Riddle me this, Man-Bat: why, oh WHY has no enterprising executive at one of the former Big Three networks stepped up at a board meeting and proposed dipping into the store of made-for-TV horror movies of the 70s and early 80s to produce an extras-laden super-deluxe box set? The generation of TV-addicted kids from that era are now hitting their mid-life crises, and are desperate to possess totems of the formative events of their lost lamented youth--which are uniformly TV shows and movies. And since no cash cow is more ready to be milked of its creamy nostalgia than middle-aged horror freaks, it's really a license to print money.
Yet apart from the prodigious output of the periodically great Dan Curtis, much of the excellent made-for-TV horror of this era still languishes on bootleg tables at horror cons, late-night regional cable programming, and the deep dark subconscious chambers of those now-grown children they traumatized ages ago. No amount of clamor for an SE of Don't Be Afraid of the Dark has yet borne fruit. Only a few entries, like Dark Night of the Scarecrow, have seen the light of day.
Case in point, today's case study: 1981's well-made haunted house flick, This House Possessed.
Full disclosure: this is a movie with which the Vicar-ious family has a History. Back in the dark ages before DVD, before Cable, before even VCRs had become standard equipment, the lil' Vicar and his brothers used to watch anything and everything the Big 3 networks offered, particularly any Movie of the Week that looked exciting or spooky. The Vicar's younger brother was so traumatized by one particular scene in This House Possessed that the movie has become something of a family legend. So when I got a chance to see it again after so many years of myth-building and brother-teasing, I had to wonder: would it hold up?
StoneHENGE! Where the Demons dwell!
Failing to breach the house's deadbolt defenses, the kids decide to lie down on the front lawn and let nature take its course. Unfortunately their attempted B&E has awakened the house's more supernatural anti-vandalism measures: an ominous security camera follows their every move and the monitors in the dust-covered, abandoned guard room flicker to life. As the lovers bump bellies on the Bermuda, a snakelike hose slithers from the flower bed out to their chosen picnic spot. Just as our boy is about to slide into Third Base, the hose rises up--LIKE A COBRA!--and sprays superheated water on them, driving them off the lawn as you would a pair of copulating dogs! Mission accomplished, the hose puts itself away with the aid of reverse filming and an almost-invisible fishing line.
Having economically established his basic "The House is Alive and Cranky" premise, Wiard now flexes his directorial muscles a bit, giving us some nice moody shots of the very desolate exterior. Though the house's architecture is less of the Macabre than the Mike Brady school, the long pillar-lined hallways and shadowy rooms full of sheet-draped furniture do create a sort of modern Gothic atmosphere. The consistently creepy, excellent score by Rocky Moriana helps too.
Sploot!SENSITIVE YOU'RE NOT!
I could have danced all night! Unfortunately, the festivities are interrupted when in mid-chorus Gary collapses to the stage. Whether this is the effect of the House's maleficent powers, or merely the result of ROCKING ENTIRELY TOO HARD, the unconscious tunester is rushed to the hospital, where he is quickly diagnosed as suffering from exhaustion and prescribed a long vacation from the rocking.
IT'S A JOKE, YOUR SENSITIVITY!
SENSITIVE? THAT'S HOT!
YOU NEVER ONCE...SHOWED IT TO ME---!
SUPERSTAR!
Lest we forget the reason we're all here, we now cut back to the abandoned house, where the security monitors are somehow tied in to the hospital's closed-circuit camera system, eavesdropping on Gary and Slim while they plan the rocker's downtime. Gary decides he'll use the vacation to write some new songs, but Slim insists that his meal ticket hire a personal nurse to keep him healthy while he's not onstage. Of course Gary offers the gig to Sheila, who readily accepts. However, an ominous warning from one of Sheila's bosses hints at some dark, mysterious secret in the good girl's past that you just KNOW is going to become important later.
Cut loose from the hospital, Gary and Sheila take off in his bitchin' Ford Bronco in search of a suitable place to shack up and make sweet, healthful music. No points for guessing their eventual destination--drawn toward the House like a compass needle to Magnetic North, Gary and Sheila immediately pronunce it "Sensational!" and look up the local real estate agent to make an offer. The broker tells them the house has been abandoned for 20 years, but was designed at least that far ahead of its time. "You don't need any help taking care of it--It's almost as if the house was planned by someone who never wanted to hire a housekeeper!" Oh reeeeaaally? Among the house's futuristic features are solar panels that provide all the energy, windows made of unbreakable glass, and a central control room from which you can run the ac/heater, monitor every room via security camera, and even electronically lock all the doors and windows! Handy, no?
"Oh, little Turner South logo...whatever will I do with you?"
Gary gets to work on his music, Sheila dispenses migraine pills and massages with equal aplomb, and soon young love is blossoming. The insectoid security cameras continue to follow them everywhere in a pleasantly chilling way, clearly paying more attention to Sheila now than to her rocker boyfriend. When the security monitors start displaying b&w pictures of a young girl next to shots of Sheila about her business, and a Crazy Ralph-esque bag lady in town also calls Sheila "Margaret," well gang, it looks like there's a mystery afoot.
As things hot up between Sheila and Gary, the House starts to act out even more--and in at least one case, with cause. In a scene that could be an excerpt from the "How to Get Busted for Sexual Harassment" corporate training video, Gary gets rather forward with his nurse, smothering her with kisses and pushing her down on the couch, despite the fact that she keeps saying "No!" and trying to push him off. When it becomes clear Gary doesn't understand the words "Do NOT hold me down and force your tongue down my throat!", the House takes action, setting off the burglar alarms and flashing all the lights. "I guess that kinda blows the moment, doesn't it?" Gary huffs to his weeping employee. What, you mean the rapey moment? Yes, Gary, I guess it does.
Her's a tip, guys: if she's keeping her arms tight against her sides while you make out with her, you should probably stop and reassess.
Another interesting technique is Wiard's use of repeated "screen-within-a-screen" shots, and by this I mean a television or monitor screen centrally framed within the larger frame of the television set. (I'm picturing this in its originally intended method of display--i.e., my family's sofa-sized TV/turntable combo). Wiard often puts us right in the control room where the spirit of the house is "watching" the hapless heroes through the security monitors. The whole "watching TV on TV" thing is funhouse enough, but it also serves to put the viewer in the malevolent spirit's point of view, unable to see the horror because we are within it. Maybe there's a paper to be written here about the audience's complicity in the horrors perpetrated on the protagonists, since like the House we WANT to see them suffer (otherwise why tune in?), but that's out of my scope here. What I really want to talk about is the scene that made my brother ruin his little footie pajamas.
Smile--you're on Candarian Camera!
Despite Gary's tepid reassurances ("Tanya is like booze--too much can make you sick, but the first couple of shots are TERRIFIC."), Sheila decides to leave the two glamor dolls to it and goes into town for supplies. There she has another run-in with the Rag Lady, gets some helpful exposition about the house's past from a chatty librarian ("Years ago--trouble out there. People dying, like that!"), and a promise of more mysteries to be unfolded.
Meanwhile, back at the house, Tanya is setting up for THE SCENE. Not noticing the angry crack in her bedroom mirror, she steps blithely into the guest shower, humming the song Gary played her the night before. She wets down, washes her hair, luxuriates in the warming spray of water--and then of course, the BLOOD comes.
Eep!
*For weeks afterward he would not take baths or showers unaccompanied, and would get very upset whenever anyone else in the house took a shower. He would stand at the bathroom door, wringing his hands, shouting every few minutes, "Are you all right?" It was cute, in a "my childhood is permanently scarred" kinda way.
The rest of the flick follows Gary and Sheila on their rocky road to true love, and the House's attempts to thwart them in their journey. We get a car crushed in the front gates, a woman boiled in a swimming pool, and even one kill via a remote-control mirror bomb! And when Gary pops the question to Sheila and promises to whisk her away to Europe, the spirit of the House decides if IT can't have her, NO ONE CAN...
"Damn you, Tiger Beat paparazzi! LEAVE ME ALONE!"
Wiard delivers the haunted house creepiness and suspense in several well-made set-pieces, and if the explanation for the spirit's existence and its motivations is a bit silly, it's no more so than the climax of Legend of Hell House, which always makes me laugh. The possessed-technology set-up gives us a little of the old and a little of the new. And I really can't say enough about Rocky Moriana's score here--just fabulous.
Anyway, I found This House Possessed both a surprisingly effective haunted house flick and a wonderful trip down memory lane. 2.75 thumbs--set your TiVos to be on the lookout for it, as it shows up on Turner cable channels now and then. But it really deserves to be resurrected, slapped on DVD, and put out before an appreciative, traumatized audience.
If it ever is, I know what SOMEBODY'S getting for Christmas!
"You're doomed, you know. Have a nice day."
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
This House Possessed (1981): or, Sensitive You're Not
Monday, February 9, 2009
Strange Hostel of Naked Pleasures (1976)
I would tell thee of my trip to Svalbard in the winter of ’86. I boarded a barque near Murmansk and was quickly ensconced in the captain’s quarters as we set off across the Barents Sea. The ship reeked of the whale and seal fat used to caulk the wood, and I could feel dull thumps each time we struck an ice floe. The trip took several days, and I amused myself by employing oculomancy on the crew as well as wagering with the captain on how long one of his monkey butlers could stay up in the crow’s nest.
The reason I was on this trip at all was because I had heard rumor that a certain artifact had been uncovered during excavation of an old church on the island of Svalbard, north off the coast of Norway. Even the possibility of seeing this precious object had sent me scurrying. After almost 4 days at sea, we made landfall at a tiny fishing village officially called Nartwuld, but known to locals as something far more sinister, a name I dare not commit to this page.
None of the populace came out to meet our ship. Nay, I scarcely saw any living soul, save for a few haggard seabirds, huddled against the icy wind in groups of 3 or 4. A deep, chilling fog began rolling in as we tied the ship down and disembarked, walking down the pitted planks of a short dock. A shutter banged loudly as the fog enveloped us, and suddenly a blood-chilling howl pierced the fog up ahead, a sound that belonged to no animal or beast that I had ever come in contact with, and I didn’t want to start now. At that the captain and the small crew muttered excuses, made warding signs, and backed away, returning to their ship.
I soldiered on, further into the village. The fog was like a living thing, seeming to wrap itself around me. A faint smell, like a ham left outside in the sun, permeated everything. I tripped over a loose cobble, catching myself before hitting the ground. A quick glance at the loose “rock” revealed that it was instead a human skull, worn black by centuries of footsteps. I realized that I had been walking on these the whole time, skulls forming the entire cobbled street. I hurried onward, further into the fog.
The information that I had received said that I was to look for a church, and soon enough I found what had to be it, though it was unlike any church I had ever been in. The whole edifice was built using huge blocks of black volcanic basalt, the stones put together with such craft that no seams were visible. At the top on the steeple hung a symbol that bore no resemblance to a cross of any kind. Christianity had never been brought to these isles. The doors stood open, so I walked inside.
The interior was one huge space, with no seating. On the pulpit stood only an altar, stained crimson. A banner hung on the wall behind the altar, depicting a great, staring eye. I sensed movement to my left. Turning, I saw a priest shuffling forward, cradling something in his arms. He said nothing, merely offering me the wrapped parcel. Footsteps echo’d behind me, and I turned to see the townspeople, filing into the church with heads bowed. Knowing that I did not want to see what was about to take place, I clutched the package to my chest and fled, back down the cobbled street and to the docks. The salt air still on my lips, I said nothing to the captain as he made preparations to leave. Safe in my quarters, I pulled at the frayed strings holding together the package now in my hands, opening it to reveal…
Strange Hostel of Naked Pleasures. Finally my dear readers I get to bring you a rare gem from none other than Jose Mojica Marins himself, known to his friends as Coffin Joe. Strange Hostel is most certainly a Coffin Joe film, but does not belong to the Coffin Joe Trilogy. It is a film unto itself, but is 100% a Marins vehicle you can be sure. Filmed in 1976 and on a really small budget, the movie nonetheless impresses with its visual style and the obvious flair that only Marins could bring.
The movie opens in typical Coffin Joe fashion: surreal and disorientating. A troupe of women dancers, wearing skimpy outfits, dance to the drums beat on by shirtless guys. On and on they dance, while screams echo in the distance and lightning flashes in the sky. Finally, we see a black coffin. More dancing, more quick camera cuts. Suddenly, men wearing plastic breasts (seriously) show up, also wearing plastic monkey-esque masks on their faces. I’m not sure of the significance, but it’s very off-putting.
The dance continues until suddenly, the coffin opens, and Coffin Joe rises up. His top hat magically appears on his head, and his cape quickly follows suit, materializing out of the ether. Taloned hands extended, CJ begins to speak:
“Live to die, or die to live? Is there a correct answer? NO! Only doubts…
Only deductions… Only the certainty of the emptiness loneliness is desperately searching for…
Everything or nothing, the wideness of the gloom.
For the answer for this riddle would be the end of this mystery, the end of eternity’s secret,
The apogee of happiness. Before an accomplished mission, because man would be face to face with his best conquest, the awakening of origin itself!”
Obviously CJ is setting us up for some deep awesomeness. The title sequence runs at this point, and I felt it was very well shot, the credits being embedded on graves in a particularly ornate necropolis. We are also subjected to the moans and screams we’ve all come to know and love during CJ credits. We next see a star field surrounded by a bunch of planets (obviously hung from strings). CJ pontificates more on the meaning of life and the infinite nature of the universe.
Next we see a newspaper ad asking for some workers at a hostel. Quite a few prospects show up at the place, named “Hostel of Pleasures”. CJ himself is the proprietor. He walks out, staring at everyone with menace, and proceeds to pick out a man and woman to get the job. Everyone is understandably creeped out, and they all leave, even the ones who got the job. However, those two don’t go far, they return with zombie-like precision, obviously overcome by Coffin Joe’s power.
At this point, the movie goes into utter awesome territory. Seeing CJ in all his glory running the front desk of a hotel is just more than my brain can handle. He’s not in full CJ regalia, though. Still, we get many close-ups of his eyes as they dart back and forth. One after another, customers come in to rent a room, and as each are given a key, we get a close-up shot of a clock hanging on the wall behind the front desk. This will become important later, rest assured.
"Excuse me, Mr. Joe, have you seen my bra?"
The customers given rooms already have their names written in the guest book. A terrible storm is raging outside, so many people come in, only to be turned away by CJ, as their names aren’t written in the book. A rich man gets rebuffed and, in his anger, says he will return with the police. Among the people granted shelter are a couple who are obviously having an affair, a group of shady, gambling businessmen, and a giant group of hippie bikers. Seriously. They get one room for the lot of them. We also get a young couple who can’t stop from making out, much to our delight (the chick is seriously smoking). A suicidal man and a group of robbers fresh off a robbery round out the rest of the 12 guests.
I must pause here and give special props to the writing of this movie. Coffin Joe constantly speaks in parables, almost poetry really. For instance, to the rich guy who gets sent away, this is his explanation for refusing the guy a room:
“There is no redemption for those who want to be blinder than the blind one having his sight to see.”
Needless to say, this elevates the movie into the realm of Movies That Are Awesome. From here the movie spends quite a bit of time showing the different people going about their business. The couple in love get naked and start sexing up. The hippies also get naked and appear to be having a good ol’ fashioned freak-out. The gamblers gamble. Everyone just does their thang.
No one is quite sure when to leave a Marins dinner party...
In the morning, they all awaken to find their watches are stopped at midnight. They ask CJ what’s up with that, and he reveals the true reason for the Hostel. It seems that all of them have died this night and that the Hostel is their eternal torment, where time has ceased to exist (queue shots of the clock on the wall again). So, let me get this straight: eternal damnation is having hippy group sex? Where do I sign up?!?!
CJ gives them all visions of what actually happened. The adulterous couple is murdered via knife by a jealous husband. The hippies plunge their motorcycles off a cliff. The robbers are all shot by the police. The suicidal guy is shown shooting himself. Everyone is dead, trapped for eternity in CJ’s own version of Hell. The scene cuts to daylight and we see the rich guy who was so rudely rebuffed show up with the police in tow. Hoping out of their cars, we see that they have arrived at the spot where the hostel was, only in its place is now a cemetery! The police laugh at the confused rich guy, who in turn just stands there looking confused.
"Your wife, how much for her?"
As they leave, we see the hostel yet again, with Coffin Joe walking up its steps. The sign for the hostel pops into existence on the wall next to the door. CJ turns to us, and his face fades into a skull as blood pours out of the eye sockets! Leave it to Marins to know how to end a film! This movie was very strange indeed, even more so than most CJ fare. I absolutely loved the imagery. When the suicidal guy shoots himself, smoke, sparks, and blood fly across the screen. It may have been low budget, but they really made what they could out of it, that’s for sure.
One interesting note about the film: Marins didn’t direct this himself, instead handing it off to his friend Marcelo Motta, although it is said that Marins maintained control over how the film was shot. As with the other Coffin Joe films, the movie is very surreal and features lots of screams and other weird sound effects that are designed to really put the viewer at unease. Seeing Coffin Joe standing at the counter of a hostel, stroking a stone skull, is not something one easily forgets. It is amazing to me how well these movies stand up, given their age, and Strange Hostel of Naked Pleasures is no different.
3 thumbs way up, the highest praises for taloned benefactor.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Dardos'd!
Last week the inestimable Ruler of the Tenebrous Empire, Tenebrous Kate, honored Mad Mad Mad Mad Movies with the Premio Dardos award. We are pleased to be thought of so highly by someone of whom we think likewise highly-high, and also a bit humbled to find ourselves in such rarefied company.
More info about the Dardos award:
The Dardos Award is given for recognition of cultural, ethical, literary, and personal values transmitted in the form of creative and original writing. These stamps were created with the intention of promoting fraternization between bloggers, a way of showing affection and gratitude for work that adds value to the Web.
1) Accept the award by posting it on your blog along with the name of the person that has granted the award and a link to his/her blog.
2) Pass the award to another five blogs that are worthy of this acknowledgement, remembering to contact each of them to let them know they have been selected for this award.
Since La Belle Dame Tenebrous was so kind as to hurl her Prize Darts at the Duke and me, like Ralphus casting his missles at the bare/bound backside of a slave girl, we are pleased to do the same toward these five fine examples of bloggery, whose consistently entertaining effluence is available to all, and of whose brilliance you may not be aware. We're here to help--or rather *I* am, as the Duke is currently backpacking around the Iberian peninsula, staying in strange hostels and getting up to who-knows-what mischief. At any rate, the MMMMMovies-approved honorees:
- Arena of the Unwell. The maddest blog you're probably not reading (but should be), this this is the venue where trash-movie mad Brit Ashton Lamont spews his gobsmackingly hilarious and sometimes sticky entertainment juice on whoever passes by. Put on an old shirt and go strolling past today.
- Doomed Moviethon. Short, sweet, and soaked in J&B, Richard over at DM is a kindred soul and a warrior pope in the army of b-movie appreciation. His periodic weekend-long moviethon write-ups are must-read events on anyone's calendar.
- Giallo Fever. Another Brit who Just Won't Quit, Keith at Giallo Fever gives thoughtful, exhaustive scholarly reviews of gialli, krimini, and Eurosleaze that make me wish I'd stayed in school.
- Mondo 70: a Wild World of Cinema. Who knew Uncle Sam was this cool? Samuel Wilson just keeps on bringing it with his considerations of everything from 70s drive-in fare to kung-fu action flicks to the art of Werner Herzog.
- The Film Fiend. A great resource for movies you've never heard of but will end up wanting to see, thanks to the Fiend's incisive and entertaining reviews. Check him out and you'll see why he's been on the Mad Mad Mad Mad Movies link list from the beginning.
Nota Bene: Obviously if you were left out of this list, your blog is crap. Just kidding--it's so hard to pick five, and if you were already honored elsewhere, I used that to make my narrowing-down process easier. And since I've never been one to play by the rules, I'd like to throw a prize dart at my good buddy Karswell's daily (dar)dose of pre-code Horror Comics madness, The Horrors of It All. If you're not docking your ship of state daily at Mad Doctor Karswell's island of cool in a sea of post-code comic boredom, well, I just don't know what to say to you. Oh, yes I do: Get thee to a nunnery!
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Silent Madness (1984): or, Spank You Very Much
It doesn't take a high-falutin' trained critic with his finger on the racing and changeable pulse of pop culture to see that 3-D is making a comeback. Superbowl commercials, sit-com episodes, CG kiddie fare, and even DVD releases are COMIN' RIGHT ATCHA in a 3-dimensional wave of excitement and enthusiasm. Yes, it seems like you can't stick your head out the window for a breath of fresh air without seeing SOMETHING in 3-D.
Of course this isn't the first resurgence of 3-D cinema since its heyday in the 50s and 60s. Many of my parishioners will recall a similar enthusiasm for le trois dimensionale that pushed its rebirthing head out of the screen in the early 1980s with a crop of horror films like Friday the 13th 3-D, Jaws 3-D, and and today's little-seen entry in the slasher sweepstakes, Simon Nutchern's Silent Madness. And yet unlike those other entries, Silent Madness is largely forgotten. Why?
Somewhere in Manhattan, the Cresthaven Mental Institution is feeling the crunch. Crowded and understaffed, the ship of the hospital's future will be sunk if the staff can't lighten the load. Therefore, the Evil British Poof in Residence, Dr. Kruger (Roderick Cook), has stepped up the release of some of Cresthaven's more harmless patients. Things start to look a little pear-shaped when bushy-tailed and frosty-haired go-getter Dr. Joan Gilmour (career TV guest-star Belinda Montgomery) notices that one of the five uncured-but-harmless patients Kruger claims he released is actually still living at the institution. And yet, five patients *were* released. What could it mean?
"Let's play...Global...Thermonuclear...War..."
ANYWAY, horrified at the idea of having loosed a maniac upon an unsuspecting and perky populace, Gillmore goes to her superior, kindly supervisor-cum-Power Matron Dr. Anderson (Stanja Lowe, who looks like nothing so much as Harry Shearer in drag), begging her to call the authorities. Though Anderson seems to take the do-gooding Gillmore Girl's side, it soon becomes apparent that she sympathizes more with Dr. Evil Poof's CYA plan, which involves claiming Johns died in their custody weeks ago and thus the computer glitch did no harm. That way the hospital's reputation is preserved, the public is not needlessly panicked, and the psycho has the opportunity to return to his hometown and start hacking up co-eds again. See? Win-win-win.
Meanwhile, the footloose and sanity-free Johns is on his way to the local College For Women, just itching to make up for lost time. Along the way he happens upon a horny young couple out for a camping weekend in what has to be the MOST BITCHIN' FUCK-MACHINE ON WHEELS ever committed to film. Check it: blue Dodge van, bare mattress in the back, deeply tinted windows, and a lush interior that boasts not only a hanging plant (for that homey feel, you know), but the most luxurious long-haired blue shag it has ever been my pleasure to witness, affixed to nearly every surface: the walls, the ceiling, the dashboard, the instrument panel, EVERYTHING. Seriously, it looks like someone hit a sale on Cookie Monster at the Jim Henson Tannery Workshop.
Don't Bother Knockin'.
The rest of the flick stays pretty much on the slasher-movie rails, with one or two notable exceptions. Disgusted by the stonewalling back home, Gillmore channels her inner Donald Pleasence and heads off to college to see if Johns has returned. Befriending the off-puttingly smarmy star reporter of the local newspaper, Joan decides to go undercover at the Delta Omega sorority for...some reason. There she meets the current Delta-Os, a likable if acting-ability-challenged group of girls who stayed a few days after classes were out in the hopes of getting horribly murdered.
Despite the Crazy Ralph-esque warnings of crotchety house-mother Mrs. Collins (a wonderfully warped-as-always Viveca Lindfors, of Creepshow and Exorcist III fame), Dr. Gillmore presses forward, leading to the expected body count, final confrontation/battle, and a twist that might as well have been delivered by Samuel F. B. Morse himself.
Put your glasses on...NOW.
Still, the movie *does* have a few things going for it, and those things constitute the notable exceptions I referenced earlier. For instance, in addition to the standard "killer comes home to kill again" angle, there's a frankly bizarre substrate plot centered around the asylum's mysterious "Ward L," which is where Johns had been kept until the computer error set him free. Far from being your standard "Ward for the Criminally Insane" set-up, this is a total mad science development center where patients are kept in medically induced comas and fed through tubes, their muscles kept from entropy by cutting-edge electroshock exercise. The shadowed factory-space, beeping machines, bubbling tubes, and plastic-wrapped bodies in Ward L seem to come straight out of another, creepier movie--a movie I'd frankly have preferred to see.
The flick also boasts a few bit characters that are just off-kilter enough to be interesting. The Ward L attendants are a pair of wonderfully slimy gallows-rejects, one a New Jersey-accented Igor with definite rapey tendencies and the other a skeletal Spider-man villain reject with a wonderfully overblown eeevil laugh. These two do get a little more screentime when they're sent to retrieve both Johns and the rogue Gillmore, leading to a nice mid-rape drill-press kill and a 3-D skewering that have to count as highlights.
Better Living through Mad Science
*Not really. As far as I know.
"Don't go toward the light, cocksucker!"
This is meant to explain his murderous rampage, of course, but it doesn't stop there. Later Johns captures Joan in the basement and ties her up with a truly unnecessary number of knots, duct-taping her mouth for added security. Igor and the Vulture drive Johns off, and then the New Jersey Jerkinator begins to take advantage of the BDSM scenario in which he finds himself, before a power surge thwarts his plans. Add an extremely phallic cattle-prod appearance, and I think we can speed-dial Dr. Freud.
Finally, added bonuses for the reporter's tied-up, behind-the-back pistol shot miss (A for Effort), a death by upside-down hanging via gravity boots and a dumbell on a jumprope, a Dragon's Lair arcade game used as foreshadowing, and a surprisingly brutal neck-stab to wind things up.
Game Over
Now--does anyone know a good auto-upholsterer? I'm thinking the Vicar-mobile needs a new look...
Good God, it's COMIN' RIGHT AT US!
Friday, January 30, 2009
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Vampire Ecstasy (1974): or, Don't Knock the Krock
Imagine a standard Old Dark House/Inheritance Reading set-up, in a decrepit mansion that may be haunted by a spirit hell-bent on familial revenge. Imagine that the list of inheritors is composed of a short oversexed blonde in thrall to the spirit's lust-inducing powers on one hand, and a Hawt School Marm with her zoot suit-wearing lipstick-lesbian lover on the other. Now imagine a brother-and-sister ghostbusting team just happens to arrive hours before the will is read, and that the spirit's sexy powers awaken the woman's incestuous lust in hopes of preventing her from revealing the truth. Imagine the housekeeping staff is made up entirely of a lesbian witch coven, all stern unsmiling servants by day and Laugh-In Go-Go Dancers of Satan by night. Finally, imagine the evil spirit in question is not just a spirit, but a Lesbian Vampire Queen whom the head housekeeper wants to resurrect so she can get some 500-year-old lovin'.
Now--imagine that such a movie ACTUALLY EXISTS, was directed by the man responsible for Deep Throat 2 and Inside Little Oral Annie, and boasts an all-German cast who deliver their English lines entirely through phonetics!
I swear--sometimes a guy just hits the Trash Movie JACKPOT.
Vampire Ecstasy (aka The Devil's Plaything) hits the ground running and never slows down. We open with with a naked woman chained to a stake under the main titles--always a good start--and then quickly switch to a witchy ceremony with the aforementioned coven, all in diaphanous gowns and metal circlet headresses. As pseudo-Arabic music plays in the background, the witches drop their diaphanes to reveal Leia Slave-Girl Bikinis and Goldie Hawn-body paint, circa 1969. It's all so beautiful, the lesbo-fondling just before the director's credit really isn't necessary--but I'm still glad it's there.
Get used to this kind of thing.
Turns out Helga is one of the last two living descendants of the owners of the castle on the moors, and has come to hear the reading of her late aunt's will. As the coach bears her further and further from civilization--or at least the train station--she seems to go back in time as well; once she arrives at the castle and is met by three weird sisters in black sack dresses and schoolmarm buns, she might as well be in medieval Bohemia.
Not long after that the OTHER cousin arrives at the castle (on foot, strangely): dark-haired and shy-looking Monika (the aptly named Ulrike Butz) accompanied by her lesbian lover, who we know is a lesbian because of her 1940s Gangster-style pin-stripe suit and fedora. The two are welcomed--though such is hardly the right word--by head housekeeper Wanda Krock (the amazing Nadia Henkowa), one of the sternest, most menacing Teutonic housekeepers it's ever been my pleasure to meet. Refusing to let the hot girlfriends sleep in the same room, Frau Krock isolates them and instructs them to wait until their late aunt's will can reveal who will be the mistress of the manor.
"Billie Jean is not my lover--oh, wait, yes she is."
Now, having deftly maneuvered all his pieces into place, Director Joe Sarno decides to celebrate a job well-done in the traditional way: with a NAKED SATANIC GO-GO DANCE OUTTA NOWHERE!
I just have to stop here for a moment and sing the geeky praises of Nadia Henkowa as the inestimable Frau Krock. I've seen a lot of Sexy Germanic Ice Queens in my time, but Frau Krock is really in a class by herself for sternness, authoritarian snappishness, and general icy menace. Simply put, Frau Krock is AWESOME. She's a woman who would just as soon snap your neck as say hello, and you can sense it in every twitch of her well-developed sneering muscles.
Frau Krock suggests you speak to the hand.
Not only that, but when it comes to the Devil's Go-Go Party, she's got a bod that won't quit and she's not at all afraid to use it. In the celebratory coven dance Frau Krock takes a leading role, as groovy and watery in the joints as any Laugh-In dancer ever was--except she does it with the same stern, icy poker face, as if this were not a dance of joy, but merely a necessary task to be accomplished with maximum mirthless efficiency. The juxtaposition of that face and that pumping paint-covered naked bod is startling, and affecting in a deep emotional way IYKWIMAITYD.
It doesn't take long for the coven's black magic to have its effect on the overnight guests--and since this coven specializes in black magic of the SEXY variety, it yields supernaturally Sexy Results. Helga and Peter are both plagued with ultra-realistic fuck-dreams, leading Helga to to sleepwalk, both in her diaphanous nightgown and out of it. (Zang.) Meanwhile Peter merely gasps and writhes on his bed while Julia watches over him, obviously more affected by the sight than mere sisterly affection will allow. Overcome with the sexy, Julia starts feeling herself up and playing pet-the-kitty while watching her brother's happy dream. Whether this is the coven's spell at work or Julia's own filthiness at play is left for the audience to judge. Still, worried that something wicked just might make her come, Julia adorns herself and her brother with crosses made of garlic, just to be safe.
Suffering from an uncontrollable case of all-consuming horniness, Helga goes to Frau Krock and begs her to "make the throbbing stop!" This is all part of Krock's eeevil plan, of course, as she explains to the panting Eurobabe:"Some spells make you seethe with unfulfilled desires--make your juices flow, hot and burning...your fingers want in, the flames of Hell set your nipples afire and open your womb to the will of her priestesses!"
I wonder if they offer correspondence courses?
Open up and say "Ahhhhhhhh!"
From here on out it's just one sexy horror after another. Pushed on by forces in her crotch she can no longer control, Helga seduces Monika's lesbian lover in a hay loft before delivering her to the coven in the basement, where the girl is hypnotized and made to squat over a gigantic conical candle while another coven member has sex with a hogtied muscleman on the altar. All this under Frau Krock's stern, emotionless eye, naturally. Later Helga succeeds in taking Peter's garlic away, Monika is possessed by the spirit of Baroness Dania and has a long sex scene with Peter while Helga humps a waist-high candle in the background, and Frau Krock offers Julia all the Luscious Pete that she can eat if she'll join the coven and stop being such a square already.
Oh, and some of the candles in the coven room are shaped like penises--though not the ones being used as happy-funtime-playtoys, oddly.
"Please just try to relax."
Vampire Ecstasy is 100% out-of-control sexy vampire goodness from start to finish, with enough devil-worship, deviance, and go-go dancing to fill three such films. The principals are all attractive and frequently naked--Forså in particular does well as the out-of-control innocent Helga--and the bit players in the coven are at least as sexy as any of the stars. And as if the crazy plotting were not enough, the thick German or Scandinavian accents from everyone involved adds another level of madcap unreality--seriously, I'd be shocked if anybody onscreen actually understood a syllable of English; more than once I had to turn the subtitles on just to translate what's meant to be my mother tongue.
Sarno's background in porn is more than apparent here, and while even the uncut version Vampire Ecstasy (accept no subtitutes!) is definitely softcore, it's the kind of softcore that stops *just* short of the line. Lesbianism, incest, bondage, blood--there's something here for just about every pervy taste this side of Slave of the Cannibal God. (And in the name of God and the ASPCA, please stay on *this* side of Slave of the Cannibal God!) However, Sarno's artistic aspirations are in evidence as well, as the director gets many truly beautiful shots and shows off an occasional flair for interesting composition, particularly in the vampire seduction and garlic-cross standoff scenes.
But the real revelation here is Frau Krock, one of my new favorite villainesses of all time. Nadia Henkowa just OWNS the movie; the screen is barely big enough to contain her. Her evil exchanges with her victims and her devilish tempting of Julia are standouts, as are her amazing dance numbers. Stern-beyond-sternness, dominating, and strangely sexy, Henkowa adds a full half-thumb through sheer force of personality.
I *would* make a wish, but it already came true.
OBEY!
Monday, January 26, 2009
Ubalda, All Naked and Warm (1972): or, Lust in Translation
It's a time-honored truth that a man will do almost anything for a woman he loves. He will go to war, risking death and dismemberment just to appear brave in her eyes. He will make himself a fool in the world's opinion, just to see her smile. He will travel great distances, climb insurmountable peaks and traverse impassable rivers in hope of the reward of her kiss. He will risk everything--financial security, personal ruin, even eternal damnation--for one night by his beloved's side. Whether because of genetic programming or something more romantic, spiritual and mysterious, a man will do just about anything for love.
He will even watch a zany Italian comedy like Mariano Laurenti's near-mirthless 1972 effort, Ubalda, All Naked and Warm.
Fortunately, in this case, love-object Edwige Fenech is NOT a tease.
It's not for nothing that foreign-language comedies rarely make the leap across the pond to widespread acclaim in the US. Comedy is hard, and it's even harder to translate. Just think of how many of your favorite jokes depend on an in-depth knowledge of cultural customs and attitudes (and the consequences of their transgression) in order to work; think of all the punchlines that draw laughter because one word sounds so very like another, unspoken word, or because a character inadvertently repeats a bit of bawdy slang. Little wonder that many of the comedies that *do* make the leap rely instead on pratfalls and fart jokes.
The only reason to watch this movie. It's a good enough reason.
As with most comedies of the OMG ZANY variety, Ubalda establishes a basic frame in the beginning and then hangs as many crazy set-pieces on it as possible throughout the remaining reels. Sometime in the Middle Ages, rural farmer and all-around goofball Olimpio (big-nosed, rubber-faced comic Pippo Franco) has been away to war, and is now returning to his village of "Watch-the-Hole" where his improbably gorgeous wife Fiamma (Karin Schubert) is waiting for him. Worried about her fidelity, Olimpio has fitted his wife with a chastity belt, which he obviously just can't wait to get home and unlock.
We meet Olimpio on the road to Watch-the-Hole and suffer through a few sight gags (His visor keeps falling down when he tries to get a drink! When he gets the water at last, it sprays out of his body like a Tom & Jerry cartoon!) before he meets up with and tries to rob a traveling monk, Il Frate Manesco (Pino Ferrara). The holy man gets the better of him easily, then invites the starving soldier to dinner, giving the ugly Franco a chance to brag about his romantic conquests. A sampling of the hilarity:Monk: Have women always fallen for you?
Olimpio: They died for me!
Monk: For your charm?
Olimpio: No, I had an infectious disease!
Merits further study.
The soldier and holy man travel together for a while, giving Olimpio the chance to attempt hilarious rape on a village girl (this is the cultural thing I'm talking about--rape as humor! Then again, the girl is not exactly unwilling, which I guess is part of the joke), from which the horny friar rescues her and then "cancels her sins with his holy body." Laffin' yet?
Eventually Olimpio makes it back to Watch-the-Hole, and nobody cares, least of all his wife. Fiamma and her many lovers have found the holes in Olimpio's security measures IYKWIMAITYD, leading to a scene in which the oblivious husband bathes while Fiamma empties the house of a half-dozen men she has stowed in trunks, barrels, closets, and even under the marriage bed. (As a reward for sitting through this "comedy," we do get to watch Schubert bathe and prance around fully nude, showing off a frankly yummy bod--so that's something, anyway.)
Olimpio's troubles mount when Fiamma informs him that she's taken a two-week vow of chastity to St. Fertility in exchange for his safe return from the war. Upset, Olimpio details his hardships: "Six months of abstinence! I didn't even get a goat!" Much more humor is wrung out of Olimpio's attempts to get Fiamma to forget her oath, including the old 'he slips his hand under her dress and gets it snapped in a mousetrap' gag. ("You could at least add a little cheese!" Olimpio quips, in a joke I hope is less disgusting in Italian than in English.)
"Are *you* the Keymaster?"
Enough cannot be said about the absolute gob-smacking gorgeousness of Edwige Fenech in this movie. She's really the person for whom the term OMG SMOKIN' HAWT ZANG! was invented. Add the aforementioned period gowns and luscious auburn glory, and it's no wonder the mill workers all start humping the flour sacks uncontrollably whenever she's around; by God, you'd do the same. And perhaps out of compassion and pity for the viewer, Edwige is not at all reticent about dropping her dirndl for the camera. I don't know if she's naked more often than not in the movie, but the percentages have GOT to be close.
And thank God for that, because otherwise the movie would be unbearable. As you could predict, the rest of the runtime involves Olimpio trying to get past Oderisi and into Ubalda's metallic lingerie, which he almost manages once by posing as a gay painter commissioned by the local Duke to do her nude portrait. (Of course the plan fails due to Olimpio's ZANY inability to keep his fake moustache on.) We get more silliness with the monk, who also hates Oderisi and tries to help Olimpio with his plan (when he's not with the local barmaid, absolving her sins like a mad jackrabbit). There's more scheming from Fiamma and her lovers (leading to an out-of-place and kind of disturbing near-death scene for Olimpio--brained by a morningstar, he falls against a wall and slides down, leaving a trail of blood on the plaster), and a final agreement between the horny, feuding neighbors that involves swapping keys and making the best of things.
You'd still do it.
To be fair, there are a few lines that are almost funny. For instance, Olimpio's theology discussion with the monk gave me a small smile. ("Are you at peace with God?" "Yes--well, we say hi, but we don't really talk.") Also, a late scene the crazed blacksmith/chastity belt inventor shows Olimpio and then Oderisi his Panties of Penile Destruction led to a joke that actually evinced a small chuckle. ("Did that scare you?" "Does noise weigh?" "No." "Then I shitted myself!")
I'm glad I watched Ubalda, All Naked and Warm, and I would definitely watch it again--with one hand firmly on the remote control, ready to fast-forward, pause, and rewind as necessary. Splitting the difference between painful lost-in-translation comedy and transcendent nude gorgeosity from Edwige, I'll settle on giving Ubalda a 1.5 thumb rating. (Your mileage will vary depending on the ratio of your tolerance for beyond-dumb humor to your devotion to all things Edwige.) And remember: before you give your chastity belt key to a neighbor, make sure the one he gives YOU actually works.
ZANG.
Note: the NoShame DVD includes an interview with an older but still smokin' Edwige Fenech, who talks briefly and interestingly about her fortunate ability to switch between comedies and gialli at the height of her career. She also talks about her relationship with Federico Fellini and her just-missing being cast in Amacord, and though she claims to have no regrets about her career, you can almost see her thinking "What if." Finally she sings Quentin Tarantino's praises for a while, a bit over-exuberantly, but no doubt she's sincere.
Also included is a collection of trailers for other comedies starring Fenech, including an amazing one for The Sexy Schoolteacher Comes Back with a funked-up version of "Fuer Elise" for the score. I'm guessing the comedy in these films translates just as poorly, but again there's plenty of naked Edwige, so I'll probably be looking for copies anyway. :)
OBEY!
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