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UK DVD Review: Confessions of a Sex Maniac/Love Variations (NSFW!)

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 Confessions of a Sex Maniac (1974)/ Love Variations (1969)

Distributor: Odeon Entertainment

DVD Release Date (UK): 28th February 2011

Review by: Ben Bussey

Okay, now that I’ve got your attention…

“Wait a second,” I hear you cry. “Isn’t this meant to be a horror movie site? Since when did they start covering porn?” Yes, this is, and no, we haven’t. But given how often horror fanbase tends to overlap with that of less genre-specific exploitation – take a couple of other recent UK DVD releases we’ve covered, Virgin Witch and Bare Behind Bars –  I thought, what the hell, where’s the harm in taking a look at a little outright softcore smut? And this ‘Slap & Tickle Double Bill’ from Odeon Entertainment’s Best of British line is indeed harmless and smutty. Entertaining, though…?

It should perhaps be stressed straight away that Confessions of a Sex Maniac (1974, directed by Alan Birkinshaw) is in no way associated with the Confessions series starring Robin Askwith (Confessions of a Window Cleaner/Driving Instructor et al) which pretty much epitomised the 70s British sex comedy craze. But such was the success of that series, and such was the opportunism of low-rent British distributors, that various other sex comedies were made adding ‘Confessions’ to the title in the hope of drawing the same audience. (See also: Confessions From The David Galaxy Affair. Actually, don’t see it, it’s bloody awful.)

The film’s plot – which, of course, is by far the most important element in a film such as this (cough, ahem, etc.) – centres on a young man who, to use the venacular of the era, has it off with lots of birds. However, he also happens to be an up-and-coming (pun intended) architect, who unexpectedly lands a contract to design a major building. After much tossing and turning (again, pun intended) he has a eureka moment, and decides to model his design on the female breast. And so begins his search for the perfect boob to serve as his inspiration. Cue lots of the aforementioned birds taking their tops off, and a fair percentage of them being the birds with whom our protagonist has it off.

The term ‘low-rent sex comedy’ could easily be applied to the Robin Askwith Confessons films, but believe me, they look like Last Tango In Paris next to this. The pace is leaden, the sex scenes aren’t remotely erotic, and the comedy scenes aren’t remotely funny. About the only selling point, from a British perspective at least, is the presence of Roger Lloyd Pack in the lead, a British TV stalwart best known for Only Fools and Horses and The Vicar of Dibley. I rather doubt this one is highlighted on his CV today. Apart from that, Confessions of a Sex Maniac makes for a good conversation piece, as in 2001 a UK adult video store was successfully sued for selling it as hardcore porn, when it is clearly anything but.

There’s a bit more to be said for Love Variations (1969, directed by David Grant) as an example of sheer exploitation. It’s one of those supposed educational films, much in the spirit of that one Robert De Niro takes Cybill Shepherd to see in Taxi Driver. Subsequently the bulk of it is a very boring man, allegedly a family doctor, speaking in a most mild-mannered and unexcitable fashion about the importance of sexual awareness and openness between married couples. To this end, we have a young couple posing in a wide variety of sexual positions, whilst the family doctor talks us through the advantages and disadvantages of each one. (Naturally, the one pictured above is described as ‘difficult.’)

This is the kind of film that modern audiences enjoy with a sense of ironic detachment, a la Reefer Madness; we laugh and wonder how anyone ever took it seriously. I for one rather doubt that anyone ever did take Love Variations at all seriously at the time, least of all the tabloid journalists who stirred up a shitstorm over it on release; sex and scandal sells papers, after all. I guess it’s amusing to look at it today and think that back on release, this was the most sexually explicit stuff audiences had ever seen. Kind of makes you count your blessings that we’ve got better stuff to get off to nowadays.

Taken individually, these films are unlikely to be of interest to anyone other than hardline 70s cult completists; taken together, I suppose they at least offer value for money appeal. Otherwise, anyone seeking evidence of just how unsexy the sex act can be should look no further.

UK DVD Review: Dario Argento’s ‘Phenomena’

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Phenomena (1985)
Distributor: Arrow Video
DVD Release date: 7th March 2011 (UK)
Directed by: Dario Argento
Starring: Jennifer Connelly, Donald Pleasence, Daria Nicolodi
Review by: Stephanie Scaife

I should probably start with saying that I’m not the biggest Argento fan in the world. I think he’s a little overrated and whilst he has made a couple of decent films, for me his oeuvre has mostly just not been very good at all. However, this is one that I do quite like and I’d go as far as saying that it’s his most batshit insane film, and for Argento that’s saying a lot. Phenomena is also apparently Argento’s own favourite of his films to date.

Phenomena centres around Jennifer Corvino (Jennifer Connelly) the daughter of a famous movie star, who is sent to a prestigious Swiss boarding school, The Richard Wagner Academy for girls, where students are being preyed on by a local serial killer. Jennifer has an unusual fondness for insects and is also prone to bouts of sleepwalking. During one episode she witnesses the murder of a student, then upon waking finds herself in the company of entomologist John McGregor (Donald Pleasence, doing a rather strange Scottish accent). McGregor is wheelchair bound and relies on the help of Inga, his chimpanzee nurse; he is also the first to witness Jennifer’s developing psychic powers which enable her to communicate with insects. She then sets about using her new found powers to track down the killer and fend off the bullying girls at her school.

I don’t want to spoil anything for those who haven’t seen the film, but the plot just gets crazier as it goes along and even includes numerous shots from the insect’s point of view, all to the sound of a 1980s heavy metal soundtrack provided by Argento regular Goblin as well as Iron Maiden and Motorhead amongst others. This was also Argento’s first film to be shot in English, meaning that the awful dubbing is kept to a minimal, although only Connelly and Pleasence shot their scenes together in sync sound.

This frankly bizarre combination of giallo and fantasy makes for interesting viewing, even if it is not without its flaws. For an Argento film the gore is fairly subdued, instead offering something uncharacteristically calm for the most part, although the opening scene provides one of his most infamous set pieces; where a school girl is decapitated by a faceless killer. As you can probably gather the films also forgoes any sense of logic, to an even greater extent than most within the genre, but if you can get past that this it is an exceptionally barmy treat, and Argento’s blatant disregard for coherency is admirable.    

True to form Arrow really delivers the goods with this DVD, including a 4 panel reversible sleeve, fold out poster, a HD transfer of the original Italian cut of the film, various audio options, an informative making-of documentary, a Q&A with the special effects artist Sergio Stivaletti and much more. The DVD and Blu-ray are region free too, making this a fantastic package for film buffs the world over. Arrow seems to be firmly establishing itself as the Criterion of cult and horror cinema.

DVD Review: 70s Supernatural Sexploitation in ‘Virgin Witch’

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Virgin Witch (1971)
Distributor: Odeon Entertainment
DVD Release Date (UK): 28th February 2011 
Directed by: Ray Austin
Starring: Ann Michelle, Vicki Michelle, Keith Buckley, Patricia Haines
Review by: Ben Bussey

Two beautiful, virginal, adolescent sisters run away from home with dreams of fame and fortune in London town. Promptly picked up by a smooth-talker in a sports car, they are soon raped, murdered and dumped in a ditch… I jest of course. This being a 70s British sexploitation film, they’re swept off to a comfortable city flat with opportunity waiting around the corner. Elder sister Christine is particularly adept at finding such opportunities, owing to what seem to be burgeoning psychic abilities. This leads her to the office of an apparently upmarket modelling agency, and the almost immediate offer of a weekend job at a country manor called Wychwold. So off Christine and Betty go for what they assume will be a weekend of high fashion photography; but, surprise surprise, it soon turns out it isn’t mere coincidence that the name of the manor sounds uncannily like Witch World. The resident coven seeks new initiates to boost their power – preferably virgins – and these two tasty young things would seem to be a gift from God. (Or, erm, Dionysus, or Aphrodite or whoever.) But they have reckoned without the untapped power inside Christine.

It would seem that sex and horror were nigh-on indivisible for British filmmakers at the dawn of the 1970s. But whereas the likes of Hammer’s Karnstein Trilogy were ultimately old-fashioned horror films spiced up with a bit more flesh and blood, Virgin Witch is first and foremost a nudie cutie with a bit of horror thrown in for good measure. Yes, the central characters are involved in the occult and demonstrate supernatural powers, but most crucial is that they are butt naked while doing so. The characters are also involved in fashion photography; naturally, this also requires them to be naked a lot. They also tend to be in the process of dressing or undressing, often getting in or getting out of the bath or shower, whilst having any manner of conversation. You get my point, so to speak. There is a large amount of nudity in this film.

And for the benefit of older British readers – yes, this film stars the Vicki Michelle, famed for putting on a ridiculous French accent and saying “listen very carefully, I will say this only once” on pre-PC sitcom ‘Allo ‘Allo. And yes, she’s naked a lot in this film. But she takes a back seat to her real life sister Ann Michelle, who portrays the would-be model/fledgling witch Christine, and gets naked even more often. In fact, pretty much everyone you see in this film will ultimately be naked on screen before the end, even those you’re quite certain you don’t want to see with their clothes off. That’s the glory of movies about witchcraft and/or devil worship; the opportunity for people to gather in numbers and perform rituals which invariably require nudity. Given the popularity of both ‘alternative’ beliefs and nakedness at the time, it’s no surprise that a fair number of such films cropped up during the 70s, even though it may have lead to issues with the censors: Virgin Witch was initially refused a certificate by the BBFC due to the very occultism and bare flesh which were its key selling points.

Today, however, we’re less likely to be taken aback by the abundance of boobs and bums than by the attitudes on display. Be it the girls not batting an eyelid when a total stranger fondles their arses on the street, or the modelling agent’s lesbianism taken as concrete proof of her evilness, Virgin Witch illustrates how much some things have changed since 1971. And this may go without saying, but the way the camera constantly leers at the young Michelle sisters (both of whom were barely in their twenties) combined with the abundance of leering older male characters makes the whole enterprise feel very sleazy indeed. Sure, Christine manages to outsmart and overpower those that seek to exploit her, but even so it would be a bit of a stretch to pitch this is a tale of female empowerment.

As for the horror elements – why, they’re so mundane and ineffectual they scarcely warrant a mention. There is a hint of psychedelic surrealism to the ritual sequences and moments of Christine going psychic, but nothing to get too excited about. As any afficionado of ‘horrotica’ can tell you, nobody beats Jess Franco at this kind of shit. Perhaps that’s why Franco’s still doing it to this day, whilst Virgin Witch director Ray Austin retreated to family-friendly TV, directing episodes of Hawaii Five-0 and The Love Boat, amongst others. Virgin Witch is by no means a lost classic, then, but as a look back  at a largely forgotten era of British filmmaking, and a demonstration of how attitudes toward sexuality and gender have changed since then, it’s certainly got curiosity value on its side.

DVD Review: Gnaw

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Review: Gnaw (2008)
Distributors: 4 Digital Media (UK)
Directed by: Gregory Mandry
DVD Release date: 21st February 2011
Starring: Hiram Bleetman, Nigel Croft-Adams, Sara Dylan
Review by: Stephanie Scaife

I’m not sure why it’s taken so long for this to surface on DVD in the UK, having done the festival circuit for over 2 years then securing a Region 1 DVD release back in October 2009. Perhaps this has got something to do with it just not being very good and there being some kind of horror shaped gap in the release schedule, who knows.  

So, imagine the most formulaic slasher film plot ever, give it the look and cast of a cheaply made ITV crime drama and this is what you’ve got here. It starts with a rather long-winded opening sequence involving a woman being pursued by our killer, apparently named Slaughterman, although I only learnt this after the fact by looking at the IMDB listing for the film. Then when I watched the making of on the DVD they apparently wanted to make him as iconic as Jason or Freddie. Clearly a massive fail on the part of the filmmakers due to me not realising that was what he was called and spending most of the film trying to figure out what he had on his face (a dead cat maybe?) and wondering why he even had a mask on as we all knew who he was pretty much from the beginning of the film anyway.

The set-up is fairly straightforward; 6 friends head off to a secluded cottage for a weekend away; the cottage is owned by Mrs. Obadiah, a batty old lady who seems to provide all of her guests with copious amounts of meaty goods; none of them seem to question this and soon tuck in. The characters are by the numbers stereotypes: we have the oversexed couple, the jackass and his ice queen girlfriend, a loner goth girl and the shy good guy who has a crush on her. Fairly soon they are figuring out that the meat pies are made from the previous guests who stayed at the cottage and that they are next on the menu.

For a film being branded as a horror comedy, this is neither, unless of course they are referring to the horrific dialogue which provides unintentional comedy throughout. But I kind of doubt that. There are also a few pointless story arcs that become completely irrelevant, such as the love triangle between the jackass and his girlfriend and the goth girl who it transpires *spoiler alert for anyone who cares* is pregnant with his child, it’s built up from the start as being something quite important but of course once most of them are dead it really doesn’t matter.

Despite the garish DVD cover there’s very little actual gore on show here, I’d guess due to budget restraints, and when it attempts to raise the tension it just falls flat. From start to finish Gnaw is entirely predictable, but on the plus side also mercifully short. As for extras there’s a short making-of and a rather pointless commentary both of which are more concerned with backslapping that being either informative or interesting. Definitely one to miss.

DVD Review: Vamp

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Vamp (1986)
Distributor: Arrow Video
UK Release Date: 21st February 2011
Directed by: Richard Wenk
Starring: Chris Makepeace, Robert Rusler, Dedee Pfeiffer, Gedde Watanabe, Grace Jones
Review by: Ben Bussey

“I’m in the mood for love, simply because they’re naked!”

It all starts out like any other 80s college comedy. Keith (Makepeace) and AJ (Rusler) are anxious to get into an exclusive fraternity and thereby significantly improve their standard of living. Exhausted with the usual pledge initiation bullcrap, AJ boldly suggests an alternative; that he and Keith provide whatever the frat boys want for their party that evening. And frankly, they get off light; they’re not asked to abduct underage girls, score crystal meth or put on a donkey show, just procure the services of an exotic dancer. To this end, they ask the wealthy but socially awkward Duncan (Watanabe) to loan them his car so they can hit the big city strip clubs and find a suitable lady there. Duncan agrees on the condition that he be allowed to tag along. A few misadventures later, the boys find themselves in After Dark, a seedy joint on the wrong side of the tracks. They soon think they’ve found what they’re looking for in the shape of a somewhat unconventional exotic dancer named Katrina (Jones); but, wouldn’t you know it, neither she nor the club are quite what they seem.

How time can change things. This is one of those movies I vividly recall watching on late night TV as a fledgling horror fan, and at the time regarding it the most amazing movie ever. And at age 12 how could I not feel that way? It’s a vampire strippers movie. It’s got loads of ladies getting their kit off, and loads of people getting killed horribly. And quite apart from the titilation factor, at the time I also found it genuinely quite frightening.

But yes, time can take its toll. Seeing the movie again now, it’s nowhere near as raunchy or gory or scary as the Vamp that exists in my imagination. But that’s not to say it isn’t still a fun time, and a pleasant trip down Nostalgia Lane for those of us who remember the 80s.

And yes, by gosh, this is an 80s movie through and through. Everything from the the soundtrack to the cinematography to the plot, dialogue and characterisations inescapably bind the movie to the era. As the images here in this article demonstrate, the night time scenes which make up the bulk of the film seem to be perpetually lit by green and pink neon. Then there’s the fashions on display, in particular the zebra-striped jacket and tiger-striped leggings sported by Dedee Pfeiffer’s bubblehead waitress Amaretto. And then, of course, there’s the titular Vamp herself, Grace Jones, a statuesque embodiment of 80s high fashion androgyny. Her distant, mute turn as the vampire queen – particularly her utterly bizarre body-painted performance art piece masquerading as a striptease – always seemed a rather odd fit in what is otherwise a pretty straight (in all senses) youth-oriented horror comedy, yet at the same time it’s hard to imagine the film being anywhere near as memorable without it. Mention Vamp, and you don’t picture Chris Makepeace and Dedee Pfeiffer doing battle with the undead; you picture Grace Jones in that crazy red wig, body paint and swirly metal bikini, writhing around on an equally unusual looking chair.

Still, for the most part it is indeed Chris Makepeace and Dedee Pfeiffer on screen. And that’s not a bad thing, so long as you don’t mind your male lead being a wisecracking John Hughes era sensitive young man, and your female lead being a Willie Scott-ish useless bimbo stereotype. Okay, perhaps that’s a little harsh, but you get the drift. In any case, you’d better enjoy the company of these characters as a surprising amount of screentime is taken up by them doing little more than talking. One of the key problems with Vamp is that it’s actually pretty low on action, and doesn’t really deliver on all that it promises. Most of the strippers don’t actually get naked, most of the deaths are pretty light on gore, and there extended stretches wherein very little happens at all. All this considered, Vamp really doesn’t hold up too well when compared to certain other oh-so-80s vampire classics like Fright Night and Near Dark. (Or, for that matter, From Dusk Till Dawn; the influence of Vamp on that later, greater vampire stripper flick is addressed in the extras.)

Still, this is not to say that Vamp doesn’t remain an enjoyable movie. And one of the distinct benefits of a DVD release some twenty five years after the film was made is that those involved with the production tend to be a lot less guarded about what they say. So it is with the special features here; and this being another DVD from perhaps our favourite distributor Arrow, they don’t skimp on the detail. We have extended interviews with writer/director Richard Wenk, producer Donald P Borchers, and Dedee Pfeiffer, all of whom speak at length about the behind the scenes antics that surely contributed to the uneven, chaotic feel of the movie: stabbings, car theft, food poisoning, a star with a tendency to disappear to Europe when she’s meant to be on set, not to mention said star being found in bed with one of the actors, his brother, and a model who happened to be on the FBI’s most wanted list; and more besides. Pfeiffer (who comes off as – how to put it delicately – every bit as eccentric as Amaretto) declares the making of Vamp to be the real movie, and I daresay she may be right; as such, I personally wouldn’t have minded a feature length retrospective documentary rather than three seperate talking head interviews. But that’s nit-picking, as there’s plenty here to add a sense of context and perspective to the film, including some eye-opening footage of Grace Jones rehearsing her key scene of vampirism with director Wenk (being British, I can’t help but smirk at that name), Wenk and Borchers talking us through a scrapbook of promo material, and most enjoyably the short film that landed Wenk the job: entitled Dracula Bites The Big Apple, it’s an off-the-wall spoof in the Airplane! mould, which gives some indication of the kind of feature film Wenk and Borchers had in mind before opting for a more straightfoward horror comedy.

It’s a flawed film for sure, but if you’ve got a taste for the 80s you’ll lap it all up in a suitably vampiric fashion. And once again, Arrow prove that nobody brings old favourites to DVD better than they do. Diehard fans of the movie will definitely want to track this edition down; and everyone else should still find something to enjoy. It is about vampire strippers, after all.

Review: ‘Return To Horror High’ – Blood, Boobs, and Postmodernism?!

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Return to Horror High (1987)
Directed by: Bill Froehlich
Starring: George Clooney, a bunch of other people who never got famous
Review by: Ben Bussey

This is a slightly different kind of review for me. The bulk of my reviews tend to be new DVD releases – sometimes first run DVDs, sometimes new editions of older films – with a few theatrical releases now and then. It’s rare indeed that I’m called upon to review a film that’s about to screen on television. So rare, in fact, that this is literally the first time I’ve been asked to do so. And I thought, what the hell. It’s not uncommon that an assessment of a horror movie will ruminate on how well it might play on late-night TV; for once, that is the specific context in which the film can be considered. And it’s safe to say that Return to Horror High, which makes its UK television debut this weekend on Horror (that’s Sky 319, Virgin 149, Freesat 138), makes for some pretty good late night TV fodder.

First off, it cannot have escaped your attention that the picture above features quite prominently a topless young woman. You might also note the trickle of blood in her cleavage. Immediately, two of the boxes are ticked. Late night movie viewing in the home suggests a number of key factors; primarily, a degree of intimacy, and more often than not a degree of inebriation. In other words, the midnight hour is when men of all ages channel hop endlessly in search of anything featuring naked girls, with the remote in one hand and we-all-know-what-else in the other. An 80s slasher through and through, Return To Horror High will not leave such intrepid channel surfers wanting. Sure, there will be the odd lull during which one may inevitably flick over to Babestation and/or the porn channel freeviews, but there’s more than enough of interest in the movie which should bring the viewer straight back.

Beyond the blood and the boobs, however, there is more unique point of interest in Return To Horror High. It’s one of those “look-it’s-them-before-they-were-famous” films. Like Johnny Depp, Kevin Bacon and Holly Hunter before him, George Clooney landed his first screen credit in a horror movie, and of the aforementioned his is by far the tackiest of those debuts. It’s not a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment like Holly Hunter’s (name that movie, trivia fans!), but it’s not an especially substantial role either; it’s hardly spoiling things to reveal he doesn’t survive the first twenty minutes. At which point he ascends to the gates of heaven and negotiates his return to earth by giving John Malcovich an espresso machine. I jest of course.

But even once Clooney’s out of the picture, the presence of the future silver fox as a somewhat nerdy young man is but one of the many disorientating elements of Return To Horror High. First off, one would assume this is a sequel to a movie called Horror High, but so far as I’m aware it’s actually a standalone movie (correct me if I’m wrong). Not only that, it’s a movie within a movie, as a cast and crew set up shop in an abandoned high school where years earlier a killing spree occured, making a movie about – you guessed it – those very murders. And whilst said movie about said murders is being made, more murders are happening. The way things are edited, it’s often hard to tell whether what we are watching is the movie within the movie, or a flashback, or an actual murder. Tick another box for late-night viewing: a sense of disorientation, which makes the whole thing oddly in tune with the viewer’s state of being half-awake and drunk. It ain’t quite Fulci in the freak-out stakes, but it’s weird enough.

And perhaps weirdest of all… it’s actually kinda good. Drawing sharp attention to the fact that Scream was not quite as groundbreaking as we might like to think, Return To Horror High is a postmodernist self-referential slasher film from a decade before such films became the norm. Dwelling heavily on the power struggles between the director who wants to make a sophisticated psychological film, the producer who wants to get asses on seats with tits and gore, and the writer who is subject to the whims of both and unable to get his own ideas a look in, there is a great deal of commentary on the cliches of the genre, how it can be demeaning to women, and how it can pander to the base impulses of undemanding consumers. Of course, it does all this within the context of a cheap and tacky horror movie which as I think have made clear does feature plenty of tits and gore, so the filmmakers were perhaps trying to have their cake and eat it. Although that expression has ever made much sense to me; I mean, what else are you supposed to do with a cake other than eat it…?

Anyways, before I start to rival Marc’s Night of the Demons review for self-indulgent rambling (I say it with love, Marc!), I’d better bring things to some sembelance of a conclusion. If you’re in Britain, you’re home Saturday night, you’ve had a few drinks and a curry or pizza, and you’re looking for some entertainment, you could certainly do worse than Return To Horror High. As Spinal Tap told us, there is a fine line between stupid and clever, and this movie walks that tightrope in a most extravagant fashion. And did I mention it’s got tits and gore?

Editor’s Note: Return to Horror High has its UK Television debut this Saturday February 5th at 22:55 on The Horror Channel.

UK DVD Review: Ivan Reitman’s 70s Sleazefest ‘Cannibal Girls’

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Cannibal Girls (1972)
Distributor: Nucleus Films
Release Date (UK): 14th February 2011
Directed by: Ivan Reitman
Starring: Eugene Levy, Andrea Martin, Ronald Ulrich
Review by: Ben Bussey

Farnhamville is a little Canadian town, situated somewhere between Nowhere and Buttfuck. Despite the notable absence of anything to see or do, it seems the town has enough mystique to draw in the odd tourist now and then. Such is the case with hippy couple Cliff and Gloria, who leave Toronto for the weekend to give the town a visit. While checking into the motel, the old lady owner regales her guests with the local legend of three apparently immortal young women said to haunt the area, who lure men with their beauty and then eat them.  What a crazy old wives tale, eh? No chance anything like that could actually happen, especially not to these streetwise twentieth century young people… is there?

Yes, that’s a rhetorical question. One of many rhetorical questions that could be asked of Cannibal Girls, perhaps the most obvious of which would be, “are we supposed to take this crap seriously?” Answer, if it really needs to given: of course not. Perhaps the game is given away a little by the knowledge that Ivan Reitman went on to be one of the most prominent comedy directors of the 1980s, and that leading man Eugene Levy found fame as the world’s most embarrassing father in the American Pie series. Much as The Evil Dead and Re-Animator would do later, Cannibal Girls ostensibly follows the conventions of horror but at heart is pure send-up, an affectionate lampoon of the genre played to deliberate excess.

There’s certainly plenty to laugh at (or rather, laugh with) here, starting with the film’s most famous feature: the warning bell that rings to alert the more sensitive viewers to avert their eyes before the goriest moments, then a gentle reassuring chime when it’s safe to look again. It should go without saying that this is pure William Castle bullshit of the highest order, and that anyone who is actually shocked by this movie would make that guy who was escorted out of The Woman at Sundance look like Larry Flynt. Then there’s the almost unrecognisably hirsuite Levy, bearing an uncanny resemblance to Phineas of the Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers. The burgeoning relationship between Levy’s would-be rock star and Andrea Martin’s amusingly witless hippy girl is played for nicely awkward humour of the manner that has come to prominence this past decade or so, via the likes of Borat and The Office. This is not so surprising considering how the film was shot; in the extras Levy likens the shooting of this film to his later work with Christopher Guest, wherein the screenplay consists only of a rough outline and the dialogue is improvised. Even so, no one is likely to mistake this for Best In Show given the level of gore (even if it is pretty mild) and nudity, the latter coming in the form of the three flesh-eating females of the title. Unsurprisingly they were clearly hand-picked to cover all bases for the white male audience, as we have a blonde, a brunette and a redhead. All they need is a black one and a sporty one and they could be the Cannibal Spice Girls. In fact, I think it’s a shame no-one pitched a remake of this to the Spice Girls instead of that pisspoor film they wound up making. But I digress.

The real star of the show, however, is not Levy, nor Martin, nor the titular ladies, but Ronald Ulrich. He steals the show completely as the sinister Reverend who runs things in Farnhamville, preaching the virtues of eating human flesh and controlling events to suit his will. This power he conveys by adopting an amusingly droll theatrical manner, rolling off overloaded sentence after overloaded sentence, with many a portentous historical fact and literary reference cited. It is surely in his scenes that the film’s comedic underbelly is most blatantly exposed. And it only serves to make things more amusing and bizarre that with his gaunt physique, long hair and bushy beard, he looks strangely like Jim Henson.

This inherent oddity would seem to guarantee Cannibal Girls a degree of cult status. It’s infinitely weirder than the likes of Ghostbusters and Stripes, and therefore unlikely to appeal to any but the most diehard of Ivan Reitman fans; it’s also way milder than the vast majority of the backwoods horror movies of the 70s (many of which, we might note, it pre-dates), and as such it might not be of interest to that many horror fans. It’s a custom made midnight movie: it’s cheap, it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, it’s got some weird visuals and music and naked hippy chicks. In short, it’s a film most likely to be enjoyed whilst under the influence of illicit substances. Not that we at Brutal As Hell condone such activities, of course. Cough, ahem, etc.

As far as the extras go, I gather this edition from Nucleus Films is a direct recreation of the Shout! Factory Region 1 edition released last year and reviewed here, so Stateside readers need not worry about missing anything. But my fellow Brits could do worse than to give this a whirl late one Saturday night. It won’t change anyone’s life, but it may well provide a few giggles.

UPDATE: Marc Morris of Nucleus informs me that there are some extras on this edition which are not on Shout! Factory edition:an extra trailer, an additional French credits sequence, optional subtitles for both tracks, and PDF files of the original press book and a making-of essay from the time. Apologies for my inaccuracy.

DVD Review: Mindflesh

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Mindflesh (2008)
Distributor: 4Digital Media
DVD Release Date (UK): 24th January 2011
Directed by: Robert Pratten
Starring: Peter Bramhill, Carole Derrien, Lucy Liemann, Chris Fairbank
Review by: Ben Bussey

Taxi drivers: are they ever just down to earth, emotionally stable people? It would seem not. In the crazy cabbie sweepstakes, would-be novelist Chris Jackson (Peter Bramhill) may not be quite on a par with Travis Bickle, but he’s got his share of demons. Only in his case, it may be that his demons are literally that. He is plagued by visions of an enigmatic, ethereal woman, which might not be so bad were it not that these episodes tend to be followed by savage attacks from monstrous entities which almost defy description. Naturally, everyone close to Chris thinks he’s losing his marbles, but what they don’t know is that they too are in danger from these otherwordly beings. By somehow believing his dream woman into physical existence, Chris has inadvertently opened a door that will lead to those close to him seeing their own obsessions made flesh; and the results will not be pretty.

At one point Chris’s ex-girlfriend Tessa (Lucy Liemann) makes a remark about how everything we experience is a reflection of our own minds, which reminded me of something Alan Moore wrote in From Hell: “the one place Gods inarguably exist is in our minds where they are real beyond refute, in all their grandeur and monstrosity.” The notion of human imagination as a plane of existence that is just as ‘real’ as our physical universe is, to me, a truly compelling idea; indeed, Moore went on to use it as the basis for Promethea, one of my favourite comics ever. But of course, as fascinating as such mystical concepts are, they have not always translated too easily to film. Sad to say, this is largely the case with Mindflesh. Adapted by director Robert Pratten from the novel White Light by William Scheinman (nope, me neither), Mindflesh makes a good effort at presenting a vision of paranormal experience, with echoes of David Cronenberg, Clive Barker and Ken Russell. Unfortunately, while there are some interesting ideas at play, they tend to be somewhat lost amidst a plot that never quite works, and central performances that never quite convince.

In fairness though, it’s not so much an issue of failings on the part of the director or actors as it is an overall issue with tone. Mindflesh takes large-scale metaphysical ideas and situates them in a small-scale metropolitan setting, on a clearly low budget. The core concept alone naturally demands a bit of the old suspension of disbelief, so it doesn’t help when other aspects strain credibility. For one, it’s hard to swallow that someone going through this kind of experience would freely share the information, yet Chris seems to openly tell everyone he knows about his visions. The various subplots that revolve around his friends are largely disinteresting and of little overall importance to the narrative, such as a friend who thinks his wife is cheating on him, and a police officer with a somewhat unhealthy taste for masturbating over crime scene photographs. As evidenced by this latter case, there is a slightly annoying tendency toward shock tactics which, again, do not serve the narrative in any particularly notable way.

There’s also quite a lot of sex going on, with the entity dubbed a Goddess (Carole Derrien) being partially clad or fully naked for the duration and spending a good portion of her scenes screwing Chris’s brains out, all the while never uttering a single line of dialogue. (A lesser man might make some crack about her being the perfect woman.) Add to this the monsters which are somewhere between Cronenberg and Lovecraft, and we could almost be watching a particularly bizarre (and unusually British) episode of True Blood, but for one key attribute Mindflesh lacks: humour. The film is at pains to play things as straight as possible, and when the premise is so outlandish taking such a po-faced approach only serves to make the whole enterprise harder to take seriously. The only exception to this comes in the form of Chris Fairbanks, whose small role as a parapsychologist (i.e. exposition guy) is played to hilariously theatrical excess, finally allowing the viewer a little release from the otherwise relentlessly dour atmosphere.

It may aspire to be an Altered States for the 21st century, but sadly it falls midway between that and a new generation Lifeforce. Mindflesh may have some good ideas and good intentions, but when all is said and done it fails to do them justice. The end result is a film which may have some value as a curiosity, but is a bit of a let-down.

DVD Review: Outcast

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Outcast (2010)
Distributor: Momentum Pictures
DVD Release Date: 17th January 2011
Directed by: Colm McCarthy
Starring: James Nesbitt, Kate Dickie, Niall Bruton, Hanna Stanbridge
Review by: Ben Bussey

A run-down, uninviting housing estate in Edinburgh has two new residents: a Irish traveller named Mary (Kate Dickie) and her adolescent son Fergal (Nial Bruton). Hastily accepting the first flat the council housing associate offers them, Mary wastes no time getting them settled, which in their case involves painting occult symbols on the walls for protection. It’s easy to see that Mary and Fergal are on the run from someone or something, but their troubles take a somewhat different form than those of most ordinary folk. Hot on their trail, and freshly tattooed with similar occult markings, is Cathal (James Nesbitt), a fellow traveller determined to track Mary and Fergal down, and with the aid of knowledgable magician Liam (Ciaran McMenamin) he sets out to do so by mystical means.

But as Kate does her utmost to keep herself and her son hidden from public view, Fergal finds himself drawn to his pretty young neighbour Petronella (Hanna Stanbridge). Friendship blooms, which quickly blossoms into romance, which of course quickly promises to blossom into the beast with two backs. His mother may warn him furiously that he must keep his passions in check, but naturally Fergal cannot help but act on impulse. After all, he’s only human… or is he?

Thanks to an interesting premise, an above-average cast and a serious approach, this humble, midrange-budget film is one of the most unique and enjoyable British horrors in recent memory. What makes it so fascinating and compelling is the manner in which it takes elements of folklore and witchcraft – typically associated with the grandiose and escapist – and transposes them to an all-too recognisable grim reality of existence on the brink of poverty. This isn’t the glossy, CG-fuelled magical world of The Craft, wherein even Fairuza Balk’s trailer looks warm and cosy. This is a world of the neglected underclass, replete with crumbling concrete tower blocks, and flats with damp walls.  It is to the film’s credit that for the most part it plays like a non-supernatural kitchen sink drama. Nesbitt may be a grim obsessive villian, Dickie may be an stern overprotective matriach, and Stanbridge may be the young temptress next door, but none of these performances are played in a stereotypical, camp fashion. Bruton in particular does himself proud with an nicely understated turn as the insecure, hormonally charged teen sitting on a timebomb of pent-up emotion.

Given this level of naturalism, when mysticism is added to the mix the results are interesting indeed. We see rituals performed, incantations muttered and sigils scrawled, but the use of special effects in these sequences is restrained indeed. Films which present the occult in so realistic a fashion are few and far between, and as such this really helps to set Outcast apart; indeed, I have already seen it mentioned in the same breath as The Wicker Man. However, whilst The Wicker Man never offered any evidence that the heathen practices of the people of Summerisle yielded any real, physical results, here there is no question that the magic does exactly what it says on the tin. The idea of such supernatural forces at work in the most mundane, cold, industrial locale is a compelling notion.

A little more conventional, however, is the lycanthropic element. Yes, as the cover image suggests this isn’t just a tale of witchcraft but also of werewolves. Our furry friends may be one of the great staples of horror, but as we have seen alarmingly often in the last two decades – from Wolf, to American Werewolf In Paris, to Cursed, to last year’s The Wolfman –  they can be a bit tricky to get right. Alas, Outcast does fall into some of the typical wolf-related pitfalls. The equation of ‘the beast within’ to repressed sexuality is a pretty well-trodden path, and while it may bring some agreeably torrid sequences it also results in by far the most predictable elements of the narrative. And then there’s the beast itself. This is usually the biggest stumbling block for werewolf movies, and I’m sorry to say Outcast doesn’t quite clear it either. When the creature is finally revealed, it simply doesn’t look very good, which somewhat sours the conclusion of a film that had otherwise built an oppressive supernatural atmosphere with minimal SFX.

However, as with the similarly lacklustre werewolf in the closing scenes of Ginger Snaps, these minor failings are easy to overlook when everything else in the film works so well. The debut feature of established TV director Colm McCarthy, there is more than enough here to suggest he has a bright future in film, genre or otherwise. From the bold, against-type casting of James Nesbitt all the way down to the council estate chavs (amongst whom, a great many fanboys will doubtless be excited to learn, is a brief appearance from Doctor Who’s latest companion Karen Gillan), there isn’t a bad performance in sight, which is a distinct rarity in debut horror movies. Sure, the climactic scenes may concede to cliche somewhat, but at no point does Outcast concede to trash; never does it treat the drama any less seriously than we would expect were it a straight urban drama that did not involve magic and monsters. As such, Outcast is a film that demands to be seen, and taken seriously, by a wide audience. Here’s hoping that happens. Be sure you don’t let this one pass you by.

UK DVD Review: Deep Red

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Deep Red (Profondo Rosso) (1975)
Distributor: Arrow
DVD/Blu-Ray Release Date: 3rd January 2011
Directed by: Dario Argento
Starring: David Hemmings, Daria Nicolodi, Gabriele Lavia, Macha Meril
Review by: Nia Edwards-Behi

Say the name Dario Argento and chances are one of two films will spring to mind first: Suspiria, his lurid masterpiece of the supernatural, or Profondo Rosso, the ultimate giallo film. As a long-time Argento fan, I will never be able to distinguish which of the two is my ultimate ‘favourite’, but while Suspiria finds strength in its occasional – I’d argue purposeful – incoherence, Profondo Rosso is a masterclass of tightly-plotted intrigue and visual mastery.

I’ve no doubt that the majority of horror fans will be familiar with Profondo Rosso, but if not then Arrow Video’s excellent new edition is the perfect introduction. Released under the film’s English title, Deep Red, the film is being made available on Blu-Ray for the first time, and on regular DVD, both versions including the film fully uncut for the first time in the UK. For the unfamiliar, a simple plot synopsis won’t do, lest I do the film a disservice and make it sound like every other giallo, but here goes: pianist Marc Daly (David Hemmings) witnesses the murder of his neighbour, a world-renowned psychic. He sets out to solve the mystery, aided by journalist Gianna Brezzi (Daria Nicolodi), certain that he has forgotten a vital clue. Marc’s investigation is stunted at every turn and as the body count rises the killer is eventually revealed in the film’s shocking climax.

Hemmings’ performance as Marc is wonderfully naïve, recalling his famous role in Antonioni’s Blow Up. Nicolodi, in her first of many memorable collaborations with Argento, is effortlessly effervescent as Gianna. Although many of her scenes were cut when the film was first released in the USA, for me, the humour and power of her character is a great contribution to the film’s overall success. The supporting cast is impressively strong, often a weakness of so many Italian horror films; from the sympathetic Gabriele Lavia as Marc’s drunk friend Carlo, to the deliciously demented Carla Calamai as Carlo’s mother, Marta, and little Nicoletta Elmi as Olga, one of the most unnecessarily but brilliantly creepy children ever committed to celluloid.

It’s almost impossible to think about Argento’s films without thinking about their music, and Goblin’s score is one of the greatest. Both of its time and timeless, the score is a prog-rock masterpiece packed to the brim with a relentless Moog-melody and a thumping bass – never has death sounded so funky. Goblin frontman Claudio Simonetti makes a big part of the Arrow release, introducing the new cut of the film, and featuring in the wonderful short documentary Music to Murder For!, in which he discusses the process of scoring the film. The documentary does not play lip service to Giorgio Gaslini, who composed additional tracks of the score, but that’s such a common occurrence when discussing the film it’s a negligible oversight.

For all its strengths, it is only in the hands of the masterful Argento that Deep Red becomes truly unforgettable. One of my favourite scenes in the film is not one of its most famous, not one of several gruesome murders; but a scene in which Marc, composing a gentle jazz riff on his piano, is stalked and taunted by the killer. It’s an extended scene, characterised by close-ups of Marc and manuscript; and the approaching killer. The scene takes on an impressively sinister tone in what is a particularly low-key moment. When Marc desperately answers the phone to Gianna the utter helplessness of the character is at its most apparent. If the giallo film is about the failure of traditional masculinity, then Marc is the genre’s greatest example and all the finer for it.

Two versions of the film are available on this release – the uncut, longest version, available in the UK for the first time, and the shorter, aforementioned edited down version. Both versions include either the original Italian sound with English subtitles, or the English dub. Such completism is a welcome aspect of the release. This is true despite the fact that the English dub is fairly horrendous, although in fairness, it’s no worse than most Italian dubs. However, being accustomed to the subtitled version, to hear the jarring dubbing is a shock to the system. The main addition to the new uncut version is the controversial scene of a lizard pinned to the ground (at the hands of young Olga). I’m not wholly convinced by the production company’s claim that the effect was achieved with a false pin and not through animal cruelty, which secured the film’s uncut release, but it is nice to have a complete cut of the film. While some might argue that the cut version of the film results in a more streamlined version of the narrative – missing most of Marc and Gianna’s dalliance, for example – I’d argue that missing these scenes only results in an inferior, less interesting film.

Other extras on the edition include an interview with Argento himself, an insightful piece touching upon much of his other work, as well as Deep Red. By far my favourite extra is the interview with Daria Nicolodi. I’m a big fan of her work with Argento and hearing her give such a personal account of working on Deep Red and in other films is an absolute delight. Her honesty is very refreshing, and hearing her speak of Argento being ego-centric with such an obvious sense of affection is quite lovely. This edition also features a commentary track by Thomas Rostock, who has contributed to previous releases of the film. As ever with Arrow’s Argento releases, the new artwork is fantastic, and the sleeve notes by Alan Jones make for an interesting read, as expected. With this nigh-on definitive edition of a landmark film, Arrow have truly cemented themselves as the most important DVD label for fans and nostalgics of genre filmmaking.

UK DVD Review: Puppet Master: Axis of Evil

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Puppet Master: Axis of Evil (2010)
Distributor (UK): Revolver/Full Moon
DVD Release Date (UK): 24th January 2011
Directed by: David DeCoteau
Starring: Levi Fiehler, Jenna Gallaher, Taylor M. Graham, Tom Sandoval
Review by: Ben Bussey

California, during the Second World War. Upstairs in the Bodega Bay Inn, a most unusual puppeteer named Toulon is about to die. Meanwhile, down in the basement mending chairs is a young man named Danny (Fiehler), a skilled carpenter who longs to enlist and fight for his country, but cannot due to being lame in one leg. Coming into possession of Toulon’s puppets, Danny takes them back home in the hope of fixing them up and figuring out Toulon’s secret of controlling the puppets without the use of strings. But on returning home, Danny happens upon a dastardly plot hatched by an uneasy alliance between spies from Germany and Japan. At last, Danny will indeed get to fight the enemies of the free world, but with two distinct differences. Firstly, he’ll get to do it on his home soil. Secondly, his weapons won’t be bullets, bombs or bayonets, but puppets.

This, apparently, is the first entry in the Puppet Master series for a decade, and the ninth film in the series to date. The ninth. Wow. I had no idea the premise of Puppet Master stretched that far. Actually, let me rephrase that: I remain unconvinced that the premise of Pupper Master can stretch that far. I’m no well-versed devotee of these movies, nor for that matter anything Full Moon have done. I’m aware of them as a vaguely more upmarket, less knowingly offensive version of Troma. What little I have seen of their output blurs in my memory, partly due to having seen them many years ago; partly due to having seen them through a haze of Mad Dog 20/20 or Thunderbird or some other adolescent intoxicant of choice; and partly because, unsurprisingly, the movies are more than a bit samey, and more than a bit piss-poor. And so it is to a large extent with Puppet Master: Axis of Evil. It may be a 2010 production, but you’d be forgiven for thinking it was plucked straight out of 1989. From the cheap sets, the low-rent cinematography (yet crucially what looks to be film, not digital) and the pseudo-orchestral score played out on a synthesizer, it looks, sounds and feels like an 80s B-movie through and through. This, of course, is by no means a bad thing. But if you’re going to revive an old and long dormant franchise in much the same spirit as before, it probably wouldn’t hurt if the franchise in question was much cop to begin with.

Even so, credit where it’s due: efforts are clearly being made to craft something interesting here. Schindler’s List or Saving Private Ryan this ain’t, but the wartime period is approached surprisingly seriously, with proceedings largely driven by Danny’s patriotic anxiety over not being able to fight. Indeed, once Danny uncovers the bizarre German/Japanese conspiracy on his doorstep (and concessions are not made to political correctness here, with the characters routinely referring to the Germans and the Japanese by terms we  frown upon today), he’s really pretty happy about it; at last he has the chance to kick some enemy ass. Now, I tried my hardest to identify any kind of sly commentary on modern day patriotism in the wake of 9/11 and the war on terror; after all, why else would the filmmakers choose a title that evokes so directly the words of George Dubya Bush? But honestly, if any such contemporary resonance is intended, I’m damned if I could spot it. The whole thing seems to be aiming more for the feel of a simple, pulpy, Saturday morning adventure serial.

Unfortunately, the predictable weaknesses occur, most significantly a cast that is not up to the job at all, in particular those struggling to be convincing as Nazi spies. Then there’s a script stuffed with overloaded, trite dialogue. Then there’s the absurdly sudden ending, presumably intended to leave things open for a direct sequel but simply denying the viewer any sense of closure. And as for the puppets themselves; honestly, they barely even register. They’re just another weird little detail in a movie already bulging with weirdness. I dunno, perhaps long-time Puppet Master fans (and there must be some out there if they’ve got to nine bloody films) will find something to enjoy, but the uninitiated are very unlikely to be won over. I’d say it was well time they cut the strings off these puppets, were it not that they had no strings to begin with…