In 1983, the Director of Public Prosecutions published its first list of movies which were tagged with the tabloid-friendly label of Video Nasties. These cinematic outliers were deemed to have to power to deprave and corrupt and, if the title in question had been successfully prosecuted under the Obscene Publications Act of 1959, any dealer stocking it could be fined or jailed. In one case, involving Romano Scavolini’s Nightmares In A Damaged Brain, one of its distributors was sentenced to eighteen months in prison (eventually reduced to six months on appeal, but sheesh).
It was a heady time, driven by moral outrage, framed as a battle for the very soul of the United Kingdom, and the seventy-two films that appeared at one time or another on that DPP list attained a level of notoriety their filmmakers never expected (unless, arguably, you were Umberto Lenzi). Thirty-nine remained banned, thirty-three were dropped from the list. All of them became must see items, of course.
As the memory of those crazy days fades and those of us who lived through the Nasties era scratch our heads and wonder what all of that hysteria was about, did those movies actually threaten the fabric of society as we knew it? Let’s take a look at another of them…
THE DEVIL HUNTER (1980, dir. Jess Franco)
Model and actress Laura Crawford (played by model and actress Ursula Buchfellner, here credited as Ursula Fellner) is kidnapped by unscrupulous types and squirrelled away in the jungle, where her captors await a sizeable ransom. As Laura is a bankable star, a mission is mounted to bring her back her alive, with adventurer Peter Weston (Al Cliver) given the task. Unfortunately, the jungle is also home to a tribe of cannibals who have a penchant for sacrificing young women to their Devil God (Burt Altman) and Laura’s the type who fits their menu rather nicely…
Jess Franco wasn’t a big fan of cannibal movies; however, they were good for the box office during a short period in the late 1970s/early 1980s and a filmmaker as prolific as Franco didn’t often turn down work – unless it happened to be Zombie Lake, which That’s Nasty! will most likely wade into further down the line. For anyone approaching this one expecting the same level of gruesomeness as such notorious censor upsetters as Cannibal Holocaust or Cannibal Ferox, my guess is those people will be a) disappointed and b) bewildered, though I’m not quite sure in what order.
The Cinehollywood UK VHS release of The Devil Hunter is a much-prized artefact these days, with copies valued at hundreds of pounds at the very least. It stayed on the DPP’s “Final 39” list of movies which were prosecuted under the Obscene Publications Act and, with modern eyes, this film being deemed to possess the power to deprave and corrupt would appear to be a pretty daft decision. However, if we rewind a few decades and put ourselves in the shoes of an unsuspecting home audience which wasn’t versed in either low budget horror or Jess Franco movies, the cause of the consternation is less baffling.
Compared to some other Franco films, there is at least some gore here, but it’s realised in the cheapest way possible. The blood is more pink than red, the featured munching on humans ends up being fuzzy close ups of the Devil God chewing on stringy bits of offal in slow motion and there’s a brief disembowelling which is admittedly unpleasant, but also incredibly unconvincing. One of the bad guys has a quick glance down to where he’s about to fall and ends up in a trap full of pointy spikes. A few folks are shot, but display variable effects of having a bullet in them depending on the scene – sometimes they can hardly walk, sometimes they can jog, sometimes they can run, sometimes they forget their wound entirely and go in for a quick snog with one of your fellow crims, as is the case with Gisela Hahn’s Jane.
If the disagreeable spilling of guts wasn’t enough to upset folks, there’s naked flesh aplenty and a smattering of leering, sexual threat chucked in. In terms of capturing both the jungle surroundings and the attractive female cast members, Franco can’t wait to zoom in on the bush. Not so fast, though, as there’s male, full frontal nudity too, as the Devil God lumbers around in the buff, prodigious wanger on display. Totting up all of the possible reasons for offence, The Devil Hunter is very much case of being, ahem, more than the sum of its parts.
One of the companies which produced this head-spinner is Eurociné, who were responsible for the unrelentingly dreadful Cannibal Terror, previously given the That’s Nasty! treatment. It was shot back-to-back with a second Franco cannibal movie, White Cannibal Queen (also titled Cannibals), which also stars Al Cliver and is a source of confusion when folks attempt to remember which one is which. In addition to the double helping of Al, both stories feature blonde women falling into the clutches of a cannibal tribe (the blonde lass in White Cannibal Queen is played by Sabrina Siani). As an aide memoire, Al has the use of both arms in The Devil Hunter but only one in the other flick. Also, Franco muse Lina Romay appears in one of these, but it’s not this particular one. Are we clear? Good.
It’s a good thing we’re clear about something, because it wouldn’t be the plot of The Devil Hunter, which muddles around with the kidnappers trudging through the wilderness and then trying to negotiate with Weston, or kill him and his sidekick Jack. Jack is played by Franco regular Antonio Mayans, who was also in Cannibal Terror and went on to appear in White Cannibal Queen. Cliver was also in key DPP title Zombie Flesh Eaters, Hahn appeared in Contamination…some of these Euro performers should have been on first name terms with the BBFC.
Enough of that; back to the story. A story which is full of people who are, quite frankly, stupid, holding conversations which frequently don’t go anywhere or make the slightest lick of sense. Two of these idiots – Weston’s mate Jack and Werner Pochath’s baddie Chris – are actually scared of the jungle, which makes them a liability from the off. Pochath goes all in one eye-rolling madness from the start, getting hysterical about the heat and humidity before inexplicably calming down for a sec and leaning into the voyage of discovery, right before being killed off screen. His corpse is a marvel, only choosing to drip blood when someone is standing directly below it. Previously, Pochath was front and centre in psycho killer study Blood Lust, which didn’t attain Video Nasty notoriety, but did show up on the DPP’s Section 3 list of somewhat disreputable, but not society-destroying material.
The entire project feels lashed together on the fly, with characters seemingly having a memory wipe mid-scene. Take the admittedly grubby sequence in which head kidnapper Thomas (Antônio do Cabo given a post-production, cod, semi-posh English accent) is lusting over a bound Laura. Chris watches on with interest, then he’s told to get out, which he does, but then wanders back in after what seems like several minutes because the scene is still going on with no signs of cutting to anywhere else. By now, Thomas is pawing at his restrained captive, but Chris’ dialogue suggests he is totally unaware of what’s about to happen.
Elsewhere, folks argue, then switch to chit chat, then argue again. Weston asks for “two hundred thou” to retrieve Laura, his potential employers say there’s no way they can pay him that, he reiterates his price and they immediately cave, due to his mastery of the mercenary business. In the first few minutes, a reporter asks Laura of her opinion of men. Her response? “I have no opinion of men. I just love them.” The reporter’s response? “Oh, I see,” delivered with less emotion than if you’d heard those three words from a Speak and Spell.
As the runtime ticks towards the hour mark, Weston and Jack sneak onto a boat where a nearly naked Muriel Montossé supplies a convenient exposition dump for no other reason than: there needs to be a convenient exposition dump. And why not have the aforementioned plot drop delivered with a side order of female flesh? Also, Jack’s rather taken with the girl on the boat – even though she’s helping the bad guys – so a contrived shag is clearly on the cards. Their fun is interrupted by the Devil God, though. He’s got bored of waiting for the tribe to deliver his next meal, so he’s decided to swim out and interrupt Jack mid-bonk with neither he nor the yacht lass even noticing the nude, seven foot tall bloke with the weird eyes until he’s right next to them. Remember the disembowelling I referred to earlier? There you go.
Fair play to the Devil God for not only spotting the boat but getting all the way out to it, as all of his point of view shots in the movie are so blurry that this deity needs an optician. Stat. That could be something to do with the fact that his eyes are, for some reason, a practical effects piece made of plasticine and ping pong balls. This marvel of prosthetic work is viewed in close up far too often, which does not do it any favours and removes any fear which may have been generated by Altman’s imposing physique.
It’s also clear that the optical get-up is almost impossible to see out of, none more so than when the Devil God is swiping his way through the undergrowth like an athletic Mr. Magoo. He’s helped by having his various sacrificial meals tied to a tree, which means he can eventually blunder into them after staring at them from a distance for a while and ultimately deciding to meander in their general direction. Arguably, there is suspense, but it’s more of the “When is this bog-eyed weirdo going to get on with it?” type. And before there’s any accusation of being harsh on those of us without 20/20 vision, I’ll freely admit that I’m also a bog-eyed weirdo. I can’t see for shit.
All of the above suggests that The Devil Hunter is one to avoid but, unlike Cannibal Terror, this is one for the bad movie buff to sit back and soak up. The dubbing is often hilarious, with Jack’s incongruous US Deep South approximation and do Cabo’s haughty Brit stylings taking the awards. The dialogue appears to have been generated by computer, the performances veer between hysterical and apathetic, the effects are risible and, at a hundred and two minutes in length, the tale is bogged down in needless, often action-free face-offs and a long middle stretch in which Buchfellner runs around for an age as the various interested parties try to track her down.
I’m not going to pretend this isn’t going to be a patience tester for many of you, but there’s something oddly addictive about watching a piece of work that feels like it’s about to come off the rails at any moment. That said, the opening sequence, juxtaposing Laura’s media meet-and-greet and subsequent beach frolics with a native woman being caught and prepared for slaughter, shows there’s at least some thought that’s gone into this. Franco knows how to frame those picturesque locations, the soundtrack is surprisingly avant garde and jarring, Fellner is traffic-stoppingly attractive and the clifftop showdown between Cliver and Altman is laugh-out-loud funny. After wrongs have been righted, the final shot doesn’t even have time to linger, bludgeoned by the end credits in a similarly clumsy fashion to how most of the previous events have played out.
The more I watch The Devil Hunter, the more I enjoy it. That’s not to say it’s any good, but the whole enterprise is catnip for those with a deep interest in exploitation cinema. It’s a cannibal film without much cannibalism, an adventure film without much adventure, but in which Jess Franco’s cavalier attitude to logic comes to the fore and there’s a thrill about experiencing something so random and rudderless. You may spend a lot of this film thinking “Why?” but just go along with it and wonder what the home video fans of the 1980s thought when all of this grisly nonsense was lighting up their living rooms.