) family and friends start a fire to keep warm ("That wood sure smells funny!"). Linda and Jerry get zapped to hell when they slink off for some intense, haunted hotel fucking; she's garroted until unconscious, then impaled through the neck on a mounted swordfish (!) and he ends up crucified and burned on an upside-down cross. Leslie dreams of being raped by a lipless demon, then awakens to find her hymen broken, and Blair's dad hemorrhages uncontrollably from his neck until he bleeds to death. Anyway, it turns out that Knef is actually an emissary from hell, and she's chosen each of our victims based on their correlation to one of the seven deadly sins. She ends up possessing Blair through her unborn child, heroic Hoff gets messily impaled and Blair gets to homage her own The Exorcist by killing herself during a moment of clarity by throwing herself out of a window. In the final scene, Leslie makes it out only to realize she's become pregnant by her demon-dream...
I have to be honest, I set out to rip this movie a new one; why did it have to be so fucking likable? Witchery is everything you'd expect/want from a low-budget, late 80s Italian horror flick! It grabs shamelessly from The Exorcist, The Sentinel, The Beyond, The Evil Dead and The Shining, but director Laurenti is thoroughly incapable of replicating any of the artistry or enthusiasm of those classics. That said, it's impossible to hate a film that so brazenly rips off so many genre mainstays, casts both Blair (who seems bored during most of the film, but seems to be having a blast once possessed!) and Hasselfhoff (who plays meathead Gary exactly the way you'd want/expect him to) AND features some top-notch, over-the-top gore effects. Witchery has nothing new to say, and will likely have no place in the pantheon of horror greats, but I implore you to toss it in the player and have a couple beers with some horror aficionado friends...I guarantee you'll have a blast!
Saturday, November 7, 2015
Entry 87: Malibu Beach (1978)
Malibu Beach (1978)
Dir: Robert J. Rosenthal
"Everything can happen on...Malibu Beach!"
I'm at the end of a LONG couple of weeks, so I thought I'd relax with a cocktail and a dumb sex comedy from America's greatest decade! Slather on some suntan lotion and join me in the Basement of Sleaze as I soak up a few rays on Malibu Beach!
Kim Lankford (The Octagon, Cameron's Closet) stars as lifeguard Dina in yet another dumb, plotless, American Grafitti-inspired teen flick from Crown International. There's plenty of pot-smoking, drag racing, drinking and LOTS of T&A as the large cast of characters drive around, talk, party, intermingle, couple and fight as seemingly-random story threads weave together. The movie also features a Rolling Stones American tour 1972 poster (the tour on which the legendary Cocksucker Blues was filmed!), not one but SEVERAL "comedic" scenes in which dogs steal bathers' bikini tops, skinny dipping, a disco scene and a break-in to ride bumper cars in an amusement park! A pretty awesome girl drives a Corvette Stingray with a "Cure Virginity" bumper sticker. In the silliest scene, teens pressure a rookie cop into smoking dope while his seasoned partner gets shitfaced in a bar across the street. Tough-guy actor Steve Oliver (Werewolves on Wheels, The Van, who kind of resembles a giant Peter Dinklage) plays beach tough Dugan, who shows up seemingly at random to threaten/beat the shit out of various characters (he has snake tattoos VERY similar to Kurt Russell's in Escape from New York!). In the "A" plot, Dugan and sensitive lifeguard Bobby (James Daughton, Animal House, TVs The Incredible Hulk) duel for Dina's affections. It ends in a swim-off, complete with a guy wearing a fake shark fin and some knockoff John Williams music.
I'll fully admit that I was only half paying attention to this one. It's an inoffensive bit of time-capsule entertainment, no better or worse than any of the other dozens of similar flicks that Crown and AIP were cranking out around the same time. Still, it's fun enough if you're in the right mood. Director Rosenthal wrote previous B.O.S. entry The Pom Pom Girls (for those keeping score), and 80's teen comedy Zapped (a staple of the USA Network when I was growing up).
Dir: Robert J. Rosenthal
"Everything can happen on...Malibu Beach!"
I'm at the end of a LONG couple of weeks, so I thought I'd relax with a cocktail and a dumb sex comedy from America's greatest decade! Slather on some suntan lotion and join me in the Basement of Sleaze as I soak up a few rays on Malibu Beach!
Kim Lankford (The Octagon, Cameron's Closet) stars as lifeguard Dina in yet another dumb, plotless, American Grafitti-inspired teen flick from Crown International. There's plenty of pot-smoking, drag racing, drinking and LOTS of T&A as the large cast of characters drive around, talk, party, intermingle, couple and fight as seemingly-random story threads weave together. The movie also features a Rolling Stones American tour 1972 poster (the tour on which the legendary Cocksucker Blues was filmed!), not one but SEVERAL "comedic" scenes in which dogs steal bathers' bikini tops, skinny dipping, a disco scene and a break-in to ride bumper cars in an amusement park! A pretty awesome girl drives a Corvette Stingray with a "Cure Virginity" bumper sticker. In the silliest scene, teens pressure a rookie cop into smoking dope while his seasoned partner gets shitfaced in a bar across the street. Tough-guy actor Steve Oliver (Werewolves on Wheels, The Van, who kind of resembles a giant Peter Dinklage) plays beach tough Dugan, who shows up seemingly at random to threaten/beat the shit out of various characters (he has snake tattoos VERY similar to Kurt Russell's in Escape from New York!). In the "A" plot, Dugan and sensitive lifeguard Bobby (James Daughton, Animal House, TVs The Incredible Hulk) duel for Dina's affections. It ends in a swim-off, complete with a guy wearing a fake shark fin and some knockoff John Williams music.
I'll fully admit that I was only half paying attention to this one. It's an inoffensive bit of time-capsule entertainment, no better or worse than any of the other dozens of similar flicks that Crown and AIP were cranking out around the same time. Still, it's fun enough if you're in the right mood. Director Rosenthal wrote previous B.O.S. entry The Pom Pom Girls (for those keeping score), and 80's teen comedy Zapped (a staple of the USA Network when I was growing up).
Saturday, October 31, 2015
Entry 86: Halloween (1978)
Halloween (1978)
Dir: John Carpenter
"The night HE came home!"
Well, happy Halloween, readers! This is one of my favorite days of the year, unfortunately, this year I didn't get much time to enjoy it. However, there's one tradition I NEVER break: each and every year on October 31, right before I go to bed, I lay down and watch John Carpenter's 1978 masterpiece Halloween. So much has been written about the film over the years, and Carpenter's boogeyman Michael Meyers has become so ingrained in our popular culture that I'm not sure I have much new to bring to the table. That said, I'd be remiss if it didn't get a spin in the goddamn Basement of Sleaze...
The plot of the film is so simple, and by now so familiar, that I won't waste a whole lot of time summarizing it. In 1963, blank-eyed ten year-old Michael Meyers brutally stabs his older sister to death on Halloween. 15 years to the day later, Meyers escapes from incarceration in a high-security mental institution and returns to his hometown of Haddonfield, Illinois. Meyers is pursued by his twitchy, gun-toting shrink, Sam Loomis (Donald Pleasance, Wake in Fright, Escape from New York). As Loomis closes in, Meyers stalks babysitters Laurie (Jamie Lee Curtis, Prom Night, Trading Places), Annie (Carpenter regular Nancy Kyes, Assault on Precinct 13, The Fog) and Lynda (P.J. Soles, Carrie, Rock 'n' Roll High School). In the end, only Laurie survives, but it's a hollow victory; Meyers, too, survives. After being repeatedly stabbed by Laurie, shot several times by Loomis and knocked out of a second-story window, Meyers simply disappears. He has become "The Shape;" the unstoppable, unkillable personification of the boogeyman.
Halloween wasn't, as it's commonly given credit for, the first slasher movie (Black Christmas beat it to cinemas by three years), nor is it Carpenter's best film (Assault on Precinct 13 and The Thing both have it beat), but it IS the best of it's sub-genre and one of the most simply effective shockers of all time. Co-writer/director Carpenter distills his story down to the basest possible elements; he eschews the "origin story/revenge plot" that so many slasher films hinge on (even Alfred Hitchcock's legendary proto-slasher Psycho ends on something of a cop-out, expository note explaining away/rationalizing the actions of Norman Bates). In crafting a leanly efficient horror film, Carpenter realizes that it DOESN'T FUCKING MATTER how or why Michael Meyers does the things he does (he even embeds a joke about it in the script; when asked how a man institutionalized since the age of ten could know how to drive a car, an exasperated Loomis exclaims "He was doing very well last night!"), he simply does them. No amount of explaining is going to enhance the visceral thrill of a suspense-based narrative. The film is also almost totally bloodless, relying instead on atmosphere, an ever-building sense of dread, Carpenter's own eerie, iconic score and the often sudden appearances of Meyers to instill fear in the audience (pay special attention to the way Carpenter uses lighting and focus; a scene in which Meyers' white mask appears out of nowhere in a completely dark room and another in which the seemingly dead and out-of-focus Meyers sits up suddenly in the background while the camera is focused on Laurie are both classics). Another key to the film's success is it's three female leads. Carpenter and co-writer/producer Debra Hill (Clue, The Fisher King) create three-likable, well-rounded characters, and they're all brought fully to life in great performances by Kyes, Soles and Curtis (whose turn as the put-upon Laurie made her a star). I'd be remiss if I didn't also mention the performance of future writer/director Nick Castle (Escape from New York, The Last Starfighter) as Meyers; with his imposing physicality and limited, always-efficient body language and motion, he's like a bipedal great white shark.
Halloween was followed by seven (!) sequels and an ill-advised remake by Rob Zombie which in turn spawned it's own sequel. Some are better than others (check out the underrated, non-Meyers-related Halloween 3: Season of the Witch; it's fucking great!), but none of them manages to recapture the tension and dread of the original. A true horror classic!
"It's Halloween; everyone's entitled to one good scare."
Dir: John Carpenter
"The night HE came home!"
Well, happy Halloween, readers! This is one of my favorite days of the year, unfortunately, this year I didn't get much time to enjoy it. However, there's one tradition I NEVER break: each and every year on October 31, right before I go to bed, I lay down and watch John Carpenter's 1978 masterpiece Halloween. So much has been written about the film over the years, and Carpenter's boogeyman Michael Meyers has become so ingrained in our popular culture that I'm not sure I have much new to bring to the table. That said, I'd be remiss if it didn't get a spin in the goddamn Basement of Sleaze...
The plot of the film is so simple, and by now so familiar, that I won't waste a whole lot of time summarizing it. In 1963, blank-eyed ten year-old Michael Meyers brutally stabs his older sister to death on Halloween. 15 years to the day later, Meyers escapes from incarceration in a high-security mental institution and returns to his hometown of Haddonfield, Illinois. Meyers is pursued by his twitchy, gun-toting shrink, Sam Loomis (Donald Pleasance, Wake in Fright, Escape from New York). As Loomis closes in, Meyers stalks babysitters Laurie (Jamie Lee Curtis, Prom Night, Trading Places), Annie (Carpenter regular Nancy Kyes, Assault on Precinct 13, The Fog) and Lynda (P.J. Soles, Carrie, Rock 'n' Roll High School). In the end, only Laurie survives, but it's a hollow victory; Meyers, too, survives. After being repeatedly stabbed by Laurie, shot several times by Loomis and knocked out of a second-story window, Meyers simply disappears. He has become "The Shape;" the unstoppable, unkillable personification of the boogeyman.
Halloween wasn't, as it's commonly given credit for, the first slasher movie (Black Christmas beat it to cinemas by three years), nor is it Carpenter's best film (Assault on Precinct 13 and The Thing both have it beat), but it IS the best of it's sub-genre and one of the most simply effective shockers of all time. Co-writer/director Carpenter distills his story down to the basest possible elements; he eschews the "origin story/revenge plot" that so many slasher films hinge on (even Alfred Hitchcock's legendary proto-slasher Psycho ends on something of a cop-out, expository note explaining away/rationalizing the actions of Norman Bates). In crafting a leanly efficient horror film, Carpenter realizes that it DOESN'T FUCKING MATTER how or why Michael Meyers does the things he does (he even embeds a joke about it in the script; when asked how a man institutionalized since the age of ten could know how to drive a car, an exasperated Loomis exclaims "He was doing very well last night!"), he simply does them. No amount of explaining is going to enhance the visceral thrill of a suspense-based narrative. The film is also almost totally bloodless, relying instead on atmosphere, an ever-building sense of dread, Carpenter's own eerie, iconic score and the often sudden appearances of Meyers to instill fear in the audience (pay special attention to the way Carpenter uses lighting and focus; a scene in which Meyers' white mask appears out of nowhere in a completely dark room and another in which the seemingly dead and out-of-focus Meyers sits up suddenly in the background while the camera is focused on Laurie are both classics). Another key to the film's success is it's three female leads. Carpenter and co-writer/producer Debra Hill (Clue, The Fisher King) create three-likable, well-rounded characters, and they're all brought fully to life in great performances by Kyes, Soles and Curtis (whose turn as the put-upon Laurie made her a star). I'd be remiss if I didn't also mention the performance of future writer/director Nick Castle (Escape from New York, The Last Starfighter) as Meyers; with his imposing physicality and limited, always-efficient body language and motion, he's like a bipedal great white shark.
Halloween was followed by seven (!) sequels and an ill-advised remake by Rob Zombie which in turn spawned it's own sequel. Some are better than others (check out the underrated, non-Meyers-related Halloween 3: Season of the Witch; it's fucking great!), but none of them manages to recapture the tension and dread of the original. A true horror classic!
"It's Halloween; everyone's entitled to one good scare."
Wednesday, October 28, 2015
Entry 85: Devil Dog-the Hound of Hell (1978)
Devil Dog-the Hound of Hell (1978)
Dir: Curtis Harrington
Revolt-of-nature/killer animal movies, demonic possession movies and real-life "satanic panic" were all big in the 70's, but I can think of only one movie that tossed all three into a blender and added the legendary Richard goddamn Crenna (First Blood, Leviathan) to boot...join me down in the Basement as I attempt to tame Devil Dog-the Hound of Hell!
So, stop me if you've heard this one...A group of suburban satanists purchase a German Shepard and place her in the middle of a satanic ritual (complete with red candles, howl-inducing "sinister" purple bathrobes and sunglasses and an oil painting of Old Scratch himself). Over the main credits, the bitch gives birth to a litter of pups, each one apparently imbued with satanic power! Meanwhile, Richard Crenna's family dog buys it in a hit-and-run and, despite his daughter(Kim Richards, The Car, Black Snake Moan)'s awesomely overwrought protestations ("If something happened to me, would you just get another daughter?!"), Crenna resolves to replace the corpsified canine. R.G. Armstrong (Children of the Corn, Predator) shows up as a traveling fruit salesman (!), who is actually one of the satanists in disguise! His mission? To disperse the cursed canines (born in the intro) to as many suburban homes as possible! As luck would have it, one of the pups ends up with Crenna, and soon strange things begin to occur while the pup is nearby-Crenna's loving daughter turns into a total cunt, dishes fly off the table and break with no provocation, our hero almost loses a hand to an errant lawnmower blade and, in one sanity-doubting sequence, the cute lil' pooch's eyes glow red while ominous music plays and he makes the Catholic housekeeper BURST INTO FUCKING FLAMES! As the devil dog becomes increasingly encroached in the home, Crenna's wife (Yvette Mimieux, Snowbeast, The Black Hole) begins an affair, his children become aloof and distant and anyone who tries to interfere in their lives turns up dead. Well, if you think the man who trained John Rambo to both survive and become war is going to take this bullshit laying down, you've got another thing coming. Once our hero discovers evidence of satanic rituals happening in his attic, he heads out into the desert to shoot the possessed puppy, but the beast mystically dodges every shot. After consulting with mediums of various (and ridiculously stereotyped) ethnicities, Crenna prepares a good supply of body bags and heads into an abandoned warehouse to confront the dog, who's grown into a (ridiculous) dinosaur-like monster.
Devil Dog-the Hound of Hell started with a goofy conceit rendered ridiculous by focusing too long on a cute puppy as the agent of ultimate evil, casting a particularly dopey-looking German Shepard as the adult dog (he actually looks a good deal like my own Shepard, Sheriff; he's a good boy, but likely the least intimidating large dog you'll ever meet) and visual effects on the level of a mediocre episode of The Incredible Hulk. I had fond memories of watching this TV movie as part of the regular TBS rotation in my youth in the late 80s, but it doesn't really hold up. Crenna and Mimieux give better performances than the film deserves. It might make for fun viewing for problem-dog owners...
Dir: Curtis Harrington
Revolt-of-nature/killer animal movies, demonic possession movies and real-life "satanic panic" were all big in the 70's, but I can think of only one movie that tossed all three into a blender and added the legendary Richard goddamn Crenna (First Blood, Leviathan) to boot...join me down in the Basement as I attempt to tame Devil Dog-the Hound of Hell!
So, stop me if you've heard this one...A group of suburban satanists purchase a German Shepard and place her in the middle of a satanic ritual (complete with red candles, howl-inducing "sinister" purple bathrobes and sunglasses and an oil painting of Old Scratch himself). Over the main credits, the bitch gives birth to a litter of pups, each one apparently imbued with satanic power! Meanwhile, Richard Crenna's family dog buys it in a hit-and-run and, despite his daughter(Kim Richards, The Car, Black Snake Moan)'s awesomely overwrought protestations ("If something happened to me, would you just get another daughter?!"), Crenna resolves to replace the corpsified canine. R.G. Armstrong (Children of the Corn, Predator) shows up as a traveling fruit salesman (!), who is actually one of the satanists in disguise! His mission? To disperse the cursed canines (born in the intro) to as many suburban homes as possible! As luck would have it, one of the pups ends up with Crenna, and soon strange things begin to occur while the pup is nearby-Crenna's loving daughter turns into a total cunt, dishes fly off the table and break with no provocation, our hero almost loses a hand to an errant lawnmower blade and, in one sanity-doubting sequence, the cute lil' pooch's eyes glow red while ominous music plays and he makes the Catholic housekeeper BURST INTO FUCKING FLAMES! As the devil dog becomes increasingly encroached in the home, Crenna's wife (Yvette Mimieux, Snowbeast, The Black Hole) begins an affair, his children become aloof and distant and anyone who tries to interfere in their lives turns up dead. Well, if you think the man who trained John Rambo to both survive and become war is going to take this bullshit laying down, you've got another thing coming. Once our hero discovers evidence of satanic rituals happening in his attic, he heads out into the desert to shoot the possessed puppy, but the beast mystically dodges every shot. After consulting with mediums of various (and ridiculously stereotyped) ethnicities, Crenna prepares a good supply of body bags and heads into an abandoned warehouse to confront the dog, who's grown into a (ridiculous) dinosaur-like monster.
Devil Dog-the Hound of Hell started with a goofy conceit rendered ridiculous by focusing too long on a cute puppy as the agent of ultimate evil, casting a particularly dopey-looking German Shepard as the adult dog (he actually looks a good deal like my own Shepard, Sheriff; he's a good boy, but likely the least intimidating large dog you'll ever meet) and visual effects on the level of a mediocre episode of The Incredible Hulk. I had fond memories of watching this TV movie as part of the regular TBS rotation in my youth in the late 80s, but it doesn't really hold up. Crenna and Mimieux give better performances than the film deserves. It might make for fun viewing for problem-dog owners...
Tuesday, October 27, 2015
Entry 84: The Sentinel (1977)
The Sentinel (1977)
Dir: Michael Winner
"She is young, she is beautiful, she is next."
Classy, prestige horror pictures had become a big business by the late 70s, thanks in no small part to the overwhelming critical and commercial success of Paramount's Rosemary's Baby, Warner Brothers' The Exorcist and Fox's The Omen. Universal was no doubt hoping for their own slice of the pie when they greenlit this big-budget adaptation of a best-selling novel, however, by entrusting to the hands of sleazemeister (and possible real-life sadist) Winner, they got...something else...
Depressed fashion model Christina Raines (The Duelists, Nightmares), who is recovering from a recent suicide attempt, decides to move into a peculiar old brownstone apartment complex, despite the protestations of her hotshot lawyer beau, Chris Sarandon (Fright Night, the voice of Jack Skellington). She is charmed by garrulous old vaudevillian neighbor Burgess Meredith (Rocky, Magic), but is disturbed when mute lesbian neighbor Beverley D'Angelo finger blasts the shit out of herself to a quivering orgasm during their first meeting. After seeing visions of her dead father, she contacts her real estate agent to complain about her new abode and, wouldn't you know it? The house has been abandoned for years; she's the only tenant! Sarandon does some amateur sleuthwork and it turns out that the apartment is situated on a GODDAMN DOORWAY TO HELL; the "tenants" are all damned souls trying to escape, held back only by old blind priest John Carradine (Shock Waves, The Howling; a real favorite here in the basement!). This decrepit old sentinel is nearing the end of his life and wants Raines to take his place...With no turning back, our heroine is forced to choose: give up her high-fashion existence for a life of solitude as a holy bastion against the forces of darkness, or give in to the temptation of suicide and join her neighbors in a wild party of eternal damnation!
Alright, let's get this out of the way: this movie is a goddamn MESS! The script is filled with a number of scenes that never add up/coalesce/add anything to the narrative. Subplots about Raines' traumatic childhood and first suicide attampt, Sarandon's shady business dealings and investigation by the police and the death by suicide of Sarandon's first wife are either never resolved or don't contribute a fucking thing to the narrative...Despite all that, the movie's just over 90 minutes long! I've never read the book, but I suspect that either a) great chunks of the novel were cut out of the screenplay but the writers felt they had to keep hints of them in there to please the author/readers or b) the film was original MUCH longer and was cut to shit in post-production. That said, The Sentinel is still a helluva lot of fun to watch for two reasons. First of all, Winner slathers the whole production with a veneer of absolute sleaze (unnecessary nudity, a heaping helping of blood and gore, plenty of seedy downtown locations, real-life physically deformed actors used as the denizens of hell in the concluding moments) and manages to wring a few genuinely effective and affecting moments of horror out of the proceedings (Raines' dead, bleeding father appearing out of nowhere, the comatose Carradine moving and speaking for the first time during a quiet moment from a blurred corner of the frame, the final assault on Raines' by her satanically changed "neighbors"). Second, and most importantly, it has an AMAZING MOTHERFUCKING CAST! In addition to the aforementioned actors, you've got Martin Balsam (Psycho, Tora! Tora! Tora!) as a doctor, Jose Ferrer (Lawrence of Arabia, Dune) and Arthur Kennedy (Fantastic Voyage, Let Sleeping Corpses Lie) as priests, Sylvia Miles (Midnight Cowboy, The Funhouse) as D'Angelo's lover, Deborah Raffin (God Told Me To, Scanners II) as Raines' best friend, William Hickey (One Crazy Summer, My Blue Heaven) as an informant, Eli Wallach (The Good, the Bad and the Ugly, The Godfather) and Christopher Walken (the year before The Deer Hunter made him a star) as cops, Richard Dreyfuss (Jaws, Inserts) and Tom Berenger (Looking for Mr. Goodbar, The Substitute) as neighbors, Jerry Orbach (Universal Soldier, TV's Law and Order) as a sleazy mustachioed photographer and, best of all, Jeff motherfucking Goldblum (The Fly, Jurassic Park) as a swinging, smooth-talking commercial director! Phew...did you get all that?!
Dir: Michael Winner
"She is young, she is beautiful, she is next."
Classy, prestige horror pictures had become a big business by the late 70s, thanks in no small part to the overwhelming critical and commercial success of Paramount's Rosemary's Baby, Warner Brothers' The Exorcist and Fox's The Omen. Universal was no doubt hoping for their own slice of the pie when they greenlit this big-budget adaptation of a best-selling novel, however, by entrusting to the hands of sleazemeister (and possible real-life sadist) Winner, they got...something else...
Depressed fashion model Christina Raines (The Duelists, Nightmares), who is recovering from a recent suicide attempt, decides to move into a peculiar old brownstone apartment complex, despite the protestations of her hotshot lawyer beau, Chris Sarandon (Fright Night, the voice of Jack Skellington). She is charmed by garrulous old vaudevillian neighbor Burgess Meredith (Rocky, Magic), but is disturbed when mute lesbian neighbor Beverley D'Angelo finger blasts the shit out of herself to a quivering orgasm during their first meeting. After seeing visions of her dead father, she contacts her real estate agent to complain about her new abode and, wouldn't you know it? The house has been abandoned for years; she's the only tenant! Sarandon does some amateur sleuthwork and it turns out that the apartment is situated on a GODDAMN DOORWAY TO HELL; the "tenants" are all damned souls trying to escape, held back only by old blind priest John Carradine (Shock Waves, The Howling; a real favorite here in the basement!). This decrepit old sentinel is nearing the end of his life and wants Raines to take his place...With no turning back, our heroine is forced to choose: give up her high-fashion existence for a life of solitude as a holy bastion against the forces of darkness, or give in to the temptation of suicide and join her neighbors in a wild party of eternal damnation!
Alright, let's get this out of the way: this movie is a goddamn MESS! The script is filled with a number of scenes that never add up/coalesce/add anything to the narrative. Subplots about Raines' traumatic childhood and first suicide attampt, Sarandon's shady business dealings and investigation by the police and the death by suicide of Sarandon's first wife are either never resolved or don't contribute a fucking thing to the narrative...Despite all that, the movie's just over 90 minutes long! I've never read the book, but I suspect that either a) great chunks of the novel were cut out of the screenplay but the writers felt they had to keep hints of them in there to please the author/readers or b) the film was original MUCH longer and was cut to shit in post-production. That said, The Sentinel is still a helluva lot of fun to watch for two reasons. First of all, Winner slathers the whole production with a veneer of absolute sleaze (unnecessary nudity, a heaping helping of blood and gore, plenty of seedy downtown locations, real-life physically deformed actors used as the denizens of hell in the concluding moments) and manages to wring a few genuinely effective and affecting moments of horror out of the proceedings (Raines' dead, bleeding father appearing out of nowhere, the comatose Carradine moving and speaking for the first time during a quiet moment from a blurred corner of the frame, the final assault on Raines' by her satanically changed "neighbors"). Second, and most importantly, it has an AMAZING MOTHERFUCKING CAST! In addition to the aforementioned actors, you've got Martin Balsam (Psycho, Tora! Tora! Tora!) as a doctor, Jose Ferrer (Lawrence of Arabia, Dune) and Arthur Kennedy (Fantastic Voyage, Let Sleeping Corpses Lie) as priests, Sylvia Miles (Midnight Cowboy, The Funhouse) as D'Angelo's lover, Deborah Raffin (God Told Me To, Scanners II) as Raines' best friend, William Hickey (One Crazy Summer, My Blue Heaven) as an informant, Eli Wallach (The Good, the Bad and the Ugly, The Godfather) and Christopher Walken (the year before The Deer Hunter made him a star) as cops, Richard Dreyfuss (Jaws, Inserts) and Tom Berenger (Looking for Mr. Goodbar, The Substitute) as neighbors, Jerry Orbach (Universal Soldier, TV's Law and Order) as a sleazy mustachioed photographer and, best of all, Jeff motherfucking Goldblum (The Fly, Jurassic Park) as a swinging, smooth-talking commercial director! Phew...did you get all that?!
Thursday, October 22, 2015
Entry 83: Savage Weekend (1976)
Savage Weekend (1976)
Dir: David Paulsen
"You have been chosen. You are doomed. Prepare for...SAVAGE WEEKEND."
A movie can't be ALL bad when it opens with a strung-out looking Bill Sanderson (Blade Runner, TV's Deadwood) murdering a woman with a chainsaw, can it? Yes...yes, it can. If you REALLY have nothing better to do, I guess you can come down with me to the basement and "enjoy" the patience-trying tedium of...Savage Weekend.
In this overly-talky proto-slasher, four upstate NY stock brokers travel to the rural countryside for a weekend getaway. Our well-to-do weekenders consist of Robert (Jim Doerr), Jay (Devin Goldenberg, The Last Horror Film), Marie (Marilyn Hamlin, Shaft's Big Score) and Nicky (Christopher Allport, Invaders from Mars, To Live and Die in L.A., here playing a refreshingly ass-kicking gay character. It's the 70s, so he's fey as shit, but at least he gets to beat the fuck out of a bar full of rednecks). Meanwhile, sweaty, stringy-haired local Otis (Sanderson) wanders around a graveyard muttering to himself before directly addressing one of the tombstones. In flashback, we see unbalanced Otis beat his brother to death for fucking his girlfriend. He then proceeds to brand the poor girl with an "H" for "whore ('Otis ain't too bright.')." Otis skulks around spying on these wealthy out-of-towners as they copulate with various ready-and-willing locals. In the film's strangest scene, Nicky cuts his hands on barbed wire while watching Jay fuck a voluptuous local girl. After endless scenes of talking, fucking and one sanity-doubting scene in which a woman jerks off a goddamn COW'S UTTER in an attempt to turn on a distracted would-be lover, someone in a monster mask begins killing off the out-of-town folks one-by-one. Is it crazy Otis? Is it local handyman David Gale (Re-Animator, From Beyond), who doesn't appreciate these yuppies invading his turf? By this point, I didn't give a fuck, and you won't, either.
This is a boring, BORING movie, filled with repellent and thoroughly unlikable characters talking endlessly about a bunch of boring nonsense before being killed off in incredibly boring fashion. If I can give ANY credit at all to this exercise in tedium, it's that it did predate the "promiscuous characters get offed by a masked maniac" formula of slasher progenitor Halloween by two years, and the performances by Sanderson, Allport and Gale are inspired enough to rise above the bland material. Savage Weekend was lensed in 1976, released (barely) by a pre-Golan-Globus Cannon in 1979, then rereleased in 1981 to lure a few bucks away from unsuspecting moviegoers during the post-Friday the 13th slasher boom. I really feel for those folks. For a MUCH better out-of-their-element yuppies versus angry rural folk horror flick, check out 1977's Rituals instead.
Dir: David Paulsen
"You have been chosen. You are doomed. Prepare for...SAVAGE WEEKEND."
A movie can't be ALL bad when it opens with a strung-out looking Bill Sanderson (Blade Runner, TV's Deadwood) murdering a woman with a chainsaw, can it? Yes...yes, it can. If you REALLY have nothing better to do, I guess you can come down with me to the basement and "enjoy" the patience-trying tedium of...Savage Weekend.
In this overly-talky proto-slasher, four upstate NY stock brokers travel to the rural countryside for a weekend getaway. Our well-to-do weekenders consist of Robert (Jim Doerr), Jay (Devin Goldenberg, The Last Horror Film), Marie (Marilyn Hamlin, Shaft's Big Score) and Nicky (Christopher Allport, Invaders from Mars, To Live and Die in L.A., here playing a refreshingly ass-kicking gay character. It's the 70s, so he's fey as shit, but at least he gets to beat the fuck out of a bar full of rednecks). Meanwhile, sweaty, stringy-haired local Otis (Sanderson) wanders around a graveyard muttering to himself before directly addressing one of the tombstones. In flashback, we see unbalanced Otis beat his brother to death for fucking his girlfriend. He then proceeds to brand the poor girl with an "H" for "whore ('Otis ain't too bright.')." Otis skulks around spying on these wealthy out-of-towners as they copulate with various ready-and-willing locals. In the film's strangest scene, Nicky cuts his hands on barbed wire while watching Jay fuck a voluptuous local girl. After endless scenes of talking, fucking and one sanity-doubting scene in which a woman jerks off a goddamn COW'S UTTER in an attempt to turn on a distracted would-be lover, someone in a monster mask begins killing off the out-of-town folks one-by-one. Is it crazy Otis? Is it local handyman David Gale (Re-Animator, From Beyond), who doesn't appreciate these yuppies invading his turf? By this point, I didn't give a fuck, and you won't, either.
This is a boring, BORING movie, filled with repellent and thoroughly unlikable characters talking endlessly about a bunch of boring nonsense before being killed off in incredibly boring fashion. If I can give ANY credit at all to this exercise in tedium, it's that it did predate the "promiscuous characters get offed by a masked maniac" formula of slasher progenitor Halloween by two years, and the performances by Sanderson, Allport and Gale are inspired enough to rise above the bland material. Savage Weekend was lensed in 1976, released (barely) by a pre-Golan-Globus Cannon in 1979, then rereleased in 1981 to lure a few bucks away from unsuspecting moviegoers during the post-Friday the 13th slasher boom. I really feel for those folks. For a MUCH better out-of-their-element yuppies versus angry rural folk horror flick, check out 1977's Rituals instead.
Wednesday, October 14, 2015
Entry 82: Slaughterhouse (1987)
Slaughterhouse (1987)
Dir: Rick Roessler
"Buddy has an axe to grind. A big axe."
When a movie's opening credits are set to footage of real pigs being slaughtered over a goofy, "Wackety Sax"-style intrumental, you know there's only one place you can be! So c'mon, y'all; toss on your best overalls, wipe the pig offal off the couch and get cozy down here in the basement of sleaze...We're about to spend a little time in the Slaughterhouse!
This Texas Chain Saw imitator begins with a group of obnoxious teens fucking around at a run-down rural farm. When one horny couple intentional antagonizes a pen of swine, they're bumped off by an enormous, bearded, overall-clad redneck with a comically large meat clever (I mean it; it's fucking HUGE!). We then meet teenage sweethearts Skip (the vaguely Rob Lowe-ian Erich Schwarz) and his girlfriend Liz (real-life stunt woman Sherry Leigh, Sid and Nancy, TV's 24, whose very unattractive long perm and masculine jawline make her less an object of desire and more a dead ringer for "Weird" Al Yankovic), hard-working but beleaguered Sheriff Borden (get it?) and local bigwigs Tom (Bill Brinsfield, Death House, the Chuck Norris masterpiece Top Dog) and Herb. Tom and Herb want to purchase the foreclosed local slaughterhouse run by Lester Bacon (Don Barrett, Hobgoblins) to turn into a citrus farm, but the proud meat man refuses to sell to these soft-handed pansies. We're also introduced to Bacon's son, Buddy (who is, in fact, the killer from the beginning); a hulking man-child who sleeps in a pigpen and can communicate only through grunts and squeals. In true Texas Chain Saw fashion, the Bacon farm is decorated with decomposing carcasses and sculptures crafted from animal bones, and it's revealed that Buddy has hung his earlier victims up in the slaughterhouse with meat hooks. Facing bankruptcy and refusing to sell out, Lester decides to sick Buddy on Sheriff Borden (arm messily lopped off), Herb (Buddy crushes his skull with his bare hands in the movie's coolest/ickiest kill scene) and Tom (stuffed alive into a meat grinder in a disappointingly non-explicit scene). After these grisly killings, we get an interlude in which Skip and Liz make out...GAH! Fuck me, this is more upsetting than ANY of the death scenes in the film...imagine Rob Lowe making out with "Weird" Al dressed in drag...Yeah; you're welcome. Of course, these two love birds end up trapped in the slaughterhouse...Will they make it out? Or will Billy turn them into choice cuts?
Slaughterhouse is never anything more or less than a competent homage to/parody of Tobe Hooper's rural cannibal classic, but loses points because Hooper himself did it better a year earlier in Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2 ("It's like death eatin' a cracker, ain't it?"). Still, it's surprisingly well made, seeing as it's the sole effort from writer/director Roessler. Considering it's genre, it comes off as perhaps a little too slick (horror films are unique in that a low budget/shitty film stock often contributes to their overall effectiveness/atmosphere), and it's overt, slapsticky attempts at humor diffuse any genuine tension/horror from the situations it presents. Having said that, Buddy's certainly a memorable character and it's a welcome addition to a sub-genre too crowded by Chainsaw and Hills Have Eyes sequels/remakes/reboots.
Dir: Rick Roessler
"Buddy has an axe to grind. A big axe."
When a movie's opening credits are set to footage of real pigs being slaughtered over a goofy, "Wackety Sax"-style intrumental, you know there's only one place you can be! So c'mon, y'all; toss on your best overalls, wipe the pig offal off the couch and get cozy down here in the basement of sleaze...We're about to spend a little time in the Slaughterhouse!
This Texas Chain Saw imitator begins with a group of obnoxious teens fucking around at a run-down rural farm. When one horny couple intentional antagonizes a pen of swine, they're bumped off by an enormous, bearded, overall-clad redneck with a comically large meat clever (I mean it; it's fucking HUGE!). We then meet teenage sweethearts Skip (the vaguely Rob Lowe-ian Erich Schwarz) and his girlfriend Liz (real-life stunt woman Sherry Leigh, Sid and Nancy, TV's 24, whose very unattractive long perm and masculine jawline make her less an object of desire and more a dead ringer for "Weird" Al Yankovic), hard-working but beleaguered Sheriff Borden (get it?) and local bigwigs Tom (Bill Brinsfield, Death House, the Chuck Norris masterpiece Top Dog) and Herb. Tom and Herb want to purchase the foreclosed local slaughterhouse run by Lester Bacon (Don Barrett, Hobgoblins) to turn into a citrus farm, but the proud meat man refuses to sell to these soft-handed pansies. We're also introduced to Bacon's son, Buddy (who is, in fact, the killer from the beginning); a hulking man-child who sleeps in a pigpen and can communicate only through grunts and squeals. In true Texas Chain Saw fashion, the Bacon farm is decorated with decomposing carcasses and sculptures crafted from animal bones, and it's revealed that Buddy has hung his earlier victims up in the slaughterhouse with meat hooks. Facing bankruptcy and refusing to sell out, Lester decides to sick Buddy on Sheriff Borden (arm messily lopped off), Herb (Buddy crushes his skull with his bare hands in the movie's coolest/ickiest kill scene) and Tom (stuffed alive into a meat grinder in a disappointingly non-explicit scene). After these grisly killings, we get an interlude in which Skip and Liz make out...GAH! Fuck me, this is more upsetting than ANY of the death scenes in the film...imagine Rob Lowe making out with "Weird" Al dressed in drag...Yeah; you're welcome. Of course, these two love birds end up trapped in the slaughterhouse...Will they make it out? Or will Billy turn them into choice cuts?
Slaughterhouse is never anything more or less than a competent homage to/parody of Tobe Hooper's rural cannibal classic, but loses points because Hooper himself did it better a year earlier in Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2 ("It's like death eatin' a cracker, ain't it?"). Still, it's surprisingly well made, seeing as it's the sole effort from writer/director Roessler. Considering it's genre, it comes off as perhaps a little too slick (horror films are unique in that a low budget/shitty film stock often contributes to their overall effectiveness/atmosphere), and it's overt, slapsticky attempts at humor diffuse any genuine tension/horror from the situations it presents. Having said that, Buddy's certainly a memorable character and it's a welcome addition to a sub-genre too crowded by Chainsaw and Hills Have Eyes sequels/remakes/reboots.
Sunday, October 11, 2015
Entry 81: The Howling (1981)
The Howling (1981)
Dir: Joe Dante
"Imagine your worst fear a reality."
After she's sexually assaulted by a serial killer named Eddie Quist (Robert Picardo, Legend, Innerspace) TV newswoman Karen White (Dee Wallace, E.T., Cujo) and her husband Bill (the late Christopher Stone, Wallace's real-life husband) agree to take a sabbatical at "The Colony," a Northern California retreat owned by her psychiatrist (Patrick MacNee, TV's The Avengers, Waxwork). All is not as it seems at this camp for crazies; the other guests all behave strangely, an eerie howling is heard in the woods every night and vegan Bill is seduced by creepy nympho Marsha (Elisabeth Brooks, Family Plot) and begins eating red meat. Things get really "hairy" when Eddie Quist turns up back from the dead; turns out he's a werewolf and, in fact, "The Colony" is a haven for lycanthropes trying to exist beneath the notice of human society. Karen is able to excape this den of monsters and warn the world, but not without great personal sacrifice.
1981 was the year of the werewolf picture; in addition to this film, the big screen was also graced with John Landis' An American Werewolf in London and Michael Wadleigh's Wolfen. While I love all three films, The Howling is my personal favorite; in fact, it's one of my favorite goddamn horror films period. Director Dante (Piranha, Gremlins) manages to make an age-old trope genuinely scary again. His use of low-light filters makes even the sunniest California day look dark and oppressive, he imbues every scene with menacing fog and shadows, his use of jump-scares are perfectly timed for maximum effectiveness and the werewolves (created by Legend and Robocop's Rob Bottin, with a little help from legendary Rick Baker and Basement of Sleaze regular Dave Allen) are bestial and frightening, with at-the-time-astonishing in-camera transformations. More impressively, Dante and screenwriter John Sayles (Alligator, The Brother from Another Planet) manage to imbue the film with a sly humor (characters read "Howl" and Tom Wolfe novels, a Three Little Pigs cartoon plays on television, a jump cut to a can of wet dog food being poured after a violent death scene) that actually works and never detracts from the horror. Add to that a killer supporting cast of character actors (Kevin McCarthy, Dick Miller, John Carradine, Slim Pickens) and you've got a genuine horror classic. Oh yeah, avoid the shitty sequels!
Dir: Joe Dante
"Imagine your worst fear a reality."
After she's sexually assaulted by a serial killer named Eddie Quist (Robert Picardo, Legend, Innerspace) TV newswoman Karen White (Dee Wallace, E.T., Cujo) and her husband Bill (the late Christopher Stone, Wallace's real-life husband) agree to take a sabbatical at "The Colony," a Northern California retreat owned by her psychiatrist (Patrick MacNee, TV's The Avengers, Waxwork). All is not as it seems at this camp for crazies; the other guests all behave strangely, an eerie howling is heard in the woods every night and vegan Bill is seduced by creepy nympho Marsha (Elisabeth Brooks, Family Plot) and begins eating red meat. Things get really "hairy" when Eddie Quist turns up back from the dead; turns out he's a werewolf and, in fact, "The Colony" is a haven for lycanthropes trying to exist beneath the notice of human society. Karen is able to excape this den of monsters and warn the world, but not without great personal sacrifice.
1981 was the year of the werewolf picture; in addition to this film, the big screen was also graced with John Landis' An American Werewolf in London and Michael Wadleigh's Wolfen. While I love all three films, The Howling is my personal favorite; in fact, it's one of my favorite goddamn horror films period. Director Dante (Piranha, Gremlins) manages to make an age-old trope genuinely scary again. His use of low-light filters makes even the sunniest California day look dark and oppressive, he imbues every scene with menacing fog and shadows, his use of jump-scares are perfectly timed for maximum effectiveness and the werewolves (created by Legend and Robocop's Rob Bottin, with a little help from legendary Rick Baker and Basement of Sleaze regular Dave Allen) are bestial and frightening, with at-the-time-astonishing in-camera transformations. More impressively, Dante and screenwriter John Sayles (Alligator, The Brother from Another Planet) manage to imbue the film with a sly humor (characters read "Howl" and Tom Wolfe novels, a Three Little Pigs cartoon plays on television, a jump cut to a can of wet dog food being poured after a violent death scene) that actually works and never detracts from the horror. Add to that a killer supporting cast of character actors (Kevin McCarthy, Dick Miller, John Carradine, Slim Pickens) and you've got a genuine horror classic. Oh yeah, avoid the shitty sequels!
Friday, October 9, 2015
Entry 80: The Nest (1988)
The Nest (1988)
Dir: Terence H. Winkless
"The terror has hatched."
When pharmaceutically-enhanced killer cockroaches invade a small coastal town, Sheriff Franc Luz (Ghost Town) teams up with his estranged lover (Lisa Langlois from Class of 1984) and an alcoholic, chain-smoking, Hawaiian shirt-wearing exterminator (Stephen Davies, Inserts, Lords of the Deep) to stop them. The roaches are the result of experiments conducted by sexy, crazy scientist Terri Treas (from the Alien Nation television series), who gets turned on when the bugs begin munching on her hand. Because this flick dips it's toes into Jaws territory, corrupt mayor Robert Lansing (Empire of the Ants, TVs Automan) tries to cover everything up. The roaches gestate inside cocoons that look like giant, slimy, engorged scrotums and can take on the characteristics of whatever they consume, so we get a cat-roach and Lansing mutates into a Cronenberg-inspired man-roach. There's a battle with roaches in a diner using all manner of kitchen implements and a climactic showdown with the 8-foot tall, multi-headed roach queen in the caves beneath the town.
With tongue planted firmly in cheek, this 50s creature-feature throwback is a helluva lot of fun, and much better than most of the other films Corman's Concorde was putting out at the time. There are some great, surprising gore effects (a cat being eaten from the inside out, roaches forcing themselves down the throat of a bedridden fat woman and Lansing's aforementioned transformation are particular highlights), solid performances by a cast of genre vets and character actors and director Winkless maintains a lightly humorous tone that never veers into overt slapstick. Give this one a look! As an aside, Guillermo del Toro's film Mimic uses some suspiciously similar plot elements to this film (right down to the origin of/purpose for the mutated roaches), albeit played completely straight...
Dir: Terence H. Winkless
"The terror has hatched."
When pharmaceutically-enhanced killer cockroaches invade a small coastal town, Sheriff Franc Luz (Ghost Town) teams up with his estranged lover (Lisa Langlois from Class of 1984) and an alcoholic, chain-smoking, Hawaiian shirt-wearing exterminator (Stephen Davies, Inserts, Lords of the Deep) to stop them. The roaches are the result of experiments conducted by sexy, crazy scientist Terri Treas (from the Alien Nation television series), who gets turned on when the bugs begin munching on her hand. Because this flick dips it's toes into Jaws territory, corrupt mayor Robert Lansing (Empire of the Ants, TVs Automan) tries to cover everything up. The roaches gestate inside cocoons that look like giant, slimy, engorged scrotums and can take on the characteristics of whatever they consume, so we get a cat-roach and Lansing mutates into a Cronenberg-inspired man-roach. There's a battle with roaches in a diner using all manner of kitchen implements and a climactic showdown with the 8-foot tall, multi-headed roach queen in the caves beneath the town.
With tongue planted firmly in cheek, this 50s creature-feature throwback is a helluva lot of fun, and much better than most of the other films Corman's Concorde was putting out at the time. There are some great, surprising gore effects (a cat being eaten from the inside out, roaches forcing themselves down the throat of a bedridden fat woman and Lansing's aforementioned transformation are particular highlights), solid performances by a cast of genre vets and character actors and director Winkless maintains a lightly humorous tone that never veers into overt slapstick. Give this one a look! As an aside, Guillermo del Toro's film Mimic uses some suspiciously similar plot elements to this film (right down to the origin of/purpose for the mutated roaches), albeit played completely straight...
Thursday, October 8, 2015
Entry 79: Slaughter High (1986)
Slaughter High (1986)
Dir: George Dugdale, Mark Ezra, Peter Mackenzie Litten
"Marty majored in cutting classmates."
I've been slacking off! I'd resolved to double my output during this, my favorite of months, but here we are a week into October and I'm just now getting to an entry. Life's been hectic lately, but tonight I'm taking some time off and paying a visit to the graduating class of Slaughter High...
This picture starts off with a pretty fucking great garage rock-sounding opening credits theme as we're introduced to the student body of Doddsville County High School. It's April Fool's Day, and sexpot Carol (Caroline Munro, StarCrash) decides to play a prank on insufferable nerd Marty (Simon Scuddamore). She makes this unfortunate loser strip down to his skivvies in the shower of the girls' locker room as a prelude to some serious deep boning, but instead pulls the curtain away to reveal a bunch of her "cool" friends pointing and laughing at this nude nebbish. We get a LOT of unfortunate dick and taint shots as the jocks drag his naked body around the locker room before giving him a swirly. At this point, I should also point out that the sexy-as-hell Munro (one of my favorite B-movie actresses) was 36 years old when she was cast as a high schooler in this movie! Later, another prank-gone-awry results in Marty getting burned with nitric acid and set on fire...Hilarious, right?! Flash-forward ten years and Carol has become a B-movie starlet (art imitating life?) working for a producer whose office is adorned with posters for Pieces and Infra-Man! Carol decides to attend her 10-year class reunion but, curiously, she arrives to find the school in a state of disrepair and, suspiciously, the only other attending guests are her friends who helped to prank Marty! Yeah, you guessed it; this "reunion" is a fake put on by vengeful, deformed Marty for the sole purpose of killing the shit out of his former tormentors. As you'd expect, Marty (now hidden behind a creepy jester's mask) stalks Carol and friends one-by-one, dispatching them via coat hanger through the head, butcher knife through the torso, a bathtub filled with acid (this one uses some surprising, Wolf Man-style time-elapse photography), riding lawnmower dropped from a hoist (creative!), electrocution-via-metal-bedframe, drowning in a septic tank and, in the film's most technically impressive kill, he tricks a mark into drinking a caustic, carbonated substance that causes his intestines to explode. For her trouble, Carol gets impaled in the very same shower in which she'd humiliated Marty during the prologue. Since this is an April Fool's Day-themed film there is, of course, a twist ending, but it is at best pretty stupid and, at worst, totally nonsensical.
Slaughter High is, ultimately, a pretty minor entry in the slasher canon, and I can't for the life of me figure out why it took three goddamn people to write and direct it! Munro gives the only decent performance, but even she is strictly phoning it in. The abandoned school setting provides some slightly unnerving atmosphere, but it's almost totally undone by clumsy direction and too-dark cinematography (there are several scenes in which it's nearly impossible to tell what's going on). The film's biggest saving grace is that it's one of the few slasher films to provide a wholly sympathetic killer; Munro and her friends are all unrepentant sociopaths who show no remorse/admit no guilt for their part in destroying the life of their former classmate. Slaughter High was shot under the working title of April Fool's Day, but was changed to avoid confusion when a (superior) film was released using the same title that year.
Dir: George Dugdale, Mark Ezra, Peter Mackenzie Litten
"Marty majored in cutting classmates."
I've been slacking off! I'd resolved to double my output during this, my favorite of months, but here we are a week into October and I'm just now getting to an entry. Life's been hectic lately, but tonight I'm taking some time off and paying a visit to the graduating class of Slaughter High...
This picture starts off with a pretty fucking great garage rock-sounding opening credits theme as we're introduced to the student body of Doddsville County High School. It's April Fool's Day, and sexpot Carol (Caroline Munro, StarCrash) decides to play a prank on insufferable nerd Marty (Simon Scuddamore). She makes this unfortunate loser strip down to his skivvies in the shower of the girls' locker room as a prelude to some serious deep boning, but instead pulls the curtain away to reveal a bunch of her "cool" friends pointing and laughing at this nude nebbish. We get a LOT of unfortunate dick and taint shots as the jocks drag his naked body around the locker room before giving him a swirly. At this point, I should also point out that the sexy-as-hell Munro (one of my favorite B-movie actresses) was 36 years old when she was cast as a high schooler in this movie! Later, another prank-gone-awry results in Marty getting burned with nitric acid and set on fire...Hilarious, right?! Flash-forward ten years and Carol has become a B-movie starlet (art imitating life?) working for a producer whose office is adorned with posters for Pieces and Infra-Man! Carol decides to attend her 10-year class reunion but, curiously, she arrives to find the school in a state of disrepair and, suspiciously, the only other attending guests are her friends who helped to prank Marty! Yeah, you guessed it; this "reunion" is a fake put on by vengeful, deformed Marty for the sole purpose of killing the shit out of his former tormentors. As you'd expect, Marty (now hidden behind a creepy jester's mask) stalks Carol and friends one-by-one, dispatching them via coat hanger through the head, butcher knife through the torso, a bathtub filled with acid (this one uses some surprising, Wolf Man-style time-elapse photography), riding lawnmower dropped from a hoist (creative!), electrocution-via-metal-bedframe, drowning in a septic tank and, in the film's most technically impressive kill, he tricks a mark into drinking a caustic, carbonated substance that causes his intestines to explode. For her trouble, Carol gets impaled in the very same shower in which she'd humiliated Marty during the prologue. Since this is an April Fool's Day-themed film there is, of course, a twist ending, but it is at best pretty stupid and, at worst, totally nonsensical.
Slaughter High is, ultimately, a pretty minor entry in the slasher canon, and I can't for the life of me figure out why it took three goddamn people to write and direct it! Munro gives the only decent performance, but even she is strictly phoning it in. The abandoned school setting provides some slightly unnerving atmosphere, but it's almost totally undone by clumsy direction and too-dark cinematography (there are several scenes in which it's nearly impossible to tell what's going on). The film's biggest saving grace is that it's one of the few slasher films to provide a wholly sympathetic killer; Munro and her friends are all unrepentant sociopaths who show no remorse/admit no guilt for their part in destroying the life of their former classmate. Slaughter High was shot under the working title of April Fool's Day, but was changed to avoid confusion when a (superior) film was released using the same title that year.
Monday, September 28, 2015
Entry 78: Chopping Mall (1986)
Chopping Mall (AKA Killbots, 1986)
Dir: Jim Wynorski
"Where shopping can cost you an arm and a leg."
Finally, a film that legitimizes my decision to do most of my shopping online...Remember your parking space and join me tonight as I leave the basement and take a trip to the Chopping Mall!
You know this was made in the 80s when it begins with a greasy mulletted dude in ripped jeans breaking into a jewelry store in a mall filled with ashtrays! He's dispatched by a diminutive, treaded robot with a singular red eye (think a more sinister version of Johnny 5). Cut to an applauding audience; turns out this is just a demonstration video put on by Secure-Tronics to demonstrate their new Protector-101 series security robots (as an amusing aside, Paul Bartell and Mary Woronov are in the audience reprising their roles as Paul and Mary Bland from Eating Raoul-"I don' t know, Mary; the one in the middle has an unpleasantly...'ethnic' quality."!). The 101 units are set to undergo a trial run at a California mall, but when lightning strikes the mall the night of their debut, these killbots go crazy and begin slaughtering the overnight janitorial staff and a group of teenage employees (including Re-Animator's Barbara Crampton) who are partying after-hours. The robots dispatch their victims using razor claws, electricity, flamethrowers and, in one extremely memorable scene, head-exploding laser blasts!
Short and sweet (77 min.), Chopping Mall is never less than thoroughly entertaining. Director Wynorski (Deathstalker II, The Return of Swamp Thing) fills the movie with his usual gratuitous T&A, dumb comic relief, excessive gore and plenty of in-jokes (references to Rambo, Terminator and Dawn of the Dead, a gun store called Peckinpah's, a movie-themed pizza restaurant decorated with posters from past Corman productions). The young, enthusiastic cast is likable and seems to be having fun. The robot effects by Robert Short (E.T., Star Trek: The Motion Picture) are fantastic. Look for cameos from Corman regular Dick Miller (A Bucket of Blood, every goddamn Joe Dante movie) as a janitor and Gerrit Graham (Phantom of the Paradise, TerrorVision) as a doomed technician.
Dir: Jim Wynorski
"Where shopping can cost you an arm and a leg."
Finally, a film that legitimizes my decision to do most of my shopping online...Remember your parking space and join me tonight as I leave the basement and take a trip to the Chopping Mall!
You know this was made in the 80s when it begins with a greasy mulletted dude in ripped jeans breaking into a jewelry store in a mall filled with ashtrays! He's dispatched by a diminutive, treaded robot with a singular red eye (think a more sinister version of Johnny 5). Cut to an applauding audience; turns out this is just a demonstration video put on by Secure-Tronics to demonstrate their new Protector-101 series security robots (as an amusing aside, Paul Bartell and Mary Woronov are in the audience reprising their roles as Paul and Mary Bland from Eating Raoul-"I don' t know, Mary; the one in the middle has an unpleasantly...'ethnic' quality."!). The 101 units are set to undergo a trial run at a California mall, but when lightning strikes the mall the night of their debut, these killbots go crazy and begin slaughtering the overnight janitorial staff and a group of teenage employees (including Re-Animator's Barbara Crampton) who are partying after-hours. The robots dispatch their victims using razor claws, electricity, flamethrowers and, in one extremely memorable scene, head-exploding laser blasts!
Short and sweet (77 min.), Chopping Mall is never less than thoroughly entertaining. Director Wynorski (Deathstalker II, The Return of Swamp Thing) fills the movie with his usual gratuitous T&A, dumb comic relief, excessive gore and plenty of in-jokes (references to Rambo, Terminator and Dawn of the Dead, a gun store called Peckinpah's, a movie-themed pizza restaurant decorated with posters from past Corman productions). The young, enthusiastic cast is likable and seems to be having fun. The robot effects by Robert Short (E.T., Star Trek: The Motion Picture) are fantastic. Look for cameos from Corman regular Dick Miller (A Bucket of Blood, every goddamn Joe Dante movie) as a janitor and Gerrit Graham (Phantom of the Paradise, TerrorVision) as a doomed technician.
Wednesday, September 23, 2015
Entry 77: Turkey Shoot (1981)
Turkey Shoot (AKA Escape 2000, Blood Camp Thatcher-1981)
Dir: Brian Trenchard-Smith
"Hunting is the national sport...and people are the prey!"
For the first time since Mad Max: Fury Road, I'm journeying into the dark future of the "land down under." Head down to the Basement, make yourself a Vegemite sandwich and buckle the fuck up as I take part in the Turkey Shoot!
After opening credits set to newsreel footage showing the collapse of society (like in Mad Max 2), we are introduced to a trio of political dissidents being hauled to a prison camp in totalitarian, "future" 1995 Australia. There's pirate radio broadcaster Steve Railsback (The Stunt Man, Lifeforce), arrest-resister Olivia Hussey (Black Christmas, It) and Lynda Stoner (Shark's Paradise), a politician's mistress who tried to break off the affair. They are brought to an internment camp run by Charles Thatcher (Michael Craig, Vault of Horror, TVs Doctor Who), a stuffy, silver-haired gentleman who smokes a pipe and enjoys playing chess on a comically huge board. After a camp initiation that involves Railsback being choked and beaten and the women sexually assaulted by the guards, they are brought to assembly, in which head guard Roger Ward (Mad Max, Long Weekend) makes the prisoners repeat litanies of self-abasement ("I am a deviant; the lowest form of life!") and administers beatings to those who don't pronounce enthusiastically enough. Thatcher invites a group of high-ranking government officials to the camp, and the woman among them gets off while watching the guards burn a malnourished teenage dissident to death. Thatcher offers our initial trio, along with longtime prisoners John Ley (Mad Max, BMX Bandits) and Bill Young (The Matrix, Chopper), a chance at freedom if they agree to participate in the titular event, in which they will be hunted, unarmed, through the outback by the weapon-equipped visiting officials. What follows is an unbelievably gory game of cat-and-mouse, complete with foot-dismemberment, back-breakings, multiple arrow-piercings, mummified corpses, a dude getting pulped beneath the tires of a futuristic SUV and impalement on Rambo-style punji sticks. Did I mention the sanity-doubting moment in which Thatcher reveals he has a circus freak wolfman at his disposal (he looks a lot like a technicolor version of the creature from The Mad Monster)?! Can Railsback, Hussey and their compatriots survive this loaded game, or will their oppressors reign supreme?
I didn't have time to mention it before, but it's worth noting that the "wolfman" bites it by being bisected by a bulldozer blade and one of the government officials casts off his mortal coil by being shot in the dick and burned. Goddamn, I love this fucking movie. It's as if Richard Connell took The Most Dangerous Game, hooked it up to Nigel Tufnel's amp cranked to 11, then pulled down your pants and hooked that amp directly to your genitals while also running a jackhammer on them for 92 minutes. Director Trenchard-Smith made the equally fantastic Dead-End Drive-In and the 80s cult hit BMX Bandits before fading into (completely undeserved) obscurity (he's currently making Asylum-style DTV knockoff flicks). He's certainly in need, and worthy, of a George Miller-style comeback...perhaps Quentin Tarantino naming him as one of his all-time favorite directors will help? This Ozploitation gem was severely cut to secure an R-rating when it was released in the USA by Hemdale as Escape 2000 in 1982, and even more-so when it was released in the UK as Blood Camp Thatcher (get it?). Seek out the region 1 DVD (as Escape 2000) and Blu-ray (as Turkey Shoot)
releases, as they're fully uncut.
Dir: Brian Trenchard-Smith
"Hunting is the national sport...and people are the prey!"
For the first time since Mad Max: Fury Road, I'm journeying into the dark future of the "land down under." Head down to the Basement, make yourself a Vegemite sandwich and buckle the fuck up as I take part in the Turkey Shoot!
After opening credits set to newsreel footage showing the collapse of society (like in Mad Max 2), we are introduced to a trio of political dissidents being hauled to a prison camp in totalitarian, "future" 1995 Australia. There's pirate radio broadcaster Steve Railsback (The Stunt Man, Lifeforce), arrest-resister Olivia Hussey (Black Christmas, It) and Lynda Stoner (Shark's Paradise), a politician's mistress who tried to break off the affair. They are brought to an internment camp run by Charles Thatcher (Michael Craig, Vault of Horror, TVs Doctor Who), a stuffy, silver-haired gentleman who smokes a pipe and enjoys playing chess on a comically huge board. After a camp initiation that involves Railsback being choked and beaten and the women sexually assaulted by the guards, they are brought to assembly, in which head guard Roger Ward (Mad Max, Long Weekend) makes the prisoners repeat litanies of self-abasement ("I am a deviant; the lowest form of life!") and administers beatings to those who don't pronounce enthusiastically enough. Thatcher invites a group of high-ranking government officials to the camp, and the woman among them gets off while watching the guards burn a malnourished teenage dissident to death. Thatcher offers our initial trio, along with longtime prisoners John Ley (Mad Max, BMX Bandits) and Bill Young (The Matrix, Chopper), a chance at freedom if they agree to participate in the titular event, in which they will be hunted, unarmed, through the outback by the weapon-equipped visiting officials. What follows is an unbelievably gory game of cat-and-mouse, complete with foot-dismemberment, back-breakings, multiple arrow-piercings, mummified corpses, a dude getting pulped beneath the tires of a futuristic SUV and impalement on Rambo-style punji sticks. Did I mention the sanity-doubting moment in which Thatcher reveals he has a circus freak wolfman at his disposal (he looks a lot like a technicolor version of the creature from The Mad Monster)?! Can Railsback, Hussey and their compatriots survive this loaded game, or will their oppressors reign supreme?
I didn't have time to mention it before, but it's worth noting that the "wolfman" bites it by being bisected by a bulldozer blade and one of the government officials casts off his mortal coil by being shot in the dick and burned. Goddamn, I love this fucking movie. It's as if Richard Connell took The Most Dangerous Game, hooked it up to Nigel Tufnel's amp cranked to 11, then pulled down your pants and hooked that amp directly to your genitals while also running a jackhammer on them for 92 minutes. Director Trenchard-Smith made the equally fantastic Dead-End Drive-In and the 80s cult hit BMX Bandits before fading into (completely undeserved) obscurity (he's currently making Asylum-style DTV knockoff flicks). He's certainly in need, and worthy, of a George Miller-style comeback...perhaps Quentin Tarantino naming him as one of his all-time favorite directors will help? This Ozploitation gem was severely cut to secure an R-rating when it was released in the USA by Hemdale as Escape 2000 in 1982, and even more-so when it was released in the UK as Blood Camp Thatcher (get it?). Seek out the region 1 DVD (as Escape 2000) and Blu-ray (as Turkey Shoot)
releases, as they're fully uncut.
Saturday, September 19, 2015
Entry 76: 52 Pick-Up (1986)
52 Pick-Up (1986)
Dir: John Frankenheimer
"His wife. His mistress. His career...A deadly trap."
Roy Scheider (Jaws, Naked Lunch) stars in this lean, mean L.A. neo-noir from director Frankenheimer (Seconds, Prophecy). Scheider is Harry Mitchell, a wealthy L.A. engineer and Korean war vet married to A.D.A. Ann-Margret (Tommy, The Limey) and fucking nude model Kelly Preston (Amazon Women on the Moon, Twins). Preston works some low-life individuals who catch she and Harry schtupping on tape and decide to blackmail the man. This terrible trio consists of sleazy porno director John Glover (The Evil That Men Do, Gremlins 2: the New Batch, slimey and scary in a career-best performance-he sometimes wears an eye patch for no reason!), unhinged ex-con killer Clarence Williams III (TVs Mod Squad and Twin Peaks, scary as fuck here!) and gay brothel owner Robert Trebor (My Demon Lover, Universal Soldier). Harry refuses to pay up, and the scumbags murder Preston (in a genuinely unnerving and affecting snuff movie sequence). This just pisses Harry off further, and soon this grizzled middle-aged bastard is prowling the seedy streets of downtown L.A., putting in place a plan to exact revenge by pitting these three dirtbags against one another, with help along the way from exotic dancer Vanity (Tanya's Island, Action Jackson-always a favorite in the basement!)!
I really enjoyed this hard-boiled, take-no-shit crime thriller, but it's too bad that the "happy" ending feels like a last-minute tack-on to appease mainstream audiences. Elmore Leonard wrote the script from his own novel (producers Golan & Globus must've loved the book; they filmed it just two years earlier as The Ambassador!). The performers are all great, but Scheider owns this movie: Harry's transformation from rich, complacent schlub to vengeful ass-kicker is natural and believable, and he even manages to bring some sympathy and vulnerability to this tough guy in his scenes with Margaret. Watch for a cameo from Ron Jeremy as a participant in a sex party at Glover's apartment.
Dir: John Frankenheimer
"His wife. His mistress. His career...A deadly trap."
Roy Scheider (Jaws, Naked Lunch) stars in this lean, mean L.A. neo-noir from director Frankenheimer (Seconds, Prophecy). Scheider is Harry Mitchell, a wealthy L.A. engineer and Korean war vet married to A.D.A. Ann-Margret (Tommy, The Limey) and fucking nude model Kelly Preston (Amazon Women on the Moon, Twins). Preston works some low-life individuals who catch she and Harry schtupping on tape and decide to blackmail the man. This terrible trio consists of sleazy porno director John Glover (The Evil That Men Do, Gremlins 2: the New Batch, slimey and scary in a career-best performance-he sometimes wears an eye patch for no reason!), unhinged ex-con killer Clarence Williams III (TVs Mod Squad and Twin Peaks, scary as fuck here!) and gay brothel owner Robert Trebor (My Demon Lover, Universal Soldier). Harry refuses to pay up, and the scumbags murder Preston (in a genuinely unnerving and affecting snuff movie sequence). This just pisses Harry off further, and soon this grizzled middle-aged bastard is prowling the seedy streets of downtown L.A., putting in place a plan to exact revenge by pitting these three dirtbags against one another, with help along the way from exotic dancer Vanity (Tanya's Island, Action Jackson-always a favorite in the basement!)!
I really enjoyed this hard-boiled, take-no-shit crime thriller, but it's too bad that the "happy" ending feels like a last-minute tack-on to appease mainstream audiences. Elmore Leonard wrote the script from his own novel (producers Golan & Globus must've loved the book; they filmed it just two years earlier as The Ambassador!). The performers are all great, but Scheider owns this movie: Harry's transformation from rich, complacent schlub to vengeful ass-kicker is natural and believable, and he even manages to bring some sympathy and vulnerability to this tough guy in his scenes with Margaret. Watch for a cameo from Ron Jeremy as a participant in a sex party at Glover's apartment.
Thursday, September 17, 2015
Entry 75: The House on Sorority Row (1983)
The House on Sorority Row (1983)
Dir: Mark Rosman
"Sisters in life. Sisters in death."
After (briefly) talking about slashers with a friend at work today, I decided it was time to revisit that most prolific of horror sub-genres. Join me now, as I get rude, nude, wasted and...um...dead with the girls at The House on Sorority Row!
After a 1961-set prologue in which a Mrs. Slater miscarries a child, we flash forward to 1981, in which the girls of the Pi-Pheta sorority are planning on hosting their graduation party in their closed-for-the-season sorority house, much to the chagrin of their unstable house mom, the previously mentioned Mrs. Slater. This motley group of gals includes smart, responsible Kate (Kristen Stewart prototype Kate McNeil, Monkey Shines, Sudden Death), ditzy Liz (Janis Ward) and, best of all, sexy, smoking, hard-drinking, pistol-toting (my kinda gal!) Vicki (Eileen Davidson, Goin' All the Way!, a shitload of soap operas your mom watches). After the opening salvo of their reverie is interrupted by an irate Slater, the girls propose a toast: "To Mrs. Slater! The house mother to end all house mothers!" They're not fucking kidding, as the demented old coot bursts in to Vicki's bedroom while she's fucking her Jew-fro sporting boyfriend, slashing her waterbed and drenching them both! Vicki vows vengeance, and accidentally blows away the old bag in a prank gone awry. The other girls agree to cover it up, and they unceremoniously dump the curmudgeon's corpse in a fetid swimming pool. That night, the graduation party continues with a terrible proto-new wave band with atrocious hair, and the bloodshed begins as a fat, mustached partygoer is killed in the woods by an unseen assailant! After several of the sisters are killed, Kate discovers a creepy-as-shit, dollhouse-type room beneath the sorority house filled with clown paraphernalia (this was the shitting-myself moment for this film; I, like all rational people, hate and distrust clowns). Eventually, Vicki is slaughtered by someone wielding Slater's cane and boring Kate is (predictably) left as the "final girl" to face the mad killer with Vicki's pistol (if you want to know the identity of the killer, watch the damn movie!). The insane finale DOES include clown masks, daggers, identity reveals and a sense of closure not often found in the slasher genre. I dug it.
This Halloween/Friday the 13th cash-in features a lamentable lack of gore or naked female flesh (perhaps owing to director Rosman's future as a Disney TV employee), but features stylish, engaging direction by Rosman and acceptable, even winning, performances by its young cast, as well as decent production values. The (actually pretty damn good) score is by Richard Band, of Re-Animator and a thousand Full Moon flicks. This is a fun, stylish, worthwhile entry into the slasher canon; check it out!
Dir: Mark Rosman
"Sisters in life. Sisters in death."
After (briefly) talking about slashers with a friend at work today, I decided it was time to revisit that most prolific of horror sub-genres. Join me now, as I get rude, nude, wasted and...um...dead with the girls at The House on Sorority Row!
After a 1961-set prologue in which a Mrs. Slater miscarries a child, we flash forward to 1981, in which the girls of the Pi-Pheta sorority are planning on hosting their graduation party in their closed-for-the-season sorority house, much to the chagrin of their unstable house mom, the previously mentioned Mrs. Slater. This motley group of gals includes smart, responsible Kate (Kristen Stewart prototype Kate McNeil, Monkey Shines, Sudden Death), ditzy Liz (Janis Ward) and, best of all, sexy, smoking, hard-drinking, pistol-toting (my kinda gal!) Vicki (Eileen Davidson, Goin' All the Way!, a shitload of soap operas your mom watches). After the opening salvo of their reverie is interrupted by an irate Slater, the girls propose a toast: "To Mrs. Slater! The house mother to end all house mothers!" They're not fucking kidding, as the demented old coot bursts in to Vicki's bedroom while she's fucking her Jew-fro sporting boyfriend, slashing her waterbed and drenching them both! Vicki vows vengeance, and accidentally blows away the old bag in a prank gone awry. The other girls agree to cover it up, and they unceremoniously dump the curmudgeon's corpse in a fetid swimming pool. That night, the graduation party continues with a terrible proto-new wave band with atrocious hair, and the bloodshed begins as a fat, mustached partygoer is killed in the woods by an unseen assailant! After several of the sisters are killed, Kate discovers a creepy-as-shit, dollhouse-type room beneath the sorority house filled with clown paraphernalia (this was the shitting-myself moment for this film; I, like all rational people, hate and distrust clowns). Eventually, Vicki is slaughtered by someone wielding Slater's cane and boring Kate is (predictably) left as the "final girl" to face the mad killer with Vicki's pistol (if you want to know the identity of the killer, watch the damn movie!). The insane finale DOES include clown masks, daggers, identity reveals and a sense of closure not often found in the slasher genre. I dug it.
This Halloween/Friday the 13th cash-in features a lamentable lack of gore or naked female flesh (perhaps owing to director Rosman's future as a Disney TV employee), but features stylish, engaging direction by Rosman and acceptable, even winning, performances by its young cast, as well as decent production values. The (actually pretty damn good) score is by Richard Band, of Re-Animator and a thousand Full Moon flicks. This is a fun, stylish, worthwhile entry into the slasher canon; check it out!
Friday, September 11, 2015
Entry 74: Van Nuys Blvd. (1979)
Van Nuys Blvd. (1979)
Dir: William Sachs
"The greatest cruisin' in the land takes place on the street..."
As the summer months are waning (thank fucking god), join me in the Basement as I take a breezy, warm, 93-minute cruise down Van Nuys Blvd.!
When we first meet small-town teen Bobby (played by obviously late-20s or early-30s Bill Adler, Blue Sunshine, The Pom-Pom Girls), he's wearing a plunging v-neck and blasting his sweet van down a country road. Arriving at his trailer, he finds his sexy, nubile girlfriend waiting inside for him, naked and sweaty. Rather than make time with his ready and willing gal, this small-town shithead would rather watch a news story about the wild times going down on the titular street. Before you can say "blueballs," Bobby's out the door and on his way to sunny SoCal! The rest of this nearly plotless raunchy teen comedy plays out like a Bob Guccione-produced remake of American Graffiti, as we're introduced to a disparate group of Van Nuys regulars: nerdy Greg (Dennis Bowen, TVs Welcome Back, Kotter) lusts after comely Camille (Melissa Prophet, previous BOS entry Time Walker, Invasion USA) but winds up involved with a sexy biker chick. Van-driving cutie Moon (Cynthia Wood, Shampoo, Apocalypse Now), gets busted by the cops after getting taunted into a drag race by Bobby. After Bobby, Moon, Greg, Camille and superbly-mustached Chooch (David Hayward, Nashville, Eaten Alive) spend a night in the slammer together, they all decide to go to the amusement park the next day (like you do). The rest of the movie consists of a series of vignettes in which our heroes get involved with tits, sledgehammer duels, tits, rapist cops, tits, topless dancers, tits, drag racing...Did I mention there are a shitload of tits in this movie? Eventually, Bobby and Moon hook up and Chooch finds love with a topless waitress, but (severely irritating) Greg gets in some shit when he crawls through the wrong window to rendezvous with Camille and ends up making foreplay with her middle-aged parents! Hilarity ensues, of course, but the two end up together, anyway.
Y'know, I'd REALLY like to give this one a recommendation; the actors are (mostly) likable and enthusiastic (despite being too old for their roles), the (non-surgically-enhanced) nudity is acceptable, and director Sachs (The Incredible Melting Man, Galaxina) keeps the action at a breezy pace. But goddamn, Greg is such an obnoxious, unlikable fuckwit that it ruins the whole fucking film. He spends most of the running time playing irritating practical jokes, mocking the other characters and generally making an ass of himself. I kept waiting for Bobby and Chooch to team up and beat the shit out of him. I was disappointed. You will be, too.
Dir: William Sachs
"The greatest cruisin' in the land takes place on the street..."
As the summer months are waning (thank fucking god), join me in the Basement as I take a breezy, warm, 93-minute cruise down Van Nuys Blvd.!
When we first meet small-town teen Bobby (played by obviously late-20s or early-30s Bill Adler, Blue Sunshine, The Pom-Pom Girls), he's wearing a plunging v-neck and blasting his sweet van down a country road. Arriving at his trailer, he finds his sexy, nubile girlfriend waiting inside for him, naked and sweaty. Rather than make time with his ready and willing gal, this small-town shithead would rather watch a news story about the wild times going down on the titular street. Before you can say "blueballs," Bobby's out the door and on his way to sunny SoCal! The rest of this nearly plotless raunchy teen comedy plays out like a Bob Guccione-produced remake of American Graffiti, as we're introduced to a disparate group of Van Nuys regulars: nerdy Greg (Dennis Bowen, TVs Welcome Back, Kotter) lusts after comely Camille (Melissa Prophet, previous BOS entry Time Walker, Invasion USA) but winds up involved with a sexy biker chick. Van-driving cutie Moon (Cynthia Wood, Shampoo, Apocalypse Now), gets busted by the cops after getting taunted into a drag race by Bobby. After Bobby, Moon, Greg, Camille and superbly-mustached Chooch (David Hayward, Nashville, Eaten Alive) spend a night in the slammer together, they all decide to go to the amusement park the next day (like you do). The rest of the movie consists of a series of vignettes in which our heroes get involved with tits, sledgehammer duels, tits, rapist cops, tits, topless dancers, tits, drag racing...Did I mention there are a shitload of tits in this movie? Eventually, Bobby and Moon hook up and Chooch finds love with a topless waitress, but (severely irritating) Greg gets in some shit when he crawls through the wrong window to rendezvous with Camille and ends up making foreplay with her middle-aged parents! Hilarity ensues, of course, but the two end up together, anyway.
Y'know, I'd REALLY like to give this one a recommendation; the actors are (mostly) likable and enthusiastic (despite being too old for their roles), the (non-surgically-enhanced) nudity is acceptable, and director Sachs (The Incredible Melting Man, Galaxina) keeps the action at a breezy pace. But goddamn, Greg is such an obnoxious, unlikable fuckwit that it ruins the whole fucking film. He spends most of the running time playing irritating practical jokes, mocking the other characters and generally making an ass of himself. I kept waiting for Bobby and Chooch to team up and beat the shit out of him. I was disappointed. You will be, too.
Thursday, September 3, 2015
Entry 73: Commando (1985)
Commando (1985)
Dir: Mark L. Lester
"Somewhere...somehow...someone's going to pay."
In 1985, the director of Roller Boogie, the writer of Teen Wolf and the star of Hercules in New York came together and, somehow, created the most cartoonishly superlative example of 80's action cinema. Join me now as I let off some steam in the Basement of Sleaze with Commando!
Arnold Schwarzenegger (in a role originally intended for Gene Simmons (!), then Nick Nolte) stars as German-American ex-special forces Colonel John Matrix (he eats Green Berets for breakfast!). When his young daughter Jenny (Alyssa Milano, TVs Who's the Boss?, Embrace of the Vampire) is kidnapped by a South American Dictator bent on forcing him into an assassination, Matrix rampages across California in an attempt to get her back. He's aided in his quest by a plucky flight attendant (Rae Dawn Chong, daughter of Tommy and star of the immortal classic Soul Man). Several gunshots, impalings, neck-breakings and limb-hackings later, Matrix is forced to take on his former student Bennet (now working for the dictator) Mano-y-mano...
I've told this story several times before, but Commando holds a VERY special place in my heart, as it was the first R-rated film I'd ever seen. After being told that I was too young to watch it by my mom, I was awoken by my dad after she'd gone to sleep and we proceeded to stay up late into the night watching the movie and talking about it. It was my first exposure to blood, gore, boobs and foul language on film, and it helped cultivate a lifelong obsession! Commando is very much a live-action cartoon, existing in that special alternate-reality where heroes are invincible and all "bad guys" are terrible shots. Along with the same year's Rambo: First Blood, Part II, it defined the "one man army" as THE action movie trope of the mid-to-late 80s. Just a year removed from his terrifying role in The Terminator, Schwarzenegger is surprisingly likable and affable as Matrix, and he gets to deliver some of his all-time greatest one-liners here. He's ably supported by an INCREDIBLE cast, including Dan Hedaya (Blood Simple, TVs Cheers), David Patrick Kelly (48 Hours, TVs Twin Peaks), Bill Duke (Predator, Action Jackson)...and yes, Bill Paxton (Aliens, Near Dark)! Best of all is Vernon Wells (Mad Max 2, Circuitry Man) as Bennett, resplendent in Freddie Mercury-'stache and chainmail shirt, chewing the scenery as if he were starving to death. He is, without question, one of the great action movie villains of the 80s. A standout action sequence takes place in the same shopping mall in which portions of Terminator 2: Judgement Day would be filmed. Co-writer Steven E. DeSouza penned a sequel in which Matrix would have taken on terrorists in an office building; when Arnold turned it down, it got tweaked and became Die Hard. Commando features all the explosions, blood and nudity you'd expect of 80s action fare, but has the good sense to maintain a strong sense of humor, reminding the audience that none of this is meant to be taken too seriously. A 2007 director's cut added a minute-and-a-half of exposition and gore; as they neither add anything of real value to the film, nor impact the pacing, neither version is preferable.
Dir: Mark L. Lester
"Somewhere...somehow...someone's going to pay."
In 1985, the director of Roller Boogie, the writer of Teen Wolf and the star of Hercules in New York came together and, somehow, created the most cartoonishly superlative example of 80's action cinema. Join me now as I let off some steam in the Basement of Sleaze with Commando!
Arnold Schwarzenegger (in a role originally intended for Gene Simmons (!), then Nick Nolte) stars as German-American ex-special forces Colonel John Matrix (he eats Green Berets for breakfast!). When his young daughter Jenny (Alyssa Milano, TVs Who's the Boss?, Embrace of the Vampire) is kidnapped by a South American Dictator bent on forcing him into an assassination, Matrix rampages across California in an attempt to get her back. He's aided in his quest by a plucky flight attendant (Rae Dawn Chong, daughter of Tommy and star of the immortal classic Soul Man). Several gunshots, impalings, neck-breakings and limb-hackings later, Matrix is forced to take on his former student Bennet (now working for the dictator) Mano-y-mano...
I've told this story several times before, but Commando holds a VERY special place in my heart, as it was the first R-rated film I'd ever seen. After being told that I was too young to watch it by my mom, I was awoken by my dad after she'd gone to sleep and we proceeded to stay up late into the night watching the movie and talking about it. It was my first exposure to blood, gore, boobs and foul language on film, and it helped cultivate a lifelong obsession! Commando is very much a live-action cartoon, existing in that special alternate-reality where heroes are invincible and all "bad guys" are terrible shots. Along with the same year's Rambo: First Blood, Part II, it defined the "one man army" as THE action movie trope of the mid-to-late 80s. Just a year removed from his terrifying role in The Terminator, Schwarzenegger is surprisingly likable and affable as Matrix, and he gets to deliver some of his all-time greatest one-liners here. He's ably supported by an INCREDIBLE cast, including Dan Hedaya (Blood Simple, TVs Cheers), David Patrick Kelly (48 Hours, TVs Twin Peaks), Bill Duke (Predator, Action Jackson)...and yes, Bill Paxton (Aliens, Near Dark)! Best of all is Vernon Wells (Mad Max 2, Circuitry Man) as Bennett, resplendent in Freddie Mercury-'stache and chainmail shirt, chewing the scenery as if he were starving to death. He is, without question, one of the great action movie villains of the 80s. A standout action sequence takes place in the same shopping mall in which portions of Terminator 2: Judgement Day would be filmed. Co-writer Steven E. DeSouza penned a sequel in which Matrix would have taken on terrorists in an office building; when Arnold turned it down, it got tweaked and became Die Hard. Commando features all the explosions, blood and nudity you'd expect of 80s action fare, but has the good sense to maintain a strong sense of humor, reminding the audience that none of this is meant to be taken too seriously. A 2007 director's cut added a minute-and-a-half of exposition and gore; as they neither add anything of real value to the film, nor impact the pacing, neither version is preferable.
Sunday, August 30, 2015
Entry 72: Malibu High (1978)
Malibu High (1978)
Dir: Irvin Berwick
"Every teacher in school wanted to FLUNK HER...But novody dared!"
I've got a special treat for you tonight, folks; if you want to experience grade-A, triple-prime, B.o.S.-approved sleaze, register for classes at Malibu High!
When we first meet high school senior Kim (Jill Lansing, who never acted again and seems to have vanished off the face of the earth after this movie), she's going full-frontal in front of a mirror while getting ready for school. You see, Kim's had a chip on her shoulder since her father hung himself two years prior; she's a bitch to her mom (Phyllis Bentley), she's failing all her classes, and her fuck-it-all attitude has resulted in her being dumped by sensitive boyfriend Kevin (Stuart Taylor). After a booze and weed produced epiphany with her best friend (Katie Johnson, TVs Tracey Takes On...), Kim decides to turn her life around "in the easiest way possible." After donning a miniskirt, high heels and some new eye shadow, Kim begins seducing and fucking her male teachers, turning those "Fs" into "As" overnight! Not satisfied with furthering her scholastic career, Kim begins turning tricks for local drug dealer/pimp Tony (Alex Mann, I Drink Your Blood, Microwave Massacre, who here has a fantastic mustache and drives a sweet, carpeted 70s van), and soon has the local working Joes lining up around the block. As talk of her talent spreads, Kim finds herself recruited by big-time, mob-backed "agent" Lance (Garth Howard, who shows off some truly gnarly back hair in his love scenes with Kim). After turning tricks for a couple of wealthy "dirty old men," Kim finds herself confronted with a "Looney" who wants to shackle her to the bed for some BDSM action. Handily dispatching her assailant with an ice pick, Kim admits that murder "turns her on" and is recruited by Lance as a hitwoman. After dispatching the problematic Tony and a jeweler who was embezzling from Lance's mafia overseers, Kim maintains her GPA by seducing her suspicious, elderly principal and flushing his heart medication down the toilet when he gets all hot and bothered. I can't deny that the lady is efficient! When Kim assassinates local bigshot Harry Ingersoll (musician Bob Gordon), it just so happens that he's the father of Kevin's new girlfriend, Annette (Tammy Taylor, Don't go Near the Park, Meatballs, Part II). Caught in the act by her peers, Kim is gunned down by police snipers.
HOLY GODDAMN SHIT! The title (and poster/video sleeve art) for this film really don't prepare you for the insanity that's about to unfold. I LOVED this movie! Lansing is pretty goddamn great as Kim, a character who goes through actions that might seem debasing, but, through her own anger and piss-and-vinegar determination, are always a conscious means-to-an-end. The rest of the cast is, at best, serviceable, but who gives a shit? This is Lansing's show all the way. Kudos to director Berwick (sadly, this was his last film); he doesn't seem to know where to point his camera during love scenes (they often dwell on close-up shots of feet and, during one particular moment of insanity, the eyes of a bearskin rug), but he handles the dramatic tone-shift between high school melodrama and crime thriller with aplomb. This HAS to have been seen by both David Lynch (the high school principal with a hearing problem who constantly, comically mishears Kim is strongly reminiscent of the Gordon Cole character on Twin Peaks) and Quentin Tarantino (the general tone of the film predicts much of his pre-Inglorious Basterds work). HIGHEST possible recommendation! Oh, and Jeremy? There's a good bush shot.
Dir: Irvin Berwick
"Every teacher in school wanted to FLUNK HER...But novody dared!"
I've got a special treat for you tonight, folks; if you want to experience grade-A, triple-prime, B.o.S.-approved sleaze, register for classes at Malibu High!
When we first meet high school senior Kim (Jill Lansing, who never acted again and seems to have vanished off the face of the earth after this movie), she's going full-frontal in front of a mirror while getting ready for school. You see, Kim's had a chip on her shoulder since her father hung himself two years prior; she's a bitch to her mom (Phyllis Bentley), she's failing all her classes, and her fuck-it-all attitude has resulted in her being dumped by sensitive boyfriend Kevin (Stuart Taylor). After a booze and weed produced epiphany with her best friend (Katie Johnson, TVs Tracey Takes On...), Kim decides to turn her life around "in the easiest way possible." After donning a miniskirt, high heels and some new eye shadow, Kim begins seducing and fucking her male teachers, turning those "Fs" into "As" overnight! Not satisfied with furthering her scholastic career, Kim begins turning tricks for local drug dealer/pimp Tony (Alex Mann, I Drink Your Blood, Microwave Massacre, who here has a fantastic mustache and drives a sweet, carpeted 70s van), and soon has the local working Joes lining up around the block. As talk of her talent spreads, Kim finds herself recruited by big-time, mob-backed "agent" Lance (Garth Howard, who shows off some truly gnarly back hair in his love scenes with Kim). After turning tricks for a couple of wealthy "dirty old men," Kim finds herself confronted with a "Looney" who wants to shackle her to the bed for some BDSM action. Handily dispatching her assailant with an ice pick, Kim admits that murder "turns her on" and is recruited by Lance as a hitwoman. After dispatching the problematic Tony and a jeweler who was embezzling from Lance's mafia overseers, Kim maintains her GPA by seducing her suspicious, elderly principal and flushing his heart medication down the toilet when he gets all hot and bothered. I can't deny that the lady is efficient! When Kim assassinates local bigshot Harry Ingersoll (musician Bob Gordon), it just so happens that he's the father of Kevin's new girlfriend, Annette (Tammy Taylor, Don't go Near the Park, Meatballs, Part II). Caught in the act by her peers, Kim is gunned down by police snipers.
HOLY GODDAMN SHIT! The title (and poster/video sleeve art) for this film really don't prepare you for the insanity that's about to unfold. I LOVED this movie! Lansing is pretty goddamn great as Kim, a character who goes through actions that might seem debasing, but, through her own anger and piss-and-vinegar determination, are always a conscious means-to-an-end. The rest of the cast is, at best, serviceable, but who gives a shit? This is Lansing's show all the way. Kudos to director Berwick (sadly, this was his last film); he doesn't seem to know where to point his camera during love scenes (they often dwell on close-up shots of feet and, during one particular moment of insanity, the eyes of a bearskin rug), but he handles the dramatic tone-shift between high school melodrama and crime thriller with aplomb. This HAS to have been seen by both David Lynch (the high school principal with a hearing problem who constantly, comically mishears Kim is strongly reminiscent of the Gordon Cole character on Twin Peaks) and Quentin Tarantino (the general tone of the film predicts much of his pre-Inglorious Basterds work). HIGHEST possible recommendation! Oh, and Jeremy? There's a good bush shot.
Thursday, August 27, 2015
Entry 71: Barbarian Queen (1985)
Barbarian Queen (1985)
Dir: Hector Olivera
"No man can touch her naked steel."
I will have you all know that I'm near the end of a pretty goddamn book right now, but, as my goal is to get to entry 100 by the end of the year, I'm foregoing finishing it in order to spend a little time down here in the basement. Now, since I'm in a fantasy mood, journey back with me to an age of savage warriors, undreamed of treasures and bountiful organ-spilling! Journey with me into the realm of...the Barbarian Queen!
After opening with a rape scene ("Nothing like a virgin to brighten a man's day!") featuring copious breast-fondling (the woman's screams lead to the film's most inappropriately-quotable line, as one of the assailants chuckles and exclaims "Karax never COULD rape a woman quietly!"), we're introduced to a medieval village that looks for all the world like a South American forest. The victim of the aforementioned rape is Taramis (Dawn Dunlap, Night Shift), younger sister of Princess Amethea (Lana Clarkson, Deathstalker), who is about to be wed. Turns out the attack on Taramis is just a preamble to an entire raiding party that interrupts the nuptials by laying waste to Amethea's village. Amethea proves to be no slouch with a sword after she kills a dude by stabbing him in the ass hard enough for the blade to emerge through his dick, and, after her people are either killed or enslaved, she swears vengeance upon the armored horde responsible! She is joined in her quest by fellow female warriors Estrild (Kat Shea, who went on to direct the Stripped to Kill movies) and Tiniara (Argentinian actress Susana Traverso). After rescuing Taramis, Amethea gets to make a profound statement about the cruel nature of the world they live in ("There are no 'little girls' any more.") and our small army of amazonian ass-kickers sets off on a series of adventures in the name of vengeance! They pose as damsels, meet up with a preteen-girl scout, infiltrate a harem, suffer setbacks brought on by the PTSD-suffering Taramis and rescue Amethea's betrothed from a gladiator pit. Tiniara is killed and Amethea is tortured on a rack by a dude wearing anachronistic glasses and what appears to be a yellow yarmulke, whom she kills by crushing between her thighs and tossing into a vat of acid. In the end, Amethea and Taramis kill the evil warlord and establish their own kingdom.
I'm not embarrassed to admit that I enjoyed the hell out of this 72-minute time-waster. I'm a sucker for movies about ladies who kick ass and, while this features far too much gratuitous nudity to be considered a lost feminist classic, Shea, Traverso and, especially, the 6-foot tall Clarkson acquit themselves well and more than deliver in the ass-kicking department. It's refreshing to see, considering it's age and genre, a film that takes a completely dim view of men (they're all horrible rapist assholes or incompetents in need of rescuing) and puts the women firmly in charge. The swordplay is brutal and well-choreographed and there's a surprising amount of gore. Roger Corman backed this Argentinian feature as an attempt to cash in on the hype surrounding the same year's big-budget Schwarzenegger vehicle Red Sonja. A (terrible) DTV sequel (also starring Clarkson) followed in 1990. For fun, sing this movie's title to the tune of Billy Ocean's "Caribbean Queen..."
Dir: Hector Olivera
"No man can touch her naked steel."
I will have you all know that I'm near the end of a pretty goddamn book right now, but, as my goal is to get to entry 100 by the end of the year, I'm foregoing finishing it in order to spend a little time down here in the basement. Now, since I'm in a fantasy mood, journey back with me to an age of savage warriors, undreamed of treasures and bountiful organ-spilling! Journey with me into the realm of...the Barbarian Queen!
After opening with a rape scene ("Nothing like a virgin to brighten a man's day!") featuring copious breast-fondling (the woman's screams lead to the film's most inappropriately-quotable line, as one of the assailants chuckles and exclaims "Karax never COULD rape a woman quietly!"), we're introduced to a medieval village that looks for all the world like a South American forest. The victim of the aforementioned rape is Taramis (Dawn Dunlap, Night Shift), younger sister of Princess Amethea (Lana Clarkson, Deathstalker), who is about to be wed. Turns out the attack on Taramis is just a preamble to an entire raiding party that interrupts the nuptials by laying waste to Amethea's village. Amethea proves to be no slouch with a sword after she kills a dude by stabbing him in the ass hard enough for the blade to emerge through his dick, and, after her people are either killed or enslaved, she swears vengeance upon the armored horde responsible! She is joined in her quest by fellow female warriors Estrild (Kat Shea, who went on to direct the Stripped to Kill movies) and Tiniara (Argentinian actress Susana Traverso). After rescuing Taramis, Amethea gets to make a profound statement about the cruel nature of the world they live in ("There are no 'little girls' any more.") and our small army of amazonian ass-kickers sets off on a series of adventures in the name of vengeance! They pose as damsels, meet up with a preteen-girl scout, infiltrate a harem, suffer setbacks brought on by the PTSD-suffering Taramis and rescue Amethea's betrothed from a gladiator pit. Tiniara is killed and Amethea is tortured on a rack by a dude wearing anachronistic glasses and what appears to be a yellow yarmulke, whom she kills by crushing between her thighs and tossing into a vat of acid. In the end, Amethea and Taramis kill the evil warlord and establish their own kingdom.
I'm not embarrassed to admit that I enjoyed the hell out of this 72-minute time-waster. I'm a sucker for movies about ladies who kick ass and, while this features far too much gratuitous nudity to be considered a lost feminist classic, Shea, Traverso and, especially, the 6-foot tall Clarkson acquit themselves well and more than deliver in the ass-kicking department. It's refreshing to see, considering it's age and genre, a film that takes a completely dim view of men (they're all horrible rapist assholes or incompetents in need of rescuing) and puts the women firmly in charge. The swordplay is brutal and well-choreographed and there's a surprising amount of gore. Roger Corman backed this Argentinian feature as an attempt to cash in on the hype surrounding the same year's big-budget Schwarzenegger vehicle Red Sonja. A (terrible) DTV sequel (also starring Clarkson) followed in 1990. For fun, sing this movie's title to the tune of Billy Ocean's "Caribbean Queen..."
Saturday, August 22, 2015
Entry 70: The Pom-Pom Girls (1976)
The Pom-Pom Girls (1976)
Dir: Joseph Ruben
"It was their senior year...the last chance to raise hell!"
Tonight, the Basement of Sleaze travels back in time to the fall of '76 to raise a little goddamn hell on the first day of school with the Pom-Pom Girls!
It's the first day of school, 1976, and the seniors at Rosedale High are already beginning to chaff under authority. Despite it's title, this breezy, mostly plotless comedy centers around football players Jesse (Michael Mullins, a frequent 70s TV guest-star in his only major role) and Johnnie (Robert Carradine, desperately trying to ward off his future as a major nerd icon thanks to Revenge of the Nerds). Jesse's a smooth operator who fucks anything with tits, but finds himself falling for prudish cheerleader Laurie (Jennifer Ashley, Phantom of the Paradise). Johnnie, meanwhile, has a thing for outgoing head cheerleader/class president Sally (Lisa Reeves, Ski Lift to Death), who's already dating hotheaded drag racer Duane (Bill Adler, no relation to Steven). After Johnnie gets caught pissing out a window and is sentenced to latrine duty, Jesse makes it his mission to get his buddy to loosen up and get laid ('cause pissing out the fucking window on your first day of school isn't loose enough). We're then treated to a smorgasbord of teen comedy hijinks: food fights, beach frolicking, stealing a fire truck, dirt biking, messing with the JD drag racer kid, etc. Stand up guy that he is, Jesse goes off and fucks another girl every time Laurie refuses to cut class to goof off with him, while Duane is threatening to kill Johnnie for messing with his girl...Can these two guys get their shit together, win the girls AND pull off a victory in the big game against Hardin High? Given that this is a Crown-International release, you're goddamn right they can; Johnnie even makes a last-minute escape from a seemingly fatal drag race crash!
If you can dial your brain down for 90 minutes, this movie is relatively fun; it's filled with great 70s music, cars and fashions and features better-than-expected performances and lively direction. On the downside, there's less nudity than expected (much of it is centered around Jesse's skeletal conquest Sue Ann, who needs to eat a goddamn sandwich) and central character Jesse is a REALLY unlikeable tossface. Late, great exploitation movie legend Cheryl "Rainbeaux" Smith (one of the original members of The Runaways and star of Laserblast and Lemura) appears in a small role as cheerleader Roxanne. Director Ruben foreshadows his career as a horror director (Dreamscape, The Stepfather) with the eerie opening shot of a football player dummy burning in effigy. They don't make whimsically politically-incorrect films like this anymore, folks; if you're at all interested, watch it before somebody in our increasingly-sensitive society decides you can't.
Dir: Joseph Ruben
"It was their senior year...the last chance to raise hell!"
Tonight, the Basement of Sleaze travels back in time to the fall of '76 to raise a little goddamn hell on the first day of school with the Pom-Pom Girls!
It's the first day of school, 1976, and the seniors at Rosedale High are already beginning to chaff under authority. Despite it's title, this breezy, mostly plotless comedy centers around football players Jesse (Michael Mullins, a frequent 70s TV guest-star in his only major role) and Johnnie (Robert Carradine, desperately trying to ward off his future as a major nerd icon thanks to Revenge of the Nerds). Jesse's a smooth operator who fucks anything with tits, but finds himself falling for prudish cheerleader Laurie (Jennifer Ashley, Phantom of the Paradise). Johnnie, meanwhile, has a thing for outgoing head cheerleader/class president Sally (Lisa Reeves, Ski Lift to Death), who's already dating hotheaded drag racer Duane (Bill Adler, no relation to Steven). After Johnnie gets caught pissing out a window and is sentenced to latrine duty, Jesse makes it his mission to get his buddy to loosen up and get laid ('cause pissing out the fucking window on your first day of school isn't loose enough). We're then treated to a smorgasbord of teen comedy hijinks: food fights, beach frolicking, stealing a fire truck, dirt biking, messing with the JD drag racer kid, etc. Stand up guy that he is, Jesse goes off and fucks another girl every time Laurie refuses to cut class to goof off with him, while Duane is threatening to kill Johnnie for messing with his girl...Can these two guys get their shit together, win the girls AND pull off a victory in the big game against Hardin High? Given that this is a Crown-International release, you're goddamn right they can; Johnnie even makes a last-minute escape from a seemingly fatal drag race crash!
If you can dial your brain down for 90 minutes, this movie is relatively fun; it's filled with great 70s music, cars and fashions and features better-than-expected performances and lively direction. On the downside, there's less nudity than expected (much of it is centered around Jesse's skeletal conquest Sue Ann, who needs to eat a goddamn sandwich) and central character Jesse is a REALLY unlikeable tossface. Late, great exploitation movie legend Cheryl "Rainbeaux" Smith (one of the original members of The Runaways and star of Laserblast and Lemura) appears in a small role as cheerleader Roxanne. Director Ruben foreshadows his career as a horror director (Dreamscape, The Stepfather) with the eerie opening shot of a football player dummy burning in effigy. They don't make whimsically politically-incorrect films like this anymore, folks; if you're at all interested, watch it before somebody in our increasingly-sensitive society decides you can't.
Entry 69: Cafe Flesh (1982)
Cafe Flesh (1982)
Dir: Rinse Dream (Stephen Sayadian)
"The creators of Nightdreams present a film so hot, it has no place in a world with a future."
Well folks, we've arrived at entry 69...I'm sure you're expecting me to highlight some sort of gonad-pumping, sweat-licking, multiple-orgasm receiving fuck flick, and...Well, you're half right. Journey with me now into the post-apocalyptic future, where we'll get a front-row seat at Cafe Flesh.
In post-nuke America, 99% of human society have become "sex negatives," poor souls who are reduced to violent retching when attempting physical contact. The remaining 1% are "sex positives," forced to copulate on-stage in clubs to feed the desires of the leering negatives. The most popular and exclusive of these clubs is Cafe Flesh, where wiseass M.C. Max Melodramatic (Andy Nichols from Nightdreams, who reminds me a little of David Johansen and is GREAT here) holds sway over the crowd, taunting their radiation-born sexual disability while presenting a series of bizarre, cabaret-style fuck tableaus. After a performance in which a housewife is 69ed and fucked by a milkman dressed like a rat while three grown, bearded men (one of whom is in blackface) dressed as babies in high chairs look on while pretending to cry, we are introduced to Cafe Flesh regulars Nick and Lana (Pia Snow, who gave up on adult films a few years after this and became "scream queen" Michelle Bauer), a "negative" couple. Angsty, pissed-off Nicks complains bitterly about his lot and fantasizes about the days when he and Lana were able to make the beast with two backs, while Lana accepts things as they are and enjoys the milieu of Cafe Flesh. The two are introduced to Angel (porno actress Marie Sharp), a sexy negative from Wyoming on her first trip to the big city. Lana gets all hot and bothered when she hears that legendary positive Johnny Rico (Kevin James, the porn star, not the blithering idiot from the Paul Blart movies, here playing a character with a name stolen from Heinlein's Starship Troopers) is coming to perform at Cafe Flesh, but Nick just sees it as another frustration. After Max (dressed in drag as Little Bo Peep) taunts Angel from the stage ("Here's something to make Uncle Foamy stand up and tap dance! What's your name, sugar puss?"), we're treated to a boardroom-inspired scene in which a guy in a suit with a giant pencil for a head fucks the shit out of a secretary on a desk while a naked, spectacled clerk with enormous breasts drones "Do you want me to type a memo?" over and over again. Nick gets jealous when club owner Moms (Tantala Ray, from the John Holmes flick Suburban Satanist) offers Lana a job coordinating the stage routines and working with the positives. Feeling guilty, Lana attempts to have sex with him, but he gets violently ill. During a government raid, virginal Angel is revealed to be a positive and dragged off to perform, and bored, gallant Nick decides to rescue her. The next day...HOLY GODDAMN SHIT! TVs Richard Belzer (every fucking Law & Order series ever) shows up as a fucking jive-talking ("I'm not his agent, bitch; goddamn! My eyeballs is scorched!") club patron...I wonder if he still keeps this on his resume? I'm pretty sure Ice-T's seen this movie; I wonder if they ever talk about it? Anyway, Nick's rescue attempt fails, and Angel shows up again at Cafe Flesh as a performer, slid back and forth on a table as if in a cheese slicer between two guys dressed in black and white with black nail polish, while disembodied hands snap in time with the music. Angel brags to Nick and the immensely turned-on Lana about her new lifestyle, and Lana goes into "the back room" to talk to Moms. At this point, Johnny Rico shows up (looking A LOT like Ric Ocasek in a bright blue suit). After Johnny does some on-stage pussy eating and salad tossing, Lana, egged on by Max, reveals herself to be a positive and joins Johnny onstage. She has a bed-shaking girl-on-girl encounter with Angel, then Angel is removed from the stage and Johnny has his way with her. As Johnny cums on Lana's ass, Nick looks on in despair while Max laughs...
Cafe Flesh is the ultimate anti-porn porno movie. After the success of Nightdreams (which, despite it's often bizarre imagery, still set out to titillate), director Sayadian and writer Jerry Stahl (Twin Peaks, Bad Boys 2, here credited as Herbert W. Day), crafted a film that intentionally called out and alienated it's dolphin-flogging porno-theatre target audience. The sex scenes are uncharacteristically short and ugly for a porno flick, and they're often intercut with jarring shots of the leering, emaciated faces of the negatives (they look like extras from a Cure video, and their often-blank expressions would make this a great double-bill with Gimme Shelter), a thinly-veiled surrogate for the XXX cinema audience. Obviously, inner-reflectivity wasn't what the dolphin-floggers were looking for, and this quickly tanked in adult theatres, but was resurrected as a midnight hit in arthouse theatres and found an even wider audience when it was edited down to an "R" and sold to HBO during it's early days. The soundtrack by Mitchell Froom (who would go on to write the fucking fantastic Crowded House song "Something So Strong" with Neil Finn) is goddamn fantastic, as well. A classic not only of porn, but of post-nuke cinema, as well; worth seeking out!
Dir: Rinse Dream (Stephen Sayadian)
"The creators of Nightdreams present a film so hot, it has no place in a world with a future."
Well folks, we've arrived at entry 69...I'm sure you're expecting me to highlight some sort of gonad-pumping, sweat-licking, multiple-orgasm receiving fuck flick, and...Well, you're half right. Journey with me now into the post-apocalyptic future, where we'll get a front-row seat at Cafe Flesh.
In post-nuke America, 99% of human society have become "sex negatives," poor souls who are reduced to violent retching when attempting physical contact. The remaining 1% are "sex positives," forced to copulate on-stage in clubs to feed the desires of the leering negatives. The most popular and exclusive of these clubs is Cafe Flesh, where wiseass M.C. Max Melodramatic (Andy Nichols from Nightdreams, who reminds me a little of David Johansen and is GREAT here) holds sway over the crowd, taunting their radiation-born sexual disability while presenting a series of bizarre, cabaret-style fuck tableaus. After a performance in which a housewife is 69ed and fucked by a milkman dressed like a rat while three grown, bearded men (one of whom is in blackface) dressed as babies in high chairs look on while pretending to cry, we are introduced to Cafe Flesh regulars Nick and Lana (Pia Snow, who gave up on adult films a few years after this and became "scream queen" Michelle Bauer), a "negative" couple. Angsty, pissed-off Nicks complains bitterly about his lot and fantasizes about the days when he and Lana were able to make the beast with two backs, while Lana accepts things as they are and enjoys the milieu of Cafe Flesh. The two are introduced to Angel (porno actress Marie Sharp), a sexy negative from Wyoming on her first trip to the big city. Lana gets all hot and bothered when she hears that legendary positive Johnny Rico (Kevin James, the porn star, not the blithering idiot from the Paul Blart movies, here playing a character with a name stolen from Heinlein's Starship Troopers) is coming to perform at Cafe Flesh, but Nick just sees it as another frustration. After Max (dressed in drag as Little Bo Peep) taunts Angel from the stage ("Here's something to make Uncle Foamy stand up and tap dance! What's your name, sugar puss?"), we're treated to a boardroom-inspired scene in which a guy in a suit with a giant pencil for a head fucks the shit out of a secretary on a desk while a naked, spectacled clerk with enormous breasts drones "Do you want me to type a memo?" over and over again. Nick gets jealous when club owner Moms (Tantala Ray, from the John Holmes flick Suburban Satanist) offers Lana a job coordinating the stage routines and working with the positives. Feeling guilty, Lana attempts to have sex with him, but he gets violently ill. During a government raid, virginal Angel is revealed to be a positive and dragged off to perform, and bored, gallant Nick decides to rescue her. The next day...HOLY GODDAMN SHIT! TVs Richard Belzer (every fucking Law & Order series ever) shows up as a fucking jive-talking ("I'm not his agent, bitch; goddamn! My eyeballs is scorched!") club patron...I wonder if he still keeps this on his resume? I'm pretty sure Ice-T's seen this movie; I wonder if they ever talk about it? Anyway, Nick's rescue attempt fails, and Angel shows up again at Cafe Flesh as a performer, slid back and forth on a table as if in a cheese slicer between two guys dressed in black and white with black nail polish, while disembodied hands snap in time with the music. Angel brags to Nick and the immensely turned-on Lana about her new lifestyle, and Lana goes into "the back room" to talk to Moms. At this point, Johnny Rico shows up (looking A LOT like Ric Ocasek in a bright blue suit). After Johnny does some on-stage pussy eating and salad tossing, Lana, egged on by Max, reveals herself to be a positive and joins Johnny onstage. She has a bed-shaking girl-on-girl encounter with Angel, then Angel is removed from the stage and Johnny has his way with her. As Johnny cums on Lana's ass, Nick looks on in despair while Max laughs...
Cafe Flesh is the ultimate anti-porn porno movie. After the success of Nightdreams (which, despite it's often bizarre imagery, still set out to titillate), director Sayadian and writer Jerry Stahl (Twin Peaks, Bad Boys 2, here credited as Herbert W. Day), crafted a film that intentionally called out and alienated it's dolphin-flogging porno-theatre target audience. The sex scenes are uncharacteristically short and ugly for a porno flick, and they're often intercut with jarring shots of the leering, emaciated faces of the negatives (they look like extras from a Cure video, and their often-blank expressions would make this a great double-bill with Gimme Shelter), a thinly-veiled surrogate for the XXX cinema audience. Obviously, inner-reflectivity wasn't what the dolphin-floggers were looking for, and this quickly tanked in adult theatres, but was resurrected as a midnight hit in arthouse theatres and found an even wider audience when it was edited down to an "R" and sold to HBO during it's early days. The soundtrack by Mitchell Froom (who would go on to write the fucking fantastic Crowded House song "Something So Strong" with Neil Finn) is goddamn fantastic, as well. A classic not only of porn, but of post-nuke cinema, as well; worth seeking out!
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