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UK DVD Review: The Last Victim (AKA Dear Mr Gacy)

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The Last Victim (aka Dear Mr. Gacy) (2010)
Distributor: Anchor Bay Entertainment
DVD Release date: 7th March 2011 (UK)
Directed by: Svetozar Ristovski
Starring: William Forsythe, Jesse Moss
Review by: Stephanie Scaife

John Wayne Gacy was responsible for the rape and murder of 33 teenage boys and young men in and around the Chicago area during the period of 1972 – 78, making him one of America’s most notorious and well known serial killers. After 14 years on death row, Gacy was finally executed by lethal injection in May 1994. The Last Victim is based on the book of the same by Jason Moss, who as a student befriended Gacy and formed a regular correspondence with the killer during the weeks and months in the run up to his execution.

The Last Victim (known more commonly as Dear Mr. Gacy) is the first English language film by Macedonian filmmaker Svetozar Ristovski and was made for Canadian TV then released straight to DVD in the UK and US and it certainly shows in the look and style of the film. The lurid UK DVD cover is also perhaps slightly misleading, The Last Victim isn’t really a horror film and there is very little in the way of gore, and despite being advertised as “the true story of John Wayne Gacy” it’s actually far more concerned with Moss.

It would be better described as a psychological thriller and what this film really has going for it is the performances from the two lead actors, William Forsythe (Once Upon A Time in America) as Gacy and Jesse Moss (Ginger Snaps) as Jason Moss. It examines their manipulative cat and mouse relationship to great effect. Moss is an ambitious criminology student who wants to write his thesis on serial killers; his professor is less than enthused by the idea claiming that it’s an oversaturated area that’s difficult to get a new and original take on. The determination to stand out from his peers and to truly get inside the mind of a killer drives Moss to extreme lengths. He decides to pose as the typical kind of victim Gacy targeted; a damaged, abused and potentially homosexual kid, in the need of help and friendship. Moss takes himself to the brink, ostracising himself from his girlfriend, hanging out with rent boys and at one point, under Gacy’s manipulation, he is almost driven to murder proving rather uncomfortably that they are more similar than Moss would like to believe.

This is by no means a great film, but much like the protagonist, it attempts a new take on the serial killer genre. I was unaware of Moss and his relationship with Gacy but this film is an adequate effort to bring his story to the small screen. If you’re interested in the subject matter or if you are looking for a decent thriller to waste away a few hours then I’d recommend giving this a go. But if you’re looking for a serial killer movie with lots of gore then you’ll more than likely be disappointed by this talky character study that with the exception of a couple of brief flashbacks stays away from what makes Gacy so infamous.

DVD Review: Sharktopus

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Sharktopus (2010)
Distributor: Anchor Bay Entertainment
DVD Release Date (UK): 14th March 2011
Directed by: Declan O’Brien
Starring: Eric Roberts, Sara Malakul Lane, Kerim Bursin, Liv Boughn
Review by: Ben Bussey

At a top-secret lab in a top-secret location, a top-secret military bioengineering division are working on a top-secret project. Headed by the father-daughter duo of egomaniacal tyrant Nathan Sands (Eric Roberts) and gifted, warm-hearted genius of genetics Nicole Sands (Sara Malakul Lane), the team have created S-11, a revolutionary hybrid of two of the sea’s greatest predators: I think you can make an educated guess as just what those might be. Intended as the next great American superweapon, they believed they could keep the beast under control. Guess what: they were wrong. Before you know it, S-11 is free, and hungry, and on the hunt.

Pardon me while I break with convention a little. Generally if we include the trailer in the body of a review we leave it until the end. This time, I’m putting it right here, and I humbly request you watch it before you read on.

There you have it. You’ve now essentially seen Sharktopus.

Let’s face it, that’s where this new wave of creatue features does its real business. They’re no longer the stuff of the drive-in, or the grindhouse, or the rental store, or even cable television: they’re the bread and butter of Youtube. I for one have never seen the fabled Megashark Vs Giant Octopus in its entirety; I’ve seen the shark take down the plane in the trailer, so why do I need to see any more? Likewise, I have little motivation to see Mega Python Vs Gatoroid, as I’ve already had the distinct pleasure of watching Tiffany and Debbie Gibson beat each other up women-in-prison style. Now, I think it’s fair to say Sharktopus doesn’t really have any money shots to match either of those iconic moments. And you already know that, as, having seen the trailer, you’ve seen all the bits worth seeing. There is nothing to Sharktopus beyond what you get in the two minutes above.

Having said that; if the trailer brought a smile to your face, the movie just might do the same.

When you see the words ‘Roger Corman Presents’ above the title, you get some indication of what to expect. Corman even gets a little cameo appearance here, casually standing by as Sharktopus takes down a hapless bikini-clad treasure hunter, then walking away unscathed with a little gold in his hand; a fair representation of how the man himself fares with these movies, I should think. And such are the most entertaining moments in the movie, when Sharktopus pops up out of nowhere to grab and gobble anyone doing anything fun by the water, be it swimming, jet-skiing, or (as seen above) bungee jumping.

Not that there’s anything to quite rival Piranha 3D’s paraglider incident. Indeed, while this movie may walk a similar path of ridiculous waterbound monster action to that of Alexandre Aja’s hit of last summer, this is by comparison a very tame, almost family friendly affair, with very little bloodshed, and all bikini tops staying on. I guess this had to be the case, given that it’s a SyFy TV movie.

It goes without saying that the creature is ridiculous, the CGI is third rate, the performances are feeble, the sound and camerawork flat; all that is part and parcel. We shouldn’t expect anything different from such a film as this. That it’s by and large played pretty straight is also part of the gag, and I suspect no one was enjoying themselves more than Eric Roberts. He turns in the same supervillian performance here that he’s given in everything from The Specialist to DOA: Dead or Alive to The Expendables, but I can’t help getting the feeling he had the most fun on this one. Sure, his sister’s got the Oscar, but when they get together at family gatherings which do you think is the object of more ridicule: this movie, or Eat Pray Love? Hmm… well, I know what it’d be in my house.

Should any questions remain as to whether or not Sharktopus is for you, I’ll reiterate: just keep watching the trailer. If you feel inclined to watch an 80 minute version of that, then go right ahead. If you feel the 130 second version will suffice, I can’t say I blame you. But what the hell, there are giggles to be had either way.

DVD Review: Island of Death

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Island of Death (1975) (AKA Island of Perversion/Devils In Mykonos)
Distributor: Arrow Video
DVD Release Date: 21st March 2011
Directed by: Nico Mastorakis
Starring: Bob Behling, Jane Ryall, Jessica Dublin, Gerard Gonalons
Review by: Keri O’Shea

Ah, how to describe Island of Death? It’s fair to say there’s nothing quite like it: a pair of sexually-depraved, murderous characters rape and kill their way around a sleepy Greek island in a film somewhere between A Clockwork Orange and a tourist board commercial. Banned for its violent content during the UK’s Video Nasties cull in the 80s and only just released uncut by Arrow Video, it’s one of those terrible films you nonetheless have to see (and may even find bizarrely compelling).

A man lies close to death in a lye pit: helpless, thinking over his life until that point and being refused help by his female companion, Celia. But was it always so? We flash back to happier times: the man, Christopher (Bob Belling), and his ‘wife’ Celia (Jane Lyle) arriving on the picturesque Greek island of Mykonos. It all seems innocuous enough: they meet some of the locals, do a spot of shopping, take a few photos…

But when an afternoon stroll turns amorous and Christopher decides upon simultaneously having sex with Celia whilst calling his mother in London, you start to get the impression that our Chris might be a bit wrong in the head. The call was traced, too, and we see that police in London are keen to catch up with the pair. Perhaps this isn’t your common-or-garden package holiday after all.

From here, an array of variously gruesome, silly or nasty scenarios takes place. Celia and Christopher have very jaded appetites, and Christopher especially alternates between puritanical and batshit-crazy with amazing speed (his knitwear is a good indicator of the danger we can expect: just as poisonous creatures often display ‘warning’ colours, so does Christopher via his frankly shocking wardrobe). Various sexual encounters – mostly photographed either by Christopher or Celia – are followed by the murder of the ‘sinful’ party. Celia is just not getting the same kick out of their activities lately though, and together with the fact that the cops are in pursuit, it looks like their fun and games are under threat.

Island of Death has a reputation: this is no doubt largely conferred by its former banned status. However, in its way it’s an incredibly naïve film, one which operates a kind of tick-box depravity. As the director later admits, the idea was to shoehorn as much creative violence and sex into the film as possible. Incest? Check. Gay and lesbian sex? Check. Bestiality? Sure, the more the merrier!  We end up with a series of grotesque characters being bumped off in increasingly ugly ways with only a very loose plot to link what’s going on. However, even knowing that Island of Death was nothing more than an exercise in deliberate shock value to make as much cash as possible, I find it impossible to hate the film. It’s cheap, nasty, yet still watchable in a mesmeric ‘what the hell else are they going to throw at us?’ way. The weird contrasts within it are entertaining, and – dare I say it – there’s even some evidence of technical skill: the film’s voiceover, the use of still shots and photography as a medium and the cinematography are all innovatively-handled. There’s a strange – probably accidental – atmosphere here too, which, combined with a watchable cast of largely amateurs and tourists and that soundtrack, gives us something memorable, even if perhaps for all the wrong reasons.

The Arrow release has a host of special features and some of these are more interesting than the film itself. Director/writer Nico Mastorakis provides an engaging audio commentary and also appears in an interview where he comes across as personable, honest and very down-to-earth. He tells us that Island of Death came about thanks to a conversation about The Texas Chainsaw Massacre: here was a film made on a shoestring which nonetheless made Tobe Hooper a fortune. Hey, thought Mastorakis: I could make a film with even less money than Hooper, make it more violent, and maybe make even more profit!  He also shares some opinions on censorship which would have most of us giving an inward cheer. The DVD also offers footage of a Q&A with Mastorakis – very much on good form – at a showing of Island of Death at the Dublin Horrorfind film festival in 2010, and a chance to revisit the film’s soundtrack over memorable scenes. Look out for the original trailer, too.

I’m not going to pretend that Island of Death is some lost classic or an example of misunderstood genius. It isn’t. But its weird blend of different elements definitely puts it in the so-bad-it’s-good category for me, and if nothing else it’s an interesting document of just what a filmmaker will do to try to ensure his B-movie makes money.

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.