I watched this Australian noirish thriller back-to-back on the same day as the supernatural slasher Stones of Death. I like to tell you that this Down Under rip of American film noir fared better than that Aborigine Freddy Krueger rip in a Poltergeist world.
Well, with this soap opera-laden tale — about a divorce investigation that leads to the discovery a dead body — that’s not going to happen.
Sure, it’s well shot and the editing is alright . . . but nothing happens . . . as Mike Hayes, an aged, private detective (Guy Doleman), and a 13-year-old fatherless local boy, Joey Meadow (Daniel Cumerford) — who keeps scrap books of newspaper articles on the town’s local kidnappings and murders — jointly investigate and — discover — a link in a series of fatal “accidents” in the city of Blacktown are actually the intelligent workings of a serial killer.
As I dug into the backstory: It turns out my “soap opera” instincts were on point: most of the actors — if you know your Aussie soaps — were once prominent actors in the ’70s daytime dramas Restless Years and The Young Doctors. In addition, thanks to a 2005 IMDb comment from David Hannay, the project’s producer, this TV Movie production (marketed on video in the overseas markets) was a troubled one. The original director (a real-life local Blacktown boy done-good, Terry O’Connor, who also scripted) was fired midway through. So, Hannay, along with his co-producer, Geoff Brown, did what they could to “save the picture.” The end result: it’s the only film released in Australia without a director’s credit.
And the “trouble” shows: Again, nothing happens here: A shopping mall maintenance man is knocked off a ladder to his death. A woman returns home from a date for an electrocution-by-faulty light switch to a non-thrilling tedium, etc., and so on. Well, there’s a severed head . . . at the very end (that we don’t see cut off). And there’s some shenanigans with a booby-trapped spear gun that’s not the least bit graphic (poorly lit and poorly shot, with no visual impact). Oh, a XJ6 Jaguar (owned by David Hannay) is blown up.
Whatever. It doesn’t suck, but I am just bored by it all.
The killer gets away with three more murders . . . and the killer fills another page in the scrap book. The end.*
If you’re a fan of Micheal Caine — and aren’t we all — you’ll notice veteran actor Guy Doleman from Caine’s pretty fine The Ipcress File (1965) in the cast. Fans of the Syfy Channel import Farscape will recognize a young David Franklin in an early role as our serial stalker-murderer (or is he?): he portrayed Meeklo Braca in that series; he also portrayed Brutus in several episodes of Xena: Warrior Princess. Mad Max fans may notice Ms. Rockatansky, aka Joanne Samuels, in a support role. Then there’s the career-never-realized of the late Jon Blake (of the Risky Business-inspired car romp, Freedom) in the cast (is he trying to kill his and his brother Joey’s mom?). As result of Jon Blake, and later, at the age of 19, Daniel Cumerford, each dying tragically — compounded by the troubled production’s woes — the Aussie press wrote a series of articles about “The Jinx of Early Frost.”
Blake’s career was ironically cut short by a tragic car accident on the last day of filming the biggest film of his career, the 1987 WW I war drama, The Lighthorsemen. Cumerford’s death was the result of “taking a shortcut” across a suburban train line near Rockdale, New South Wales. Cumerford made only one other film before quitting the business: the comedy Ginger Maggs (1982).
* Plot Spoiler: Joey was lashing out for his mother “accidentally” killing his father years earlier during a local swimming hole picnic, thus the “cold” of (alternate) title, we think: for there is no frost in the spring time.
Spanish market version, aka Cold to Death, courtesy of Mercado Libre.
About the Author: You can learn more about the writings of R.D Francis on Facebook. He also writes for B&S About Movies.
There’s ripoffs of The Omen (The Visitor, The Tempter, Holocaust 2000), then there’s Spain’s “Roger Corman,” Ignacio F. Iquino — anglicized, here, for U.S. drive-in consumption as “Steve McCoy” — bringing on the double-live gonzos, Antichrist weirdness. (I’ll forever pair Iquino’s horror opus with Bigas Luna’s Anguish. I’m weird that way, anyway. . . .)
In his only horror film, Iggy wastes no time in serving up the gore and the sleaze — remembering his back resume is mostly softcore skin dramas that jumped on the Jess Franco sex-wave band wagon — in a tale of a woman pregnant with the Antichrist pursued by a Satanic cult (led by the sinister-good, yet one-film-and-gone Henry Ragoud). It’s a film that, as you watch, you’ll feel the proceedings are more Roman Polanski than Richard Donner — but there’s no arguing that Lucio Fulci’s gag-inducing influence is afoot in the frames. So yes, if you know your Fulci: eyes are gouged out. And the gallons upon gallons of blood belched would give Sam Raimi pause . . . heck, even Joe D’Amato threw-up in his mouth (and he knows a thing or two about inducing gags with his own, 1974 Antichrist romp, The Tempter, and 1979’s Blue Omega).
It all begins with Frederick, an ex-mercenary stuck in a loveless marriage with Elizabeth, his home bound, mentally and physically scared wife — an injury caused by his own misadventures with the bottle. He comes to fall in love with Helen — and loses his eyes via a red-hot fire poker (not before offing the maid) wielded by his now institutionalized wife. Now married and wanting to raise a family, Fredrick and Helen discover they can’t conceive (poor Fred . . . he loses his eyes, now he’s shootin’ blanks). Consulting a fertility doctor, they discover — too late — the good doctor is part of a Satanic cult . . . and he’s artificially inseminated Helen with “Satantic Sperm” to birth the Antichrist.
Yeah, the proceedings sometimes go down like a Bruno Mattei cheapjack joint (1980’s Hell of the Living Dead comes to mind) lacking in atmosphere that inclines more laughs that scares (the rubber bats! the devil baby!). The proceedings, however, are — without a doubt — outright mean and brutal with its eyeball operation (to at least fill in Fred empty sockets), abortions (the cult tracks down and kills the abortionist that kiboshed the last two Antichrist pregnations), and the big “Ruggero Deodato” move — only this time, it’s a (real) frog — in lieu of a river turtle — that gets the dagger holocaust. Then Elizabeth escapes the nuthouse (Diana Conca is off-the-chain and scene-chewing excellent throughout), Frederick’s obnoxious nephew is on the Damien fringes, there’s more nudity than a Paul Naschy joint, the cameras zoom and swirl, and the plot absurdities (also kitchen sink-clipping from The Shining, Suspiria, and Rabid) pile on and on and on as the pounding soundtrack sends Dario Argento screaming from the theater!
Remember how you felt when you witnessed the bat shite craziness of Magdalena, Possessed by the Devil (1974) and the great (!) Armondo de Ossorio’s Demon Witch Child (1975)? Well, Bloody Sect, as with those two post-Exorcist possession ditties, is never — ever — dull. And you get an Omen-Antichrist birth in the bargain, so what’s not to likey, here? Nothing. I love it all! Sure, we all remember Paul Naschy and Jose Ramon Larraz, but raise a pint for Ignacio F. Iquino giving it the genre-hoping, post-John Carpenter try, will ya?
Once very hard to find outside of Europe on VHS in the ol’ brick and mortar days — but the local comic book shop and VSOM/Video Search of Miami had the (poorly subtitled) greys for the taking — and utterly impossible to find on DVD, Vinegar Syndrome did this up right with a DVD/Blu-ray combo (that’s now out of print; but not to worry, Amazon has vintage copies).
Sam the Bossman assigned me this movie for our October 2021 “Slasher Month.” He knows the Aussie accent irritates me to tears (you frackin’ bastard). Initially, I clipped Marty DiBergi’s Spinal Tap documentary and typed: “Vegemite Shit Sandwich.” Then, I came to my critical sense and typed: “Poltergeist meets A Nightmare on Elm Street.” I added a theatrical one sheet and a trailer. Hit send. Done. Next review.
Then Sam sent me a “WTF” text and he gave me shite about “word count.” Okay, then. Here we go. You want words, you got ’em: “Remember how cool Eyes of Fire was? Well, Stone of Death is the shitty version of that movie. Aka this one as Stones of Bore.”
Still not enough words? Damn. Okay, here we go. . . .
Actually being stoned — by rock, not by joint — would be better.
The teenaged residents of a housing development on the suburban outskirts find themselves in trouble upon discovering their real estate tract was built on top of a sacred aboriginal graveyard* — where lurks the spirit of an aboriginal witch doctor, aka a Kadaicha Man, who placed a curse on said lands.
As with Mr. Krueger: the Kadaicha Man comes to them in their dreams, and leaves them in the possession of the ancient trinkets of the title. The crystal stone, of course (Kadaicha are aborigine stones, if you care; don’t worry, the trailer will educate with the correct pronunciation), marks them for death — demises that arrive in a series of explainable “accidents,” à la James Wong’s later and pretty fine, Final Destination.
So, yeah, a mash-up of A Nightmare on Elm Street** and Poltergeist . . . are you lovin’ or hatin’?
Well, the kills are low-budget minimal, which means lots of cutaways . . . then seeing what happened after said cutaway. The effects are cheap, the acting is questionable, the plot is troped and full of holes. However, the spiders let loose in the library for one of the from-beyond-kills is pretty decent. But one good scene does not a decent film make. So dump this supernatural slasher in the outback and let the crocodiles gnaw on it.
And don’t you dare pay a dime to stream Stones of Death. Watch it for free on You Tube.
So goes another “Slasher Month” for this October 2021 at B&S About Movies. Goo’ day, mate!
* There’s more folksy burial ground tomfoolery with Night of Horror (1981), which gives us Confederate Civil War ghosts, as does Armand Mastroianni’s borefest, The Supernaturals (1986), and Ghostriders (1987) with its western ghosts deep in the heart of Texas (a well made, but a boring, VHS eject). An honorable mention goes to William Grefe’s awful but fun drive-in nostalgia romp Death Curse of Tartu(1966) with its burial ground Indians. You can learn more about the “folk horror” genre with the Shudder exclusive documentary Woodlands Dark and Days Bewitched.
Andreas Wells, a brilliant, neurosurgeon patriarch (a very good Jan Rubes; you know him from D2: The Mighty Ducks), gathers his dysfunctional family at a remote, snowy estate for an erotic battle over the fortunes of Charles MacLoed, his own, eccentric, dying father (by an ever better Ray Walston* who works the “dirty old man” angle with aplomb; yes, he was “Mr. Hand” from Fast Times at Ridgemont High).
The greed brings Thomas Wells (a good Kevin Hicks in his second film; you might remember him as “Sir D” in Cool as Ice), the two-years estranged son, to the estate with his fiance Marie (Gulp! Eye-popping redhead of crystal-blue eyes, Lydie Denier, of Paramedics; she was Nicole Bernard in the U.S.-imported series, Acapulco H.E.A.T). The soon-to-wed couple plan, once grandpa dies, to kill his father for the family’s estate. However, the tables turn as Marie finds herself the unwilling victim of the elder Wells’s sex kinks as well as their immortality experiments (in a basement lab, natch) to reanimate their cryogenically suspended wife/daughter-in-law — and Marie’s doped up along the way to bring on the hallucinations, and even screwier dreams, to muck up reality.
Blood Relations is one of the better Canuxploitation splatter joints. What begins as a 19th century-influenced, Lovecraftian erotic thriller (but set in the present day), soon delves into a Gialloeque mystery, only to become a sickly twisted, bizarre-gore set piece: a Gialloesque-cum-film noir with a brain-prodding serial doctor.
Writer Stephen Saylor (who never wrote another film?) and director Graeme Campbell (still at it, with five Hallmark Channel holidays flicks) start it off purposeful and slow, but be patient: this Amicus-styled film with Full Moon ’80s overtones has a wicked payoff that ranks alongside the twisted ’80s rentals The Brain and Severed Ties. The set design is attractive and expertly captured in the lens, while the red herring support actors of Lynee Adams, as Dr. Wells’s mistress Sharon, and Sam Malkin, as the ubiquitous, odd-ball groundskeeper Yuri, in the sexy-horror shenanigans, are excellent.
When it comes to brain transplant movies — with gratuitous nudity and capped brains poked with needles — this is the prefect watch for a month of October Halloween watching. Do it! Do it as a stream on the Internet Archive.org and enjoy this off-the-radar gem (the upload isn’t great, but the flipping and tracking static adds to the rental nostalgia).
* Ray Walston, who also appeared in Paramedics, gets the B&S About Movies love thanks to his creepy work in Blood Salvage, Galaxy of Terror, and Popcorn.
About the Author: You can learn more about the writings of R.D Francis on Facebook.He also writes forB&S About Movies.
Jeffrey Obrow is a stellar screenwriter and director — who teaches at USC’s film school — who should be a horror household name, but alas. . . . He gave us the Daphne Zuniga Friday the 13th rip that is The Dorm That Dripped Blood (1982), which served as his feature film debut, the hag n’ trollsploitation two-fer starring Rod Steiger and Kim Hunter that is The Kindred (1987), the pretty cool Dean R. Koontz adaption of Servants of the Twilight (1991), and what I thought was a pretty decent take on Bram Stroker’s “Jewel of the Seven Stars” with Legend of the Mummy (1998). Each are highly recommended watches for your this year’s “30 days of Halloween” watch schedule.
Here, in his second film, a group of people come into possession of an ancient, Aztec clay doll. However, the doll is possessed by an evil spirit. . . .
Cry (low budget) havoc and let slip the (meh acting) mayhem by way of a class project as four high schoolers research the trinket — in a graveyard with a Ouija board, of course. Modeled after Destacatyl, a Mexican god, the idol was acquired by one the student’s parents from their own South of the Border excursion to learn of its myth. Jerry (Warren Lincoln, over and done after the 1986 pseudo-U.S. giallo, Torment) soon becomes obsessed with learning more about the idol . . . then becomes obsessed by the idol’s trapped spirit.
Let slip the stalking. . . .
Is the inanimate-objects-possessing-the-souls plot a bit derivative? Does the concept of possessed idols, which are knock offs of the ol’ “genie in a bottle” stories of yore, date back to the Hammer/Amicus drive-in ’50s and ’60s? Sure, but what movie in the John Carpenter and Sean S. Cunningham ’80s backwash, doesn’t?
However, thanks to Jeffrey Obrow — along with his usual partner, Stephen Carpenter — while the acting isn’t that great, the script is production-solid, the film is effectively spooky n’ atmospheric (with a truly shock-scaring arms-out-of-the-bed pisser), the film score does its job, the effects are low-budget but Fangoria gooey-goo great, and the ending has a decent didn’t-see-it-coming twist.
Sadly, The Doom That Dripped Blood, The Power, The Kindred, and Servants of the Twilight, while each are well-made, valiant efforts, they were not the box office bonanzas Jeffery Obrow and Stephen Carpenter hoped; each went their separate ways. All four are fine films. I wished they would have made more. . . .
Jeffrey Obrow, as result of his transition into academia, slowed down his career, but came back with the aforementioned Legend of the Mummy and three more horrors (not as effectively-distributed): They Are Among Us, The Perfect Host, and One by One; his latest, currently-in-production writing and directing effort, is the Molly Ringwald-starrer, Pursued (2022). If you like to know more about Jeffrey Obrow’s work, look for his August 1991 Fangoria* interview with Anthony C. Ferrante, “To Serve the Twilight,” in promotion of his Koontz adaption (sorry, no online scans; copies abound on eBay, however).
Stephen Carpenter eventually hit box office gold penning the Martin Lawrence action-comedy Blue Streak (1999) and the Samuel L. Jackson comedy, The Man (2005). Did you see Eliza Dushku in Soul Survivors (2001)? Well, that’s Stephen behind the Brother processors and Canon Reds. Then, between 2011 to 2017, he created and scripted the 123-episode run of Universal/NBC-TV’s Grimm.
And in production backstory twist: While Obrow and Carpenter co-penned and directed The Power, the initial concept and story draft was done by John Penney: he gave us the box office failure Zyzzyx Rd. (2006), a film that made a lousy $20 bucks in its brief theatrical run.
Oh, and one of our students, in her debut, is Suzy Stokey: she became a go-to actress for our beloved Fred Olin Ray (A Christmas Princess) in his films The Tomb, Star Slammer, and Deep Space.
The old disembodied-floating-head one-sheet. This ought to be good.No, movies with three different titles, usually aren’t.
Maybe you’re up in the Cannuck neck of the TV movies woods and you saw this Lifetime “Shocktober” entry under its original title of Cradle Robber. Maybe you stumbled into this non-shocker on streaming home video as Dating to Kill. . . .
Wait a sec . . . the IMDb states this is a U.S.-production filmed in Los Angeles. . . .
Hey, it’s not my fault, for when you have a channel such as Lifetime drowning U.S. audiences with a wealth of Great White North productions, the land were Toronto can double for “Anywhere U.S.A.,” you naturally assume everything Lifetime distributes, is Canadian in origin. These are U.S. and not Maple Leaf’ed thespians, you say? One was born in Atlanta, Georgia, trained and based in Los Angeles?
Eh, Whatever.
Regardless of where it was made: This is just another Lifetime “Damsel in Distress” romp of the non-shocking, bloodless-horror variety. You know, the schlock the channel marathons under their yearly “Shocktober” banner to compete with the likes of the Micheal-Chucky-Freddy fetishists over at AMC and the SyFy Channel.
Whatever.
What Seduced by a Killer — or whatever title you give it — is, is really just another of their single-mother-hates-man flicks where all of the men are evil. Well, at least not the men who can take you to a 4-Star joint to “clink” champagne flutes (but, in some plot twists, they are). Yeah, just like Olivia Benson and Amanda Rollins over in the SVU squad room: women can’t be strong and independent . . . if they’re in a stable, nurturing relationship with a man. Oh, by the way: mom is totally devoted to her ingrate of daughter, so well, she’s “strong,” so cue up the Helen Reddy homage and hear her roar.
“You’re never home, you’re always working. It’s like you don’t want to be here!” hotter-than-her-daughter mom browbeats her hardworking husband who put two, fully-loaded SUVs in a double-wide circular driveway of their two-story Colonial spread, as their perpetually-ingrate, ne’er-do-well, social-media obsessed daughter trots off to private school in the one-year-old sports car model that instills the furrow-of-eyebrow of among her “friends.” Then daughter goes home to scream at mom, “I’m eighteen! Let me live my own life! Look at this! I’m over my data, again. If you can’t at least get me a new car, you could buy me a decent cell phone!”
And boy, oh boy. The actress (Mia Topalian of LMN’s Stalking My Mother and The Nanny Murders, if you dare) as that bitchy teen is just awful. Awful to the point that when her whiny voice screeches, “What, what do you mean?” to the swing of her pony tail, you leave your protagonist sympathies at the door as you root for her unhappy end. Even I want to give Tessa a smack into some adult wisdom — and I deplore violence against women and using physical abuse as behavioral control. I don’t care that Teesa is in therapy to deal with her “issues” of being a well-to-do rich kid.
And Jessica-the-hot-mom, aka the-not-winning-any awards Clare Kramer (*loved for her work in the cheerleader flick, Bring It On, as well as Glory in TV’s Buffy the Vampire Slayer), well, she ain’t inspiring a rescue, either. You’re the worst salon operator, ever, Jessica. Why do you keep walking away from your clients in mid-hair cut to do other things?
Whatever.
I give up Lifetime-Canadian production houses. I have a “Y” chromosome, therefore, I am inherently chauvinistic. The females of the species have one more “X” than I, so, like the Amazonian warriors of old: single-motherhood is cool and it’s socially valiant to raise a kid without a father figure to instead leave the child raised by babysitters (talking to you, Olivia and Amanda), as you go off to “pursue your career,” sans any pesky male hindrances.
Bad Husband. Bad Boyfriend. Bad Son. Bad everything is the ongoing plot in these Lifetime flicks and I am annoyed as f**k with them. As I am annoyed with these . . . where are all of these 18-year-old girls that fall for 40-plus men? Where? Not that I want to date an 18 year old . . . oh, if “life” were only like a Lifetime movie, where I’d have an 18-year-old girlfriend, an ex-wife who hates me, and an estranged daughter who loathes me. Well, two out of three ain’t bad (and the 18 year old ain’t one of them). So goes the vagabond life of a radio jock.
Anyway, down the predictability road we go, with cops who can’t help unless either A) 48 hours or B) 72 hour pass, cloaked strangers — in the days of doorbell cams and every other cam imaginable hanging over garage doors and from eve-soffits canvasing a neighborhood — can sneak and lurk undetected, as they — in the case of this shocking potboiler — induce heart attacks in the healthiest of persons. (By oleander. No, not kidding. Flower extract poison.)
Yeah, this is the type of movie, where, after a fight with, and knocking down the killer — and the killer is out cold, or rolled down a hill, etc. — the damsel doesn’t pick up the weapon or kick the s**t out of the person that just tried to kill them: they run, leaving the errant weapon next to the body of their stalker. Well, why not: Nancy, aka the hot, man-hating single aunt, instead of getting her gun from house’s kitchen drawer, follows the stalker’s muddy footprints for that climatic fight scene, you know, where she runs and leaves the weapon next to the killer because, we haven’t quite reached the 80-minute end-mark of the film. Oh, and Nancy? Pay more attention in your law classes, as your “law advice” is as inaccurately-bad as the scripted-advice from this film’s keystone cops.
So, the movie . . . if you made it this far. . . .
Jessica owns a salon.
Tessa’s running wild and in need of a father figure.
Along comes Eric (David Fumero, the only other recognizable face — and shining light, here — as we know him from Power and L.A.’s Finest), the troped “older man” (aka a DILF for the ladies) trolling online for a new, buoyant squeeze. “He’s old enough to be your father,” the story goes, although mom is diggin’ that bad-boy aroma permeating off his GQ suave-body and she’d rather have a hot guy with a tee n’ tats than a hard-working guy with collared shirt and tie.
How hot is Jessica?
Well, Christian, the hot doctor she’s dating, you know, the one that treated Will, the oleander-poisoned-to-death boyfriend, violates all medical ethics to do a medical history search on Eric because, as it turns out: Eric has a psychiatric hospital history. Ugh, Jessica, look in your old college year books! You know your daughter’s boyfriend. He attacked you on campus, way back when. (And I think the irritating and dumb Tessa is Eric’s daughter, was the eventual “plot twist” that I missed because Dating to Kill turned into white noise as I cleaned the cat box and refreshed the water and food bowls.)
Whatever. Welcome to the Lifetime neighborhood, Lady Aberlin.
Now I need to watch a real damsel-in-distress movie for my “Shocktober” October, like Let’s Scare Jessica to Death with a Scream, Pretty Peggy chaser to wash this eye-gunk of a Cannuck wannabe movie from my orbs.
It’s running on Lifetime all this month, but there’s a few uploads on You Tube, if you dare.
Another Lifetime faux “slasher” romp, only better, since David DeCoteau made it!
* Credit to Melanie Novak (visit her own little slice of movie review heaven) for reminding me about Claire’s work. I had that factoid noted, but I punched this review out — today — so quickly, right before press, I forgot to put it in there. So, if you have some Buffy nostalgia, you just may “dare for Claire” — and dig this flick more than I.
About the Author: You can learn more about the writings of R.D Francis on Facebook.He also writes for B&S About Movies.
DAY 13 — THE RUBY ANNIVERSARY: Watch something that came out in 1981.
Editor’s Note: Okay, we’re are cheating, here. But this film rolled out in the worldwide video marketplace from 1980 to 1984, so . . . well, it’s our site, after all.
Lost somewhere between Bill Van Ryn’s love of Herb Freed’s second film, Haunts (1976), and Sam “Bossman” Panico’s love for Herb’s fourth film, Graduation Day (1981), and the mutual Ryn-Panico-Francis love for Freed’s Tomboy (1985), is my love for this third film in the Freed canons that stars the one-two B-movie bunch of John Saxon* and Lynda Day George. Now, please keep in mind that the use of “love” in this first paragraph is subjective and, in the B&S vernacular, is applied to bad movies so bad, they worm themselves into your ventricles to deposit a VHS tape worm your colon shall never pass.
Such a film is . . .
Sorry Media Home Entertainment. Love your imprint, but this is an epic art department fail.
Look, a film that rips the stop motion and plate effects from Sam Raimi’s TheEvil Dead (watch the “Ending” clip embedded below to see what we mean), touts itself as the next Amityville Horror** (in some of its alternate slip box copy), spins a Pino Donaggio score, and has an evil entity sportin’ long, green-optical effect fingernails and a matching set of eyes — how can you not love it?
You still need more reasons to show Herb Freed the love?
Then how about this ’80s Combat-cum-Shrapnel (Megaforce covers were better, but not by much) indie-metal styled cover we dug up? No way. For when a shitty film is ensconced in even shittier, ’80s metal-inspired album artwork, well, that’s an instant rental.
It can’t be stressed enough. Just the absolute worst VHS cover, ever. Why, Vipco? Why?What the frack.
Just wow. There’s nothing “Raimi” or “Amityville” or “Nicolas Roeg” or “Brian De Palma” (whose films Pino Donaggio scored) about this darkly-shot film, although it wants to be. Nothing. And the continuous POV-shots of the spiral stairway is in no way transforming this into a faux-Dario Argento joint. So, please, for the love of ol’ Scratch, just stop with the Hitchcockian spirals, for the Italian Giallos you’re ripping are so much better at it. For not only do I want to break out my old art school kit to start marker comping a new cover to send to Vipco and Media Home Entertainment: I also want to run screaming onto the set with a haul of flashlights from Home Depot (because Lowe’s sucks) to see what the hell is going on . . . in the head of John Saxon. (And don’t get us started on the film’s sound issues.)
Why, John, why? Lynda Day George (Pieces), I get. But the money was that tight that you had to take this movie?
Yeah, yeah, I know, the plot: John Saxon’s architect Larry Andrews got himself a gig for a new condo development on a remote island in the Philippines. And who got him the job? His old pal, Del — who just so happens to be the ex-husband of his new wife, Barbara, played by Linda Day George.
Yeah, John’s, uh, Larry’s, buckin’ for a demon taunt, here . . . and Babs’s ex-hub isn’t playing his cards close to the vest when he rents out Casa Fortuna, a spacious Colonial mansion on the island, for the Andrews to bunk down while Larry designs the condos. Or something like that. For the lighting and sound is so bad throughout, and the effects suck so much ass, that I just don’t know, or care, what Babs and Del’s past is about, and that Larry’s a dick for shackin’ with his best-friend’s wife and was probably having an affair prior to, or the house’s past for that matter. Just bring on The Exorcist ripoff shenanigans, already, so William Friedkin can sue Milano Films International.
Sure enough, this is one of those islands rife with native folk who dare not go near the house. Eh, so what if the place is haunted by the 100-year-old Alma Martin (the divine U.S. daytime TV star Janice Lynde*˟ in an array of bad wigs) who returned from the grave to murder Estaban, her carousing husband, who murdered her. And now, well, Lynda Day’s body will do just fine to allow Alma to twist off Larry’s old noggin and stick it on backwards — so he can spend eternity looking at his own ass. Why? Because all men suck and Alma is doin’ ol’ Babs a favor with Larry’s cranial remodel.
Look, if the artwork, along with the trailer, and a clip of the epic ending doesn’t inspire you to embrace the evil, then I don’t know what will. Just turn in your B&S About Movies membership card, for I know ye not.
You can watch Beyond Evil on You Tube HERE and HERE.
Many thanks, once again, to Paul Z. over at VHS Collector.com for the clean images. Be sure to check out his reviews of the DVD and Blu-ray reissues of the lost VHS classics of the ’80s on his Analog Archivist You Tube portal.
*˟ In addition to her work on Another World, One Life to Live, and The Young and the Restless, Janice Lynde was part of Don Kirshner’s stable of artists in his failed TV Movie pilot, Roxy Page. She also guested on U.S. TV nighttime series, such as Barnaby Jones, Mannix, Medical Center, and Quincy, M.D. Later on, in the ’80s, you’ve seen Janice on Baywatch, Night Court, Sledge Hammer!, and Who’s the Boss. Lost Janice Lynde TV movies — both series pilots — that we need to seek out: Quinn Martin’s Escapades (1978) and Bernard L. Kolawski’s Nightside (1980), oh, and Irwin’s Shaw’s drama-cheeze fest, Top of the Hill (1980).
Hey, did you know we blew out two-months of nothing but reviews from Cannon Films with our “Cannon Month” feature? As result, we’ve done another take on Beyond Evil. And we got there, thanks to Austin Trunick, who sat down with us for a five-part interview.
About the Author: You can learn more about the writings of R.D Francis on Facebook.He also writes for B&S About Movies.
DAY 12 — CAMPFIRES & FLASHLIGHTS: One where a character tells a scary story and then . . . flashback.
As part of our annual “Slasher Month” last October, we reviewed Snuff Kill (1997), the third film — and best known and distributed film — from homegrown Baltimore SOV filmmakers Doug Ulrich and Al Darago (Ulrich also came to work with our SOV forefather-hero, Don Dohler, on 2001’s The Alien Factor 2). Now it’s time to take a look at their debut film, the anthology Scary Tales that, while released in 1993, had a long-in-development on-off shooting schedule that began in the mid-’80s. As with Snuff Kill — in which Al Darago portrayed the rocker-slasher Ralis — he and Doug Ulrich provide the film’s original tunes (“Destined to Love,” “She’s a Good Time,” “Let It Go,” and “I’m in Love”) as well as take care of all of the other film disciplines.
As the film opens, we meet a hooded, faceless storyteller with glowing eyes who weaves three tales from an ancient text to a group of ghostly, silhouetted children: “Satan’s Necklace” concerns an evil piece of jewelry that possesses its owner’s soul. In “Sliced in Cold Blood” a man loses his sanity upon discovering his wife’s infidelity. Then things come very close to our current techno-reality in “Level 21,” as a man loses his soul — literally — to a PC-based video game.
Amid the expected muddy-to-distorted audio, Spirit Halloween-effects, and accepted non-thespin’, we get an inventive against-the-budget human-transformation-to-vicious, man-eating demon, lots of heads split-open or decap, a knife out through the mouth, demons breath fire flumes, and in the final Tron-inspired tale (but closer to the lower-budget “The Bishop of Battle” segment starring Emilio Estevez in the 1983 Universal-produced omnibus, Nightmares; even more so to Charles Band’s 1984 tech-manteau The Dungeonmaster with Jeffrey Bryon sucked into a netherworld overlorded by Richard Moll), we get a gaggle of netherworld dwarfs and ninjas in an ambitious against-the-budget Dungeons & Dragons playing field. Remember the computer non-effects in Jerry Sangiuliano’s tech-slasher Brain Twisters? Well, it’s like that, and not the least bit “Tron.” But that’s okay because this movie splatters to the side of bountiful, which is why we rented home video SOVs in the first place.
Look, if you’re expecting a celluloid-perfect homage to the ’70s Amicus anthologies that inspired Ulrich and Darago’s debut film, then just keep on walkin’ past the crypt and go watch George Romero’s Creepshow. In the end, this is The Night of the Living Dead-era fun, as we’re living vicariously through Doug Ulrich and Al Darago, two guys just like us, who, instead of watching, reading and writing about films, they went out and made them. (And watch Scary Tales instead of the yawn-inducing Creepshow 2. Yes, I am saying team Ulrich-Darago’s film is more entertaining than a George Romero comic-book based sequel.)
You have to give team Ulrich-Darago their props as — unlike most SOV auteurs, who only managed one film — our SOV duo from Baltimore made four, including Darkest Soul, the aforementioned Snuff Kill, and 7 Sins of the Vampire, in quick, back-to-back succession. The only other SOV’ers to pull off multiple films as quickly was Christopher Lewis with Blood Cult, The Ripper, and Revenge . . . well, because of Blood Cult’s rep as the first mail-order SOV, Lewis is the best known. But there’s the crowned king that is Dennis Devine of Fatal Images and Dead Girls fame that’s still making them, albeit digitally these days (his latest is 2020’s Camp Blood 8). And porn-funded British SOV purveyor Cliff Twemlow (with his directing-partner, David Kent-Watson) knocked out six film in quick succession in the wake of his SOV pinnacle, GBH. Jeff Hathcock made his debut with Victims! in 1985 and during the next seven years pumped out three more: Night Ripper!, Streets of Death, and Fertilize the Blaspheming Bombsell. Yeah, you’ll SOV-drop fellow Baltimorite Don Dohler with his ’80s shoestring trio of The Alien Factor, Fiend, and Nightbeast released between 1978 to 1982 — but while they have that SOV-couch change stank on ’em, those were shot on film.
In the lesser-accomplished SOV canons are Leland Thomas of Bits and Pieces, John Henry Johnson of Curse of the Blue Lights, Georgia’s William J. Oates of Evil in the Woods, Alaska’s Blair Murphy of Jugular Wine, the SOV-tag team of Bill Leslie and Terry Lofton of Nail Gun Massacre, sci-fi space-jockey William J. Murray of Primal Scream, porn purveyor Justin Simmonds of Spine, Brixton Academy owner Alan Briggs of Suffer, Little Children, Brian Evans of Tainted , and Canuxploitationer Andrew Jordan of Things fame — each who pulled off one film. Nick Kimaz of the ambitiously-failed Space Chase managed two (1988’s Rage of Vengeance), while the equally ambitious-better Philip J. Cook of Beyond the Rising Moon pulled off three (Invader and Despiser in quick succession), while SOV apoc’er Armand Garzarian did two with Games of Survival and Prison Planet, and then made three more, and still sits behind the lens for other filmmakers.
However, of all of those films and their makers, we’ll always pencil-in Doug Ulrich and Al Darago on the top of our SOV lists courtesy of their Wiseauian heart and tenacity to release their quartet of films in quick succession — while showing improvements in their storytelling and effects skills along the way. Sure Tim Ritter of the SOV classics Truth or Dare and Killing Spree and Donald Farmer of Demon Queen and Scream Dream are still makin’ movies into 2021 and should be at the top of the list for their still growing, extensive resumes . . . well, I don’t know . . . I just dig what Doug and Al loaded into the SOV canons. I like ’em, so sue me . . . plus: we haven’t gotten around to reviewing Ritter or Farmer flicks on the site — at least not yet. Too many films, so little time. And as we ramble n’ praddle our SOV love, there’s a caveat: Not all were shot-on-video. Some of these VHS oddities (such as Truth or Dare) critically lumped in the SOV category were shot on 16 mm and released on video — and if it’s released in a direct-to-video format for exclusive, off-the-beaten Blockbuster Video path distribution at mom ‘n pop video stores, then it’s an SOV. Got it?
You can learn about the new Blu-Ray release of Scary Tales at Vinegar Syndrome. But we found a VHS rip on the very cool You Tube home to all things SOV, with the fine folks at Letterboxd Funtime. Oh, our review of 7 Sins of the Vampire is on the way, as part of our October 2021 “Slasher Month,” so search for it in the coming days . . . whoop, there it is!
About the Author: You can learn more about the writings of R.D Francis on Facebook. He also writes for B&S About Movies.
Okay, so let me get this straight in my head: This is a 55-minute, Italian-made anthology horror of three tales consisting of a killer sex doll, a killer handbag . . . and a parody of Joe D’amato’s Anthropophagous. And — being ever the good sport — Dardano Sacchetti, the writer of, well, a large portion of our favorite films at B&S About Movies, appears in the frames.
Just wow. You made my youth worth living, Dardano!
But Sacchetti isn’t the only Italian icon, here: Underground horror greats Linnea Quigley (recently of The Good Things Devils Do), David Warbeck, and Sergio Stivaletti appear, as well as directors Joe d’Amato, Luigi Cozzi, and Lucio Fulci; the late maestro’s daughter, Antonella, has a cameo as a pregnant lady . . . whose fetus is blown out of her vagina into the air. Yes, it’s like that. No, really. And it’s all very dumb, and it’s all very cheap, and it’s all very sloppy . . . and it is extremely sick. So, hell yes, we love it!
Just wow. We never heard of this one. We never once seen it on a U.S. video shelf. And here we are, 26 years after the fact, lovin’ it, over on You Tube.
Look, if the trailer doesn’t sell it . . . turn in your B&S membership card. For we never knew ye. If it does, well, pair this up with Nigel the Psychopath for a Halloween double feature.
About the Author: You can learn more about the writings of R.D Francis on Facebook. He also writes for B&S About Movies.
DAY 10 — RITUALS: It’s good to have a routine, even if it’s evil.
It’s an “Antichrist” movie because I say so!
The 1970s were a time of “witchhunting,” with such film as Michael Reeves’s The Conqueror Worm (1968), Michael Armstrong’s Mark of the Devil (1970), Ken Russell’s The Devils (1971), and Otakar Vavra’s Witchhammer (1970). So Paul Naschy answered call — to the exploitative extreme — with his Spanish-Italian produced directorial debut (very loosely) based on Spain’s Grand Inquisitor Toma de Torquemada — who advocated burning the guilty at the stake. Naschy — again, in his debut behind the camera — does a solid job in scripting the serious-classic side of the subject matter from the British-made Witchfinder General (aka The Conqueror Worm) with the sleazy-trash side of the German-made Mark of the Devil — without delving into the Ken Russell arty or Vavra exactness — with a nudity and gore-filled romp rife with solid, period-correct set design.
As plague and pestilence ravages 16th century France, Paul Naschy’s sexually depraved and spiritually corrupt Bernard de Fossey (who can teach a lesson or two in the depraved shenanigans department to Vincent Price, Herbert Lom, and Oliver Reed in their respective films) leads a trio of witch hunters who strike fear in the countryside as they judge, torture and condemn those they suspect of witchery. While staying at the home of the local magistrate, de Fossey falls in love with his host’s daughter, Catherine, who, in turn, is in love with another. When her lover is murdered by thieves (paid for by de Fossey), she makes a pact with The Devil (Paul Naschy, in a dual role, as our resurrected faux-Antichrist; he appears in a third role as The Grim Reaper) to extract revenge.
What’s great about Naschy’s scripting, here, is the ambiguity.
Sure, de Fossey is a sadist out to satiate his fleshly desires, but he believes what he does is truly called on by the Lord. (Remember: Adolf Hitler, while inherently evil, neither saw himself as such, but a just man in a cause for the common good of Germany’s citizens.) Then there’s Catherine, who, so as to deal with her depression and nightmares over her lover’s death, allows herself to be doped up by Mabille, the local witch-alchemist — who may or may not be a witch (with lesbian tendencies) — using Catherine as a vessel to kill de Fossey. So, is Catherine really possessed by The Devil and did she really conjure-resurrect Him, or is she simply psychotic? Then there is Renover, the local town (one-eyed) rapist. His rejection-fueled misogyny, which rather see those he lusts after burn at the stake than to be with anyone else, fills up the dungeons with plenty of (fully) naked women — their bare breasts ready for (nasty) torture, as well as rack stretchings and charcoal burnings.
Naschy’s scripting, albeit more graphically than it should be (be prepared to close your eyes for the rotating gear/breast-clipping device), balances the perverted dichotomy practiced in the name of Catholic Church (again, back to the sick bastard that was Torquemada) with the ongoing quest of female liberation — who still need to sell their souls to men (or The Devil, in this case), to be “liberated.”
To say I love the pseudo-Hammer and Amicus Brit-vibes of Inquisition is an understatement. It’s a well-researched, well-made, historically accurate and intelligent film that ranks alongside Naschy’s interpretations of the atrocities of Gilles de Rais in two of my personal, Naschy favorites: Horror Rises from the Tomb (1973) and Panic Beats (1983) — with an honorable mention to his zombie-apoc’er, The People Who Own the Dark (1975). Otakar Vavra’s previously mentioned Witchhammer chronicles the real life exploits of serial killer, uh, Witchfinder Inquisitor Boblig von Edelstat, who cut a horrific swatch across 1600’s Czechoslovakia.
The trailers are age-restricted, so you can watch them as account log-ins on You Tube HERE and HERE.
The Mondo Macabro Blu-ray on Inquisition— as is the case with all of their Naschy reissues — is excellent, with its features of an introduction by Paul Naschy, an interview with star Daniela Giordano (as Catherine), an audio commentary by Rod Barnett and Troy Guinn from The Naschycast, and the inclusion of Blood and Sand, a mini-documentary on Spanish horror films.
For the true Paul Naschy fan in you — oh, it’s in each and every B&S About Movies reader, admit to it — pick up the two-box Shout Factory! The Paul Naschy Collection. (One day, we’ll crack these open and review them, in full.)
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