Grotesque (1988)
Dir: Joe Tornatore
"There is a fate worse than death."
Linda Blair makes her triumphant return to the Basement in a film she co-produced. This time, she plays a young woman who journeys to a remote cabin with her best friend (Donna Wilkes, Jaws 2, Angel) for a family reunion hosted by her visual effects artist father, Guy Stockwell (older brother of Dean). After a group of scenery-chewing, psychotic punks (keep in mind this was made in 1988, more than a decade beyond the time when people were afraid of Johnny Rotten) invade the homestead looking for money, they kill Wilkes and Blair's parents, while Blair herself manages to escape into the woods. Out of nowhere, Blair's deformed, mentally-retarded brother (he kinda looks like Keanu Reeves as the dog-faced boy from Freaked wearing Jason Voorhee's coveralls) emerges from a secret room and begins to slaughter these loud, fast psychopaths. Fleeing from this monstrous man-child, punk leader and his girlfriend share a bit of mind-blowing, self-referential dialogue that is tonally out-of-step with the rest of the movie : "You'd love to use that knife on that monster, wouldn't you?" "Yeah, why not? He's a freak?" "If he's a freak, then what does that make US?" "We're people; REAL people! Everyone else is phony, but we're real!" Blair's plastic surgeon uncle Tab Hunter (Polyester, Lust in the Dust) then shows up, and, when Blair dies, he exacts revenge upon the surviving "punkers." Oh yeah, the reel melts at the end and the Wolfman and Frankenstein's Monster show up.
NOT to be confused with the extreme J-horror picture of the same name, I can't tell if this one is meant to be funny or not. The "punkers" overacting and the fourth wall-busting ending lead me to believe "yes," yet the slaughter of Blair's family is played straight and tonally out-of-step with typical horror-comedies. Either way, it's not very good. Not really worth a look unless you're a real fan of Blair (who we'll visit again soon).
Enter...If you dare!
Big thanks to "Diamond" Dave Wheeler for the bitchin' logo!
Sunday, June 28, 2015
Thursday, June 25, 2015
Entry 59: Time Walker (1982)
Time Walker (1982)
Dir: Tom Kennedy
"Nothing can stop him, not even time."
A couple of dumbshit Americans (including college Prof Ben Murphy-TV's The Gemini Man) desecrate Tutankhmun's tomb and are promptly stranded by a (budget-consciously offscreen) earthquake. Murphy escapes and returns to the "California Institute of Sciences (something tells me that's not a real place)" with a plundered sarcophagus. Upon transcribing the inscription upon it, he and his students (including Nina Axelrod-Cobra, Kevin Brophy-Hell Night, Sheri Bellafonte-TV's Hotel and Melissa Prophet-Invasion USA) are puzzled to discover that it contains the body of a "foreigner." Murphy proves to be a shitty Professor when he allows his students to x-ray the mummy inside with "10 times the amount of normal radiation!" The radiation awakens the slumbering corpse, and he's no mere "foreigner," he's a motherfucking ANCIENT ALIEN, bent on resuming his mission of subjugating the earth! Since this movie has a budget insufficient for world-conquering, however, he has to make do with slinking through the halls of the CIS (can I call it that?), killing the shit out of janitors and other "lower level functionaries." Meanwhile, the sarcophagus grows a strange fungus that burns the hand off of one of the students, and we're treated to interminable scenes of the other kids goofing off (Belafonte DJs a radio show, Prophet shows her tits for no reason, Axelrod and Brophy go on an awkward date). In one scene that had me rolling on the floor, a (white) cop's first question to the husband of one of the Mummy's victims is "Can you describe the attacker? WAS HE BLACK?!" Later, a bunch of stupid frat kids decide to hold an Egyptian-themed party; they're killed off, too. In the end, the Mummy uses some alien crystals he's found to shed his bandages, revealing a stereotypical "Grey Alien" appearance. While the authorities shoot the E.T. dead, suddenly sympathetic Murphy grabs his hand and disappears. I'm not really sure why.
This movie has a KILLER concept (Karl Freund's The Mummy meets Erich Von Daniken's Chariots of the Gods? meets John Carpenter's Halloween), but squanders it with a braindead script, amateurish-to-bored performances and utterly indifferent direction (unsurprisingly, this is Kennedy's sole directorial credit). On the plus side, the night-vision-like "Mummyvision" sequences are okay and Richard Band (Re-Animator, From Beyond)'s Egyptian-tinged score is pretty great. Not even an appearance from the great Austin Stoker (Assault on Precinct 13, playing one of Murphy's colleagues) can save this one from tedium. Skip it.
*For a just-as-dumb, but bigger-budgeted, take on the same material, see Stargate (1994). At least it has Kurt Russell...
Dir: Tom Kennedy
"Nothing can stop him, not even time."
A couple of dumbshit Americans (including college Prof Ben Murphy-TV's The Gemini Man) desecrate Tutankhmun's tomb and are promptly stranded by a (budget-consciously offscreen) earthquake. Murphy escapes and returns to the "California Institute of Sciences (something tells me that's not a real place)" with a plundered sarcophagus. Upon transcribing the inscription upon it, he and his students (including Nina Axelrod-Cobra, Kevin Brophy-Hell Night, Sheri Bellafonte-TV's Hotel and Melissa Prophet-Invasion USA) are puzzled to discover that it contains the body of a "foreigner." Murphy proves to be a shitty Professor when he allows his students to x-ray the mummy inside with "10 times the amount of normal radiation!" The radiation awakens the slumbering corpse, and he's no mere "foreigner," he's a motherfucking ANCIENT ALIEN, bent on resuming his mission of subjugating the earth! Since this movie has a budget insufficient for world-conquering, however, he has to make do with slinking through the halls of the CIS (can I call it that?), killing the shit out of janitors and other "lower level functionaries." Meanwhile, the sarcophagus grows a strange fungus that burns the hand off of one of the students, and we're treated to interminable scenes of the other kids goofing off (Belafonte DJs a radio show, Prophet shows her tits for no reason, Axelrod and Brophy go on an awkward date). In one scene that had me rolling on the floor, a (white) cop's first question to the husband of one of the Mummy's victims is "Can you describe the attacker? WAS HE BLACK?!" Later, a bunch of stupid frat kids decide to hold an Egyptian-themed party; they're killed off, too. In the end, the Mummy uses some alien crystals he's found to shed his bandages, revealing a stereotypical "Grey Alien" appearance. While the authorities shoot the E.T. dead, suddenly sympathetic Murphy grabs his hand and disappears. I'm not really sure why.
This movie has a KILLER concept (Karl Freund's The Mummy meets Erich Von Daniken's Chariots of the Gods? meets John Carpenter's Halloween), but squanders it with a braindead script, amateurish-to-bored performances and utterly indifferent direction (unsurprisingly, this is Kennedy's sole directorial credit). On the plus side, the night-vision-like "Mummyvision" sequences are okay and Richard Band (Re-Animator, From Beyond)'s Egyptian-tinged score is pretty great. Not even an appearance from the great Austin Stoker (Assault on Precinct 13, playing one of Murphy's colleagues) can save this one from tedium. Skip it.
*For a just-as-dumb, but bigger-budgeted, take on the same material, see Stargate (1994). At least it has Kurt Russell...
Wednesday, June 24, 2015
Entry 58: The Punisher (1989)
The Punisher (1989)
Dir: Mark Goldblatt
"If society won't punish the guilty, he will."
In this (loose) adaptation of the popular Marvel comic book series, Dolph Lundgren (Rocky IV, Masters of the Universe) plays Frank Castle, a dedicated former police officer who has become a relentless vigilante after his wife and children die in a car bomb intended for him. Anguished, obsessive Castle lives in the sewer (an idea copied from the then-red-hot Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles), dresses in black leather and rides around on a big motorcycle. Frank has an alcoholic, homeless ex-actor informant/sidekick called Shake (Barry Otto, The Howling III, Strictly Ballroom) and is doggedly hunted by his former partner (Louis Gosset, Jr., Jaws 3-D, Iron Eagle). When the Yakuza, aware of the power vacuum created by Castle's murder spree, come to town and kidnap the children of the local mafioso to ensure a power transfer, Frank is blackmailed into teaming up with mafia don Jeroen Krabbe (The Living Daylights, The Fugitive), the very man who ordered the hit that killed his family!
If you're a comic book fan, you probably don't like this movie much. You're probably bothered by the changes to the Punisher's origin and the fact that Lundgren doesn't wear a skull on his shirt. To that, I say "fuck you;" this is one of the best low-budget actioners of the 80s! If you have to, just pretend it's not an adaptation and enjoy it for what it is; a violent, grimy, relentless piece of action cinema. This one was done by Corman's New World Pictures right before it collapsed, and the studio's financial problems prevented it from receiving a US theatrical release (it deserved one, goddammit, but eventually got a home video release in 1991). It was filmed on the cheap in Australia (tax breaks!), and its downtown Sydney locations aren't particularly believable as an American city, and neither is Lundgren as an American named Frank. That said, the big Swede gives one of his best performances here; his Castle is a brooding, tortured, usually silent individual with an always-distant look in his sunken eyes (for my fellow geeks, he looks like he stepped right out of a John Romita, Jr. panel from the Punisher War Zone series). It's also a surprisingly vanity-free performance for this type of film; Lundgren is pale, sweaty, unshaven and (a couple VERY brief nude meditation scenes notwithstanding) never indulges in any of the shirtless vanity shots so often found in Stallone and Schwarzenegger pictures. Director Goldblatt (better known as the Academy Award-winning editor of films such as Terminator 2: Judgement Day, Armageddon and Rise of the Planet of the Apes) has a lot of fun juxtaposing the film's extreme graphic violence (Castle deals out kneck-breakings, throat-slashings, impalings and large-caliber bullet holes to men and women alike) with some goofily stereotypical comic books and cartoon locales (a hall of mirrors, an abandoned amusement park, Krabbe's Bond villain-like lair). Give this one a look before writing it off!
Dir: Mark Goldblatt
"If society won't punish the guilty, he will."
In this (loose) adaptation of the popular Marvel comic book series, Dolph Lundgren (Rocky IV, Masters of the Universe) plays Frank Castle, a dedicated former police officer who has become a relentless vigilante after his wife and children die in a car bomb intended for him. Anguished, obsessive Castle lives in the sewer (an idea copied from the then-red-hot Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles), dresses in black leather and rides around on a big motorcycle. Frank has an alcoholic, homeless ex-actor informant/sidekick called Shake (Barry Otto, The Howling III, Strictly Ballroom) and is doggedly hunted by his former partner (Louis Gosset, Jr., Jaws 3-D, Iron Eagle). When the Yakuza, aware of the power vacuum created by Castle's murder spree, come to town and kidnap the children of the local mafioso to ensure a power transfer, Frank is blackmailed into teaming up with mafia don Jeroen Krabbe (The Living Daylights, The Fugitive), the very man who ordered the hit that killed his family!
If you're a comic book fan, you probably don't like this movie much. You're probably bothered by the changes to the Punisher's origin and the fact that Lundgren doesn't wear a skull on his shirt. To that, I say "fuck you;" this is one of the best low-budget actioners of the 80s! If you have to, just pretend it's not an adaptation and enjoy it for what it is; a violent, grimy, relentless piece of action cinema. This one was done by Corman's New World Pictures right before it collapsed, and the studio's financial problems prevented it from receiving a US theatrical release (it deserved one, goddammit, but eventually got a home video release in 1991). It was filmed on the cheap in Australia (tax breaks!), and its downtown Sydney locations aren't particularly believable as an American city, and neither is Lundgren as an American named Frank. That said, the big Swede gives one of his best performances here; his Castle is a brooding, tortured, usually silent individual with an always-distant look in his sunken eyes (for my fellow geeks, he looks like he stepped right out of a John Romita, Jr. panel from the Punisher War Zone series). It's also a surprisingly vanity-free performance for this type of film; Lundgren is pale, sweaty, unshaven and (a couple VERY brief nude meditation scenes notwithstanding) never indulges in any of the shirtless vanity shots so often found in Stallone and Schwarzenegger pictures. Director Goldblatt (better known as the Academy Award-winning editor of films such as Terminator 2: Judgement Day, Armageddon and Rise of the Planet of the Apes) has a lot of fun juxtaposing the film's extreme graphic violence (Castle deals out kneck-breakings, throat-slashings, impalings and large-caliber bullet holes to men and women alike) with some goofily stereotypical comic books and cartoon locales (a hall of mirrors, an abandoned amusement park, Krabbe's Bond villain-like lair). Give this one a look before writing it off!
Saturday, June 20, 2015
Entry 57: Razorback (1984)
Razorback (1984)
Dir: Russel Mulcahy
"Nine hundred pounds of marauding tusk and muscle!"
Jaws cash-ins and knockoffs are a dime a dozen, but this late entry in the genre stands on its own thanks to a heaping helping of grimy Australian atmosphere and the directorial prowess of first-time helmer Mulcahy.
American Gregory Harrison (from TVs Trapper John, M.D.) journeys to rural Australia in search of his missing animal activist wife, who disappeared while doing an expose on kangaroo poachers. He meets up with disproportionately sexy grad student Arkie Whitely (Mad Max 2) and grizzled, Quint-like boar poacher Bill Kerr (Gallipoli), whose grandson was carried off by an enormous razorback and who now obsessively hunts the beast. After discovering his wife's wedding ring in a mound of boar droppings, Harrison goes on a surreal walkabout through the outback and decides to go home, but after a couple of scumbag poachers maim Kerr and leave him to the razorback, Harrison is forced to confront the rampaging monster in order to save the endangered Whitely!
This was Mulcahy(Highlander, The Shadow)'s first feature after directing several acclaimed Duran Duran videos (the band's "New Moon On Monday" is featured playing on the car radio when Harrison's wife is eaten in this film), and he certainly brings an artistic flair not often seen in this type of film. The use of almost Mad Max-level weirdness in the production design (locals wearing big goggles, leathers and mismatched clothing, DIY armored cars) and the director's liberal use of magenta and azure filters give this movie an unsettling, dreamlike quality. The "walkabout" scene, in which Harrison wanders dehydrated and thirsty through stark-white outback salt flats and confronts an enormous hog skeleton that seems to come to life, is particularly memorable. Kerr is grate as the unhinged hunter ("There's something about blowing away a razorback that just brightens up my whole day!"), Whitely brings spunk and likability to her damsel-in-distress role and the Australian supporting cast is authentically off-kilter. Harrison actually proves to be the weak link in the cast; he's often upstaged by his larger-than-life castmates and his journey from meek city dweller to giant razorback-killing badass is unbelievable (I kept waiting for grizzled old Kerr to rise from the dead, bitch slap this city slicker and kill the beast himself!). While only fleetingly glimpsed, the animatronic razorback created by effects artist Bob McCarron (Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome, Braindead, The Matrix) is scary and effective.
Dir: Russel Mulcahy
"Nine hundred pounds of marauding tusk and muscle!"
Jaws cash-ins and knockoffs are a dime a dozen, but this late entry in the genre stands on its own thanks to a heaping helping of grimy Australian atmosphere and the directorial prowess of first-time helmer Mulcahy.
American Gregory Harrison (from TVs Trapper John, M.D.) journeys to rural Australia in search of his missing animal activist wife, who disappeared while doing an expose on kangaroo poachers. He meets up with disproportionately sexy grad student Arkie Whitely (Mad Max 2) and grizzled, Quint-like boar poacher Bill Kerr (Gallipoli), whose grandson was carried off by an enormous razorback and who now obsessively hunts the beast. After discovering his wife's wedding ring in a mound of boar droppings, Harrison goes on a surreal walkabout through the outback and decides to go home, but after a couple of scumbag poachers maim Kerr and leave him to the razorback, Harrison is forced to confront the rampaging monster in order to save the endangered Whitely!
This was Mulcahy(Highlander, The Shadow)'s first feature after directing several acclaimed Duran Duran videos (the band's "New Moon On Monday" is featured playing on the car radio when Harrison's wife is eaten in this film), and he certainly brings an artistic flair not often seen in this type of film. The use of almost Mad Max-level weirdness in the production design (locals wearing big goggles, leathers and mismatched clothing, DIY armored cars) and the director's liberal use of magenta and azure filters give this movie an unsettling, dreamlike quality. The "walkabout" scene, in which Harrison wanders dehydrated and thirsty through stark-white outback salt flats and confronts an enormous hog skeleton that seems to come to life, is particularly memorable. Kerr is grate as the unhinged hunter ("There's something about blowing away a razorback that just brightens up my whole day!"), Whitely brings spunk and likability to her damsel-in-distress role and the Australian supporting cast is authentically off-kilter. Harrison actually proves to be the weak link in the cast; he's often upstaged by his larger-than-life castmates and his journey from meek city dweller to giant razorback-killing badass is unbelievable (I kept waiting for grizzled old Kerr to rise from the dead, bitch slap this city slicker and kill the beast himself!). While only fleetingly glimpsed, the animatronic razorback created by effects artist Bob McCarron (Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome, Braindead, The Matrix) is scary and effective.
Thursday, June 11, 2015
Entry 56: Satan's Blade (1984)
Satan's Blade (1984)
Dir: L. Scott Castillo, Jr.
Two leather-and-jeans-clad men, their faces hidden from the camera, hold up a small town bank. As they're loading up their ill-gotten loot, they force one of the two female tellers to strip at knife point, then shoot both of them dead. When the two arrive at their secluded mountain getaway and shed their disguises, the camera pulls back to reveal that these two bad boys are actually foxy chicks, Ruth and Trish, wearing bulky men's clothing! After they finish stripping down (allowing the director to linger lovingly on their bare tits), duplicitous Ruth guns down Trish in the shower, cackling maniacally as her erstwhile partner expires. While dragging Trish's corpse from their lodge room, Ruth is herself dispatched by an unseen, knife-wielding figure. Jesus, this movie is nuts, and we're only 10 minutes in! Unfortunately, the film can't sustain this crazy momentum and, after the promising beginning, it descends into a VERY average 80s stalker picture. The DAY AFTER the murders, a group of Young Urban Professionals shows up and rents the VERY SAME CABIN in which the murders took place (clearly, there's some crackerjack police work occurring in northern California). After being warned of the legend of a murderous mountain man who allegedly still stalks the area, this gaggle of displaced city folk spend an interminable amount of time arguing, flirting, fucking and engaging in various outdoor activities (after a vigorous hike, one of the ladies utters one of my current favorite movie lines of all time: "Fuck me dead; I don't think I'll walk for days!"). Soon, the mystery killer begins hunting down the group, with nighttime stalking scenes illuminated only by window light copied directly from Halloween. This was a regional, Northern Califronia-produced film that never got a theatrical release (there's a story about the producer blowing much of the distribution budget on a new office) and only had a limited release on VHS. It was produced in the same year that A Nightmare on Elm Street effectively killed the standard, non-supernatural stalk 'n slash film, and therefore went unnoticed by all but the most diehard of horror fans. I'll be honest, it's not particularly good (the blood/gore effects are particularly amateurish), but the acting (by local talent, none of whom went on to do anything else) isn't terrible, and Castillo makes up for his lack of directorial talent with an enthusiasm that reminds me of the great Ted V. Mikels. Also, it runs a brisk 76 minutes, and it's the only slasher film I can think of in which a character is drowned in dirty dishwater...That has to count for something, right?
Dir: L. Scott Castillo, Jr.
Two leather-and-jeans-clad men, their faces hidden from the camera, hold up a small town bank. As they're loading up their ill-gotten loot, they force one of the two female tellers to strip at knife point, then shoot both of them dead. When the two arrive at their secluded mountain getaway and shed their disguises, the camera pulls back to reveal that these two bad boys are actually foxy chicks, Ruth and Trish, wearing bulky men's clothing! After they finish stripping down (allowing the director to linger lovingly on their bare tits), duplicitous Ruth guns down Trish in the shower, cackling maniacally as her erstwhile partner expires. While dragging Trish's corpse from their lodge room, Ruth is herself dispatched by an unseen, knife-wielding figure. Jesus, this movie is nuts, and we're only 10 minutes in! Unfortunately, the film can't sustain this crazy momentum and, after the promising beginning, it descends into a VERY average 80s stalker picture. The DAY AFTER the murders, a group of Young Urban Professionals shows up and rents the VERY SAME CABIN in which the murders took place (clearly, there's some crackerjack police work occurring in northern California). After being warned of the legend of a murderous mountain man who allegedly still stalks the area, this gaggle of displaced city folk spend an interminable amount of time arguing, flirting, fucking and engaging in various outdoor activities (after a vigorous hike, one of the ladies utters one of my current favorite movie lines of all time: "Fuck me dead; I don't think I'll walk for days!"). Soon, the mystery killer begins hunting down the group, with nighttime stalking scenes illuminated only by window light copied directly from Halloween. This was a regional, Northern Califronia-produced film that never got a theatrical release (there's a story about the producer blowing much of the distribution budget on a new office) and only had a limited release on VHS. It was produced in the same year that A Nightmare on Elm Street effectively killed the standard, non-supernatural stalk 'n slash film, and therefore went unnoticed by all but the most diehard of horror fans. I'll be honest, it's not particularly good (the blood/gore effects are particularly amateurish), but the acting (by local talent, none of whom went on to do anything else) isn't terrible, and Castillo makes up for his lack of directorial talent with an enthusiasm that reminds me of the great Ted V. Mikels. Also, it runs a brisk 76 minutes, and it's the only slasher film I can think of in which a character is drowned in dirty dishwater...That has to count for something, right?
Thursday, June 4, 2015
Entry 55: God Told Me To (1976)
God Told Me To (1976)
Dir: Larry Cohen
"Was he a god-the devil or something even more terrifying..."
NYC Detective Peter Nicholas (Tony Lo Bianco, The French Connection, City Heat) has a couple of problems: he's a devout-Catholic living with his longtime lover (Deborah Raffin, Scanners II: the New Order, Death Wish 3) but too guilty to seek a divorce from his estranged wife (Sandy Dennis, 976-EVIL, Parents) AND he's the lead investigator on a series of brutal murders, seemingly committed at random by ordinary folks whose only explanation is "God told me to." The only lead Nicholas can come up with is that each of the murderers had previous contact with a mysterious, long-haired young man shortly before perpetrating the killings. Nicholas eventually identifies the man as Bernard Phillips and, upon interviewing the doctor who delivered Phillips, learns that he was born with no discernible sex organs to a virgin mother. Nicholas tracks down an old acquaintance of the late Mrs. Phillips and discovers that she claimed to have been experimented upon by space aliens. Nicholas' inquiries eventually lead to him being abducted by a group of wealthy, Illuminati-like Phillips-worshipers, engaging in a surreal confrontation with the man/woman him/herself (Richard Lynch, The Sword and the Sorcerer, Invasion USA) and bring him to an interview with his own biological mother (Sylvia Sidney, Snowbeast, Mars Attacks!), who had a similar UFO encounter to Mrs. Phillips. After speaking with his mother, Nicholas discerns that he has similar mind-control powers to Phillips and, after testing them by forcing a murderous pimp to kill himself, decides to forsake his new-found abilities. He confronts Phillips again and, when his "brother" offers to bear him godly children through his hip-vagina, Nicholas kills him. Questioned about the homicide the next day, Nicholas informs the press "God told me to."
Cohen (It's Alive, Q) is a true auteur, and this only-in-the-70s blast of weirdness bears all the hallmarks of his work: swooping aerial shots juxtaposed with tight-to-the-ground street angles, authentic and scuzzy NYC locations, an air of paranoia and a story that's a character study wrapped in more fantastical elements. LoBianco (who looks about 15 years older than his character's 34) is good as the troubled cop who struggles to reconcile his faith with his relationships and his newfound powers. Future action movie villain Lynch is both alluring and unsettling as Phillips. This was certainly inspired by the wave of religious horror films that sprung up in the 70s after the success of The Exorcist, but it also stands apart from them, as Cohen isn't interested in making a statement about the power of faith or providing any easy theological explanations. While it's heavily implied that both Phillips and Nicholas are the spawn of extraterrestrials, that implication is based on second-hand accounts and the recollections of elderly individuals, leaving the lingering possibility that both men ARE, in fact, divine beings. Anyway, do give this one a look; it's unique and just as good as Cohen's better-known work.
Dir: Larry Cohen
"Was he a god-the devil or something even more terrifying..."
NYC Detective Peter Nicholas (Tony Lo Bianco, The French Connection, City Heat) has a couple of problems: he's a devout-Catholic living with his longtime lover (Deborah Raffin, Scanners II: the New Order, Death Wish 3) but too guilty to seek a divorce from his estranged wife (Sandy Dennis, 976-EVIL, Parents) AND he's the lead investigator on a series of brutal murders, seemingly committed at random by ordinary folks whose only explanation is "God told me to." The only lead Nicholas can come up with is that each of the murderers had previous contact with a mysterious, long-haired young man shortly before perpetrating the killings. Nicholas eventually identifies the man as Bernard Phillips and, upon interviewing the doctor who delivered Phillips, learns that he was born with no discernible sex organs to a virgin mother. Nicholas tracks down an old acquaintance of the late Mrs. Phillips and discovers that she claimed to have been experimented upon by space aliens. Nicholas' inquiries eventually lead to him being abducted by a group of wealthy, Illuminati-like Phillips-worshipers, engaging in a surreal confrontation with the man/woman him/herself (Richard Lynch, The Sword and the Sorcerer, Invasion USA) and bring him to an interview with his own biological mother (Sylvia Sidney, Snowbeast, Mars Attacks!), who had a similar UFO encounter to Mrs. Phillips. After speaking with his mother, Nicholas discerns that he has similar mind-control powers to Phillips and, after testing them by forcing a murderous pimp to kill himself, decides to forsake his new-found abilities. He confronts Phillips again and, when his "brother" offers to bear him godly children through his hip-vagina, Nicholas kills him. Questioned about the homicide the next day, Nicholas informs the press "God told me to."
Cohen (It's Alive, Q) is a true auteur, and this only-in-the-70s blast of weirdness bears all the hallmarks of his work: swooping aerial shots juxtaposed with tight-to-the-ground street angles, authentic and scuzzy NYC locations, an air of paranoia and a story that's a character study wrapped in more fantastical elements. LoBianco (who looks about 15 years older than his character's 34) is good as the troubled cop who struggles to reconcile his faith with his relationships and his newfound powers. Future action movie villain Lynch is both alluring and unsettling as Phillips. This was certainly inspired by the wave of religious horror films that sprung up in the 70s after the success of The Exorcist, but it also stands apart from them, as Cohen isn't interested in making a statement about the power of faith or providing any easy theological explanations. While it's heavily implied that both Phillips and Nicholas are the spawn of extraterrestrials, that implication is based on second-hand accounts and the recollections of elderly individuals, leaving the lingering possibility that both men ARE, in fact, divine beings. Anyway, do give this one a look; it's unique and just as good as Cohen's better-known work.
Wednesday, June 3, 2015
Entry 54: The Island of Dr. Moreau (1996)
The Island of Dr. Moreau (1996)
Dir: John Frankenheimer
"The gates of hell are unlocked."
This one's been receiving a bit of press lately; it's the subject of a just-released documentary chronicling the batshit-insane fuckery that went on behind-the-scenes of it's production, and it's also recently been covered by the popular "How Did This Get Made" podcast...
After a bit of heavy-handed narration (in which he compares squabbling men to beasts...subtle!), shipwreck survivor Douglas (David Thewlis, DragonHeart, The Big Lebowski) is rescued by Montgomery (Val Kilmer, Real Genius, The Doors) and taken to the titular island. Douglas is suspicious of being confined to quarters, and escapes into the jungle, where he runs afoul of a grotesque pig-man and sexy Fairuza Balk (Return to Oz, The Craft). Balk reveals that the entire island is populated by mutated beast-men, and brings Douglas to meet Sayer of the Law (genre legend Ron Perlman, TVs Beauty and the Beast, Hellboy). Then, in one of the craziest cinematic introductions of all time, Douglas meets island ruler Dr. Moreau (Marlon Brando, The Godfather, Apocalypse Now), who appears riding in an insect net-shrouded cart, caked in chalk-white suntan lotion, wearing a white mu-mu and what appears to be a condom on his head and attended by a deformed little person who dresses identically. Moreau reveals that the denizens of the island were all once animals that he has injected with human DNA, and that they all live under his "protection," which involves the forbidding of meat-eating and administering electric shocks to curb bad behavior. Of course, the whole thing goes to shit when dickish Montgomery (apparently for no other reason other than to be an asshole) begins tempting the once-animals with flesh and firearms. After Moreau's "children" messily devour him, Douglas searches for a cure for Balk (who is rapidly degenerating into a cat), while Montgomery dons Moreau's makeup and mu-mu and attempts to become the new King of the Beasts, but is shot dead for his trouble. After cat-Balk is lynched by the beast-men while attempting to flee the island, Douglas manages to escape on a log-crafted raft...
This movie is fucking nuts. I could write a book on the behind-the-scenes shenanigans of the notoriously troubled production. In short summary, this was to be the Hollywood debut for acclaimed cult director/crazy person Richard Stanley (I'm serious about the "crazy" part; he currently lives in a castle and claims to be in love with a ghost haunting it), who had previously made two well-received indie horror films, the postapocalyptic gorefest Hardware (1990) and the dreamlike South African serial killer film Dust Devil (1992). Stanley had envisioned the film as a relatively faithful adaptation of the H.G. Welles novella, but with updated science, R-rated gore and a look and tone inspired by Deodato's Cannibal Holocaust. Stanley immediately clashed with Kilmer (in the midst of his super-assholey, post-The Doors method period), who used his clout to have Stanley fired after three days of filming. Kilmer then decided he didn't want to be on-set for the amount of time his primary character role would have required and forced the new screenwriters to re-write his role as a fairly minor villain, assigning much of his original dialogue to Pearlman. That's nothing compared to Brando, however, whose list of insane behavior includes:
-insisting on a "sun allergy" being written in for his character which would require him to be smeared with thick white sunscreen during most scenes, allowing his stand-in to perform more of his scenes
-refusing to learn his lines and demanding that a PA read them to him through an ear piece in real-time, resulting in a halting, stilted delivery for all of his lines
-demanding that the script be rewritten to accommodate a dwarf actor he'd become friendly with. This new character would follow Brando around during all scenes, dressed exactly like him. This change required a major dramatic subplot to be dropped
-refusing to work closely with Kilmer for unknown reasons. This pissed Kilmer off and resulted in him often acting in a slurred, mean-spirited Brando impersonation
Veteran studio director Frankenheimer (The Manchurian Candidate, Black Sunday) does his best to hold the proceedings together, but fails utterly. Thewlis and Balk do the best they can, but their well-intentioned performances are utterly drowned out by Brando's awkward line readings and Kilmer dancing around like a maniac and making out with mutant pig-women. This is certainly some kind of classic of madness; check it out, then be sure to follow it up with the Lost Souls documentary.
Dir: John Frankenheimer
"The gates of hell are unlocked."
This one's been receiving a bit of press lately; it's the subject of a just-released documentary chronicling the batshit-insane fuckery that went on behind-the-scenes of it's production, and it's also recently been covered by the popular "How Did This Get Made" podcast...
After a bit of heavy-handed narration (in which he compares squabbling men to beasts...subtle!), shipwreck survivor Douglas (David Thewlis, DragonHeart, The Big Lebowski) is rescued by Montgomery (Val Kilmer, Real Genius, The Doors) and taken to the titular island. Douglas is suspicious of being confined to quarters, and escapes into the jungle, where he runs afoul of a grotesque pig-man and sexy Fairuza Balk (Return to Oz, The Craft). Balk reveals that the entire island is populated by mutated beast-men, and brings Douglas to meet Sayer of the Law (genre legend Ron Perlman, TVs Beauty and the Beast, Hellboy). Then, in one of the craziest cinematic introductions of all time, Douglas meets island ruler Dr. Moreau (Marlon Brando, The Godfather, Apocalypse Now), who appears riding in an insect net-shrouded cart, caked in chalk-white suntan lotion, wearing a white mu-mu and what appears to be a condom on his head and attended by a deformed little person who dresses identically. Moreau reveals that the denizens of the island were all once animals that he has injected with human DNA, and that they all live under his "protection," which involves the forbidding of meat-eating and administering electric shocks to curb bad behavior. Of course, the whole thing goes to shit when dickish Montgomery (apparently for no other reason other than to be an asshole) begins tempting the once-animals with flesh and firearms. After Moreau's "children" messily devour him, Douglas searches for a cure for Balk (who is rapidly degenerating into a cat), while Montgomery dons Moreau's makeup and mu-mu and attempts to become the new King of the Beasts, but is shot dead for his trouble. After cat-Balk is lynched by the beast-men while attempting to flee the island, Douglas manages to escape on a log-crafted raft...
This movie is fucking nuts. I could write a book on the behind-the-scenes shenanigans of the notoriously troubled production. In short summary, this was to be the Hollywood debut for acclaimed cult director/crazy person Richard Stanley (I'm serious about the "crazy" part; he currently lives in a castle and claims to be in love with a ghost haunting it), who had previously made two well-received indie horror films, the postapocalyptic gorefest Hardware (1990) and the dreamlike South African serial killer film Dust Devil (1992). Stanley had envisioned the film as a relatively faithful adaptation of the H.G. Welles novella, but with updated science, R-rated gore and a look and tone inspired by Deodato's Cannibal Holocaust. Stanley immediately clashed with Kilmer (in the midst of his super-assholey, post-The Doors method period), who used his clout to have Stanley fired after three days of filming. Kilmer then decided he didn't want to be on-set for the amount of time his primary character role would have required and forced the new screenwriters to re-write his role as a fairly minor villain, assigning much of his original dialogue to Pearlman. That's nothing compared to Brando, however, whose list of insane behavior includes:
-insisting on a "sun allergy" being written in for his character which would require him to be smeared with thick white sunscreen during most scenes, allowing his stand-in to perform more of his scenes
-refusing to learn his lines and demanding that a PA read them to him through an ear piece in real-time, resulting in a halting, stilted delivery for all of his lines
-demanding that the script be rewritten to accommodate a dwarf actor he'd become friendly with. This new character would follow Brando around during all scenes, dressed exactly like him. This change required a major dramatic subplot to be dropped
-refusing to work closely with Kilmer for unknown reasons. This pissed Kilmer off and resulted in him often acting in a slurred, mean-spirited Brando impersonation
Veteran studio director Frankenheimer (The Manchurian Candidate, Black Sunday) does his best to hold the proceedings together, but fails utterly. Thewlis and Balk do the best they can, but their well-intentioned performances are utterly drowned out by Brando's awkward line readings and Kilmer dancing around like a maniac and making out with mutant pig-women. This is certainly some kind of classic of madness; check it out, then be sure to follow it up with the Lost Souls documentary.
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