Monday, September 30, 2024

70's American Horror Part Seventy - (Gerard Damiano Edition)

THE DEVIL IN MISS JONES
(1973)
Overall: MEH
 
One of the seminal pornographic films from the Golden Age along with Behind the Green Door and writer/director Gerard Damiano's own Deep Throat, The Devil in Miss Jones boasts legit production values and a surreal presentation that elevates it amongst the vast majority of its peers.  A hardcore retelling of French philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre's 1944 play No Exit, it concerns a "pure" woman who commits suicide and is therefor denied an afterlife in heaven, though a seemingly understanding angel grants her enough time to "earn her place in hell" by returning to earth as an embodiment of lust; a sinful emotion which she denied herself in life.  The story provides enough of a blueprint for a large series of elongated sex scenes, most of which are punctuated by both Georgina Spelvin's matter-of-fact dirty talk and a flowing musical score by Alden Shuman.  Though the lewd set pieces steer clear of being distractingly avant-garde, (save for a bit with a snake and an apple, because The Bible), the film still exudes a lurid, arthouse melancholy and Spelvin turns in a performances that seems oddly more sincere than most adult actors were either allowed or able to deliver.
 
MEMORIES WITHIN MISS AGGIE
(1974)
Overall: MEH
 
For his follow-up to the landmark The Devil in Miss Jones, pornographic filmmaker Gerard Damiano switched to a type of simmering psychological thriller terrain with Memories Within Miss Aggie.  More like an unassuming arthouse drama with a handful of hardcore sex scenes sprinkled around than anything that can fairly be called "horror", it can still loosely be boiled down to an adult version of Misery, with the lonely title spinster regaling her captive companion with tales, (or memories), from her younger and more sexually promiscuous days.  Aggie is played by four different actors, which throws doubt onto the character's recollection of her past exploits since her physical appearance in each flashback clashes with not only each other, but with the present, frail, and middle-aged look of Deborah Ashira.  The film muses over how both the need for companionship and one's remembrances of a happier time, (whether fraudulent or accurate), each compliment each other as the years go by and isolation overcomes one's emotional grasp of reality.  The closing minutes finally deliver some gruesomeness and show how fully unstable our protagonist really is, but the crawl to get there is just that; a crawl.
 
LEGACY OF SATAN
(1974)
Overall: WOOF
 
A rare work in straight-ahead horror from porno chic director Gerard Damiano, Legacy of Satan is a forgettable occult exploit where people have conversations about the existence of good and evil, hippies in robes praise the Great Deceiver, and loud 70s decor dominates scenes of a married couple having domestic squabbles with each other.  Shot in 1972 and originally conceived as another pornographic movie, Damiano decided to switch gears early on to make it conventionally, utilizing a slew of unprofessional, (and not good), actors as well as a piss-pour budget that makes for a tacky and amateur-hour final product.  As far as those performances go, the cast of poorly-recorded non-actors fumble their lines and come off as wooden half of the time and melodramatically ridiculous the other half of the time, especially where the cult members are concerned who mug their way through exaggerated hand gestures and speak their cartoonishly blasphemous platitudes in pretentious accents.  The synthy musical score is overbearing and obnoxious, dating the film even further along with the wardrobes, aforementioned room design, and its occult subject matter.  Damiano stages a couple of trippy visuals here or there, but even at only seventy-minutes long, it is a lazy and pathetic bore.

Sunday, September 29, 2024

70's American Horror Part Sixty-Nine

TOYS ARE NOT FOR CHILDREN
(1972)
Dir - Stanley H. Brassloff
Overall: WOOF
 
Pure exploitation in every conceivable sense, Toys Are Not for Children is an icky and D-grade affair.  The second of only two movies from no-budget filmmaker Stanley H. Brassloff, it plays out traumatic daddy issues in an unwholesome and humorless manner, taking such subject matter seriously while the embarrassing production values undermine any sincere attempts to disturb.  Most of the actors are amateurs and Brassloff's wooden direction hardly helps matters, though he indulges in relevant flashbacks to a jarring extent that at least break up a series of unlikable characters who endlessly repeat themselves.  It is a miserable experience to watch Marcia Forbes' native and poor young protagonist getting taken advantage of by everyone that she encounters due to her parents being all levels of dysfunctional awful.  Daddy is a womanizing scumbag and mommy never stops reminder her daughter of this fact while simultaneously chastising her for wanting a relationship with him, which Forbes spends the entire movie chasing in endlessly unhealthy ways.  This leads to an inevitable finale that will both ruin anyone's ideas of daddy/daughter roleplaying and make the viewer wish that they turned the whole thing off much earlier.
 
DARK AUGUST
(1976)
Dir - Martin Goldman
Overall: MEH
 
A low-key regional offering from Vermont-based filmmaker Martin Goldman, Dark August is heavy on mood yet void of plot, meandering for roughly ninety-minutes without any compelling pay-off.  Fusing some mild, occult mysticism that was often found in genre works from the period, it concerns a troubled yet likeable New York photographer who moves out to the boonies while suffering a midlife crisis at age thirty-eight, (even though actor/co-writer J.J. Barry looks closer to fifty-eight), at which point his hardships are compounded by a vehicular accident and some sort of curse that has befallen him.  Kim Hunter of all people shows up to deliver some unintentionally hilarious ooga booga New Age chanting, but the performances as a whole are better than what such off-the-grid independent B-movies usually allow.  Some tripped-out synth noises and a melancholic piano motif are used sparingly to help give it an intimate atmosphere, but the drama sadly never picks up.  Whatever supernatural elements are at play come off as both arbitrary and inconsequential and the ending is half-baked, as if the production simply ran out of money and had to turn in the finished product without first shooting everything that they needed.
 
TERROR OUT OF THE SKY 
(1978)
Dir - Lee H. Katzin
Overall: WOOF

Another killer insect TV movie from screenwriter Guerdon Trueblood, Terror Out of the Sky is a direct sequel to 1976's The Savage Bees which even opens with said film's closing set piece, only with a recast Tovah Feldshuh in place of Gretchen Corbett.  Debuting on CBS instead of the NBC like its predecessor, it is just as detrimentally chatty and sluggish, relying on dopey melodrama to pad out the running time.  There is a love triangle here between Feldshuh, a fabulously-bearded Dan Haggerty, and Efrem Zimbalist Jr. that drives the snore-inducing plot line where people talk about bees, then talk about them some more, and then make sure that the audience knows that bees are being talked about yet again.  One or two familiar "Hey, that guy" character actors collect a paycheck and the production affords plenty of live buzzing bugs to crawl on people, as well as a school buss at one point that several heat-stricken kids are trapped inside of.  It is still lackluster stuff and the finale feels like it is seven hours long, which is never a good sign for anything that is trying, (and in this case failing), to slam home the suspense.  At least we get a shot of a guy in nasty bite makeup and someone says "Oh my god, his mouth! Its full of bees!".

Saturday, September 28, 2024

70's American Horror Part Sixty-Eight

A HOWLING IN THE WOODS
(1971)
Dir - Daniel Petrie
Overall: MEH
 
A low-stakes melodrama that aired in November of 1971 on NBC, A Howling in the Woods may be of interest for boomer generation TV fans as it reunites I Dream of Jeannie's Barbara Eden and Larry Hagman as an estranged married couple who get caught up in a small town murder mystery.  Director Daniel Petrie had and would continue to have a prolific career on the small screen and he proves to be as competent of a guy as any to adapt Velda Johnston's novel, balancing the exclusively talky material at a quick enough pace even if little of interest happens.  The title would allude to something sinister talking place outside, but a couple of gusts of wind and a howling K9 prove to be entirely inconsequential, merely providing some brief atmosphere while Eden follows a trail of suspicion as to what her stepmother and newly discovered stepbrother are up to, why her childhood friend is off-putting towards here, and why everyone in town wants to brush over the recent murder of a young girl.  It is a formulaic tale of gaslighting and sweeping inconvenient incidents under the rug, but the performances are fine and the finale finally delivers some much needed suspense, for what little it is worth.
 
PREMONITION
(1972)
Dir - Alan Rudolph
Overall: MEH

The debut Premonition, (Head, The Impure), from filmmaker Alan Rudolph is helplessly meandering against its non-existent budget, but it is also oddly stylized for such a minimalist affair.  Narrator Carl Crow is as unphotogenic of a hippy protagonist as there has ever been, playing a lazy, free-wheelin' musician who sees some kind of man/ape/demon/whatever silhouette making a sign with its hands, which signifies something that is never explained.  Speaking of never explained, there are also flowers that grow on dead bodies.  The plotting is horrendously vapid as the crude production affords nothing as far as interesting set pieces or action.  Instead, we get frequent musical interludes and pointless conversations between people who are being aloof, seeing visions, or who knows what.  As much as there is no story anywhere to be found, Rudolph occasionally manages to create an eerie mood, with slow motion shots, spaced-out actors gazing around, and an ambient musical score that interrupts the otherwise folky guitar ditties.  Rudolph's ambitions exceed his grasp as is often the case with someone's first feature, but at least there seems to be a grasp as opposed to this just being another obnoxious exploitation movie that is unintentionally hilarious at best.

NIGHT CREATURE
(1978)
Dir - Lee Madden
Overall: WOOF

A top-billed Donald Pleasence does battle with a ferocious feline in Night Creature; a dull adventure romp minus all of the adventure.  The penultimate film to be directed by Lee Madden, it was shot on location in the jungles of Thailand and because the safety of both actors and animal alike where hardly a concern for independent no-budget B-movies of the day, they simply shoot a real live black leopard interacting with people out in the wild.  This is not to say that the results resemble anything of the Roar variety, (thankfully), since said leopard is mostly shown just gallivanting around by itself in what may as well be stock footage, interjected with one or two mental breakdowns from Pleasence who stares wide-eyed into the screen.  Other than that, being able to follow or pay attention to what the small handful of insultingly boring characters are saying or doing is a fool's errand.  Both Nancy Kwan and Ross Hagen join the party, but they serve no other purpose than to bump up the running time to feature-length levels since there is hardly enough here to work with for a "man vs. beast" spectacle.  Also, Madden's direction is appalling as he lets the pacing meander and stages everything in the most bland manner imaginable, (despite some slow motion cat shots that are ultimately worth nothing), plus whoever was in charge of the music decided to have it blare over various amounts of dialog.

Friday, September 27, 2024

70's American Horror Part Sixty-Seven

BLOOD MANIA
(1970)
Dir - Robert Vincent O'Neill
Overall: MEH

Robert Vincent O'Neill's Blood Mania is cinematically impressive for a low-budget exploitation movie, but otherwise a melodramatic bore.  Shot over twelve days in a house that allegedly belonged to Béla Lugosi, O'Neill and cinematographers Robert Maxwell and Gary Graver utilized numerous demented angles in their story that merely amounts to a woman going cuckoo after murdering her bedridden, curmudgeon father who leaves a more agreeable settlement to her much nicer and blonder sister.  There is also something about a shady doctor being blackmailed; a doctor that beds both sisters which causes the predictable amount of tension between everyone.  The first act is loaded with sex scenes, setting this agreeably in the softcore realm which is augmented by Maria De Aragon's villainess being a nymphomaniac of sorts.  While some of these sequences are tripped out to wah guitar/atonal organ music and a psychedelic aesthetic, the script by Peter Carpenter and Tony Crechales never picks up any momentum.  Also, O'Neill forgets to add any suspense or scares, rendering the whole thing as nothing more than an uninteresting yet well-shot sex romp with unlikable characters.

DEATHMASTER
(1972)
Dir - Ray Danton
Overall: MEH

Count Yorga himself Robert Quarry, the guy who sang "The Monster Mash" Bobby Pickett, and Piglet from Winnie the Pooh John Fiedler join forces in Deathmaster, (Guru Vampire); the debut from actor-turned-director Ray Danton.  One of countless vampire yarns that the early 1970's produced, Quarry's bloodsucker here is significantly different than his Yorga counterpart, presenting himself as a meandering guru for a bunch of uninspired hippies that eagerly latch onto his every word out of both sheer boredom and probably some supernatural hypnotic influence.  Certainly dated with its stock of burnout characters, New Age platitude dialog, and a soundtrack made up of folk songs, dissonant organs, sitars, and Eastern bongo jams, the Manson family meets the undead hybrid is a no-brainer one for the era that brings together Gothic horror motifs with counterculture exploitation ones.  Quarry's performance is appropriately ham-fisted, but sadly, the film comes off as more pretentious and lame than atmospheric and creepy, featuring few fiendish set pieces until the finale and settling into the overused trope of somebody having a difficult time in trying to convince anyone who will listen that vampires are real and in their midst.

IT HAPPENED AT LAKEWOOD MANOR
(1977)
Dir - Robert Scheerer
Overall: WOOF

An Old Lady Might Sell Her Hotel and Oh, Also There are Ants - The Movie aka It Happened at Lakewood Manor, (Ants!, Panic at Lakewood Manor), is yet another bug-infested bit of made-for-TV nature horror from screenwriter Guerdon Trueblood.  A slew of recognizable television and big screen actors are on board, (Suzanne Somers, Lynda Day George, Myra Loy, Robert Foxworth, Brian Dennehy, Bernie Casey, etc), but Trueblood's script is detrimentally talky and it takes until the last act for it to kick into full-on survivalist mode.  In the meantime, there sure are a lot of bland characters to keep track of from construction workers, love interests, hotel staff, and a sleazy argumentative real estate agent because every movie needs a clear-cut bad guy.  Most people who come across such a film will likely get aggravated by the lack of insect-attacking mayhem and the pleading and discussing amongst everyone continues even as it crawls towards the finish line.  Such a premise is poorly-suited for a nail-biting experience to begin with since the film itself even proclaims that teeny-tiny little ants are usually not aggressive, so there is a simple assumption here that "bugs are always creepy" and ergo, that is enough to go on.  Yet when one of the "intense" set pieces in your killer bug movie is a handicapped old lady briefly getting her rescue cage caught on a piece of wood as a hunky lifeguard clumsily falls off the balcony, then a problem you do have.  At least the finale where three people have to sit perfectly still as to not stir-up the ant's wrath while they crawl all over them is icky and amusing.

Thursday, September 26, 2024

70's American Horror Part Sixty-Six

THE CORPSE GRINDERS
(1971)
Dir - Ted V. Mikels
Overall: WOOF
 
For every George A. Romero, there was also a slew of Ted V. Mikels; clueless independent "filmmakers" who dished out exploitation crap on the cheap, talent be damned.  The Corpse Grinders reads like a horror comedy on paper due to its premise of a cat food company going out of business and then doing the logical thing of digging up corpses and murdering people in order to make their product, only for felines to eat said food and occasionally leap at non-actors who have to pretend that they are being attacked.  It is embarrassing nonsense and unabashedly so, authored by Arch Hall and Joe Cranston, (that is Bryan Cranston's dad for anyone paying attention), and then shot on a shoestring with a combination of colorful and tacky lighting, flat cinematography, both wooden and over-acting, and a Z-grade, sleazy aesthetic that roots it in the early 70s when grindhouse theaters and drive-ins were desperate for any low end hogwash that they could get.  Mikels made a career out of such crud rucks, (as well as throwing lavish parties and living in a house that was decorated as a castle apparently), and this one is far from his worst, but there can still be no denying that the man barely knew how to make a movie.
 
Z.P.G.
(1972)
Dir - Michael Campus
Overall: MEH
 
Before doing two back-to-back blaxsploitation movies, director Michael Campus delivered the low-key, dystopian sci-fi thriller Z.P.G., inspired by Paul R. Ehrlich's 1968 non-fiction book The Population Bomb.  Boasting a disturbing premise that hyper focuses on one aspect of a totalitarian future society, (namely that child-barring is prohibited to the point where anyone who is caught giving birth is immediately executed in public via suffocation), it has a similar look and sterile presentation that is found in many other Orwellian-esque genre films from the 1970s.  Everyone wears matching uniforms, voice over instructions are regularly omitted as background noise, the only food that exists is synthetic, and people live in controlled environments as well as the constant fear of Big Brother.  Oddly though, many aspects do not line up with each other.  How Oliver Reed and Geraldine Chaplin are able to exist with a forbidden newborn of their own for so long seems preposterous under such a regulated regime where one can get painfully interrogated for watching a few minutes of a documentary on pregnancy yet can also walk around with a wailing infant, hide it in both a basement and an apartment with no suspicion, and escape on a life raft to a unobserved island without rustling a single alarm system.  Campus' direction is detrimentally listless and the pacing suffers because of this, but for anyone who wants to witness that rarest of Reed performances where he seems to be on Quaaludes the whole time, this may be for you.
 
DRACULA SUCKS
(1979)
Dir - Philip Marshak
Overall: MEH

Considering both that vampires naturally exhibit a type of diabolical sexual force in fiction and that 1979 saw numerous interpretations of Bram Stoker's famed novel getting adapted to the screen, it makes sense that a pornographic version would drop that same year.  Dracula Sucks, (Lust at First Bite), puts none other than porn legend Jamie Gillis in the title role with a Lugosi accent and all, who is matched by Richard Bulik doing a pitch-perfect Dwight Frye impression as Renfield's son.  Set in some undisclosed time period, it tweaks Stoker's source material by keeping some of the plot points and details while setting it all up at an insane asylum and of course having a more horny agenda than any previous interruptions.  Much of the dialog is lifted straight out of Universal's 1931 adaptation, but save for Austrian character actor Reggie Nalder as Van Helsing, these are hardly accomplished thespians we are dealing with, which gives the film a goofy tone that is part low-brow spoof and part atmospheric homage.  Enhancing this is random radio broadcasts, (or something), that play over many of the sex scenes, as well as montage type editing that would make the story incomprehensible if not for how familiar it already is to most viewers.

Wednesday, September 25, 2024

70's Curtis Harrington Part Three

THE DEAD DON'T DIE
(1975)
Overall: MEH
 
The second small screen collaboration between director Curtis Harrington and author Robert Bloch, The Dead Don't Die was an adaptation of the latter's short story of the same name, airing here on NBC in January of 1975.  Set in 1930s Chicago as the exquisitely-mustached and tanned George Hamilton tries to clear his recently executed brother's name, it reveals itself as a Haitian voodoo story before too long, one that has a throwback vibe to when various Poverty Row Hollywood studios were churning out similar material, (hence taking place four decades prior).  Watching Austrian character actor Reggie Nalder walking around as a member of the undead is a hoot and easily a role that the man was born for, plus Hamilton makes a solid noir protagonist that finds himself in over his head in a supernatural zombie army scheme.  Though such a tale should translate well enough to the television format since gore, sleaze, and profanity are hardly necessary to channel that low-level Monogram Pictures "magic", this still comes off as uninspired, despite Harrington being able to muster some atmospheric moments here or there.
 
RUBY
(1977)
Overall: MEH

Taking a break from a series of television horror films, director Curtis Harrington tackled the exploitation snoozer Ruby; a ghost/possession/revenge movie that is equal parts lackluster and silly.  Hot off of her renowned turn in Carry from the previous year, Piper Laurie plays the title character with some ham-fisted bravado that is appropriate for a former mob dame turned has-been lounge singer running a drive-in of all things; a drive-in that exclusively employees veteran gang members.  While Laurie's tough gal Mae West channeling is appreciated, it jives awkwardly with bloody and goofy murder sequences that at least break up the boredom.  The last act spends more time with the mute daughter played by Janit Baldwin, (who is oddly a dead ringer for English actor David Hemmings), and this is where the cliched Exorcist knock-off moments come in, all of which are as unintentionally humorous as any other 1970s movie that featured young women contortioning their bodies while speaking in creepy voices.  Laurie's characterization is weak at best and inconsistent at worst and though the film tries to keep things interesting with a barrage of arbitrary supernatural sequences, they are too consistently hackneyed and unconvincing to deliver anything more than yawns.
 
DEVIL DOG: THE HOUND OF HELL
(1978)
Overall: MEH
 
The penultimate full-length from director Curtis Harrington was the television film Devil Dog: The Hound of Hell which initially aired on Halloween in 1978 on CBS.  Notable for its ridiculous premise that is played unwaveringly straight, it has Richard Crenna in the lead, a cameo by scream queen Martine Beswick, and also reunites child actors Kim Richards and Ike Eisenmann who likewise played siblings in John Hough's Witch Mountain.  As far as the actual movie goes, Harrington maintains a steady mood of dread, occasionally utilizing a chilling vocal score that is typical of the era as well as letting long moments play out to silence as to mount the suspense.  Still, we are privy to an opening sequence where Beswick and a handful of other people wear robes and summon a demon to possess a female dog so that it will spawn a litter of evil pups.  It is a tonal clash in this respect that is impossible to take seriously despite how seriously everyone on and behind the screen is taking it.  The two moments where we see the K9's true infernal form only work because an occult expert explains them to us, as the special effects are rough even for 70s TV.  Some may dig the atmosphere and goofy premise, but the stock plotting, stagnant pacing, and dry execution do not jive accordingly.

Tuesday, September 24, 2024

70's Curtis Harrington Part Two

THE KILLING KIND
(1973)
Overall: MEH
 
After two psycho-biddy full-lengths, director Curtis Harrington switched gears, (slightly), with The Killing Kind, an unsettling thriller that is more miserable than frightening.  The focus is on a young and aggressively unlikable man who returns home from serving time for being forced into raping a woman; a man with an unfiltered temper as well as a disturbingly attached and emotionally dependent mother who really has a thing for taking pictures of him and asking him if he wants a glass of chocolate milk.  While their disturbing dynamic is interesting to a point, John Savage's antagonist has no redeemable qualities even before he starts murdering people.  Savage's performance is effectively slimy, but that is what makes the film a difficult watch since we are stuck experiencing his perspective until things switch back to his mother in the final act.  Harrington exhibits an eye for details though, building awkwardly tense moments where people either knowingly or unknowingly push Savage's unhinged character to a breaking point.  Ann Sothern and Luana Anders are effective on screen, the latter as a sexually frustrated neighbor and the former as the wacky mother whose doting affection plays some roll in her son's wretched behavior and downfall.
 
THE CAT CREATURE
(1973)
Overall: MEH
 
Though all parties involved give the material a solid go, The Cat Creature cannot overcome its unintentionally hilarious attributes.  One of several ABC Movie of the Weeks to be directed by Curtis Harrington, none other than Robert Bloch penned the screenplay though apparently under strenuous circumstances.  Roughly twelve minutes of materiel was cut before shooting, only for the final product to run twelve minutes short, which forced Bloch to cobble together some easily filmed padding to bring it back up to snuff.  Considering the title and the fact that Cat People and The Curse of the Cat People's Kent Smith makes an appearance, the film has obvious allusions to Val Lewton's RKO work in the genre, but it is typically paced for the contemporary time period, meaning talky as all get-out.  The performances are fine, (with a blink and you'll miss it cameo by John Carradine), but Meredith Baxter seems miscast with her unassuming demeanor and young housewife looks.  Essentially though, it proves impossible to make a scary story that is about a domestic-sized cat who can hypnotize and claw people to death.  The final set piece has an eerie mood, (plus understandable use is gotten out of imposing silhouettes when the lights are off), but this is flimsy and ridiculous stuff.
 
KILLER BEES
(1974)
Overall: WOOF
 
If the 1970s loved anything it was A) television movies, B) movies about killer insects, and C) movies with any of the Charlie's Angels in them.  Curtis Harrington's on-the-nose-titled, ABC Movie of the Week Killer Bees checks off all three of these boxes, with Kate Jackson arriving at a country mansion full of slight eccentrics with her fiance, only to discover that the family's matriarch is psychically controlling a swarm of bees to murder people that she does not fancy.  You can practically smell the wood paneling and bell-bottoms.  Featuring one of the last performances from Gloria Swanson as well as Edward Albert portraying the frustrated and estranged member of Swanson's wine-making family, all of the familiar faces in the world cannot save an insultingly unmoving story that keeps the killer bees of the title away from the proceedings as much as possible.  Instead, we have a slack melodrama concerning rich assholes who gaslight Jackson and bore the audience to smithereens in the process.  TV nature horror films generally suffered such problems, losing any potential viewer until remembering to put some animal mayhem in during the third act when it was too little, too late.  Instead of even that, this one goes for an ambiguous maybe possession angle in its closing moments, which may have been interesting if anyone could pay attention long enough to get there.

Monday, September 23, 2024

70's Curtis Harrington Part One

HOW AWFUL ABOUT ALLAN
(1970)
Overall: MEH
 
After a three year break, director Curtis Harrington returned with the ABC Movie of the Week How Awful About Allan.  An adaptation of Henry Farrell's novel of the same name, (the author also penning his own screenplay here), and one of the gallons of television productions that Aaron Spelling threw his name on, the film scored Anthony Perkins in the lead as well as Julie Harris as his sister, both of whom hold up in the family house eight months after Perikins' title character accidentally caused the death of their father due to a fire.  Left "psychologically blind" from the traumatic incident, the plot plays out with Perkins either being gaslit by those around him or legitimately losing his grip on reality, fearing that his home is being visited by a shady intruder and no one believing him in the process.  While the story has little in the way of uniqueness and it suffers from a monotonous structure, Harrington throws in some spooky aesthetics here or there, with details like a whispery-voiced tenant, Perkins' foggy vision, and Laurence Rosenthal's unsettling score helping things along.  Perkins is also as effortlessly charismatic as ever, making the whole thing watchable if not altogether good.
 
WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH HELEN?
(1971)
Overall: MEH
 
The third psycho-biddy horror film from the mind of author/screenwriter Henry Farrell, What's the Matter with Helen? has Shelley Winters giving people what they expected of her at this point in her career, namely portraying a pudgy ole kook whose mental instability results in violence.  Her and Debbie Reynolds playing a set of disgraced mothers with sons that have murdered people gives the premise a macabre starting off point, but this is juxtaposed with a lot of cutesy song and dance numbers between children, as well as Reynolds showing that she has still got it.  Director Curtis Harrington stages the ghastly bits well and the period decor enhances the old timey campiness, though the story is not as nuanced or disturbing as Farrell's What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?, by comparison.  The actors are in fine form even if Winters screams and hams it up to the heavens as a Bible-quoting and knife-wielding closeted lesbian, but the movie could afford to shave off twenty or so minutes as it feels its length in getting to the inevitable and over-the-top conclusion. 
 
WHOEVER SLEW AUNTIE ROO?
(1971)
Overall: MEH

Another case of an overabundance of screenwriters resulting in a confused and sloppy end product, Whoever Slew Auntie Roo?, (Who Slew Auntie Roo?), has four people credited to concocting a modern day "Hansel and Gretel" revamp, and it shows.  Too many plot elements go nowhere and though the ending is appropriately disastrous and enough in keeping with the fairy tale source material, it is also abrupt and offers some perplexing insight into the main children protagonists.  There is a cold brute of a orphanage head mistress, a phony psychic, a conniving butler, and then we have the kids and Aunt Roo herself who all could be seen as villains at one point.  Only the title character's story arc is seen all the way through, which makes for several needlessly winding avenues to go down along the way.  On the plus side, director Curtis Harrington, (who also directed Shelley Winters in the same year's similar psycho-biddy thriller What's the Matter with Helen?), frames some suspenseful moments and ideal horror images here or there, plus Winters herself is sufficiently hammy, so it hits the mediocre mark at least.

Sunday, September 22, 2024

70's Blaxploitation Horror Part Four

THE THING WITH TWO HEADS
(1972)
Dir - Lee Frost
Overall: MEH
 
With equally ridiculous title and premise in tow, Lee Frost's The Thing with Two Heads delivers its advertised absurdity even if the end result is not that memorable.  The social commentary is on the nose as Ray Milland's stuffy and bigoted surgeon literally joins heads with a wrongly convicted African American convict, all while a respectable/also African American doctor tags along for the ride.  Frost and his fellow screenwriters, (which include Wes Biship and James Gordon White), hardly bother saying anything profound with their setup, eventually just turning it into a chase film involving one cop car after the other crashing and flipping over while the funky wah-wah heavy soundtrack by The Incredible Bongo Band sets the proper high-jinks mood.  As a comedy, it gets by to a point with Milland's Archie Bunker-esque annoyance with his situation.  Plus the dated, practical production aspects of watching him and Rosey Grier awkwardly smushed together on a bed or in an oversized suite are a hoot to laugh at, most likely intentionally.  There are not enough clever set pieces to keep the chuckles going and the ending is particularly rushed, but B-movie enthusiasts should probably add it to their "to get to" list if they have not done so already.

GANJA & HESS
(1973)
Dir - Bill Gunn
Overall: GOOD
 
Writer/director Bill Gunn's startling and unique Ganja & Hess does not adhere to the often tacky and comedic trappings of blaxploitation proper or conventional horror tropes for that matter, which is largely what makes it stand out as a singular work.  While it is a vampire film on paper and Gunn uses the genre template to explore addiction, racial class structure, and spiritual enlightenment, the approach is explicitly experimental.  Narrative coherence is forgone and in its place, Gunn concocts a deliberate, flowing montage of ethereal visuals where the plot is barely intelligible underneath it all.  While this becomes aggressively pretentious and arguably even self-serving, the end result is both challenging and haunting.  The eerie sound design, music from Sam Waymon, and cinematography from Civil Rights documentarian James E. Hinton as well as committed performances from Gunn, Marlene Clark, and Duane Jones, (in his only other significant role besides Night of the Living Dead), are all exceptional.  As an art film, it is unforgiving in its imposing approach, but it is also culturally significant and rewarding by design.

THE HOUSE ON SKULL MOUNTAIN
(1974)
Dir - Ron Honthaner
Overall: MEH
 
The only film from director Ron Hanthaner and screenwriter Mildred Pares, The House on Skull Mountain is an oddity amongst 70s horror in that it features a predominantly African American cast yet it is not stylistically in line with blaxploitation, which was the style at the time.  Instead, it takes the tired ole "reading of the will" premise and throws in some tired ole voodoo nonsense as well, hardly resulting in anything that is worth remembering.  On the plus side, it has a nifty matte painting of the title abode; a spacious mansion that sits on top of a mountain that indeed has a giant skull at its base.  However the hell that geographically works.  There are also some fun shots of a hooded skull thing, the undead makeup is sufficient, and Monroe P. Askins' cinematography makes the film look better than it is.  Unfortunately Pares' script fails to elevate its cliches and only affords a few lackluster deaths and supernatural set pieces, though Honthaner devotes many minutes to dancing tribal rituals and Jean Durand stabbing dolls with pins.  Victor French makes a poorly-cast and schlubby Caucasian hero, plus the fact that he and the strikingly not-at-all-schlubby Janee Michelle both develop a romance and are cousins is one of several awkward details herein.

Saturday, September 21, 2024

70's Blaxploitation Horror Part Three

NIGHT OF THE STRANGLER
(1972)
Dir - Joy N. Houck Jr.
Overall: MEH
 
Regional filmmaker Joy N. Houck Jr.'s Night of the Strangler, (Dirty Dan, Dirty Dan's Women, Vengeance is Mine, Is the Father Black Enough?), is an interesting if undeniably flawed entry in the blaxploitation genre.  Its main slasher-tinged title out of several is also misleading as even though a number of murders take place, none of them are by strangulation.  Classifying this as a horror film even by thriller proxy is also a stretch as it is instead explicitly a racially-driven murder mystery.  Mickey Dolenz of all people is one of two brothers in a dysfunctional relationship, as they both come to blows over each other's love interests, as well as their sister's insistence on marrying a black man who she is recently expecting a baby with.  As the more odious sibling, James Ralston has a comically vile reaction to this news, which kicks off a plot where almost everyone gets picked off in what is revealed to be a convoluted vengeance scheme.  The performances, cinematography, and sound design are embarrassingly amateurish, so even though the movie's sensitive themes are front, center, and present a bleak outlook, the film is undermined by its abysmal production aspects.
 
SUGAR HILL
(1974)
Dir - Paul Maslansky
Overall: GOOD

The only directorial effort from producer Paul Maslansky, Sugar Hill is one of the more unintentionally silly blaxploitation horror films on the short list of them.  An American International Production cashing in on the success of their Blacula films, (and also featuring Count Yorga himself Robert Quarry as a vile and racist southern mob boss), it has all of the cheap laughable charm inherent with such movies including crude production values, asinine dialog, and ham-fisted acting.  Don Pedro Colley turns in a particularly cartoon-character performance as Baron Samedi; a wide-gazed, cackling Haitian voodoo spirit that is ridiculous and amusing in equal measures.  In the title lead, Marki Bey is no Pam Greer, but she has a sexy and schlocky charm that works well enough with the proceedings.  The racoon-eyed zombie makeup is a highlight and is especially creepy during a massage parlor scene, as well as in the end when they descend upon a white woman who is left helpless in a car.  Story-wise, it is a bare-bones revenge scenario, but Maslansky keeps things moving and there are plenty of notable ghastly moments, hilarious lines, and "Supernatural Voodoo Woman" by The Originals slaps hard.

PETEY WHEATSTRAW
(1977)
Dir - Cliff Roquemore
Overall: GOOD

Rudy Moore's fourth staring vehicle Petey Wheatstraw, (Petey Wheatstraw, the Devil's Son-in-Law), is arguably his most nonsensical blaxploitation goof fest, reuniting him with director Cliff Roquemoere who was behind the lens on the Dolemite sequel The Human Tornado.  Many of the same hallmarks are present, including cheap production values, juvenile gags that are half intentionally funny and half unintentionally funny, reinforced stereotypes, horrendously unconvincing fight choreography, and of course Moore's full-volume, raunchy rhyming capabilities.  Throwing in some horror elements is the one distinguishable factor as Moore's title character squares off against the Devil himself when he backs out of a deal to marry his physically-impaired daughter after being granted supernatural revenge powers.  The plot is of course ridiculous, which is established right from the opening scene where Petey is birthed as a full-grown child in a diaper who immediately attacks the befuddled doctor that yanked him out of his mother's over-sized womb, (a womb which also produces a watermelon first because this was a simpler time).  Some tonal shifts and awkward set pieces only add to the cacophony of nonsense, but all parties involved seem to be having a delightful time, which is infections for any audience member that is down for a head-scratching and off-color chuckle.

Friday, September 20, 2024

70's Italian Horror Part Thirty-Four

EYE IN THE LABYRINTH
(1972)
Dir - Mario Caiano
Overall: MEH

Though it has a misleading and surreal opening where Rosemary Dexter witnesses the would-be murder of her psychiatrist love interest, (spoilers, its a nightmare), the rest of Eye in the Labyrinth, (L'occhio nel labirinto), is a clumsily executed giallo with a detrimentally glacial pace.  On the one hand, director Mario Caiano and fellow co-writers Antonio Saguera and Horst Hachler keep things on the straight and narrow for the first two acts as Dexter goes looking for her boyfriend and ends up in a seaside village where a bunch of random people are living a carefree existence in a spacious estate.  The monotony sets in quickly though where every character is so lifeless that all of their endless banter with each other becomes a chore to sit through.  Things start to get more unhinged eventually, which is where the narrative embraces the incomprehensible and results in a type of melodramatic, pseudy-psychiatry twist that only exists in hack-laden genre screenplays.  The jazzy musical score, endless camera zooms, occasional nudity, misogyny, and some off-color sleaze in the fact that one of the people on screen is a man parading as a woman, (and even screaming to the heavens that they are not a transvestite), are typical for low rent Euro-trash, but the story is too catastrophically dull to hinge any of its wackier nonsense on.
 
THE POLICE ARE BLUNDERING IN THE DARK
(1975)
Dir - Helia Colombo
Overall: WOOF

The novelty of a giallo from the genre's heyday that is directed by a woman wears off quick when watching the resulting The Police Are Blundering in the Dark, (La polizia brancola nel buio), which is easily the most lethargic i.e. boring i.e. worst giallo ever made.  While this may sound hyperbolic, there is a reason that the film lingered in more obscurity than most others of its kind, even being shelved for two years after being shot.  The only film credit from Helia Colombo, she unfortunately possesses abysmal skills from behind the lens.  There may not be a movie with more horrendous pacing issues as Colombo merely fits everyone into a wide shot and films them partaking of casual chit-chat without any closeups or cuts.  These scenes go on for what feels like lifetimes, as can be said about the whole ordeal.  A woman's blouse comes undone in the opening scene when she is running away from her attacker, (as blouses of course often do), and this sets up a continuing motif of bare tits being on display in place of any suspense, flashy cinematography, or agile storytelling.  Another women who is a dead ringer for Briana Banks walks around her hotel room naked while eating a sandwich, a butler who is a dead ringer for James Keach is revealed to be a secret agent, a guy in a wheelchair who is a dead ringer for Doug Henning nonchalantly invents a machine that can take pictures of people's thoughts, and a couple of people get murdered for reasons that are never explained. 
 
YETI: GIANT OF THE 20TH CENTURY
(1977)
Dir - Gianfranco Parolini
Overall: WOOF

An Italian production that was made in Canada because who can resist those cheap Canuck shooting locations, Yeti: Giant of the 20th Century, (Yeti - Il gigante del 20º secolo), was the penultimate film from director Gianfranco Parolini who mainly worked within Spaghetti Westerns, sword and sandal movies, and the Kommissar X franchise.  Even by the low art/high trash standards of Italian cash-grabs, this one is more infamous than the lot of them and for logical reasons.  We have a cutesy tone with a dog that befriends Mimmo Crao dressed as Big Foot, the usual back and forth plotting of some people being nice to the giant monster while others just scream and/or shoot at it, horrendous rear projection special effects, and Crao's yeti getting sexually aroused when sixteen year-old Antonella Interlenghi brushes up against his nipples, instantly making them erect.  Those Italians sure know how to cinema, amiright?  A steady combination of boring, formulaic, incompetent, and batshit stupid, the unintentional entertainment value is inconsistent at best.  Money was spent in some areas, (lots of extras, a hefty cast, giant yeti feet and hand props, etc), but it seems hilarious cheap in others, (stock music, stock sound effects, the aforementioned dated and pathetic visual effects, etc).  Still solid fodder for bad movie night, but expect nothing more than that.

Thursday, September 19, 2024

70's Spanish Horror Part Sixteen

PASTEL DE SANGRE
(1971)
Dir - Francesc Bellmunt/Jaime Chávarri/Emilio Martínez Lázaro/José María Vallés
Overall: WOOF

Spain jumps in the anthology horror game with Pastel de sangre, (Cake of Blood, Blood Pie), which features four different writer/directors each delivering a segment.  For most of the filmmakers, this was their first full-length credit and they would rarely if at all dip their toes into the genre throughout the rest of their careers.  Unfortunately, their joint venture here is an amatuerish and pointless mess.  Each story is both low on dialog and plot, going for an ethereal mood that just becomes frustratingly aimless.  José María Vallés' "Tarota" has a guy on a horse, a little person, weird masks, and a woman who might be a vampire. "Victor Frankenstein" by Emilio Martínez Lázaro is by far the most forgettable interpretation of Marry Shelley's novel ever filmed, barely qualifying as such since it just has a zero charisma doctor showing up and then disappearing so that his good-looking yet mute creature can arrive, smile at people, and strangle a few of them.  Francesc Bellmunt's "Terror entre cristianos" has vampires and Romans and then Jaime Chávarri's closing "La danza o las supervivencias afectivas" is possibly the worst of all, featuring two criminals who tie up a woman and then do nothing for roughly twenty minutes afterwards.
 
THE HOUSE WITHOUT FRONTIERS
(1972)
Dir - Pedro Olea
Overall: MEH

A conspiracy thriller from Spanish filmmaker Pedro Olea, The House Without Frontiers, (The House Without Boundaries, La casa sin fronteras), was made as General Francisco Franco's long-standing regime was winding down and it serves as an ambiguous mood piece where elderly upholders of power are patiently and systematically weeding out the younger generation who are not so willing to play ball.  While the premise and several intense moments are sinister and chilling, the deliberate pacing takes too much wind out of the proceedings.  The opening scene is repeated with different characters three different times and in each instance it successfully represents a macabre reminder of what is at stake, but the nebulous plot unfolds nonchalantly.  Numerous lingering shots are unnecessary, as are entire moments that propel nothing forward while only hinting at a melancholic dread that never becomes properly suspenseful.  Tony Isbert also makes for a painfully wooden lead, never once changing his flat-lined facial expression until the closing moments.  Though clearly an admirable and risky work for its era and home country, the movie feels an hour longer than it is and ultimately tiptoes around its more interesting ideas as opposed to successfully leaning into them.
 
VIOLENT BLOOD BATH
(1974)
Dir - Jorge Grau
Overall: WOOF

The second of three consecutive horror films from Spanish director Jorge Grau, Violent Blood Bath, (Pena de muerte, Penalty of Death, Night Fiend, Death Petulantly, The Private Life of a Public Prosecutor), boasts a particularly misleading title as there is little violence, even less blood, and no baths.  Instead, it is a low-level melodrama concerning a crotchety magistrate who favors the death penalty and is plagued by a series of copycat murders pertaining to criminals whom he had previously sentenced.  He also has a wife, (Austrian bombshell/scream queen Marisa Mell), that is over twenty years younger than him and who is gallivanting around in steamy fashion with her ex.  Despite a couple of hysterical breakdowns near the finale from Mell, the actors on screen seem to be sleepwalking through the entire thing, which is understandable due to Grau's insufficient pacing and a story that removes anything that could be considered exciting.  Well, we do have a hilariously random moment where women engage in a lobster-eating contest in their underwear, but there is otherwise nothing to see here that is worth remembering.  Characters talk, they talk some more, then they talk again before making room for a lot more talking, plus the twist is one of the most predictable in any quasi-giallo out there.

Wednesday, September 18, 2024

70's Foreign Horror Part Twenty-Nine

BEAST OF THE YELLOW NIGHT
(1971)
Dir - Eddie Romero
Overall: MEH

Low-budget filmmaker Eddie Romero and co-producer star John Ashley churn out another crap Filipino monster cheapie with Beast of the Yellow Night, not missing a beat after the conclusion of their abysmal "Blood Island" series which concluded the previous year.  As opposed to his usual shtick of just being an emotionally vacant stick in the mud leading man, Ashley also gets to be the doomed creature this time, wearing some ghastly and cheap green wolfman makeup while running around clawing people to bright-red-bloody death.  He still has the captivating screen presence of a dried turnip and does everything in his lack of acting ability to tarnish an already dopey B-movie, but future SCTV member/minor scream queen Mary Charlotte Wilcox is just as lifeless, making them an uncharismatic couple to reckon with.  At least villainous character actor Vic Diaz seems to be having fun as Satan Himself, but he even lays back on some scenery chewing that would have helped to give the film some much needed pizzazz.  This is the movie's major faux pas, (as was common for every Eddie Romero directorial effort), which is to say that it is a listless endeavor with no sense of pacing, no thrilling set pieces, a lazily boring story, sleepwalking performances, and non-existent production values.
 
THE POSSESSION OF VIRGINIA
(1972)
Dir - Jean Beaudin
Overall: WOOF

A French-Canadian supernatural mystery and the second full-length from director Jean Beaudin, The Possession of Virginia, (Le diable est parmi nous, Satan's Sabbath), is nonsensical trash that almost gets by on its barrage of head-scratching components.  Shot in Montreal, Québec, it has Daniel Pilon in the lead who turns in one of the most braindead performances that you are likely to see.  Reacting to nearly everything that happens to him with the excitement of a drugged tortoise, his lack of charisma is staggering, even as he beds more than one lovely lady and becomes the focal point of a secret society of Devil worshipers.  We do not get any unholy depictions until the closing few minutes, allowing for the plot to unfold like a bloodless and boobless All the Colors of the Dark, a superior giallo which was released the same year and has a similar enough diabolical agenda to it.  A smiling old lady who inexplicably gets goofy music accompanying all of her appearances, sporadic editing, a woman who suffers a random seizure, a cat getting poisoned, and a full-blown Satanic orgy, the movie bounces all over the place but it does so in a lackadaisical haze.  Even the most ridiculous aspects come off as uninspired, giving off the aura that there is a better and more appropriately atmospheric movie hiding in here somewhere.  Recast Pilon with anybody else, jettison the terrible soundtrack, and emphasis more disturbing set pieces and this may have had a chance.
 
GOLEM
(1979)
Dir - Piotr Szulkin
Overall: GOOD

After a decade of making shorts, Polish filmmaker Piotr Szulkin crafted his first of several dystopian sci-fi arthouse full-lengths with Golem; a Kakfa-inspired nightmare that is funny and nebulous in equal measures.  Set in an undisclosed time period and country, we meet a mild-mannered artificial human who has been let back into society by way of bureaucratic mishap, only to come in conflict with a barren and confused world that eventually seems to bring him into its conformist clutches.  Marek Walczewski is the type of every man actor that is well-suited to the material; bald and wimpish, he is solid fodder for being pushed around and frustrated until enough time and disappoint has gone by that he is just another broken-down cog in the machine.  The fact that the "machine" in question is dilapidated and noticeably lacking in other individuals provides the film with a sly commentary on where the lack of individuality and expression can lead.  At one instance, Walczewski and Krystyna Janda, (looking not unlike Daryl Hannah's punk rock replicant in Blade Runner), excitingly go the movies, only to find small television sets with a fabricated rock concert playing on them, one whose audience of screaming fans is some kind of post-production allusion.  The pacing is deliberate, but for fans of political allegory, there is plenty to unpack in Szulkin's crumbling version of an anti-human society.

Tuesday, September 17, 2024

70's Foreign Horror Part Twenty-Eight

DR. FRANKENSTEIN ON CAMPUS
(1970)
Dir - Gilbert W. Taylor
Overall: WOOF

The Canuxploitation crud rock Dr. Frankenstein on Campus, (Flick), is notable as the first horror movie to be funded by the Canadian Film Development Corporation, but even for historical purists, it is a regrettable watch.  Director Gilbert W. Taylor's only full-length, it is less concerned with adhering to any bullet points from Marry Shelley's source material than it is in offering up top-to-bottom obnoxious characters engaging in some of the most laughable protests imaginable, like how the University of Toronto wants to get a new computer.  That is not an exaggeration.  Fusing no-budget counter culture trash with horror was plenty the rage across many continents at the turn of the 1970s, but Taylor's Canadian spin on such an idea is as lifeless as it is unprofessional and embarrassing.  Robin Ward is easily the worst character in screen history to have the Frankenstein name; a pompous, smirking brat who somehow does not get punched in the face by everyone that he meets.  We are treated to endless hippie banter, terrible rock music, and at about an hour in, Ward's title character finally does something mad scientist related by getting his moronic friends to drink clearly laced alcohol and then he mind controls them.  There is a twist ending that throws any sense of logic to the wind and about the only amusing part is when a toy Frankenstein monster shows up, which Ward of course stomps on because as Johnathan Banks would say, "What an asshole".
 
THE TWILIGHT PEOPLE
(1972)
Dir - Eddie Romero
Overall: MEH

The final horror film from Filipino director Eddie Romero, The Twilight People, (Island of the Twilight People), brings The Island of Dr. Moreau and The Dangerous Game together in lackluster fashion.  As was always the case with these movies, putting John Ashley in the lead is a colossal mistake and his lack of emoting abilities are as steadfast as ever.  Captured by Charles Macaulay's mad scientist/Dr. Moreau stand-in, Ashley witnesses violence, grisly medical experiments, and several human-animal monstrosities without changing his blank facial expression like he is lost in mundane thought while putting on his socks.  His performance is hilariously wooden to some degree, but it mostly just contributes to Romero's usual brand of lifeless direction.  The movie is a combination of overly talky and overly walky, with the plot stopping cold in the third act so that the characters can just hide and hunt in the jungle without having to say much to each other.  On the plus side though, some of the bestially make-up is a hoot and Pam Grier is spottable under such a guise for those with a keen eye, but this is otherwise an arduous watch and one of several Philippines-set cheapies with little going for it.

NAZARENO CRUZ AND THE WOLF
(1975)
Dir - Leonardo Favio
Overall: MEH

Though evocative and stylized, Leonardo Favio's Nazareno Cruz and the Wolf, (Nazareno Cruz y el lobo, las palomas y los gritos, The Love of the Wolf), ultimately gets lost in its own poetic lumbering.  An adaptation of the Paraguayan Luison myth of the seventh son of a family being cursed as a lycanthrope, it weaves in the Devil and an overarching theme of choosing love over safety and riches.  While the narrative is a timeless tragedy that works as a dark fairy tale, Favio's presentation is a mixed bag of arthouse whimsy and monotony.  Much of the dialog is repetitive, scenes linger on to the point of indulgence, some of the characterizations become irksome, (including a cackling hag in the last act that never shuts the hell up), and the musical score only utilizes a small handful of motifs, all of which makes it a cumbersome watch at times.  Also, the "werewolf" is just a black German Sheppard, but to the film's credit, this is hardly going for brutal, Paul Naschy-adjacent set pieces.  Juan José Camero turns in an intense performance in the doomed lead, plus Juan José Stagnaro's camerawork stays inventive throughout, capturing aggressive winds and the folkish locale in an intense fashion that is lovely to look at if not entirely engrossing.