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Page II : DANGEROUS CURVES to KETTLE CADAVER
- A TASTE OF BLOOD
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DANGEROUS CURVES
Directed by Mysterio
After a bevy of phone sex ads (horny enough in their own right thanks to their hardcore approach to advertising) and an equally
graphic credits montage, we find heavy-breasted blond Michelle B. sucking on a candy-colored vibrator filled with pleasure
beads. She guides this into her sopping cunt, moaning enthusiastically as she gets herself even wetter. About this time a
muscle-bound gentleman caller arrives with a pussy pump, which he applies directly. Placing the cup end over her clit and
lips he pumps the air out of the device, causing her parts to swell up into the chamber. Judging by her moans and facial expression
this is a good thing, and he continues, finger-fucking her ass at the same time. Soon he’s got her bent over, pump still
in place as he slides a large ribbed dildo in and out of her ass. Then it’s his turn, Michelle giving his hefty member
a juicy hummer. He proceeds to titty-fuck her while at the same time feeding her the dildo still warm from her ass. With this
foreplay out of the way she straddles him for a joyride, and after a quick reversal it’s straight into some anal doggy.
Rolling her onto her side he hoists one of her legs into the air and continues to slam her ass until he’s ready to unload
– into the pussy pump, which Michelle now holds in her mouth. She allows the sperm to drool down over her generous breasts,
which she then licks without ceasing her moans of pleasure.
Austin Kincaid lies in bed, having her breasts adored by a massive Muscle Beach-type. Slipping out of his grasp she
does a slow strip against the wall, then masturbates on the bidet as he approaches her with a gargantuan 24-inch dildo. The
thing is almost as big as her leg, yet wedging it into the ass-bath Austin straddles it and swallows as much of it as she
can between her legs while simultaneously deep-throating her guy’s fat cock. Back in bed he goes down on her, finger-fucking
her to an increasing frenzy, and when they’re both steaming with excitement he drives it into her. After a time she
gives him some slow drooling head and climbs on top, moving from reverse to standard cowgirl, then lies face-down so that
he can drive it into her from behind. Austin
rolls over just in time for him to slide between her breasts and give her the old pearl necklace.
Jamie Brooks, an arresting platinum blonde in a mesh top, has to work a little oral magic to get her frat boy lover
hard, but she deep-throats him and pumps him until he’s solid enough to toss her onto a leather couch and give it to
her. Before long she’s onboard for some reverse cowgirl anal, then they’re on the floor for a little ass-spooning,
she alternately rubbing her clit and holding herself open for display while keeping the dirty talk flowing all along. Frat
boy’s still having a little trouble keeping a full hard, but he works away at her colon, chokes her and slaps her titty
around, then drives her doggy style until he works up a nut to bust from out of his now impressively thick cock (not without
a couple of ATMs and gapes in the process). He’s come inside her ass, which she fingers deeply, languidly licking her
long manicured nails afterward.
We catch large-breasted Eve Lawrence in the garden, pulling up her panties like she’s just finished peeing. The
buxom short-haired brunette is promptly joined by a big greasy New York type who wastes no time in adoring her enormous breasts
– by squeezing lemon juice on them and licking it off (hey, where’s the garlic butter?). She responds by sucking
his shaft, a sizeable Italian salami that she just can’t get enough of. After wrangling his wang for a bit she’s
laid back so he can go down on her, not forgetting to put a little lemon juice on that shaved oyster. Carrying Eve inside
her man slips it to her, at least as much of it as she can take, even spearing her like a cocktail onion and picking her up
for the dirty dance. Back on the divan she rides him, sucks him and rides reverse; with her gigantic breasts, queen mother
hips and ass, and his enormous cock, the scene really does take on graphic proportions along the lines of something like Corben’s
Den. He takes her doggy style, and while it would have been nice to see him use
that pigsticker on her ‘sweet honey fat ass’ he does get some titty-fucking in before jacking off on her face
and breasts.
Lithe and decadent, Shy Love reclines on a couch in her lingerie, getting her toes and clit sucked by her man of the
moment. Very soon he’s finger-fucking her ass and she’s licking his fingers, then his cock as a face-fucking follows,
her perfectly-shaped artificial breasts moving invitingly from behind her gauzy bra. From there it’s straight to doggy
style, with a thumb in her ass. Shy is perfectly submissive, and her slightly protruding buck teeth lend a surprisingly innocent
look to her absolutely slutty demeanor – particularly when she braces herself for an anal reverse cowgirl ride. Climbing
off just long enough to suck his cock she gets right back up there, squealing her approval as she bounces and grinds. A doggy
anal pounding follows, then she’s on her back, knees to ears, rubbing her clit and screaming with joy over his “fucking
cock.” It comes to a head with an oral money shot, followed by her lip-locking his cock into the fade-out of various
legal disclaimers.
The digital mastering is a little shaky in some scenes, notably Jamie’s and Shy’s, showing marked pixilation
especially during the close-ups. But on the whole the film is a surprising standout among current industry offerings, managing
to be both hot and nasty despite the manufactured physiques. Those in the market for this kind of media could do worse.
Bonus segments consist of “Hot Cutz!” and “Pop Shotz!” along with chapter selection and various
promotional materials. (Thanks to Exploitation
Retrospect – www.dantenet.com)
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Dutch arts collective
De Hondenkoekjesfabriek (apparently Holland’s
equivalent of France’s Le Dernier Cri) has been making
art and noise for a long time now, and with readily available DVD technology it was high time to put it all together for a
massively perplexing line-up of bizarre performances.
Animation, transvestite/monster
DJs and site-sound installations are all brought forth for Truck Van Rental’s musical noise presentation; Mayoman is
a performance art dictator slathered in, yes, mayonnaise and well-armed with buckets of the stuff (which you just keep waiting
for him to unload on the audience, but the fucker never does!); Total Security is…well, I don’t know what the
fuck that is, but it’s kinda gay; Spermatak is a two-man terror squad in light goggles and gas masks making noise in
the dark to mirror-image film loops of gynecological examinations; Les 1 is a short animation-enhanced film blending sex,
drugs and butchery; Pidpi is the most psychedelic of the bunch, opening with colorful multi-layered film loops before the
performers come on, strange beings decked out in dried mucosal shells like some sort of microscopic flotsam tottering about
to queasy drones and backwards moaning; Monobrain-Headhunter is a rapidly paced collection of gore clips featuring exploding
heads shown over and over again to the sounds of violent feedback; PIEDIEPIE features a freakish ensemble of large skeleton
frameworks that threaten the live audience with dancing and screaming (and includes a goodbye from the sewer); The Weak-End Quizz is a nightmarish and nonsensical game show blending live action and animation; Civic
TV/Planet Art is a lot like Total Security; Monobrain does some sort of twisted HR Pufnstuf-on-acid routine; and Bastaman
and Dr. Drek play us out through the end credits.
Very bizarre and
freakish stuff, if you put this on because you were too stoned to go outside it may very well make you afraid to stay inside.
A collection of effects, stylistic approaches to filmmaking and performance, and production values are brought to the table
here in what is overall an entertaining, if somewhat bemusing, anthology. I don’t know what region this is coded for,
all’s I know is that it played out just fine in my cheap-ass region-free DVD player. Nor do I know how much this bizarre
little gem is, but if you get in touch with the good folks at DHK I’m sure they can help you out. Wait, I’m not
actually sure, but it might be a good place to start…
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DEAD WATERS
Directed by Mariano Baino
I’m a sucker for anything Lovecraftian, or even anything vaguely cthonic. Arcane books and carvings pointing toward
eldritch gods guarded by half-castes spawned by lost races . . . it’s a rich and fertile field, and Baino plumbs these
depths and more in Dark Waters.
Apocalyptic
prophecies, shattered icons, animal skulls, and a beautifully desolate island ghost town setting open up Dark Waters on a promising note of enigmatic atmosphere. The cliffside religious ritual, staged by nuns overlooking
the waves with tall crucifixes, only adds to the island’s air of mystery. The dark and stormy night to come does the
same, bringing with it a priest’s furtive examination of an ancient manuscript written in an unknown tongue. Suddenly
floodwaters come washing through the chapel, tearing down the cross and submerging the priest, who within seconds has the
life torn from him by some unseen force.
The
next morning a lone nun hides out along the rocky cliffside, clutching a circular iconic plaque. As she moves to a peak overlooking
the island’s craggy shoals, another unseen force approaches her from behind with dizzying speed, knocking her from her
perch so that she and the amulet shatter on the rocks below. Later the nuns collect the remants of the plaque, placing each
piece in a separate reliquary and hiding them about their grotto-like convent.
Twenty
years later, beautiful young Elizabeth (Louise Salter), severely out of place among the coachload of inbred villagers in which
she’s riding, travels toward the abbey, summoned from London by a letter from her friend Theresa (Anna Rose Phipps).
Studying at the convent Theresa is less than pleased with her surroundings, and as her friend makes her way past a fiery midnight
procession Theresa is exploring the candle-lighted recesses of the convent’s nethermost regions. Spying her sisters
absorbed in mid-flagellation Theresa creeps down to retrieve one of the pieces of the amulet, only to be viciously stabbed
to death by an unseen assailant. Her cries echo throughout the caves along with the sounds of the flagellants’ whips,
but her body is left unattended to bleed down a waterfall that washes over the life-size crucifix where it came to land twenty
years ago.
Reaching
the last mainland port in the middle of a rainy night, Elizabeth attempts to buy passage to the island convent. The only boat
she can find is piloted by a creepy old sea captain with a morbid disposition and his geek of a deckhand, a subhuman who perches
on deck eating raw fish guts as a gruesome scarecrow who “keeps the whores and pigs away.” Arriving upon the island
Elizabeth is greeted by a cloaked young member of the mysterious order, Sarah (Venera Simmons), and quickly reveals that her
mother was from the island but died giving birth to her. Not long afterward Elizabeth is taken before the Mother Superior,
a blind old crone who speaks through a younger nun. Elizabeth explains that she’s on the island as a result of her father’s
death, and as the inheritor of his estate she’s following up on his commitment of regular payments made to the convent
over the past twenty years. As the matter of the donations was a rather secretive and mysterious one, Elizabeth wants to know
why they should be continued. Told that she will understand everything “in time,” Elizabeth is offered the use
of the convent’s grounds and library for study in the meantime. She’s also told that her friend Theresa left for
London two days before . . .
In
the library the next day Elizabeth comes across a book filled with arcane symbols accompanying a grotesque illustration of
a deformed creature bearing animal, human, and reptilian characteristics. Other literature speaks of “The Beast”
in Biblical terms. The movement of strange lights distracts Elizabeth from her research, and creeping through the abbey’s
fissure-like passages she watches and follows another one of the nuns’ processions, this one bearing a shrouded body.
Quickly getting lost among the maze of rocky corridors Elizabeth comes across a cavern filled with bizarre religious paintings,
including one depicting Theresa’s murder. The artist is a blind hermit-like creature, but as he approaches her Elizabeth
is pulled from his pit by Sarah. Elizabeth shares her feelings that Theresa has been murdered by the nuns, and Sarah promises
to help her get to the bottom of the mystery. Later, as she studies other paintings shown to her by Sarah, Elizabeth is attacked
from behind by one of the sisters with a chain garrote. She manages to push her attacker out of a cliffside doorway just as
Sarah returns to comfort her, and the two share a scene of bonding as they talk of childhood and destiny.
Elizabeth’s
dreams, which have had an increasingly nightmarish quality since her arrival at the convent, grow ever stranger. One night
an infant’s sobbing leads her through dark passages toward a pair of prepubescent acolytes standing in the presence
of a truly gruesome crucified nun, whose bloody-mawed screams awaken Elizabeth in terror.
Walking
the island’s rocky beaches the next day in the hopes of finding a way off the island, Elizabeth comes across a blind
old woman embroidering the image of the Beast seen in paintings and on the amulet earlier. From the island’s dockmaster/mortician
Elizabeth also retrieves a letter to her from Theresa, warning her to stay away from the island as her father had wished her
to, and reporting that the nuns are attempting to restore the shattered amulet. Walking back to the convent Elizabeth is suddenly
overcome by a sudden urge to eat raw one of the countless dead fish washed up along the island’s shores, and as she
does so images of a bloody-mouthed little girl holding a small animal flicker across her mind. Regaining her senses Elizabeth
vomits and rushes back to her room, only to be plagued by even bloodier nightmares.
Later
Elizabeth returns to the blind seamstress’ shack, where she finds photographs indicating that her mother didn’t
die giving during childbirth at all. As the old woman speaks of Elizabeth’s family in riddles, one of the nuns storms
up with a flaming crucifix and hurls it into the cabin, setting it and the old woman ablaze. The flaming crone runs down the
shore and dives into the ocean, crawling out a hideously burned and delirious wreck who can only scream in pain and call out
to someone called Ninotchka.
Now
in even greater fear for her life, Elizabeth hides from the nuns by slinking through the convent’s hidden passages until
she comes to the chamber holding the old crucifix. There, peering over Christ’s shoulder, is the lost central portion
of the amulet bearing the face of the Beast. As Elizabeth retrieves this the artist and Mother Superior both suddenly become
agitated, and does the rattling of the sealed door from behind which strange sounds have been emanating throughout the picture.
Instantly the door bursts open, the attending nuns screaming in terror at what lies beyond.
Still
wandering the halls Elizabeth is again attacked by one of the nuns, this one bearing a wickedly curved blade. After a bloody
fight Elizabeth manages to smash the nun’s head in against the floorboards, then wanders past the nuns’ broken
bodies to enter the mysterious chamber. Sarah waits for her there, with a new look and more than a single revelation about
her past. These of course involve the Beast, who makes its appearance with a blood sacrifice and the reconfiguration of the
amulet. And it all works out in a way none of the characters could have quite expected . . .
Although
not entirely unexpected by some members of the audience, I’m sure. There wasn’t quite as much monster mayhem here
as I was hoping for, though the constant aura of mystery and murder throughout goes far toward compensating for this factor.
As does the impressively creepy atmosphere imparted by the tainted religious order and their vast subterranean catacomb of
a convent. The bizarre rituals, unidentifiable accents, mysterious paintings, dripping statuary, shadowed grottoes, secret
passageways, religious iconography, and the constant play of firelight and shadow throughout the primitive, almost atavistic
setting of the convent’s caverns all contribute massively to the film’s fine stylized look and associated ambiance,
which is admirably captured by cinematography utilizing the scenery of locations in Odessa, Kiev, The Crimea, Rome, and Moscow
to concentrate on the haunting, moody themes building toward the climax. Said climax, as mentioned above, could have been
somewhat more grand and exciting, but as all of the film’s threads are tied together in an ending befitting of the Lovecraftian
style of mythos it’s difficult to complain. (A most appropriate gothic soundtrack by Igor Clark further serves to accentuate
the air of mystery pervading the film.)
The quality is that of a good VHS dub, as sharp and free of distortion as any cult video
you’ll be likely to rent, and in fact this is one of Video Search of Miami’s better reproductions. (Each transfer
is rated as to print quality, with Dark Waters earning an A.) Video Search of Miami
is a duplication service (all films in their library can be dubbed in either VHS or DVD format), so is more of an aid to those
seeking out the strange and bizarre in the immense world of cult/import/obscure video than a resource for the avid collector
of new reissues, but for those who just have to have the original VSoM’s sibling company, Oasis Video Miami (www.oasisvideomiami.com), can supply equally strange and sought-after viewing in the more collectible pre-recorded
format.
* * *
#13523: $25.00 + $4.00 shipping from Video Search of Miami – www.vsom.com – P.O. Box 16-1917, Miami, FL, 33116
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DEATH IN HOLLYWOOD / WHEN THE APPLAUSE DIED
Directed by Nick Bougas
We begin this SRS Double Feature with Death in Hollywood. This nearly bloodless
autopsy of the sad ends of living legends begins with a look at the curse of Rebel
Without a Cause: Nick Adams’ suicidal overdose, Sal Mineo’s stabbing death, Natalie Wood’s drowning,
and of course James Dean’s infamous race into immortality. Easily outdoing the Poltergeist
legend, the aura of tragedy surrounding this film even extends to Dean’s girlfriend Pier Angeli, who would go on to
commit suicide some years later.
Other tales of disintegration quickly follow, downplaying the legendary last moments of notable suicides the likes
of Lupe Valez, Superman George Reeves, “supreme character” Albert Decker, and numerous others.
Celebrity homicides are given their fair share of the limelight, the Manson Family murder of Sharon Tate and friends
in particular being covered for the umpteenth time. The corpseless crimescene coverage of this mass murder fits the pattern
of the film’s ‘all tease no sleaze’ program, making a later shot of the body of the Black Dahlia murder
victim a surprise only in that it’s the single nude cadaver to be found in a film that clearly fancies itself a centerpiece
of sensationalism on the unbeatably exploitative topic of death in Hollywood. (Although further on in the picture viewers
are treated to a nude Jayne Mansfield and later photographs of her fatal car wreck.) A film, by the way, that offers no new
theories in the as yet unsolved case, a treatment also afforded Bob Crane’s kinky and curious end.
Other murders follow, both solved and unsolved, including those of Dorothy Stratten, Ramon Novarro, Thelma Todd, Marvin
Gaye, Bruce Lee, and, of course, Marilyn Monroe.
The on-camera ends of Tyrone Power and Vic Morrow are covered as well, with a surprising number of angles of Morrow’s
death being provided – right down to the cell showing his head, and that of one of the children he was carrying through
The Twilight Zone, flying through the air.
The sweep of AIDS through Hollywood
is briefly touched upon with the demise of Rock Hudson and Liberace, although the death of John Holmes is completely omitted.
(Guess he’s just not ‘Hollywood’ enough.)
It’s all wrapped up neatly with the sentiment that, while it’s almost shocking that screen legends are
mortal, at least their work will live forever. In tired documentaries such as this one.
The stripped-down stock footage opus of When the Applause Died doesn’t
waste any time before reveling in the damages wrought by alcohol and drugs across generations of the Hollywood elite, with
Roscoe “Fatty” Arbuckle’s unfortunate encounter with Virginia Rappe and Maude Delmont at an illegal San
Francisco drinking party, John Belushi’s meteoric speedball habit, and Bela Lugosi’s overindulgence in wine and
morphine all being headliners in this look at final curtain calls.
Unfortunate child stars such as Anissa “Buffy” Jones, Bobby Driscoll and Our Gang members Carl “Alfalfa”
Switzer (famous last words: “I’m going to kill you, you motherfucker.”) and Scotty Beckett are shown as
prime examples of downfalls due to drugs, alcohol and/or the general misfortune of growing up.
The alcoholic excesses of John Barrymore, Errol Flynn (during whose rape trial the phrase “in like Flynn”
was born), W.C. Fields, Spencer Tracy and William Holden are given time, as are controversial and suicidally drug-fond comedians
Lenny Bruce and Freddy Prinze (with special mention to Lenny’s bathroom O.D. and Prinze’s anal cocaine intake).
Other inebriated Pagliacci figures follow, the likes of Bing Crosby, Stan Laurel and Buster Keaton.
A montage of gravestones and publicity photos accompanies a litany of other fallen stars, fatally grounded by drink
and dope. This ncludes celebrities of both the film and music worlds, with one crossover of special note being Judy Garland
and her unstable pill-popping rollercoaster of a career.
While it ends on a note of appropriately sorrowful curiosity as to how those who have it all could throw it all away,
the point is clear: the rich and famous, and their lives, aren’t really so great after all.
With a double feature on one disc you’d think you’d be getting quite the bargain, but in fact it’s
just a waste of twice the time. Throughout the program cheesy touches abound, such as bad computer graphics mixing with bad
canned music, and the bulk of the material is so mild as to be tantalizing only to the most backward and closeted, those who
don’t have access to the Enquirer or Weekly
World News. (Let alone the Internet.) On the flipside, anyone else can walk in to a public library and check out a copy
of Hollywood Babylon (I or II) and be treated to as much dirt as they can swallow.
In fact Kenneth Anger’s work seems to be a primary inspiration for this pair, but the few truly violent, perverse and
graphic images that Sub Rosa affords us could be found in a couple of pages of either book. These are, for the most part,
cheap shots of and at Hollywoodland that simply fail to deliver the graphic sleaze they promise. There is an abundant lack
of autopsy photos, crime scenes with victims in situ, and gruesomely deviant revelations,
all things that the target audience (meaning depraved voyeurs with a lust for schadenfreude) is led to expect; instead we’re
treated to a scrapbook of scandal sheets, many of which have been read before.
The most startling aspect of this double feature is the director’s name, found only in the final credits of each
film. That noted author, artist, archivist and filmmaker Nick Bougas would be backed into this lousy bargain basement double
billing is the real applause killer; the soul of the man who brought us the epic and immortal The Goddess Bunny is nowhere to be seen. Here’s hoping this was churned out for rent money, but even if
that is the case it’s still a true disappointment. There’s much better material than this doubtlessly just lying
around Nick’s home, and it is hoped that the lack of its inclusion here is due more to the restraints of Sub Rosa (yet
another bad mark against a company that continues to rack them up ceaselessly) than to lack of effort. It all could have been
so much better, but as it stands this is just a fucking shame.
(Thanks to Exploitation Retrospect
– www.dantenet.com)
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From the land
of www.chicagostonerrock.com comes this harsh psychedelic headfuck, aptly subtitled “One Nation Under Doom.”
Featuring videos from premiere doom/sludge/grindcore bands, this DVD is the very embodiment of anti-MTv – no softcore
commercial faggotry or music for fat little girls here, this is just good, good shit. (Even for the non-chemically enhanced.)
Some of the sonic
assault you’ll be bearing witness to herein includes Fistula covering “Cocaine,” some Fast Times with 16’s
bitchin’ “Damone,” the Black Sabbath stylings of Sleep, the modern biker rock of Smoke’s “The
Mark of Brahma” (the video for which contains an awesome visual loop), songs from Indian, Rwake and more. And after
about 45 minutes of riotous sights & sounds there’s 5 minutes of static before the DVD equivalent of the hidden
track kicks in with a bonus monster-mashing video and a public service message from Robbie Conal.
The music is heavy
and low-down, dirty with noddingly-catchy grooves and bongwater-stained themes. Most of all it’s all mastered LOUD AS
HELL, just the way they oughta be. The videos themselves are quite accomplished for non-mainstream acts such as those mentioned
above, with visuals including live footage, studio sessions, video effects, and appropriately fucked found footage that incorporates
riots, warfare, biker gangs, nuclear fallout and Charles Manson. In between segments you’re treated to some weirdo vintage
cartoons and snippets of random weirdness.
Best of all I
think this fucker is free, “Free with a purchase of our twisted propaganda.” So log onto the site below and see
what other weird shit these stoner rock fuckers are up to. You’re gonna like it. And look for volume two this summer/fall.
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For fanciers of death porn and stoner rock this program of shock and awe will be a wet dream: horror
film blood and gore mixed with atrocity footage all playing behind a variety of noise/thrash/metal/grind/doom sessions by
the likes of Indian, Sunno)), Rabies Caste, Hopscotch, Ramesses, Buried at Sea, and Lair of the Minotaur. Standing out among
the audio-video onslaught are Weedeater’s brand of crusty doom (including the ode to bourbon, “For Evans Sake”),
Test-Site’s “Men Behind the Sun” video that perfectly integrates graphic scenes from the film of the same
name, and the eerie Japanese horror film-style videography of Church of Misery’s Down-style murder ballad “Filth
Bitch Boogie.” Between videos there are lots of random additions such as Cult of Bakula animation, psychedelic effects,
more gore, Venomous Concept propaganda and a rare shot of George W. giving a TV audience the one-finger salute. The quality
of the music varies (you can practically smell the bong rips oozing out of your television speakers), but if you’re
of a like mindset with the dope thrash crowd you’ll be copping it sweet. Definitely not for peaceniks and PETA people.
May not be quite as groovy as the first issue, but it’s a grand idea so get in touch with the wild fuckers at www.doomednation.com and see when volume three is coming. (Cover art by yours truly.)
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THE DRILLER KILLER
Directed by Abel Ferrara
Notorious
from the moment of its release, The Driller Killer is a standout film in a number
of respects. It’s an early slasher picture by a noted and prolific director, it’s a ‘power tool massacre’
film, and it takes place within a uniquely vibrant scene, that of the New York arts community in the 1970s. And, as it says
onscreen before the credits even roll, “This Film Should Be Played LOUD.”
Reno
Miller (director Ferrara, billed as Jimmy Laine) is the archetypal starving tortured artist. Living in near poverty in an
NYC apartment with his bisexual girlfriend Carol (Carolyn Marz) and their young playmate Pamela (Baybi Day), he struggles
daily to finish his latest masterpiece, “The Buffalo,” a painting he hopes to sell for big gallery money. But
Reno’s also working against a number of personal and domestic issues, including artistic insecurity and the demands
of his uptown girlfriend, not to mention the jarring distractions of NY streetlife.
Already somewhat on edge at having to deal with bills, rent, the bitchy gallery owner,
the noise and madness from the street, and a pair of female roommates, the last thing Reno needs is every tenant’s nightmare
– the punk band that moves in downstairs. Rhodney (Douglas Metro, billed as Tony Coca-Cola) and the Roosters are a large
and lousy ensemble, complete with entourage. And what they lack in talent they more than make up for in volume, rehearsing
at peak level at all hours.
Beset on all sides as he is, Reno soon begins experiencing headaches and violent blood-soaked
visions. (Right around this time his lady friends, drifting farther and farther away from him, share a warm encounter in the
shower.) These nightmarish hallucinations soon drive Reno to the streets, where with an electric drill and the battery-powered
“Porto-Pak” (as seen on TV!) he vents his mounting rage by murdering a sleeping wino. Viciously drilled to death
in a doorway, the man is gouged away at until he lies motionless, left in a broadening pool of his own blood.
Somewhat eased by this cathartic murder, Reno is coerced by Carol into going to see the
Roosters play at Max’s. This event only serves to push him even further over the edge, and driven out of the club by
the music and his girlfriend’s questioning Reno again takes to the streets and slaughters his second, third, fourth,
fifth, sixth, seventh, eighth and ninth indigent victims in a relentless massacre of frustration. Some of these are homeless
passed out in one location or another, some are winos approached in a state of drunken loquaciousness; some are found hidden
away in dark corners of the city, while some are caught and dispatched right out in the open, on streets or sidewalks awash
in nighttime illumination. One schizophrenic and/or stoned individual is seen harassing people at a bus shelter before Reno
walks up and drills him in the back once the commuters have caught the late night bus. (“New York Wins!” declares
the shelter’s brightly-lit signage.) Another unfortunate is a sleeping bum who awakens as Reno drills directly into
his forehead – blood gushes as the drill bit spins in close-up right above the man’s eye. Throughout the massacre
Reno takes great pleasure in revving the drill at different speeds, as if playing it as his instrument of death in his own
one-man concert of destruction in reaction to the music that’s helped drive him out of his mind.
After the slaughter Reno returns to the apartment, his mad bloodlust temporarily sated.
His appetite has been aroused however, and he consumes a half a can of Budweiser and a leftover Big Mac with the gusto of
a man who’s just survived an exhausting jungle ordeal. But Reno’s victory feast is cut short, by none other than
Rhodney himself. Through his wasted rock & roll rhetoric the singer makes it known that he wants Reno to paint his portrait,
and inspired by the $500 Rhodney is willing to pay Reno gets started right away. Working through the musician’s awful
guitar playing and his bedding Pamela, Reno finishes the panting almost overnight. He celebrates with the particularly brutal
murder of the deranged bum who sleeps in the alley beneath the studio window.
The Buffalo has been finished as well, and is ready for a viewing by prissy gallery owner
Dalton Briggs. But instead of showering Reno with praise and money, Briggs instead angrily condemns both the art and the artist.
“No, no, no, no. This isn’t right . . . This is nothing! This is shit!” Reno and Carol, dressed up in their
Sunday finest for the visit of their esteemed patron, are crushed as the gallery owner continues to rail away in his critique
before finally storming out of the apartment in a pissy huff.
Carol takes this defeat particularly hard – having been supporting Reno and Pamela
in the hope that the sale of the painting would turn things around for all of them, in spite of Reno’s increasingly
angry and distant behavior, she’s now had enough and decides to move on with her life. Throughout the film Carol has
been in contact with her ex-husband Steven, lured back in touch with a fond note containing a $100 bill, and the very next
morning she packs her suitcase and leaves.
Unable to stop her, Reno is crushed. With his life a violent failure, and tormented by
another bout of brutal hallucinations, Reno deals with the situation the only way he knows how. Playing to Briggs’ homosexuality
Reno lures him back to the apartment, and as Pamela parties with the Roosters below Reno paints himself up, puts on his best
suit, and affixes his longest drill bit. When Briggs enters the apartment, Reno lets him have it. When Pamela comes home and
discovers the body, Reno greets her violently as well. Then he slips out to pay a visit to Carol and her husband. “Steven
. . . come here . . .”
A bit crude, yes, and violent, absolutely. And therein lies the beauty and the passion
of The Driller Killer. The story of a man pushed over the edge by the mounting
pressures of the world is a timeless one, but never before has the man fought back with a power drill. Come on, a failed artist
going shit nuts through the streets of New York with a giant drill? You’ve gotta love it. Not only does the movie satiate
the gorehound’s appetite, but it also paints in red a poignant portrait of frustration and failure that all too many
can identify with. (The fact that mass murder became ever more common as the millennium waned says it all.)
But the film does a lot more than simply put a blood-crazed guy on the street with a dangerous
weapon; it takes violence in a number of its different forms and passes them through the filter of Reno’s experience
to provide a look into the broad spectrum of personal horror. While unexpectedly grotesque gestures such as the super’s
slaughter of his pet rabbit, and his presentation of the skinned animal to his favorite tenants as a dinner gift, accentuates
the inescapable and surreal nature of the film’s all-encompassing violence, Reno’s savage treatment of the bloody
carcass is both an indicator of and a primer for his later behavior. Even small conflicts take on a more brutal aspect in
the scope of the film, such as when a dismissive comment by Reno leads to Carol smashing him in the face with a greasy slice
of pizza, leaving him almost as shocked and violated-looking as any of his victims. Gruesome newspaper stories help illustrate
the film’s violent tension, as they later would in the work of NY author Madison Smartt Bell, and these along with the
behavior of the inebriated and disenfranchised citizens exemplify the distraught, desperate and debaucherous personality of
the city. It truly looks at points as if everyone within it is going mad, and The Driller
Killer is just one chapter of a much larger and more tragic story.
And as the star of such the young Ferrara, with his Quest
For Fire face, perfectly typifies the violent and primitive young dude from the streets. Invoking the muse of art in the
hope that it will enable his shamanic transformation into something more than a grimy nobody, elevating him from the daily
grind and into the high life he sees others enjoying all around him, Reno is literally a subhuman in the eyes of society.
It’s not at all surprising that he goes crazy, even before his simple dream is not only shattered but shat upon and
what’s left of his life falls apart along with it.
Granted this uncut edition includes perhaps too many scenes of Rhodney and the Roosters;
in fact the footage and noise of the abominable band is almost relentless in this presentation, and so pervasive as to actually
carry the attendant irritation and frustration Reno feels right off the screen and into the viewer’s experience. One
of The Driller Killer’s greatest faults may lie in Reno’s neglecting
to gouge Rhodney to death before the film’s conclusion (an act which would have been additionally symbolic, given the
fact that Ferrara based his character in large part around his friend Metro, who played Rhodney). And given the emphasis on
punk music in the film, it’s a shame that The Driller Killer neglected to
include cameos by local or touring acts playing around NYC in 1977, something that would have upped the punk + gore equation
in a way that Troma could never hope to do.
But all of that can be easily overlooked; the film is given the gritty widescreen presentation
it deserves, one that impressively showcases a film melding the nihilism of violent city streets with the prime of punk’s
equally nihilistic heyday – junk-fueled music and murder, all in full bloody color. And the Italian gothic horror soundtrack
by Joseph Delia, loaded with the piercing notes of a church organ, accentuates not only the murders but also the themes of
romantic and interpersonal anguish that run through the film (not to mention providing a subtle counterpoint to the raucous
noise produced by Rhodney and the Roosters).
This first DVD in the limited edition double-DVD set comes with a brief psychotic trailer
for the film, the movie’s silent B&W commercial for the infamous “Porto-Pak” ($19.95!), a filmography
listing Ferrara’s numerous shorts, features, pilots, TV episodes and music videos, and the option of subtitles in French
or Spanish. It also comes with a director’s commentary, which in this case is an interesting and unusual feature. In
mumbling NY City lingo Ferrara rambles away in a hit-and-miss fashion that’s initially a little disconcerting to hear
from such an accomplished director (dotted repeatedly as it is with the interjections “UP-sy daisy!” “Wake
up! Time to die!” And my favorite, “Uh-oh, Spaghetti-os!”). But this patter quickly grows on you, as not
only is it loads better than some pretentious litany of method and motif but it provides the feel of watching the film with
the director participating more as an audience member than a guest lecturer. Ferrara comments more on the film than about
it, talking more about what’s happening on screen than what happened behind it, while still interjecting appropriate
commentary about particular shots, personal recollections, and choice observations. Throughout Ferrara seems to enjoy the
film as much as any filmgoer, cracking jokes and laughing with glee at the murders and with embarassment over certain aspects
of his performance and his directorial choices. (“I forgot how funny this movie was!”)
The second DVD contains three of Ferrara’s early short films, along with a trailer
for his first feature-length picture. This one, Nine Lives of a Wet Pussy, is a
1976 porno directed under the pseudonym “Jimmy Boy L,” and from the hardcore trailer it looks like this 35mm feature
would stand up to any number of other films in the era. Sex, violence, rape, pimps, monster & money shots, the works.
Could This Be Love, from 1973, stars Nadia Von Loewenstein (who also provides one of the optional commentary tracks to the short) as
Jacky, Dee Dee Rescher as Renee, and Casandra Cortez as Cathy in a Greenwich-meets-Manhattan love story. Sort of. Painter
Jacky, wife of well-to-do department store manager Stephen, and model girlfriend Renee meet bar whore Cathy while out for
a drink, and the three of them strike up a fast and fond ‘working’ relationship. When the pseudo-bohemians take
Cathy to one of their artsy high class dinner parties, the true feelings of the upper crusts come out.
A not-so-subtle or incisive look at how the snooty and urbane look down upon and exploit
the less fortunate, the film is shot on grainy 16mm with a handheld camera and is as full of close-ups, dark or out-of-focus
shots, and abrupt cuts as you might expect from an early effort. But it does have a soundtrack by The Rolling Stones and Dennis
Gray.
The Hold Up is an earlier B&W short from 1972. In it Johnny, a long-haired new parent, is busy juggling domesticity and a
lousy factory job when some buddies of his introduce him to the world of crime. There’s been a round of layoffs at the
factory, but while Johnny’s been spared thanks to his position as son-in-law of “The Old Man” he’s
still offered a role in a stick up gig. Perhaps out of guilt, perhaps out of boredom Johnny joins the crew, and when the novice
gang fumbles the gas station holdup the lot of them get popped. But the Old Man gets Johnny off, and his pals stay in prison
and serve their time.
Poorly dubbed and shot in a style crossing student films with bad television commercials,
The Hold Up really isn’t much of a watch. The story, a rather tepid fable
of class difference, is poor, and taken from a videotape original the quality of the film is none too great either. Still,
this may be seen as an essential for true fans of Ferrara as an early entry into the director’s passion for crime and
desperation.
The earliest of Ferrara’s films on record, Nicky’s
Film, is the director’s 1973 “silent exercise in paranoia and surrealism.” Apparent drug neuroses cause
disassociation and nervousness for an aimless unidentified character during the winter season. Black and white, just over
six minutes in length, this apparent student film doesn’t have even a commentary track to help justify it.
All
in all, a great cinematic experience. Do yourself a favor and pick it up.
* * * *
DVD023: $29.95 from Cult Epics – www.cultepics.com – P.O. Box 291395, Los Angeles, CA, 90029
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EROTIC NIGHTS OF THE LIVING DEAD
Directed by Joe D'Amato (Aristide Massaccesi)
Like any red-blooded film fan I prefer my movies full of sex, violence, and zombies. And
if you put them all together, hell you just can’t lose! This rare DVD does just that, presenting Joe D’Amato’s
hardcore porno zombie film Erotic Nights Of the Living Dead (AKA Sexy Nights Of the Living Dead) in all of its uncut unrated glory. Yeah, baby!
It all begins at the island Hospital Psiquiatrico Provincial. The camera pans around as
the credits play, looking at the variety of inmates kept therein but coming back time and again to a tall bearded fellow at
the edge of the fence. In short order he’s met down in the hospital basement by a nubile young nurse, and without any
preliminaries he picks her up and they start banging away.
Cut to a sailboat out on a deep sea fishing jaunt. Larry O’Hara (George Eastman)
is the skipper, taking a fatcat tourist and his lovely young island wife out for a sunny afternoon cruise. Larry and the girl
have been trading small intimacies all day, and that night she leaves her husband at the gambling tables to join Larry for
a little midnight delight. As they say their goodbyes in the morning they see a disfigured man-like creature in the water
by the dock, and when the startled Larry hits the thing in the head with a large gaff the body is soon on its way to the coroner’s
office. There an MD, ignoring the advice of his assistants to be careful around the body, peels back the shroud to expose
a gruesome close-up of the thing’s decayed maggot-riddled face. From there it takes the creature only seconds to revive
and tear out the doctor’s throat. Rising from the autopsy table, the thing gets to its feet and slowly shambles away.
In one of the island’s hotels, architect John Wilson (Mark Shannon), having just
made an arrangement to lease all of Cat Island with the aim of developing the deserted isle into a luxury resort, is cavorting
with a pair of prostitutes. The camera watches closely as the ladies undress, then follows them into the shower for some lathering
up. Soon the three of them are in bed together, and after Wilson goes down on them they return the favor with a slow and steamy
double blowjob (not at all seeming to mind the warts on Wilson’s marble bag). It’s a good one, so good in fact
that when one of the girls finally mounts him Wilson blows his wad in less than twenty seconds. (Which the second girl is
right on hand to catch.)
Elsewhere a local fisherman, warned by an assistant that “it” has been seen
down around the docks again, prepares a magic circle of candles and places a small idol at its center. This does him no good
however, as a ragged figure stalks up behind him and rips blood-gushing bites out of either side of his neck.
Back in Wilson’s hotel room everything’s rosy, but when he invites the ladies
along on a trip to Cat Island they beat it out the door so fast they don’t even stop for their pay. Upon hearing Wilson
out in the hallway shouting, “Wait a minute you dumb whores, you forgot your money!” another dumb whore, I mean
sexy young lady, comes out of her room and makes a play for him. In no time at all they’re the best of friends, naked
friends, and in the morning she (Dirce Funari) accompanies Wilson as he approaches Larry about taking them to Cat Island.
Despite “a legend about zombies led by a cat” the price is right and Larry is willing, and arrangements are made
to set sail the next day. But first a little preparation, which in Larry’s case involves taking in a private nightclub
show by another island beauty. After a little dance and striptease the lady produces a champagne bottle, which she gradually
squats over and gyrates upon until the cork pops right off inside her. After which the champagne is served with a smile. (“I
really go for your number,” Larry says.)
Next morning the group heads out to sea. After a leisurely cruise accompanied by a little
beer, dope, and sex, they reach the island and begin surveying the site of the future hotel. It’s not too far from the
island’s cemetary, which is perpetually haunted by the black cat that gives the place its name. As Wilson expounds upon
his plan to turn the graveyard into a heliport the landing party is met by a striking young beauty (Laura Gemser) and her
grandfather, who warn the brash businessman against any development or habitation of the island. Not long after this meeting
a mysterious wind blows up, driving the crew back to the boat. Which is where Wilson discovers that the native girl doesn’t
appear in any of the photographs he took earlier . . .
The next day when they return to the island the natives aren’t so restless. As Wilson’s
girlfriend sunbathes naked, as she frequently does, she’s approached by the island girl and soon the two of them are
involved in some heated frottage. On the other side of the island Larry seeks out the old man and asks him a few earnest questions
about the island. Grandfather is short on answers, but he does give Larry a protective fetish, telling him, “It may
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