By Guest Contributor Marc Lissenburg
The above exasperating question was often put to horror fans around 20 years ago, when proudly displaying the latest additions to their film collections. The query arose due to less informed peers confusing analogue vinyl music (‘records’ as they were commonly known) with a groundbreaking digital development in domestic movie collecting. Sandwiched between the VHS tape boom of the 80s and the birth of DVD in the ‘noughties’, was a medium that was born, and effectively killed off, in the same decade. I am talking, of course, about the LASERDISC.
Laserdiscs, or LDs as they were commonly known, created a furore of excitement for film fans in the mid 1990s. The 12 inch, mirrored platters were notably superior in quality to their magnetic tape predecessors. The infamous VHS blur and hiss were superseded by, at the time, unprecedented pristine pictures and digital sound. ‘Home Cinema’ had started to evolve in 1995, and Dolby Surround Sound was all the rage. While all film enthusiasts benefited from this leap in technology, it was the UK horror community who had a few special reasons to embrace it…
With the BBFC keeping UK domestic horror releases on a short leash in the early 90s, the main source of owning uncut copies of gory epics were European video tapes. More often than not though, the tapes in circulation were copies, several generations old. Fuzzy ‘pan & scan’ reproductions, hard-coded Dutch subtitles and a muffled soundtrack was the tithe for owning that elusive uncut version. But LDs changed all of that. The swift side step of the censor’s scissors with internationally-imported discs meant horror fans didn’t have to fret over the BBFC’s frigid attitude.
Although their picture quality nowadays leans ironically more toward VHS, they were a significant stepping stone toward the cutting edge Blu-Ray discs that horror fans have grown accustomed to today. Gone was the mere bleary insinuation of blood-drenched special effects. Tom Savini’s amazing work on William Lustig’s Maniac with his ‘shot gun blast to the head scene’ was vicious enough on hazy videotape. But, when watched digitally, the clarity of blood, skull and brain drifting across the screen had a supreme lucidity about it that had never been witnessed domestically before. This was just one example of how new life had been infused into depraved scenes of death. And it wasn’t simply the improved visual quality that endeared LDs to horror aficionados. It was the accurate presentation as well. Anamorphic, letterboxed prints in the director’s original aspect ratio that are taken for granted today, gave purists the opportunity to watch organic renditions of movies delivered from the silver screen onto the cathode tube for the first time.
Lest not forget the impact that the sonic improvements of LDs made either. The irritating hum of videotape that impeded a movie’s ambience as was finally overcome. The squelch and crack as intestines were munched on and skulls were crushed, suddenly had a newfound intelligibility about them. Never before had the award-winning resonance of Regan’s demonic aural onslaught in ‘The Exorcist’ sounded so disturbing. As the possessed child’s churlish blasphemy flitted from speaker to speaker, wallpaper nationwide would almost peel in fear!
Whilst the multitude of benefits to owning LDs was obvious, the means of obtaining them were not. Before the dawn of e-purchases had broken, acquiring these much sought-after treasures was far more complicated than simply clicking your computer’s mouse a few times. One method was through specialist mail order companies. Companies, such as the France-based Laser Enterprises, would use airmail instead of email to get their latest catalogue to you. An austere black and white photocopied document contained typed descriptions of their wares. It ultimately meant you rarely got to see the cover artwork of the LD until it actually arrived.
Although a good source for uncensored discs, the arrangement was not without its obstacles. Shipping costs were high due to the fragility of the items. The perilous journey via airlines and courier vans meant there was always a chance the condition of your LD could be compromised before it even reached the confines of your laserdisc player. Then, the lurking threat of UK Customs and Excise seizing a foreign disc once on these shores was yet another complication. True, the area of law concerning importing laserdiscs was a grey one, but with overseas editions retailing in excess of £50, buying from abroad was still a little risky.
Who could forget the tension we had to endure of waiting for our airmailed package to arrive? It was almost on a par with Argento’s finest moments on celluloid! Even if you were fortunate enough to be home when the disc eventually got there, a further haggle usually transpired at your front door. Trying to assess any damage to the package before signing for it, pitted against the courier’s reluctance to hand it to you before ascertaining your signature, was all part of the ‘fun’!
A much safer way of procuring these scarcities was at film fairs up and down the country. Leisure centres nationwide would play host to these assemblages of horror devotees, looking to buy or sell macabre memorabilia. Traders would display their merchandise with a little round “BBFC 18” sticker placed on the outer cellophane of its packaging. The gesture seemed enough to give them a dubious licence to sell imports. How much knowledge Trading Standards possessed regarding the Laserdiscs country of origin was unclear, but with pirate tapes being the main focus of the odd raid, the little red dot (probably also bootlegged!) clinging to the wrapping seemed to suffice.
An obvious advantage of film fairs was being able to actually see what you were purchasing. The cost of this convenience, however, was, well… the price. Discs at fairs would start at £60 and spiral upwards, depending on the rarity. At a time when internet fan forums were not yet in vogue, and a feedback system was unheard of, there was an utter reliance upon the scruples of the seller. A dear friend paid £140 for the Japanese uncut LD of Flesh for Frankenstein: upon getting it home, he was given a harsh lesson in Japan’s attitude to pubic hair on film. Although no cuts were made to the movie, it was, in effect, censored with the offending furry regions blurred out.
Those unfamiliar with laserdiscs may be interested to know that, regardless of the generous surface area, the actual playing time per side was limited to around 60 minutes in CLV (Constant Linear Velocity) format. This meant the cumbersome platter had to be flipped over manually every hour or so. While the awkward nature of LDs didn’t help with the atmospheric continuity of a film, it did allow for some extravagant packaging. Glossy, full colour covers dwarfed the paper VHS counterparts, allowing for more macabre artwork to be displayed. These soon evolved into lavish gatefold sleeves which doubled its canvas even further. The EC Entertainment release of Fulci’s CITY OF THE LIVING DEAD, for example, unfolded to reveal a vibrant photo of Giovanni Lombardo Radice’s Bob character meeting his classic demise courtesy of the infamous ‘drill through the temple’ scene in all its gory glory. The decorative casing still remains a major factor for LDs retaining their place in many a horror enthusiast’s collections.
We take for granted the ability of being able to pause a movie and step it forward frame by frame. But with LD technology, this was only possible if it was a standard play CAV (Constant Angular Velocity) disc. You could still pause a CLV disc, but instead of a frozen picture, the viewer was left with a blank gaudy blue screen. The technological advantages of CAV were counterbalanced by the fact it was limited to a paltry 30 minutes per side. With this multiple disc quandary in mind, distributors soon slashed a new niche into the LD market – luxurious collector edition box sets.
Clive Barker’s classic Hellraiser got the deluxe box set treatment seven years after its theatrical debut when released by Lumivision. Limited to 2500 pressings worldwide, the double disc set offered a re-mastered transfer in its original aspect ratio of 1.85:1. With the aforementioned CLV and CAV formats cleverly employed, it meant the gruesome culmination of Frank being hooked and ripped apart could be devoured frame by frame. The concept of ‘extras’ was an innovative one at the time, so the deleted scenes, interviews and audio commentary by Mr Barker also significantly added to its appeal.
The discs were housed in a sumptuous gatefold sleeve, which naturally had Doug Bradley’s Pinhead sinisterly gracing the cover. Opening the plush sleeve revealed some opulent rare art of the demonic Cenobites adorning its inner fold. Remove the exuberant sleeve from its plastic casing and a bound original screenplay, signed by Clive Barker himself, was revealed. The whole ensemble was contained in a sable, 2 inch wide, vinyl coated box. Its façade had an indented depiction of Pinhead, uncoloured but for the silver pins protruding from his skull, along with the movie title emblazoned across the top in lustrous red lettering. Although retailing at a staggering £90 upon release, it remains an arduous task trying to prove this morbid assemblage is not worth every penny!
The advancement of technology means Laserdisc players appear more redundant then ever these days. But while Dominoes Pizza et all did a roaring trade as pizza boxes were recycled as LD packaging for Ebay sales, horror fans by and large held on to the gems of their collections. How foolish it would be to part with the exclusive red pressing of the uncut Evil Dead 2? And who was heartless enough to flog their copy of Cannibal Ferox that, was not only gorgeously presented, but also had enclosed a 7 inch vinyl record containing the soundtrack and tongue in cheek ‘vomit bag’!
Gimmicks aside, there were some features that even to this day are exclusive to their LD formats. The Italian based Cult Epics release of Deodato’s infamous Cannibal Holocaust, for example, had an isolated analogue soundtrack, which retained all the music but was devoid of any dialogue. Regardless of the numerous DVD editions that have materialized over the years, the isolated soundtrack has never featured on any of them. The special edition of George Romero’s masterpiece Dawn of the Dead is another instance. It contains a rare director’s audio commentary that, again, has failed to appear in any of its recent releases.
Despite all the advancements of deathly digital delights from the aforementioned era, decomposing corpses were interestingly not the most frightening thing about preserved LD collections. The threat of ‘laser rot’, due to poor quality adhesive being used in manufacturing older discs, looms over fans’ precious compilations to this day.
Given the ongoing innovations in technology continually revitalizing cherished classic horror films, it is highly debatable as to whether anyone actually watches their old LD wares or simply delves into them to admire the sumptuous artwork. A distinct retro romanticism surrounds the VHS tape, however, with Laserdiscs perceived as more ‘old hat’ then Freddie Kruger’s Fedora. But just think forward a few years. When we are enjoying a Fulci classic play out in the centre of our living room in its new holographic format, will our children ask of a Blu-ray disc, “Is it a drinks coaster?”