What if Charles Bronson made a film to compete in the John Carpenter Slasher ’80s — and no one came?
So goes this J. Lee Thompson effort for Menahem Golan’s Cannon Films.
Watch the Shout Factory! reissue trailer and the epic, “final scene” clip.
It all looked pretty good on paper: Bronson was a still popular, aging action star; Thompson’s resume included The Guns of Navarone (1961), Cape Fear (1962), and Mackenna’s Gold (1969). And let’s forget J. Lee’s two POTA flicks: Conquest of the Planet of the Apes (1972) and Battle for the Planet of the Apes (1973), and one of the slasher era’s most unconventional slashers, Happy Birthday to Me (1981). Behind the Brother typewriter was William Roberts, who gave us The MagnificentSeven (1960) and a really great war movie with The Bridge at Remagen (1969). He also gave us (soon to be reviewed for “Fast and Furious Week II”) The Last American Hero (1973), and a pretty fine TV movie with SST: Death Flight (1977).
So where did this self-described “crime-horror-thriller” go wrong?
When I went to see this during its initial theatrical run, I enjoyed it; the general consensus, however, was that it just an unnecessarily bloodier and more violent knock-off of Clint Eastwood’s “Dirty Harry” series of films embodied in Charles Bronson’s rough-hewn,”shoot first, ask questions later,” LAPD Detective Leo Kessler. (His aprehensive, wet-behind-the ears partner is Andrew Stevens of Massacre at Central High.)
Mainstream critics, such as Roger Ebert, pounced on the film’s “gratuitous” violence and nudity and its overabundance of vulgar language, profanity, and sexual situations. (Those moments of nudity and sexual scenes were cut out and re-edited with alternate, clean-clothed scene (underwear instead of full nudity) for television.)
It seems Cannon Pictures was shooting for a Italian Poliziotteschi (which were much violent and bloodier than any U.S. “Dirty Harry” flick) and Giallo (which were even more graphic than any U.S. John Carpenter-knockoff) hybrid-homage of the two genres that would have likely played well to Euro-audiences. And it did. In the U.S. it barely cleared its almost $5 million budget. So, while not exactly a flop, thanks to its international box office, it wasn’t exactly a hit, either.
It certainly seems that Bronson and Thompson’s efforts had an effect on Sly Stallone, as it’s easy to see a creative through line of 10 to Midnight‘s “detective vs. serial killer” plot to Sly’s Cobra (1986) to — even more so — D-Tox (2002). And it definitely had an effect on the production of the “mainstream” porn-slasher hybrid of Spine, a film that did its best — against its budget — to emulate John Carpenter’s Halloween (1978) and Brian De Palma’s Dressed to Kill (1980).
That comparison to Spine comes as result of that film’s Lawrence Aston and 10 to Midnight’s Warren Stacy both with an affinity for nurses — a trait shared by real-life serial killer Richard Speck and his July 1966 Chicago murders of eight student nurses. However, while Speck’s exploits served as the inspiration behind William Roberts’s script, John Howard and Justin Simonds have stated that the similarity to Speck’s crimes was mere coincidence and it was, in fact, Brian De Palma and John Carpenter who influenced their development of Spine.
The roots of 10 to Midnight began with Cannon’s (initial) failed attempt to adapt R. Lance Hill’s novel The Evil That Men Do (1978), an action tale about an ex-assassin that comes out of retirement to avenge the death of a friend. During a “brainstorming session” at that year’s Cannes Film Festival, with Cannon still wanting to do a film with Bronson, came up with new project — 10 to Midnight. To sell the film, Golan did what he did best: the ol’ Hollywood shuffle, selling a film filled with “action, danger, and revenge” — but no script. And the buyers bought it. Now, they need a script.
The script they found — based on the exploits of Richard Speck — was a William Roberts spec script, Bloody Sunday. And, as for the Evil that Men Do: that became one of the final film’s produced by ITC Entertainment, which went bankrupt after the dual failures of Raise the Titanic and Saturn 3.
In all, Bronson and Thompson made five films: St. Ives (1976), The White Buffalo (1977), Caboblanco (1980), 10 to Midnight (1983), and The Evil That Men Do (1984). And while it failed at the box office and with critics — Bronson’s lone foray into the horror-slasher genre is the lone Thompson-Bronson project everyone remembers and revers as a “classic” film in the Bronson canons.
You can purchase DVDs and Blus from Shout! Factory and stream it via Cinemax-Amazon Prime. There’s also a great, hour-long documentary about Bronson’s career, Charles Bronson: Hollywood’s Lone Wolf, on TubiTv.
Other films we reviewed — for this month’s “All Horror, All Slasher Month” for October — that are based on real life serial killers, include Black Circle Boys, River’s Edge, and Naked Fear (both on the way this month, search for ’em!). And we discussed the Cropsey urban legend that resulted in the more traditional slashers The Burning(1981) and Madman (1982).
Editor’s Note: This review originally ran on September 16, 2019, as part of our month-long post-apocalyptic tribute blow out. You can catch up on those reviews with our two-part “Atomic Dust Bin” round ups HERE and HERE.
Day 15: Hell on Four Wheels: Must involve characters in wheelchairs.
No matter how many years pass . . . and how many copies of this VHS non-starter ended up in the dumpsters behind video stores . . . copies of this film keep coming back at me. Every video store rack I’ve browsed. Every Drive-In swap shop I’ve perused. Every Goodwill and Salvation Army, every pawn shop, and every garage sale I’ve visited. Even the weirdo-halitosis tape guy with a cubicle at the local indoor festival flea market . . . there’s yet another friggin’ copy of Wired to Kill staring back at me. Next to the apoc-swill that is America 3000 and Robot Holocaust, this film has to be one of the best-distributed VHS tapes of the video-fringe era. It’s like that copy of Corky Romono stuck to my shoe that I can’t scrape off.
Oh, what the hell? WTF! You’ve got to be friggin’ kidding me!
There I was, at my public library branch’s annual used book sale . . . and there it is, again. I gave up. I plopped down two quarters. I should have went into the recreation center next door to get off on the old broads jazzercising and buy a faux Dr. Pepper (a Mr. Pibb) instead, take home my 10 cent copy of Herman Hesse’s Demian and April Wine’s Harder Faster on cassette . . . and called it a day.
In an utter lack of budget and scripting with a group of drop outs and flunk outs from the Ed Wood School of Thespian Studies starring as the marauding hoards of 1998 (another “future” that looks like our present, only with a couple of flashing-and-bleeping gadgets), this dropping of celluloid borrows (poorly) from the The Road Warrior and the cute and cuddly sci-fi romp Short Circuit, and the family favorite . . . Home Alone!
The two actors that passed Ed’s class on “Octopus Battles” — our heroes Steve and Rebecca — don’t fare much better on their road to Oscar gold as two teens who suffer at the hands of the ubiquitous punk rock rapist survivors (bossed by Merritt Butrick, who went from Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan to this in four short years?) of the worldwide plague. Turns our little wheelchair-bound Stevie has a pet robot and is quite the computer and electronics whiz — with a knack for setting booby traps (the Home Alone part) and soups up his chair with gadgets (the Short Circuit part) to battle the crazies (the Road Warrior part).
Does a sorely needed Wez (Vernon Wells) from The Road Warrior come crashing through the wall in a cameo appearance like he did in the über cool sci-fi comedy, Weird Science? (You wish.) Does anyone “pull a Chet” and transform into a pile of poopy-goo?
No, but this tape sure does. Yep, renting from the video fringe is like a pile of poop. You never know badly the post-apoc crouch rot is gonna smell. And any film that tells us with a text scroll — accompanied by an annoying David Sanborn jazz saxophone backing track (ripped off from the jazz trumpeter shtick in 2019: After the Fall of New York) — on how we got here, is the first scent of apoc-crouch rot.
And that’s all I am going to say about that. Well, one more thing: don’t be booby trapped by this gem’s alternate VHS title: Booby Trap . . . uh, oh!
. . . Unwanted Film Trivia Alert . . . Unwanted Film Trivia Alert . . . this is not a drill . . . abort all reading . . . log off of B&S Movies . . . this is not a drill . . . too much virtual cyber ink has been giving to this film already . . . abort . . . abort . . .
Emily Longstreth, who stars as Rebecca, worked alongside Johnny Depp in 1985’s Private Resort, was Kate (?) in 1986’s Pretty in Pink, and appeared in (yes!) the Alien-cum-E.T knock off, Star Crystal (1986). But we lads and lassies slumming on the video fringe best remember Emily for her turn in Krishna Shah’s T&A epic, American Drive-In (1985). (Come on, now. You remember Krishna Shah . . . Hard Rock Zombies? I know! The dude was a double-graduate from Yale and UCLA . . . and he made Hard Rock Zombies!)
And I was shocked . . . SHOCKED to see . . . Kim Milford of Laserblast, who deserved better that this mess (the dude was on Broadway in Hair, Rocky Horror, and Jesus Christ Superstar), as one of the thugs, Rooster (check out my admiration for Kim’s music career on Medium).
As for director Francis Schaeffer: He brought us Headhunter (1988; voodoo murder mayhem in Miami starring the always hot Kay Lenz of White Line Fever, along with Wayne Crawford), Rising Storm (1989; a really dopey post-apoc dropping not worth more of a mention beyond this sentence . . . starring Zach Galligan from Gremlins, Spinal Tap’s June Chadwick from Forbidden World, and more Wayne Crawford . . . which, I dare you, Sam, I dare you, to review Rising Storm), and . . . did you know there’s actually a film based on those ‘80s automotive-suction cup “Baby on Board” signs? Yep, Francis made it: Baby on Board (1992).
Yep. When it comes to the VHS fringes, I am wired in, baby.
If you must complete your post-apoc shakes, Wired to Kill is on You Tube.
About the Author: You can read the music and film reviews of R.D Francis on Medium and learn more about his work on Facebook. He also writes for B&S Movies.
Day 14. The Monster Mile: One about cars or racing.
Blame this review solely on the staff of Scarecrow Video of Seattle. The B&S staff had this on our shortlists for our “Fast and Furious Week I” and our upcoming-December “Fast and Furious Week II” tribute weeks to the well-weathered leather, hot metal, and oily rubber burners of the home video-era. Well . . . we lie. This one was on our long-list actually, as we kept avoiding this used celluloid clunker. Then the Scarecrow gang had to come up with theme day #15 for the 2020 Psychotronic Challenge. So let’s just yank this one off like the icky-sticky, puss-soaked band-aid that it is and get it over and done with. . . .
How did Roger Corman NOT make this?
So you’re Harry Hurwitz, aka Harry Tampa, and your genre-meshing of disco and vampires with Nocturna, Granddaughter of Dracula was a critical and box office failure. So, what do you do for your next picture? You team up with ’50s television producer Jules V. Levy (The Rifleman, The Big Valley), who was one of the (of the many) co-producers on Smokey and the Bandit (as well as John Wayne’s McQ and Brannigan, and Burt Reynolds’s White Lightning and Gator), to mesh the ol’ the Bandit with The Cannonball Run (1981). And, what the hell: while we’re at it, we’ll clip from The Gumball Rally (1976), because, why not? The Cannonball Run clipped ’em.
As you can see: there’s not an original part under this hood.
Okay, so the “script” is locked (we think), but who do you get to star in your road racing rip-off? Well, John Wayne and ol’ Burt aren’t signing up for this non-sense, especially after you unleashed Nocturna on the masses. Well, what the hell, Christopher Lee — who’s always grateful to get out of the horror genre — is game for a villainous role.
But who do you get for the lead: the guy who starred in Death Race 2000 (1975) and Cannonball(1976), of course, because, well, this Harry Tampa gas-guzzler isn’t that far removed from those films.
And who will be our Sally “Frog” Field to get our Bandit into a mess: Stockard Channing, aka Rizzo, from Grease.
Okay, now we need a “Sheriff Burford T. Justice” for this rubber-burning tomfoolery, only he needs to be a bit more regal . . . and he needs to be a “Count,” but who . . . yes, Mr. Lee, of course! He’s Count Lorenzo Borgia, an African horse rancher who’s also a racing fetishist. But wait . . . are they . . . ripping off Star Wars . . . and foreshadowing Lee’s work as Count Dooku/Darth Tyranus? Alright, Harry! You ripped off Paul Hogan and George Lucas films that weren’t even made yet. Way to go, Mr. Tampa! This movie is going to . . . crash and burn.
Because I am Harry Tampa and I just can.
“Hey, R.D! Is that Rick Moranis, who played Dark Helmet in Spaceballs, standing next to Christopher Lee — wearing a “dark helmet” on his head?”
Nope. That’s Hamilton Camp . . . yes, he was in Smokey and the Bandit. And Starcrash. And Evilspeak. . . . Anywhoo, back to the plot.
There really isn’t one. At least one you haven’t already seen before. But the real “plot twist” is that this rips off Crocodile Dundee — which wasn’t even made yet! But since Linda Kozlowski wasn’t up for a Sue Charlton sidequal, well, prequel, we got Rizzo.
J.J Dalton (Channing) is your obligatory, ambitious richy-bitchy photojournalist (where’s Kay Lenz when you need her) for Playboy Magazine (she the type who, when doing an expose on prostitution, ends up arrested for prostitution). And she concocts a new story pitch: she’ll be a navigator for a race car in the 5th African International Road Rally. And she hires movie stunt driver Carradine as her driver. And Carradine’s ex-boss? The good ol’ Count. Yep, another “Frog” screws over another good ol’ boy.
What’s amazing about this auto-salvaged mess is that it isn’t just some low-budget schlock studio production. No. This isn’t a Roger Corman Eat My Dust-cum-Grand Theft Auto-cum-Smokey Bites the Dust stock footage recycler: MGM/United Artists — obviously hoping for some Smokey stank on the ol’ celluloid — ended up with a knock off Disney’s The Love Bug. But not all is lost: Christopher Lee is wonderfully deadpan and is adept at comedy. Who knew?! And Stockard Channing is quite the champ dealing with all of the baboons. And ol’ David is Dave: he never disappoints. But he was probably pissed he starred into two “3000 movies” — and they both sucked tailpipe (Deathsport, aka Death Race 3000). But hey, at least he didn’t star in America 3000 . . . but David A. Prior sucked Dave into Future Force (1989) and Future Zone (1990), so, Dave still got slammed in the ol’ celluloid hoosegow.
The VHS tapes on this, released between 1984 to 1987, are bountiful in the online marketplace, while DVDs were issued in 2011 by both MGM and 20th Century Fox Home Video. You can watch a pretty clean rip on You Tube and you can stream it Amazon Prime. Our advice: watch the You Tube one for free, as the Amazon print is of a pretty low quality.
Hey, be sure to check out our “Drive-In Friday” tribute to five of good ol’ Uncle Harry’s films! And thanks to the individual who pull-quoted our review in their update of this film’s Wikipedia entry because: all of Harry’s films deserve the Wiki-love!
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: Open Soar: This one should focus on flying or aviation somehow.
“Please keep your tray tables — and crucifixes — in the upright position at all times!” — from the smartly-written Shout! Factory press kit.
So, did you hear the one about the priest, a rabbi, and an airline pilot captain who boarded a transatlantic airliner — and banned together to fight off a demonic possession pandemic? Did you hear the one about the movie that meshed ’70s disaster flicks with ’70 demon possession flicks? Did you hear the one about the priest who was dumb enough to fly an excised body back to Vietnam?
“I want these motherf*ckin’ demons off this motherf*uckin’ plane!”
No, sorry, Mr. Jackson. That’s not the punch line. Well, maybe just a little bit, Sam. But make no mistake which ’70s disaster classic this horror parody has taken to task. But where’s Captain Mike Brady of SST Death Flight to save the day?
How can this film not excite you the way it excited me!?
I haven’t even spun the trailer, let alone watched the film, and the cast on this has me drooling. We’ve got Robert Miano (280 credits strong, his work dates to William Shatner’s T.J Hooker, along with roles in Donnie Brasco, Girls Trip, and Open House with Adrienne Barbeau), Lance Henriksen (Aliens, Pumpkinhead, Near Dark), Bill Mosley (The Devil’s Rejects, Dead Air), Bai Ling (Dumplings), Kelli Maroney (!) (Night of the Comet), the always welcomed Kevin J. O’Connor (The Mummy, TV’s Chicago P.D.), the always very funny Matthew Moy (TV’s Scrubs, iCarly, and as Han Lee in 2 Broke Girls), and of course, the divine Ms. Barbeau (The Fog, Swamp Thing). Come on, now! They even got Johnny Roastbeef (Johnny Williams) from Goodfellas on board!
Dare I write a rip-off script called Demonjacked?
Never has there been a movie more self-aware in its scripting, with its actors going into full scene-chew, with over-the-top acting courtesy of the horror movie alumni-elite of Barbeau, Henriksen, and Mosely — all that’s missing from the cast is Bruce Campbell. So, if you go into this disaster-demon flick hybrid expecting Sam Raimi’s Evil Dead 2 — with an airliner switched out for a woodsy cabin, then you’re in for a great ride in the demon skies. If this was made with a bigger budget and thirty years earlier — with Kurt Russell hamming it up — we have Big Trouble in Little China on a plane. Yes, this movie is that crazy — a hammed-up, FUBAR’d version of the 1973 CBS-TV movie classic The Horror at 37,000 Feet.
And if you’re experiencing Re-Animator déjà vu during the opening title card sequence, that’s because Richard Band (From Beyond) composed the HBO Tales from the Crypt-inspired soundtrack and, to that end: there’s a bit ‘o each of those in the frames. If David Gale, aka Dr. Carl Hill of Re-Animator, aka Dr. Anthony Blakely of Ed Hunt’s whack job The Brain, were still with us, he’d be in Robert Miano’s role as Father Romero. And yeah, if you’re a fan of The Brain, then you’ll have no qualms boarding Flight 666. Just make sure you’re not forgetting your Zucker Brothers brand (Airplane!, Kentucky Fried Movie) luggage and you packed your DVD of thatTwilight Zone episode in the bags.
Co-writers Robert Rhine and Daniel Benton have been around the business for a while, with Rhine getting his start as an actor in Hardbodies 2 (1986); Benton’s been scribin’ since the late ’70s with TV episodes of Sledge Hammer! and Police Woman. Director Chad Ferrin got his start with Troma Studios and has made a dozen direct-to-video features, most notably, the totally nuts Easter Bunny, Kill! Kill! (2006); here he’s given us a film that looks great; the production values are high, and the cinematography is well-lit and cleanly shot.
Sure, you can stream this at Amazon Prime, but a free-with-ads stream is available on the European F Share TV platform. You can pick up the extras-packed DVDs and Blus direct from the fine folks at Shout Factory.
Update November 2020: You can now watch Exorcism at 60,000 Feet as a free-with-ads stream on Tubi TV.
Disclaimer: We did not receive a review request or screener from the film’s production company or P.R firm. We discovered this film on our own and truly enjoyed the film.
About the Author: You can learn more about the writings of R.D Francis on Facebook.He also writes for B&S About Moviesand publishes on Medium.
And you thought the Amityville Universe and Demons sequels and sidequels system was off the rails: we dared explored those Xerox’d realms with our “Exploring: So What’s Up with All of the Demons Sequels” and “Exploring: Amityville.” Oh, and our newly-uploaded “Ouija Boards” flicks tribute. And now it’s time to delve into the twisted, clown-haunted woods of the Camp BloodVerse.
Dig that retro VHS category sticker
And you have me, R.D Francis, to thank for it . . . no, really . . . I think this one is Sam’s fault, since he came up with a “Rock ‘n’ Roll Week II” . . . but, well, I did pick Dennis Devine’s second direct-to-video feature, Dead Girls(1989), to review during that theme week. So that brings us to Mr. Divine’s newest, 30th directing effort, Camp Blood 8: Revelations.
Yes, you heard me right: that’s not a parody title. There actually were seven Camp Blood films prior. So, strap on the popcorn bucket, as there’s lots to unpack.
It all starts with a then budding, fifteen-year-old writer and director by the name of Brad Sykes who started capturing his Virginia Beach, Virginia, Kayo syrup n’ red food coloring romps on a Hi-8 camera. Then he went off to Boston University where he graduated cum laude and double-timed with Paramount and Tony Scott’s Scott Free Productions. He eventually ended up in Los Angeles and incorporated Nightfall Pictures which, to date, has built a twenty-six film resume.
And it all began with his 1999 feature film debut, Camp Blood.
Now, if you know your ’80s slasher flicks, you know we have a maniac in the woods and — based on the legends about a boiler suit n’ clown mask-adorned killer stalking the woods — the smart ass teens christened the kiddie vacay spot Camp Blackwood as you-know-what. And, with that, let slip the clowns of war with a soon-to-be twenty-two year run of sequels. And the shenanigans at ol’ Camp Blackwood are so off the rails that it’s also dragged shot on digital video-PowerPoint purveyor Mark Polonia (Amityville Deathhouse, Amityville Exorcism, Empire of the Apes) into its twistyverse.
So, the rundown:
Camp Blood 2 (2000) — directed by Brad Skyes (Plot: A meta film-within-a-film romp as a film is made about the murders of the first film.)
Within the Woods, aka Camp Blood 3 (2005) — directed by Brad Sykes (Plot: A sidequal; Is the clown really back, or is it a prank?)
Camp Blood 3, aka Camp Blood First Slaughter (2014) — directed by Mark Polonia (Plot: Actually 4th in the series; a prequel about dopey college students going into the woods on a class assignment to debunk the legend.)
Camp Blood 4 (2016) — directed by Dustin Ferguson (Plot: Dopey college kids camp out in the infamous woods on their way to a rock concert; Raven survives.)
Camp Blood 5 (2016) — directed by Dustin Ferguson, who is back in the AmityvilleVerse with 2021’s Amityville in the Hood and working on 5G Zombies with John R. Walker of Ouijageist. (Plot: Raven, the lone survivor of Part 4, returns to the woods to destroy the Camp Blood Killer.)
Camp Blood 666 (2016) — directed by Ted Moehring, of the 2010 backyard Giallo Bloodbath in the House of Knives. (Plot: A girl heads into the woods to search for her brother who joined a Satanic Clown Cult; meanwhile, the dead Camp Blood Killer is back from hell for revenge.)
Camp Blood 7, aka It Kills (2017) — directed by Mark Polonia (Plot: Dopey fall breakers break down in the woods.)
The Ghost of Camp Blood (2018) — directed by Mark Polonia (Plot: While 9th in the series, it’s actually a sidequel/spin-off; the spirit of the Camp Blood Killer is on the loose from beyond the grave.)
Camp Blood 8: Revelations (2020) — directed by Dennis Devine (Actually film #10, got that?)
Camp Blood 9: The Fall of Camp Blood (2021) — a fan film directed by short film purveyor Riley Lorden, who gained notice for his fan shorts of Halloweenand Friday the 13th, in his feature-length film debut (Plot: From the looks of the theatrical one-sheet, its a Jason vs. Clown, Jr. romp.)
So, to recap: Camp Blood was followed by seven official sequels, one official spin-off, aka Ghost of Camp Blood, and one unofficial film, aka Within the Woods. But 4, 5, 6, 7, Ghost, Revelations, and the upcoming Fall to do not follow the timeline from Within the Woods. Got that? Are you as confused as you were with James Cullen Bressack’s JenniferVerse, which recently released its latest sequel-sidequal For Jennifer (2020), ’cause that ain’t headlice or dandruff yer scratchin’, son. That be films rattlin’ ’round the cranium.
But seriously, folks: As with Demons and Amityville, and House (remember how House II: The Second Story became La Casa 6 in Europe), aren’t we just slapping “Camp Blood” on any summer camp slasher that flows down the digital gateways? And now, the Mexican folklore of La Llorona* — absconded by The Conjuring series of films as its sixth installment, aka, The Curse of La Llorona, is heading into ubiquitous sequels territory.
Anyway, back to Camp Blood.
Now, according to the “legend” set forth in The Ghost of Camp Blood, the infamous Blackwood Forest was haunted by the vengeful spirit of the Camp Blood Killer . . . from beyond the grave. But the clown-masked killer was vanquished when the haunted mask was destroyed. But the original clown from Camp Blood 5, who died, actually has a son who took up the mask and machete from ol’ pop. And Clown, Jr. has an overbearing and sexually-twisted mommy. (Remember now: in 6, it was Clown, Sr.’s ghost and not a “real” clown killer.)
And that gets us up to speed for Double D’s contribution with four bikini-clad volley ball players and their coach (as only Dennis Devine can film them) on the way to a VB tornament in Utah. Of course they take the usual they-shouldn’t-have shortcut (Duh!) and, wouldn’t ya’ know, their brand spankin’ new, red Mercedes Benz breaks down. And they go looking for help. And they find a cabin where there’s some mommy n’ son incest of the Charles Kaufman’s Mother’s Day variety goin’ on. Yep. The girls go head-to-head and limb-to-limb with Clown, Jr. and crazy mommy.
Oh, the twist: Helping the girls is a friendly ghost of the Casper variety that — of course! — has a psychic link with one of the girls. And if you’re a regular visitor to the Blackwood Forest, you notice You Tube star and now indie horror regular Shawn C. Phillips, who appeared in Camp Blood 4 and 5, is back as a hermit-survivalist, and the Thatcher character from Brad Sykes’s Camp Blood 1 (Joe Haggerty of Dennis Devine’s go-to writer Steve Jarvis’s 1993 film Flesh Merchant) is back as his crazy-ass, usual self spewin’ doom ‘n gloom to the cast.
Everything — as is the case with direct-to-video homage to slashers of future past — is played for the cheeky camp; however, unlike those Carpenter knock-offs of future past, Devine has forgone practical, in-camera kills n’ splatter for CGI effects that comes in the form of a throat slice and three chest stabs-by-machete, a decap-by-axe, a mad mommy strangulation, and a good ol’ fashioned head-to-the-tree bashing. And while we are reasonable watchers and take into account we are in the ultra-low-budget backwoods of Carpenterville — less about $340,000 of Carp’s reported 350 k budget for his 1978 game changer — its looks pretty weak. A digital Tom Savini this is not.
But you know what? I don’t care. It’s a Dennis Devine picture and he’s been giving me quality entertainment since I purchased Dead Girls via mail order all those years ago. And it feels like the ol’ SOV-VHS ’80s all over again. And it’s good to be home.
Speaking of out-of-control and off-the-rails franchises: Dennis Devine has entered the La LloronaVerse as well, with The Haunting of La Llorona (2019). And again: the mysteries of the Blackwood Forest ain’t done yet: Camp Blood 9: The Fall of Camp Blood is currently in production. You can learn more about CB 9 at their official Facebook page.
Camp Blood 8: Revelations recently made its free-with-ads stream debut on TubiTv. We’re pretty much booked up with slasher flicks for October, so we probably won’t get to review it in time, but you can check out Devine’s The Haunting of La Llorona on TubiTv.
You can also catch up with last October’s “Slasher Month” with a complete list of all the reviewed films, Top Ten Lists, and feature articles about the genre.
We also get into the history and birth of the Slashers of the ’80s with our “Exploring: Giallo” featurette, which also features links to all of the films we reviewed last June as part of our “Giallo Month.”
And, finally, be sure to join us for our recent “Drive-In Friday” tribute to the works of Dennis Devine.
About the Author: You can learn more about the writings of R.D Francis on Facebook.He also writes for B&S About Moviesand publishes on Medium.
Day 10: Plastique Vivant: Manniquins are creepy enough standing still, but what happens when they come to life? (Window Dressing)
I came to my gig as the (chief) grease bit scrubber and dumpster pad washer at the ol’ B&S Bar n’ Grill by way of my screenwriting endeavors, which born out of my acting endeavors (which born out of my radio jock days).
As result, I’ve been to more than my fair share of film festivals, not only for the shorts I worked on, but for the films of others — in support of my fellow thespin’ brethren. And as someone who’s worked in the short film realm, take it from me: most of them are arduous, not only to work on, but to watch. As an actor, nothing is more heartbreaking than to pour your soul into someone’s vision to make it the very best short film it can be — only to see that filmmaker’s industry “calling card” disintegrate into an utter failure. And that’s not even counting the shorts that, through sheer directorial ineptitude and an indifferently staffed and in disarray film school, are never finished. The whole angle of the short filmVerse is that, while you, the actor, do not get paid, “you’ll get a finished film/clips for your reel.” And, as goes my luck, the filmmakers that never “paid” me with a finished film or so much as a clip (even after begging), far outnumbers the ones that did “pay” me. And, very few of those were of a quality to use as demo reel material.
Anyway, I digress . . . bottom line: I’ve seen lots of short films. I’ve long since surpassed my Hollywood-mainstream film attendances with my affection for the new breed cultivated in film festivals: I love going to film festivals, seeing short films, and acting in short films: the camaraderie of the indie environs is pure electric. It’s oxygen. It’s life.
And — in the hands of a knowledgeable and skilled filmmaker, one who checks their ego at the door and respects their actors and crew and realizes that film is a “team” effort — the short film story format works and there are, in fact, filmmakers who do not make you dread film festivals, but look forward to them. There’s nothing more pleasing, more exhilarating than to see all of those years of college and university-level film school classes pay off in spades. I am of the camp that doesn’t want those budding filmmakers to suck at their chosen profession: I want to see them succeed.
And as I went down a You Tube rabbit hole, I discovered another Frank Barrone-moment, you know, a “holy crap” moment, with writer and director Dave Bundtzen’s The Devil’s Passengers.
Bundtzen’s been bangin’ at the Final Draft and eyein’ the Canon Reds since the early ’90s across fifteen shorts, with thirteen of them as a screenwriter, and a seventeen-film mix as a producer of his own shorts and of others. So it’s no secret that Bundtzen is bringing an A-Game to the table. He possesses an expert concept of what a short film should be: short. His films are well-written and edited and fully-character arced in less than five minutes, exactly as a short film should.
Ack! Please don’t delve into a college thesis on the craft of screenwriting, and act structure, R.D.
Don’t worry; I’m pulling back the reins. But take my word for it: Bundtzen’s short film days are numbered. There’s a feature film on the horizon.
His latest short-fiction work, The Devil’s Passenger, concerns a woman (a very good Colleen Kelly, who reminds of Dakota Johnson; I actually thought, at first, it was Australian actress Amanda Woodhams from 2020’s Dark Sister) in a traffic jam that desperately tries to help another woman she sees in the back of a van hold — held by a hand that appears from the dark background of the vehicle.
And that brings us to Dave Bundtzen and Colleen Kelly’s newest film (and the Scarecrow Video Challenge part), along with the expertly creepy Elaine Partnow, in a tale about Danielle (Kelly), a young woman who responds to an innocent “Help Wanted” sign in the window of the Rose Time antique dress shop run by Clara (Partnow), a kindly, senior shop keep. Now, if you know your British Amicus horror anthologies, you know about those little, out-of-the-way shops and their affable clerks. Yeah, this isn’t going to end well for young Danielle. The “Amicus” vibe of Bundtzen’s pen is buoyed by Gavin V. Murray’s stellar cinematography that gives the proceedings a very-Argento vibe.
The Devil’s Passengers and Window Dressing are currently streaming on You Tube, along with Bundtzen’s early efforts Siri (2012) and Tap (2018), courtesy of Flix Horror’s You Tube Platform. And, what I really dig: Bundtzen supports other short-horror purveyors, as his nifty “Great Horror Short Films on You Tube” playlist attests. Watch ’em once, twice, watch three times. Just an awesome day of movie viewing to be had over at Flix Horror’s page.
Colleen Kelly made one foray into network television with an appearance on ABC-TV’s Castle. Here’s to hoping she makes a much deserved transition out of shorts and indies and into more network television (yeah, you know me well: Law & Order: SVU and Blue Bloods) and A-List feature films. In fact, if you’re a Felissa Rose (A Nun’s Curse, Rootwood) fan — and aren’t we all — you’ve also seen Kelly’s work alongside Rose in Clawed (2017).
You can learn more about Dave Bundtzen’s filmmaking endeavors at Flix Digital’s website and Facebook page.
Disclaimer: We were not sent screeners or received a review requests for either of these shorts. We discovered them on our own and truly enjoyed both works.
About the Author: You can learn more about the writings of R.D Francis on Facebook.He also writes for B&S About Moviesand publishes on Medium.
Day 7: They’re Out to Get You: One with Heavy Paranoia (real or imagined).
“I don’t want to take lessons! I wanna have a fucking band!Fucking be like Deicide! Deicide. Yes, Deicide!” —Shane Carver, loser leader of the Black Circle Boys
Yeah, maybe the guitar is broke, douche-dick.
I won’t say I hate this movie. But I was certainly disappointed by this movie, considering it “starred” John Doe of X and dealt with a misguided ne’er do well finding solace in black metal music. A group of Satan worshiping dopers want to start a band—and kill people—and John Doe? I’m up for that.
Oh, be careful for what ye hail, black metal and horror film buff.
What we ended up with here is an all-male version of—without the supernatural hocus pocus—1996’s much better The Craft, which also gave us a peek into the teenaged occult, as well as 1987’s The Lost Boys. And, oh shite, this film pulls the ‘ol Eric Roberts (Power 98) bait-n-switch on you.
Bastards!
Either John Doe was cast—in typical Eric Roberts fashion—for one scene just to get a brand name on the box/in the credits, or Doe’s work as a police detective investigating the Black Circle Boys Murders, for whatever reason, ended up on the cutting room floor. And sorry, Donnie Wahlberg is cool these days (and excellent) in TV’s Blue Bloods, but he just isn’t an effective consolation prize when we came to see John Doe (but, truth be told, the ex-New Kids on the Block member, in his third acting role, is very good as Greggo, effeminate Satanist who introduced Shane to the Black Arts). Oh, yeah . . . blink and you’ll miss Lisa Loeb (remember her gal-paldom with Ethan Hawke and hitting the U.S. Top 10 in 1994 with “Stay (I Missed You)” from Reality Bites?) as an “angry goth chick” in a club.
As you can see, the casting on this movie is flat out, upside down FUBAR’d. Why would a production (granted, it’s low budget, but still) take known commodities—that inspire us to rent in the first place—such as John Doe and Lisa Loeb—and place them in one scene cameos; each should be in the larger, respective roles of Detective Roy, played by Victor Morris (NBC-TV’s In the Line of Duty film series and Bigger Than the Sky), and the Dead Head-high schooler Chloe, played by Tara Subkoff (The Last Days of Disco; The NotoriousBetty Page).
True, both Morris and Subkoff are affable in the roles, but wouldn’t you, as The Devil’s Advocate (sorry) producer, want to predominately feature Doe and Loeb’s names on the box in smaller type under the leads and copywrite-plug their past, known works on the box’s flipside? Loeb could totally pull off the wiles of a hippy chick high schooler—and you could feature her playing the acoustic guitar and singing a folk song—to the antithesis of the goth kids running the school. And if you’ve seen John Doe’s work in A Matter of Degrees and his co-starring role as Teddy Connor, the leader of the once great Wotan, in the NBC-TV Law & Order: TOS 2003 “Ripped from the Headlines” episode “Blaze” (which took it scripting cues from Great White’s tragic 2003 performance at The Station night club in Rhode Island*), you know that Doe not only carries a film as a lead actor with distinction—he can pull off a goth rocker with class and style. (Sorry, Donnie. No offense. We love Doe ’round these ‘ere Allegheny wilds and crush any actor before him.)
Ye, hail Teddy Connor! Courtesy of Gregory Hill Design/NBC-TV
But alas . . . Black Circle Boys was made in 1998 and not 1988; so the producers decided to appeal to the then nostalgic-maturing New Kids on the Block contingent, instead of the ol’ punk codgers (aka myself and B&S boss Sam) who admire John Doe and rocked out to X in the ’80s via The Decline of Western Civilization and Urgh! A Music War. And yeah, David Newsom (ABC-TV’s Homefront) is a fine actor (and now a successful reality television producer; kudos, Dave!), but the divine Dee Wallace Stone of E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial and The Howling fame is wasted in her “Eric Roberts Casting” as the troubled mom; Wallace would have been more effectively utilized in Newsom’s larger role as the swim coach-physics teacher hybrid—and being the horndogs we are, even get a few scenes of her in a curve-accentuating one piece. And yes . . . that is the pride of Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, Richard “Les Nesman” Sanders of WKPX in Cincinnati (check out our review of FM) also being woefully underutilized in his one (uh, I think it was two?) shot role as Principal Dunkel. (At this point, the producers should have called in Eric Roberts—who we friggin’ love like blood around here. And yes, another major f-up by the producers: not having Killing Joke on the soundtrack, Deicide references be damned.)
Now, that’s how you cast, music consult, and sell tickets, kiddies. But alas, I am a schlub writer and not a casting director or music consultant. . . .
So, anyway . . . We meet Kyle (Scott Bairstow of FOX-TV’s Party of Five), a star high school swimmer wallowing in depression over a personal loss (an idiot friend fell off a bridge/water tower and broke his neck while they were drunk; instead of moving on and taking responsibility, Kyle blames “the world”)—which makes him easy pickings for paranoia-poster child Shane Carver (a very good Eric Mabius; big screen debut in Welcome to the Dollhouse, noticed in Cruel Intentions) and his little goth clique, The Black Circle Boys. Kyle is introduced to hard booze, drugs, devil worship, and frog beheadings-by-mouth in quick succession . . . and murder, by way of drug-dealing Rory (an early Chad Lindberg of The Fast and the Furious), a BCB “slave-trainee” by Shane as a form of sacrifice. Along the way the boys start a band, which is an utter failure. So, out of frustration—and a parnoid belief his goth-clique is betraying him—Shane starts killing off the other members of ‘the Circle.
At least I think that’s what happened. Yeah, they lost me. That’s what happens when you deny me of my John Doe fix, boondoggle me with Donnie Wahlberg, and don’t give us the black metal we came for and stick us with a bunch of never-heard-of bargain bin basement clutter that is neither “black” nor “metal” or anything worthy of woof or a tweet. I mean, come on . . . a movie about “black metal murders” that only uses the word “Satan” once? And what in the Sam Hill (another music consultant f-up: no Glenn Danzig and Samhain**) is this B.S. referring to Satan as “Father” all the time? Get the Anton LeVey (The Devil’s Rain) out of here, Mr. Politically Correct screenwriter. Fuck, dude.
And what the hell, bass player? Learn your root, 3rd, and 5th triads. Fuck me. Even the shittiest of shite bassists know ’em. You deserved Shane slashing your throat and tossin’ your lame ass off a bridge. I’d nut-punch you myself, dick breath. The Relentless from American Satan would dissolve you and your “boys” into a puddle just by pissing on ‘ya. Pusswads.
Ugh. Another great clip — lost — that ruins the point of the previous paragraph.
In the end: What we have here is an ineffective, low-budget variant of 1987’s far superiorRiver’s Edge (starring Crispin Glover and Keanu Reeves), in the Black Circle Boys claims in its promotional materials that it is “Based on a True Story.” And while it’s beneath River’s Edge, Ricky 6 — which is also based on Ricky Kasso’s “Satanic Panic” inspiring crime — is better than Black Circle Boys.
F-You, marketing department. Your “true story” and John Doe bait-n-switch be damned, pisses me off. And you too, Mr. Music Consultant.
That “true story” takes us back to Slayer, whose loud and aggressive music—featuring violent themes that would even scare Tony Iommi of Black Sabbath—went beyond the usual horror-film influenced, satanic lyrical themes to include odes to sadism, necrophilia, serial killers, and Nazi death camps. Not helping Slayer’s reputation in the eyes of the Moral Majority was Slayer’s music being predominately featured in the River’s Edge, the film itself based upon the 1981 California murder of Marcy Renee Conrad and the 1984 New York murder of Gary Lauwers, where their troubled-teen killers bragged about and returned to the murder site of their victims.
The most catastrophic example of this ignorance regarding hard rock and heavy metal music was the highly publicized, 1994 West Memphis 3 case in which questionable “evidence” led to the wrongful conviction of three non-conformist boys as murderous Satanists. Their only guilt: a shared interest in rock music, horror films, and unconventional art and books (you know, guys like myself and Sam, B&S About Movies’ boss. And we’re harmless, really).
A seriously f-up dude giving AC/DC a bad name.
The occult and the America justice system simmered in a cauldron of abhorrence and ignorance once again in the 1999 Columbine massacre, as satanic-panic maligned the music of shocker-rocker Marilyn Manson and, to a lesser extent, the industrial/goth bands KMFDM and Rammstein as underlying causes. The misguided controversy forced Manson to cancel the remaining dates of his 1999 Rock Is Dead world tour and negatively affected the sales of his third album, Mechanical Animals (1998). Additionally slandered as “co-conspirators” were Oliver Stone, by way of the Quentin Tarantino-scripted Natural Born Killers, in addition to the designers behind the video games Doom, Wolfstein 3D, and Duke Nukem. (A 1999 Rolling Stone article: “Columbine: Whose Fault is It?,” in addition to Dave Cullen’s 2009 in-depth tome, Columbine, examine the tragedy.)
Paving the way for the legal atrocities of the West Memphis 3 was the 1986 case regarding the seminal British metal band, Judas Priest. In that judicial miscarriage against the creative arts, the parents of two Reno, Nevada, teenaged boys sued Judas Priest and its label, Columbia Records, for $6.2 million dollars, claiming the band’s 1978 release, Stained Class, contained backward, subliminal messages that drove the boys to suicide (the court dismissed the case in 1990).
F-in railroaded. Man, Don’t even get me started.
Prior to Judas Priest’s slandering by religious zealots, Ozzy Osbourne, the ex-lead singer of Black Sabbath, became the victim of another bogus suicide-by-rock music claim. Three sets of parents sued the “Prince of Darkness” between 1985 and 1990, claiming the song “Suicide Solution” from Ozzy’s 1980 debut album, Blizzard of Oz, encouraged their young sons to commit suicide—all three cases were eventually dismissed. In an archetypal overreaching misconstrue by the Christian Right blinded by satanic-panic to deflect their parental failures and to excuse the “misadventures” of their own children, the clearly anti-alcohol and an anti-suicide song, with lyrics written by bassist Bob Daisley, was a touching tribute to Bon Scott, the then recently deceased lead singer of AC/DC (AC/DC: Let There Be Rock). Other tomes claim it was actually about Daisley’s concerns regarding Ozzy’s health. Whatever Daisley’s lyrical motivation, the song certainly is not a clarion for teenagers to commit suicide.
Anyway, back to Black Circle Boys.
This ain’t no River’s Edge and director Joe Berlinger’s theatrical, three-film documentary series Paradise Lost is more disturbing and far more engrossing (in addition to the non-fiction books Blood of Innocents by Guy Reel and Mara Leveritt’s Devil’s Knot, both which examine the WM3 tragedy at length; the later book itself was adapted into a 2013 film). If the filmmakers behind Black Circle Boys had only adhered to their source material: David St. Clair’s 1987 expose Say You Love Satan, about 17-year-old Ricky Kasso and the murderous exploits of the Knights of the Black Circle (which resulted in the death of the aforementioned Gary Lauwers).
You can stream Black Circle Boys for free on You Tube, as it is not available on any streaming platforms. Used copies of the unnerving Say You Love Satan are readily available in the online marketplace—it’s a highly suggested read. In fact, read the book instead of watching this movie.
Ugh. Another trailer bits the digital dust.
Seriously, though: The appreciation of a film—whether it is good or bad, well-made or poorly made—is based in the age of the viewer; for film appreciation is of a time and place. While I love my horror movies (Phantasm to Rocktober Blood) and my Killing Joke, Samhain, The Misfits, Venom, King Diamond, and Deicide as much as the next guy, I was already ensconced in adulthood (wearing shirts with collars, even ties!) when Black Circle Boys was released. So, if you were in middle school or just starting high school at the time Black Circle Boys was released—as I was when the juvenile delinquency drama Over the Edge was released in 1979—rewatching this film will warm the cockles as your own person “classic” film.
* The Great White tragedy also served as the basis for the Mark L. Lester-directed and Eric Roberts-starring Groupie.
** Glenn Danzig is in the filmmaking biz these days. We recently reviewed his film Verotika. Yeah, we adore auteur projects and movies with rock stars ’round here. Speaking of which . . . you can get all of the rock ‘n’ roll flicks you can handle with our “Rock ‘n’ Roll Week” and “Rock ‘n’ Roll Week II” features from this past July and September with links to over 100 film reviews.
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 6: Poll Plot: One that involves elections and/or voting. *government not required.
Author’s Note: This review originally ran on December 6, 2019, as part of our tribute to the film soundtracks of Tangerine Dream. This high-brow, Rambo-esque tale on the plight of war veterans — and the government that ignores them — was a great opportunity to revisit a great TV film. Be sure to visit our “Exploring: 10 Tangerine Dream Film Soundtracks” round up.
The Park Is Mine is a Canadian-American drama based on the 1981 novel of the same name by Stephen Peters and directed by Steven Hilliard Stern. The film focuses on Vietnam War veteran, Mitch (Tommy Lee Jones), who takes forceful control of Central Park to remember those who served and died in the Vietnam War and draw attention to veterans’ issues. As this wonderful book review by Grady Hendrix points out (beware, plot spoilers): You’ll see elements of other “urban blight” dramas, such as Death Wish (1974), Taxi Driver (1976), The Warriors (1979), Al Pacino’s Crusing (1980), and First Blood (1982), which this was obviously made to cash-in on the runaway success of 1985’s Rambo: First Blood Part II.
But make no mistake: ThePark Is Mine is not some cheapjack Rambo rip-off of the Cirio H. Santiago variety (we love you, Cirio!). This Tommy Lee Jones-led film is, quite frankly, one of the best TV Movie of the ’70s and ’80s ever produced, ranking alongside Richard Crenna’s The Case of the Hillside Strangler (Sam review, R.D Francis review) and Michael Gross and David Soul’s In the Line of Duty: The F.B.I Murders.
The soft and hard cover versions of the best-selling source novel.
In addition to featuring New Zealand-born and Canadian-bred singer Gale Garnett (best known to U.S AM radio listeners for her self-penned, 1964 Grammy-winning folk hit, “We’ll Sing in the Sunshine“), the film also features mainstay Canadian actors Lawrence Dane (1976’s The Clown Murders, top-billing with Hal Holbrook in 1977’s Rituals, 1981’s Scanners and Happy Birthday to Me, 1983’s Of Unknown Origin, and 1987’s Rolling Vengeance), as the ulterior motive-driven Commissioner Keller, and Peter Dvorksy (Harlin the cable tech in 1983’s Videodrome and Dardis in The Dead Zone), as Dix, the sniveling Deputy Mayor. Co-starring with Jones are Yaphet Kotto (Alien) and fellow Canux-actor Helen Shaver (the redneck-trucker romp High-Ballin’ and The Amityville Horror).
Mitch attends the funeral of his former war buddy who jumped from the roof of the veteran’s hospital. Returning to his motel room (his wife, played by Gale Garnett, recently kicked him out of their apartment), Mitch discovers that prior to his friend’s suicide, he mailed him a letter containing a key. The key gives Mitch access to a makeshift ammunition dump in a warehouse, then to another ammo dump in an abandoned sewer grate: his friend spent the last year planning to take over Central Park to raise awareness of Veterans’ issues; however, realizing his war-related cancer was too far advanced and he’d be unable to carry out the attack, he killed himself and “recruited” Mitch for the job.
Mitch accepts and an all Rambo-hell breaks loose in New York. If Travis Bickle had access to explosives and the intelligence to wire-up Central Park—and Tommy Lee’s character had driven a cab—you’d have a Michael Bay-styled action film. If Mitch had taken over a bank, you’d have Dog Day Afternoon (1975). One could also say that if John Carpenter directed, you’d have a pseudo-sequel to Assault on Precinct 13 (1976).
Shaver is the persistent, pain-in-the-ass reporter (think Patricia Clarkson’s Samantha Walker from the 1988 Dirty Harry sequel, The Dead Pool) who sneaks into the park for the “exclusive,” regardless of Mitch’s “message,” while Yaphet Kotto’s Eubanks is the sympathetic, ex-war vet S.W.A.T commander who wants to bring Mitch in before two mercenaries sanctioned by the more-concerned-about his-career deputy mayor go into the park to kill Mitch.
Courtesy of Stern’s understated hand, what we do get: a real, humanized version of Rambo that, unlike Rambo, sells its introspective story regarding the plight of America’s Vietnam veterans—and other “voiceless,” forgotten Americans. It’s all about Stern intelligently toning down the Rambo’d cartoon violence and emphasizing the political angle of the story. Thus, we get a Stern-directed story that’s as good as any of those previously mentioned, New York-set “urban blight” tales.
Other works in Stern’s superior TV movie oeuvre (on U.S TV and cable; in Canada, they ran as theatrical features) are the James Brolin-starring The Ambush Murders (1982), the pre-stardom Tom Hanks-starring Mazes and Monsters (1982), and the Ned Beatty-starring (Ed and His Dead Mother) Hostage Flight (1982).
The film was released in 1985 on VHS by Key Video. It had originally been released on DVD overseas, but not in the United States, outside of grey market VHS and DVD imprints. However, on December 13, 2016, Kino Lorber released the first official Blu-ray Disc and DVD. They also released Jones’s Black Moon Rising and The Executioner’s Song, and Stern’s Death Wish-inspired hicksploitation trucker romp, Rolling Vengeance.
You can watch the full film on You Tube. As the lead comment on the video’s comment section declares: “I remember watching this on HBO (and we all do!) back in the ’80s. This has got to be Tommy Lee Jones’s best acting role.”
And as a You Tube commenter pointed out regarding the soundtrack: “. . . One of the best ‘80s soundtracks I’ve ever heard. These guys will always be the kings of electronic music.”
Indeed.
The Park Is Mine is the sixteenth soundtrack album released by Tangerine Dream and their forty-second album, overall. As with The Keep, its release came years later after its recording, not seeing release until 1991. All of the tracks were composed by Edgar Froese, Christoph Franke, and Johannes Schmoelling.
Prior to entering the world of film restoration and distribution as part of the Kino International family and their The Criterion Collection series serving film aficionados, Lorber was part of 20th Century Fox Studios. As Fox Lorber Features, the studio shingle released their debut film, A Matter of Degrees, in 1990.
We sadly lost Peter Dvorsky in March 2019. Steven Hilliard Stern passed away in June of last year.
*Sam and I share a mutual love of Tangerine Dream. Be sure to surf on over to our collaborative reviews of Tangerine Dream’s Top 10 scores with “Exploring: Ten Tangerine Dream Film Soundtracks.” Here’s the link to the full soundtrack of The Park is Mine.
About the Author: You can read the music and film reviews of R.D Francis on Medium and learn more about his work on Facebook. He also writes for B&S Movies.
Back in the early ’90s, when it came to SOV productions released direct-to-VHS, writer-director Dennis Devine (2020’s Camp Blood 8 and 2019’s The Haunting of La Llorona) was a name you could trust to give you the goods. Problem was, his stuff was impossible to find on video store shelves—surely not at a Blockbuster, but shockingly, not at many, if any, mom ‘n pops. As was the case with most of the ‘80s-’90s SOV canons—even after Christopher Lewis, with Blood Cult, proved you could successfully distribute movies shot direct on 3/4” tape direct to retail-rental outlets—you had to buy Devine’s works via mail order via ads in the back of Famous Monsters. (Well, not Famous Monsters; that was a bit too slick, as I recall. But it was one of those pulpy, black & white horror mags from back in the day.)
Ah, the dot-matrix cover tucked behind the plastic-sleeved clamshell I remember. Our thanks to critcononline.com for preserving it.
So, being a sucker for and a collector of rock ‘n’ roll-oriented films of any genre—including horror—and the fact that all of the pulpy, underground critics raved about Dead Girls—I sent in my little grocery store money order to Something Weird Video (I think it was them; it was one of the those mail-order film studios-distributors). And as is the case with most, if not all, Dennis Devine productions (several of which I picked up over time; to date, he’s directed 31 and wrote 23 films), Dead Girls was a pretty decent flick that lent to replays over succeeding Halloweens. That is, until—as is the case with all mail-order film studios procuring low-grade VHS tapes in multi-packed, shrink-wrapped bricks and churning out copies via high-speed dubbing machines—my copy of Dead Girls caught a bad case of the molds. (And the mold grew . . . and spread to and took out Alice Cooper’s Monster Dog cataloged next to it; why that cataloging? I don’t recall the reasoning that paired the two. I think I was just messy-lazy in my alphabettin’.)
If only Dow came up with a video tape cleaner!
So, why am I waxing nostalgically sad over an admittedly obscure ‘80s (well, ’90s) SOV? Well, we have to blame Sammy P, B&S About Movies Chief Cook and Bottle Washer (again, I am just the fry cook, grease bit scrubber, and dumpster pad cleaner around ‘ere) for reviewing ALL of the Scream movies (in one week; the last week of August/first week of September) and yeath proclaiming all review slots for the month of October be forth dedicated to Slasher Movies—so say we all (moan) from under our cloak and cowls (and fedoras, hee hee). And since fans of the horror blockbuster Scream, which itself is a mock-slasher parody-homage, will recognize the plotline similarity to Dead Girls, which was completed several years prior to the later, 1996 Wes Craven hit, we’re reviewing it. So thanks, Mr. P! (For the uninitiated: Scream had deaths according to horror movies; Dead Girls had kills by songs.)
Yeah, I love it when the analog stars align at B&S About Movies and inspire a review. I wonder if Dennis Devine will drop us a pissy note in our “Feedback” section, decrying us for “how dare” we review their masterpieceshite without “permission” forthwith. . . . Nah, Double D’s not a maniacal, “Oscar bound” auteur. And his stuff isn’t shite. Oops, I’m getting pissy and off point, again. DOWN BOY! Good boy. . . . (Sorry, I’m letting those thin-skinned, self-financed via Kickstarer “next Tarantinos” of the digital age get to me.)
Who da frack are these girls? That’s not Diana, Angela Eads, Kay, and Angela Scaglione . . . wait, is it? Curse you, art department!
The retail-rental slipcase reissue that I don’t remember/courtesy of 112 Video via Paul Zamerelli of VHS Collector.com.
So, anyway . . . the Dead Girls are a female death metal band . . . but their low-grade rock is neither “death” nor “metal” and reminds of the Cycle Sluts from Hell . . . remember CSFH’s freak, ‘90s metal-parody hit “I Wish You Were a Beer” . . . and its members Queen Vixen, She-Fire of Ice, Honey 1%’er, and Venus Penis Crusher . . . only the Dead Girls aren’t that good . . . where’s Gord Kirchin’s gag-studio project Piledriver (music newly featured in Girls Just Want to Have Blood) when you need ‘em?
Anyway, I digress . . . the Dead Girls come complete with the “evil aliases” of—an idea that, I bet Brian Warner, aka Marilyn Manson, swiped (just kiddin’ Manson, had to work your aliases-band into the review)—Lucy Lethal, Randy Rot (the male “pussy” of the group on drums; brother of lead singer Ms. Lethal), Bertha Beirut, Nancy Napalm and Cindi Slain. Their collective shticks, which we learn through journalistic expositional babble (ugh): Cindi Slain (aka ex-magician-illusionist Susie Striker) is into self-eviseration, Bertha Beirut likes to strangle herself on stage with the American flag, and Nancy Nepalm is the para-military “Lemmy” of the group; a “weapons expert” who adorns herself in camo and “live” ammo-bullet belts and jaggling explosives as she slings a custom “machine gun guitar” (on loan from mid-’80s Alice Cooper guitarist Kane Roberts).
Of course, “death rock” is “on the way out” (don’t tell that to King Diamond and Cronos of Venom), with their manager urging them into a more “commercial” Into the Pandemonium-to-Cold Lake Celtic Frost fuckover as he sends the girls into the “Cherry Orchards” (no pun intended, I swear!) and be the friggin’ the Go-Go’s with friggin’ Wall of Voodoo covers. Do you remember when the record executives eviscerated Motley Crue’s collective gunny sacks and went from Shout at the Devil bondage leathers to day-glow the Bangles biker pastels, stopped singing about Satan and gave us songs about girls and friggin’ motorcycles and doctors and “going home” ad nauseam, ala Poison? Yeah, like that . . . all the world needs another “Clowns,” by golly! Or maybe we’ll get lucky and Artie the manager (Brian Chin, who became a voice actor then became an animation storyboard artist) will turn them into Vixen and rock us with “Edge of a Broken Heart” or Lita Ford with “Kiss Me Deadly,” perhaps? Nah, Artie’s a dipshite who thinks touring the warzones of Russian-occupied Yugoslavia is a smart career move.
Kane Roberts; courtesy of Floyd Rose.com/Celtic Frost; Metal Addicts.com.
As was the case with the dippy-dopey Champaign, Illinois, new-wave poppers the Names not finding any success until they transformed themselves into a low-rent Kiss-cum-Phantom of the friggin’ Opera (not) “metal” band the Clowns slicing up mannequins in Terror on Tour (Am I the only one who remembers “Lonely” and the Queensryche-ish album Transcendence from the phantom half-masked Crimson Glory hailing from the metal wilds of Tampa, Florida?), the gals of the Dead Girls weren’t finding much success with their dippy-dopey, new-wave synth-droning, so they went (not) death “metal,” complete with images of death that were devised as a marketing gimmick to sell records—no one was supposed to take them seriously, so says lead lyricist, sweet Gina Verilli, aka Bertha Beirut. (Now, I know this is sexist, but I got those boilin’ hormones—actress Diana Karanikas (as Gina) is the most heart weeping, prefect mix of “hot” and “cute” to ever bless the screen. And she friggin’ quit the biz after this film. Heartbreaking. Also quitting, after doing Things II for Devine: Angela Eads as Dana/Lucy Lethal; is it just me, or does she look like the perpetual Lifetime damsel-in-distress Alexandra Paul of Christinefame? Just sayin’.)
Anyway, the (coke) mirror, that is, “image” cracks when a group of teenagers, led by Gina’s sister Brooke (sexy/creepy Ilene B. Singer in her only film role; why did everyone quit the biz after this movie) commit a mass suicide to the soundtrack of the Dead Girls. Uh, oh. Career over? Nay, it’s time to hop into the Mystery Machine, Shaggy! We need recuperate Sam Raimi-style in the not-so Norwegian Wood. (Speaking of the Beatles . . . and death rock, did you ever hear Coroner’s cover of the Beatles’ “I Want You (She’s So Heavy),” well, you just did.)
Hmmmm . . . seems someone in the Dead Girls band camp paid attention to the James Vance and Ray Belknap Judas Priest “subliminal suicides” of 1986 (which became an hour-long PBS segment, Dream Deceivers in 1992) and the three Ozzy Osbourne heavy metal suicide trials of 1985 to 1990. (Dream Deceivers is on You Tube; you can find Ozzy trial clips HERE and HERE.)
Anyway . . . yeppers, it’s more dopey rockers of the Blood Tracks and Monster Dog variety driving right into the mayhem as they head off to a secluded country retreat for rest and relaxation—and for Gina to take care of her sole-surviving sister, much to the chagrin of her bible thumpin’ aunt who cared for them after their parents died in a car crash. (That’s gratitude; Auntie takes you in, gives you room and board; you form a death metal band in spite; while little sis has metal posters on the walls.) Oh, and get this: Gina has E.S.P abilities, so she foresees all this coming . . . but still goes to the wooden retreat (fuck, not Spine, again?) . . . where, in a Friday the 13th twist, a psychotic fan—cloaked in a black cape, fedora, and skull mask (the “Scream” part) goes “Billy Eye Harper” and unfurls the Rocktober Blood, murdering managers, boyfriends, fans, and musicians in short order, using the lyrics as a “how to” guide.
Although the script indicates lyrics to songs such as “Drown Your Sorrows,” “Nail Gun Murders,” “Hangman,” “Angel of Death” and “You’ve Got to Kill Yourself,” none of the songs appear in the film, nor does the band perform on screen. So, while we’re denied the “death metal,” what sets this Devine production heads and shoulders heads above most (well, all other) SOVs is that make-up wizard Gabe Bartolos, who also worked on the Basket Case and Leprechaun film series, handles the special effects and gives us a film that is as fun as—and significantly better than, but not as revered as, the rock ‘n’ horror, “No False Metal” classics that are Rock ‘n’ Roll Nightmare and Shock ‘Em Dead. All in all, Devine’s go-to scribe, Steve Jarvis (Things II and a dozen other Devine productions), gives us decent film noirish twists, double crosses, dream-within-dream fuck yous, floppin’ red herrings (bitchy aunts, pussy-whipped uncles, creepy preachers in need of an eyebrow trim, Christian ex-boyfriends, mentally-challenged caretakers, Yugoslavian reporters, graduates from the Josef Mengele School of Nursing, pseudo-lesbian uber fans, beefcake bodyguards, Ms. Lethal and Mr. Rot are into incest and bondage), and you-didn’t-see-that-coming moments to keep you entertained.
Now, remember in our review of Spine, when I mentioned a fellow con-freak discussion where I “learned” that star Janus Blythe was “in the running” for the Janet-role on ABC-TV’s Three’s Company and “lost out” on the part of Lynn Starling in Rocktober Blood? Well, in a con-conversation about Dead Girls: I also “learned” that the reason you never heard from any of these actresses ever again—sans one, maybe two, Dennis Devine flicks—is that all of these actresses were actually incognito adult film stars, you know, like Michelle Bauer (Beverly Hills Vamp! Witch Academy! Evil Toons! Sorority Babes in the Slime Bowl-o-Rama!), who aka’d as adult star Pia Snow, and Linnea Quigley, who aka’d as adult star Jessie Dalton (Linnea’s out with two new ones: The Good Things Devils Do and Clownado). As with the Janus Blythe rumor: I can’t confirm these assumed adult identities, if any, of the cast of Dead Girls.
And since we’re dredging up all of these old movies, let’s talk The Redeemer (aka The Redeemer: Son of Satan, aka VHS Class Reunion Massacre; You Tube/trailer)*. You’ll recall that masked killer dispatched victims wearing . . . a skull mask under a cape and cowl (sans fedora). So, while horror connoisseurs call out Wes Craven for “pinching” Dead Girls, can we call out the Dennis Devine-Steve Jarvis-Gabe Bartolos collective borrowing the skull mask idea from Constantine S. Gochis (Cochis shot it in ’75 and released it in ’78, so it predates Carpenter’s Halloween)? Just sayin’.
And major kudos to the gang at The VHS Apocalypse over on You Tube for taking the time to rip those faux hard-rock ditties of the SOV-era and uploading them. Here’s the Dead Girls end-credits tune “You’re Gonna Kill Yourself” to enjoy.
And alright! You Tube comes through in the clutch! I haven’t watched Dead Girls in years (f-you, mold.) But I am now with a very nice, clean VHS-rip courtesy of The Burial Ground 5. (BG5’s got 1974’s Corpse Eaters? 1988’s Brainsucker? Yes! Now, that’s a motherf-in’ Halloween double-feature right there!)
And now . . . while we are on the subject of obscure tunes from obscure films—in this case, 1989’s Twister—that no one has heard or seen sidebar: Bless you, William Gibson You Tube, for VHS-ripping Crispin Glover’s “band” the Uncalled Four and their downer-rocker “Dance Etiquette (Daddy’s So Mean)” off the film’s end credits. But here’s the scene where it was featured. (Crispin, what in the hell did your daddy, Bruce, do to you? Just kiddin’. Let’s get a beer!)
The schlub writer sucking up for acting work sidebar: Mr. Devine, I act. And I have a reel. Could I be in one of your movies? (Did you think I wrote this review out of the goodness of my heart? Nope. Pure sucking up for acting work!)
Day 4: Hunkered Down: One with recluses, shut-in or people locked inside their home.
And down another SOV wormhole we go, with a little bit of Sam Raimi’s Evil Dead (1981) and, at first it seems, we’re also frolicking down the kiddie-centric, orange-and-yellow candy corn road with Roy Ward Baker’s The Monster Club (1981) and Fred Dekker’s The Monster Squad (1987).
A cross between Raimi and Spielbergian horror? What in the Sam Hell are you on about now, Mr. Francis?
Courtesy of Critical Condition, aka critcononline.com.
Well, look at the ol’ cardboard slipcase artwork. You got the word “Evil” and “Wood” in the title—and a ghoul is reading a book. And that ain’t Hervé Jean-Pierre Villechaize (Come on, dude, Tattoo? Remember?) lookin’ up over that library counter. Ah, should we also blame Wolfgang Petersen for making The NeverEnding Story (1984)?
Nah, there’s no way Wolfie could have known that his English-language film debut would lead to the “spooky” tales of the “Wild-Eye Southern Boys” of Mildew, Georgia.
Noah “Boxey” Hathaway? No, that’s Brian Abent in his only acting role as Billy Hanes.
So, what’s Evil in the Woods all about? And is the book due back on “Friday the 13th,” as well? Yes, as a matter of fact, it is! (Yuk! Yuk!)
But, first . . . how we got here. . . .
“Oh, shite. R.D’s going off the rails on another non sequitur, tangent-strewn frolic,” face squinches Drive-In Asylum‘s Bill Van Ryn. “Can’t you get your writing staff under control, Sam?”
“Just let him be, Bill,” surrenders Sam Panico, B&S About Movies’ proprietor. “I’ll go take a piss. You get the sandwiches ready. By the time our bladders are empty and our stomachs are full, he’ll be done.”
“Ahem,” throat clears R.D. “I’m standing right friggin’ here!”
Anyway, Sam ye by proclaimed, henceforth, that all reviews slots for the month of October would be dedicated to slasher (and, since I break all of the journalism rules, horror) films. And I had Evil in the Woods on my SOV “must reviews” short list, next in line after Curse of the Blue Lights (reviewed for “Vampire Week” that ran September 6 through 12). And I have this savant thing with film credits (and album liner notes). I can’t remember mathematic formulas or load-bearing charts, but . . . anyway, it’s my curse (that Sam puts to good use, so it’s not all in vain). So, during research for my review of the Atlanta, Georgia-shot Those Who Deserve to Die by Kino International’s Bret Wood, I learned of his developing work in the burgeoning field of podcast dramas—and his most recent, iHeartMedia podcast drama, “Mercury: A Broadcast of Hope,” stars local Atlanta (now adult) actress Jennifer Bates.
No, it can’t be. There’s a “Jennifer Bates” starring as little Alieen Pierson in the Atlanta-shot Evil in the Woods. . . .
My pubescent training ground: I kicked ass in this board game based on the ’70s NBC-TV daytime game show/courtesy of boardgamegeek.com.
So, that’s that story. That’s just how the analog-celluloid stars align at B&S About Movies.
“Wow, that actually wasn’t so bad, R.D,” says Bill Van Ryn offering me a turkey-on-rye, with double mayo and mustard.
“Sam, can I have an RC Cola, please.”
“I’ll get Becca right on that. But is an A&W okay?”
And now, back to the movie. . . .
So. . . little Billy Hanes checks out the lone copy of the historical “story book,” Evil in the Woods from his local library. He immediately takes the book home and, as he begins to read . . . anthology movie alert . . . anthology movie alert (well, sorta-kinda) . . . he enters the strange world of Mildew, Georgia (yes, as in the stuff you attack with Dow Scrubbing Bubbles . . . and no, there is no such place, we got Google over here!).
Scrubbing out evil, one spore at a time!
And Billy learns the tale of a low-budget film crew in the year of 1956, as they travel into the Southern wilds of Mildew, Georgia, to shoot their sci-fi horror schlock-a-piece, Bigfoot vs. The Space Killers. And wouldn’t you know it: the Cormanites stumble into Wes Craven’s The Hills Have Eyes (wooded, not desert) enclave of an evil witch and her cannibalistic family (aka hunkered down recluses and shut-ins, ahem, Scarecrow overloards) who overlord rural monsters driven by a 3,030 year-old force (do the “666” multiples math) . . . that goes by the name of Ida! (Insert snickers, here). Yes, beware of Ida! Where’s Abby when you her? Seriously? Ida?
So, what we have here—regardless of the ominous music and wooded National Geographic photography of the (effective) opening credits (seen below in sans of a trailer)—not an ominous Raimi romp, but a spoof of low budget “B” movies that is going for “camp classic” status—with awful acting, scripting, props, and cinematography that is either “on purpose” to make it “look bad” and become a cult classic—or a film with awful acting, scripting, props, and cinematography that is so rife with ineptitude that it fails in achieving camp classic status.
And, since we are dealing with a Spielbergian kid reading and telling us “the story” (via a goofy narrator’s voice; I guess Vincent Price was busy filming 1987’s The Whales of August with Bette Davis and Lillian Gish), there’s no “Raimi,” since the film is devoid of sex, swearing, violence, and nudity. But we do get rubbery Spirit Halloween SFX (but, truth be told, some of the “non-violent” low-budget gore isn’t that bad), a scruffy throw rug sasquatch, a rotten corpse, a burnt arm, midgets, aliens and, again, the witch and her cannibal offspring who, I might add: kidnap a kid who runs off into the woods from his camper parents, and he ends boiled into a youth elixir. Oh, and the town sheriff—as is always the case with these backwoods horrors (see Equinox)—is in on the take, so no one ever escapes Ida’s wrath. Oh, and since the book is cursed—yep, you guessed it, the librarian is also in on it—little Billy Hanes turns into a ghoul after he’s done with the book!
Yeah, the curse of Ida is a gift that just keeps on giving with a book that just keeps on adding “chapters.” So much for the Spielbergian Baker-Dekker-Petersen criticisms. To say this SOV’er is completely out-of-left-field, bat-shite, everything-and-the-kitchen sink, crazy-ass bonkers is an understatement. Oh, William J. Oates, how ye wish you wrote and directed another movie.
And, what we want to know, Mr. Oates: Is this a Christian horror movie? Our sources can’t confirm it, but as someone who’s attended his share of “Christian Haunted Houses” at the local fire ‘n brimstone Baptist watering hole of my youth, it sure seems as such. In my kid and teendom, never ever once did I meet a “funny” pastor or bible teacher who could tickle a funny bone with their lame attempts at humor to make the bible palpable to young ears. For there’s nothing worse than a pastor or bible teacher—with an acoustic guitar and a wife who vocal-cracks hunchbacked accompaniment over 88 keys—who sings parody songs about why the Sadducees “were sad.” And, when he offers guitar lessons, teaches you how to play friggin’ “Baby Beluga” and “Michael Rode the Boat Ashore.” (You’d rather a Tobin Bell torture-porn sessions on all accounts, trust me.)
And, what is with all the child abuse-neglect in the films I watched this week? First, it’s Juliet Mills’s utter parental failure of leaving two kids in an open convertible while she goes food shopping in Beyond the Door (1974) (screened a couple weeks ago via another Drive-In Asylum Saturday Night Double Feature Watch Party, thanks Bill!). Now, we have a backpacked-kid wandering the big city streets. I mean, a latchkey kid is sad enough (Queen Crab), but this kid wandering about downtown Atlanta is outright upsetting—goofy, kiddie synth-rock be damned.
What did Billy do to deserve to be turned into a monster-ghoul at the end? As far as I can tell, poor Billy is a latchkey kid whose parents are M.I.A and he has no siblings to pick him up from school (or, if he does, they don’t care and pick on him), so, to fight the loneliness, Billy hides out at the local book repository until dinner time—that is, assuming, his either career-driven parents, divorced-waitress mom, or drunk n’ stoned mom and abusive step-dad are even around to make him dinner.
Poor kid. You didn’t deserve this life or fate, little Billy. You probably get stuck straw-slurping Campbell’s Pea Soup out of can for dinner like little Ken Barrett in Beyond the Door and have to befriend crustaceans like little Melissa in Brett Piper’s Queen Crab.
Ugh. Another You Tube-posted trailer bites the dust.
Amazingly, of all of the “lost” films out there that are not available for streaming or issued on DVD* . . . Evil in the Woods can be, for the low cost of $2.99, courtesy of Full Moon Entertainment on Amazon Prime. And, I would like to extend my formal apologies to our readers in the United Kingdom for this U.S. crapula being offered in your country via Amazon Prime U.K. (You’ve been warned, mate.) And yes, Full Moon also offers it as a DVD—sans a commentary track, which would have really been appreciated, as we’d love to know more about the five-Ws behind this SOV lost boy from the mind of the M.I.A auteur that is William J. Oates.
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