ALONE IN THE DARK:
GUILTY PLEASURES
Back in the days when I thought I wuz gonna be the next George Romero (har de har har!), I used to love reading FILM COMMENT magazine -- particularly their "Guilty Pleasures" series, in which various movie-related folks (e.g. Andrew Sarris, John Waters, Stephen King) revealed all the movies they should have had no business in liking (but did anyway). Being no small bad-movie junkie myself, I thought I'd offer up some of my favorite "you actually LIKE this sh*t?!?" flix. (The story goes that when FILM COMMENT asked Martin Scorcese to offer his favorite adopted turkeys, Marty came up with one hundred and twenty! And he wasn't even winded!)
Okay, Smokey, roll 'em...
THE ADVENTURES OF FORD FAIRLANE
(1990, dir. Renny Harlin)
You may find this hard to believe, knowing my sense of humor, but
I am NOT an Andrew Dice Clay fan by any stretch of the
imagination; his greaser schtick has degenerated into broad
parody, there's a real meanness to much of his act, and a lot of
his stuff simply isn't funny. That's why FORD FAIRLANE, which
went balls-up at the box office in record time, is such a
delightful surprise. As the titular "rock and roll
detective," Clay alternately wallows in and satirizes his "Guido
from Euclid Avenue" image (love the in-joke reference to
Clay's real-life banning from MTV), and director Harlin (whose
DIE HARD 2 and ELM ST. 4 were also better-than-to-be-expected)
and co-scriptor Daniel (HEATHERS) Waters keep the gags and
explosions coming. Great supporting cast includes (hmm) MTV
semi-regular Kari Wuhrer as a pair of legs, Robert Englund as a
giggling (and seemingly unkillable) Limey psycho and Maddie Corman
(any relation to Roger?) as an L.A. groupie with so much air
between the ears she leaves even the Diceman flabbergasted.
ASTRO-ZOMBIES (1967, dir. Ted V.
Mikels)
With high-concept junk like THE DOLL SQUAD and THE CORPSE
GRINDERS trailing in his wake, the irrepressible Ted Mikels has
long been a doyen of trash/"Incredibly Strange" film
studies. I first caught ASTRO ZOMBIES back in college --
blundered into it late one night on broadcast TV and spent the next
ninety minutes convinced my little B&W portable was
hallucinating on me. Forgetting the cannibalistic cyborgs and
typical John Carradine mad scientist for a moment, the main
reason to watch this little abortion is the presence of FASTER, PUSSYCAT!
KILL! KILL! star Tura Satana as a slinky dragon-lady spy with a
Chicano henchman.
CORRUPT (1983, dir. Roberto
Faenza)
Harvey Keitel plays a cop with a secret life! He kidnaps Johnny
Rotten, ties him up in his underwear (Rotten's, that is, not
Harvey's) and feeds him dogfood! Someone in a ski mask and police
uniform is killing cops! In the end, Keitel goes nutzoid and
slits his own throat! Johnny was the cop-killer after all! You
won't believe it, either!
DEADLY FRIEND (1986, dir. Wes
Craven)
Craven's followup to the original NIGHTMARE ON ELM ST. is an
incredibly dopey blend of teen angst and splatter -- sort of an
ABC AFTERNOON SPECIAL as directed by Hershell Lewis (see THE WIZARD
OF GORE elsewhere). Matthew Laborteaux loses both his pet robot
and his new girlfriend (Kristy Swanson) in the same day, and gets
the brilliant idea of transplanting the former's CPU into the latter's
cranium. This, of course, results in The Bimbo with the Atomic
Brain, and Kristy spends the rest of the flick wearing zombie eye
shadow and wasting her (and the robot's) enemies. The only reason
to watch this moron movie is the scene in which Kristy makes Ann
Ramsey's head explode by throwing a basketball at it.
(Well, at least it's "original.")
DEEP STAR SIX (1989, dir. Sean
Cunningham)
First of the four scuba-tanks-&-monsters ALIEN clones that
hit us simultaneously in '89, this one from FRIDAY THE 13TH
creator Cunningham ain't the best of the lot (that honor goes to
Jim Cameron's flawed but interesting THE ABYSS), but it sure as
hell ain't the worst, either (taking THAT award is George
"RAMBO" Cosmatos' mindblowingly dull LEVIATHAN, with
the Roger Corman-produced WARLORDS OF THE DEEP a close second).
Despite so-what direction, a mostly straight-from-TV cast, and a
giant lobster right outta GODZILLA, DEEP STAR keeps up a brisk
pace, features some nice, resourceful roles for its female cast
members, and -- best of all -- has Miguel Ferrer (ROBOCOP, TWIN
PEAKS) as a twitchy, asocial techie. Some gore (although, for
what it's worth, Nia Peebles gets eaten off-screen).
DON'T LOOK IN THE BASEMENT
(1973, dir. S. F. Brownrigg)
Usually double-billed with LAST HOUSE ON THE LEFT (which also
lent BASEMENT their "it's only a movie" slogan), this
proto-gore cheapie plops us into a rural asylum, then lets the
lunatics take over. Literally: the head doc's been chopped in the
ribs by an axe-wielding judge, the doc's assistant (or is she...?)
has assumed control, the inmates all intermingle and rub their
bruised psyches against each other, and new nurse Rosie Holotik
doesn't know what the ****'s happening. The scene in which a
pretty catatonic inmate gets slammed face-first into a desktop
letter spike STILL makes my testicles retract.
THE DRIVER (1978, dir. Walter
Hill)
Big Wally's second film out is a cold, aloof crime thriller with
some of the best pre-ROAD WARRIOR car-chase footage around. It's
terminally arty (characters are named after what they do
["The Driver," "The Player"] or a physical characteristic
["Glasses"]) and badly miscast; getaway man Ryan O'Neal and gambler
Isabelle Adjani are all wrong in their roles, and Bruce Dern is
merely annoying as the cop hassling both of them. And yet, and
yet... I'd like to remake this one, swapping the main roles so
that Adjani was the driver.
ESCAPE 2000 (1981, dir. Brian
Trenchard-Smith)
Crummy New Zealand blend of chicks-in-prison, THE MOST DANGEROUS
GAME (the corrupt prison officials hunt the prisoners, hence the
original title TURKEY SHOOT), and Olivia Hussey's whining.
Redeems itself towards the end with some great gore killings,
especially the scene where Steve "I Was Charles Manson On
TV, Dammit!" Railsback grabs a 50mm tripod-mounted machine
gun and blows the warden's head off in large, juicy chunks. It's
no CAGED HEAT, but it'll do.
EXECUTIVE ACTION (1973, dir.
David Miller)
Long before Oliver Stone's JFK had the country arguing the Single
Bullet Theory, assassinologist Mark Lane helped script this
interpretation of November 22, in which a trio of right-wing
captains-of-industry (Burt Lanchaster, Robert Ryan, and Will
Geer) decide that Saint Jack's soft on Communism and plan to do
him in. As entertainment goes, this one's kinda draggy, but the
supporting cast is great: Ed Lauter leads the A-team of shooters,
and the ubiquitous Dick Miller is part of the B-team.
GALAXY OF TERROR (1981, dir. B.
D. Clark)
One of the first (and one of the best) of the ALIEN ripoffs, this
Roger Corman offering features a gleefully incomprehensible
storyline, a stellar cast (Erin "Happy Days" Moran, Sid
Haig, a pre-ELM ST. Robert Englund, Grace "Twin Peaks"
Zabriskie), one-of-a-kind gore scenes (including Haig karate-chopping
off his own arm!), and better-than-average sets and FX. The last
is no surprise, when you peruse the credits: James Cameron --
yes, Mr. Terminator himself -- helped out on the production design.
Something told me he'd go far... :->
HARDWARE (1990, dir. Richard
Stanley)
Bad word-of-mouth also killed this
post-apocalypse/robot-on-the-rampage lobster (probably science-fiction
fans annoyed that this wasn't the First Great Cyberpunk Movie
we've all been waiting for). Ignore the obvious swipes from ROAD
WARRIOR, MAX HEADROOM and ALIEN, the fat & ugly Peeping Tom
character, the voice-only appearance of Iggy Pop (as DJ
"Angry Bob"), the annoying red glow throughout the
entire film and Dylan MacDermott as one of the dullest leading
men in recent history. Instead, enjoy the feistiness (and
red-headed nudeness!) of Stacy Travis, a jokey cameo by Lemmy of Motorhead,
and all the killbot-generated splatter (the hydraulic door scene,
in particular, is a real wet one). The ending gives new meaning
to the Cramps' lyric "You gotta beat it with a
stick..."
HELL NIGHT (1981, dir. Tom
DeSimone)
A highlight of Linda Blair's post-EXORCIST B-movie career,
disguised as a standard kids-in-a-haunted-house-get-slaughtered
picture. The only reason to sit through this otherwise trite outing is
one Suki Goodwin, who dresses as a flapper and entices Vince Van
Patten by pulling various smokables, drinkables, and snortables
out of her garter belt. (Why couldn't I ever get a date like
that?) "This is one radical chick!" moans Vince, before
chasing her upstairs to the master bedroom. A la Nia Peebles in
DEEP STAR SIX, Suki gets spared the trauma of an on-camera
demise.
THE MECHANIC (1972, dir. Michael
Winner)
Although they made waaaaay too many DEATH WISH movies together,
Winner and Charles Bronson got it absolutely right on this little
number, one of the best of the '70s-era globe-trotting thriller
genre. Big Chuck plays a Mafia hitman with a grabbag of kill
tricks and frequent anxiety attacks (laughably portrayed) who
trains Jan Michael Vincent in the fine art of cowboying the
joint. While most of the set decoration and costuming is
ridiculously dated, the action scenes keep the whole venture
afloat, and the double-twist ending is a classic.
NIGHTMARE (1981, dir. Romano
Scavolini)
Renowned as the flick which only claimed to have gore effects by
Tom Savini (he sez he offered phone advice only and threatened to
sue, resulting in some quick credit doctoring), this ultra-sickie
rivals the Savini/William Lustig/Joe Spinell MANIAC for sheer
sleazemongering. A wimpy slasher who foams at the mouth (!) when
his anti-psychosis medicine fails goes after his ex-wife; his son
(who's a gore-obsessed practical joker) eventually does Dad in
with the family shotgun. Features one of the wettest
decapitations ever filmed. (We're talking blood hitting the
ceiling, here.)
NIGHT OF THE BLOODY APES (1968,
dir. Rene Cardona)
Mexican entry into the experimental-transplant-gone-tits-up genre
benefits from Cardona's distinctive touches: ape-monster rape,
genuine heart-surgery footage ("WE DARE YOU NOT TO LOOK AWAY!"),
and that uniquely South-of-the-border phenom, wrestling women.
Jeezus H. Christ on a tostada, this one has to be seen to be
believed. 'Course, I saw it, and I STILL don't believe it...
NIGHT OF THE DEMONS (1987, dir.
Kevin Tenney)
Like HELL NIGHT (q.v.), N.O.T.D. is yer standard
horny-kids-in-a-haunted-house-get-slaughtered programmer -- and
like H.N., it's sex (spell it L*I*N*G*E*R*I*E) that keeps your
interest. The merry unmentionables in question belong to one Mimi
Kinkaide, the group's witchy leader, who does a spooky fireside
dance that's half bellydance and half cancan, and to B-movie
princess Linnia Quigley, who offers up a novel disappearing act
involving a tube of lipstick. Plus the usual tits, ghoul makeup, and
blood -- just to remind you that this IS a horror movie, ya
know...
NIGHT OF THE ZOMBIES (1982, dir.
Umberto Lenzi)
I like this Italian zombie-gore movie simply because it has no
****ing shame whatsoever. It lifts entire scenes (dialog and
all!) from NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD and DAWN OF THE DEAD, recycles Goblin's
music from DAWN... and ALIEN CONTAMINATION, pads the middle
section outrageously with some jungle travelogue footage
(including natives butchering animals and engaging in some very
mild dead-person skin munching), and kills EVERYBODY off
at the end. In the words of Stimpy the Cat, "Oh joy!"
PIECES (1983, dir. Juan Piquer
Simon)
This lasted more than the usual one-week Times Square run when
some feminists got offended by its chop-up-the-bimbo poster. All
I know is that, even more than THE TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE,
PIECES really delivers in the cut-'em-up-on-camera department.
It's also one of the goofiest splatter movies in recent history, and
blockheaded dubbing alone doesn't explain it away: check out the
scene where the maniac follows one of his nubile female victims
into an elevator WITH THE CHAINSAW HIDDEN BEHIND HIS BACK. Aye
caramba! ('Twas shot in Spain, y'unnerstand.) Christopher/Lynda
Day George completists will insist on owning this flick;
everybody else, just watch it for one of the greatest stupid
endings of all time.
POSSESSION (1981, dir. Andrzej
Zuwalski)
Notorious made-in-Germany-by-a-wacky-Pole concept/gore flick has
in-from-the-cold spy Sam Neill and wife Isabelle Adjani going
crazy in parallel; Izzy, in turn, is nursing a few private demons
of a different sort. The importers cut this down from its
original two-hour length into a fast and incoherent eighty-some minutes,
and the result is like some kind of rancid bathtub LSD; get
stoned before you see this, and I PROMISE you'll come out of the
theater higher than when you went in. Adjani specializes in cinematic wig-outs
(CAMILLE CLAUDEL, THE STORY OF ADELLE H.), but she really
out-does herself in a blood-&-pus-spewing subway station
freakout that stunned even da Flatline into slack-jawed
disbelief.
SCREWBALLS (1983, dir. Rafal
Zielinski)
Amiably dopey drive-in T&A fare from Roger Corman tells the
story of some high-school losers who are humiliated by school
ice-queen Purity Bush (I'm not making this up!). They decide to
get even. How? By plotting to get a look at her boobs. (I SWEAR
I'm not making this up!) Dumb, as I said, but it has a manic
loopiness in it's favor, not to mention some cute LEAVE IT TO
BEAVER in-jokes.
7 DOORS OF DEATH (198?, dir.
Lucio Fulci)
Whether through atrocious redubbing/re-editing or Big Lucy's zombies-viscera-and-screw-everything-else
approach to moviemaking, this imported splatterfest is guaranteed
to have you saying "What the HELL is supposed to be going
on?" Don't ask me (I saw this years ago in a cannabis fog),
but the scene where a pigtailed girl gets turned into a zombie, forcing
the hero to blow a grapefruit-sized hole through her head, is
something else entirely.
THE WIZARD OF GORE (1968, dir.
Hershell G. Lewis)
If you're a "normal" person (i.e. you can't stand the
sight of guts), there's no way you can excuse liking this film --
and if you're what ol' H.G. refers to as a "gorehound,"
there's no way you can excuse NOT liking it! Ray Sagar (hammy beyond
belief) plays a florid magician whose gory stage illusions -- including a
pre-Tobe Hooper chainsawing -- come true after the audience
volunteers go home. Technically shoddy (like that's a real
surprise!) and elliptically plotted, but the sheer viciousness
alone will hold your attention -- and the Zen/"Mission:
IMPOSSIBLE" ending has to be seen to be believed!
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