Posts Tagged With: Rock’n’Roll

The Decline Of Western Civilisation, Part IV… WE SUMMON THE DARKNESS Reviewed

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DVD. Region 2. Signature Entertainment. 15.

Glendower: I can call the spirits from the vasty deep.
Hotspur: Why, so can I, or so can any man; But will they come, when you do call for them? Henry IV, Part 1: Act 3 by William Shakespeare.

“Summon demons? I have a hard enough time summoning myself out of fucking bed every morning!” Ozzy Osbourne.

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The coronavirus lockdown has had minimal effect on life here at Oak Mansion, given that we hardly ever go out anyway. Here’s another reason to be grateful for the fact that I haven’t been invited to any wild parties since some time during the middle of the last Century, in the shape of Marc Meyers’ We Summon The Darkness (2019).

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A trio of Little Mix lookalike rock sluts (Alessandra Daddario, Maddie Hasson and Amy Forsyth) drive around Hicksville USA (actually Winnipeg in Canada) en route to a “Soldiers For Satan” gig in the late 1990s, which means that mobile phones can’t necessarily be relied upon to rescue them from any kind of jam they night get into. Cute girls have been getting into trouble going to shock rock gigs ever since Phyllis and Mari’s ill advised trip to see Bloodlust in 1972 but this trio seem oblivious to the mounting radio and TV reports of recent ritual slayings (“a Satanic cult burning its way through America’s heartland” according to media evangelist Johnny Knoxville). They even ignore the warnings of the “Crazy Ralph” type guy in the convenience store (below), who tells them that they “seem like nice girls”. Yeah, whatever…

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At the gig, the girls are picked up by a seemingly amiable bunch of Beavis & Butthead types (Keean Johnson, Logan Miller and Austin Swift) and everybody adjourns back to Daddario’s parents’ place for a bit of alcohol and drug-enhanced hows-your-father (“… a night that we’re going to remember for years!”) The big twisteroo kicks in at about the half hour mark, though if you’d been paying sufficient attention to the clues accumulating in the film’s dialogue, you probably saw it coming. The revelation of the bad guys’ motives scores a satirical point or two while making nary a lick of narrative sense. Alan Trezza’s screenplay oscillates uneasily between Horror and Comedy but Meyers keeps the improbable action rolling along engagingly enough. It’s beautifully shot by Tarin Anderson (whose work would look even better on BD release, though there’s no sign of that) and the leads are sufficiently photogenic to hold your attention.

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Daddario just has to unleash those big peepers and… well, “the dreams of a man in his old age are the deeds of a man in his prime”, to quote the lyrics of an obscure Pink Floyd track. I’m always quoting the lyrics of obscure Prog Rock tracks, a personality trait that’s probably not entirely unconnected with the fact that I don’t get invited to parties anymore. It would be a fine thing indeed to reconnect with the lithe limbed, loose livin’ lovelies of one’s youth… but will they come, when we do call for them? Nah, didn’t think so…

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Extras: None that I’m currently aware of. But you might find the following instructive…

 

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Creatures From The Cack Lagoon… THE HORROR OF PARTY BEACH Reviewed

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Who ate all the hot dogs?

BD. Severin. Region Free. Unrated.

“…and you’ll never hear surf music again!”  – James Marshall Hendrix.

Somebody… I don’t quite recall who it was… maybe Celine (one of those light-hearted guys, anyway)… once said that “if you want to see people at their most desperate, watch them while they are enjoying themselves”… something along those lines, anyway. Bear these sage words in mind as you watch the bikini babes and gym bunnies busting their best beach party moves to the melodious tones of The Del-Aires in “The First Horror-Monster Musical”, The Horror Of Party Beach.

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“Everybody do The Zombie Stomp… You bring your foot down with an awful bomp!”(Beginning to get the picture?)

This, er, distinctive creature feature, directed by Del Tenney (aka “Connecticut’s own Ed Wood”)  first entered my consciousness as one of The Fifty Worst Movies Of All Time, so designated by Harry Medved in his influential 1978 book of that title. I’m grateful to Severin for the arrival (with an awful bomp) of this fine BD edition and the opportunity to finally see for myself if THOPB lives up / down to Medved’s estimation.

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Hunky Hank Green (John Scott) is certainly having a hard time enjoying himself at The Del-Aires’ beach gig. His wildcat girlfriend Tina (Marilyn Clarke, the Ruby Wax lookalike pictured above) taunts him about his dweebish devotion to Science and when a bunch of bikers turns up she starts flirting outrageously with them, leading to a rumble that’s almost as badly choreographed as the dance routines (incidentally, Tenney appeared as an extra in Laslo Benedek’s seminal The Wild One, 1953). Serves Tina right when she’s the first to get mutilated and murdered by one of the mutant fishmen spawned after the casual dumping of radioactive waste into Stamford’s bay.

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The situation escalates rapidly as two fish men gatecrash a rather tame sorority sleepover party (folk songs, hair combing, pillow fights) and kill twenty girls (the bloody aftermath of this attack, routinely cut from TV broadcasts and many VHS releases, has been restored here in all its gory glory by Severin). It’s readily apparent that the budget only stretched to two fishmen costumes but some nifty split screen work increases their ranks to six at certain salient moments. During the “climactic” confrontation, various extras with sacks over their heads provide unconvincing fishman backup, with Tenney obviously figuring that you won’t notice this if he cuts quickly enough. Suffice to say, he doesn’t cut quickly enough.

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But we’re getting ahead of ourselves… Hanks finds a new love interest in the more deserving, shapely shape of Elaine (Alice Lyon), daughter of Dr Gavin (Allan Laurel). This guy’s got all manner of preposterous theories about how the fishmen were spawned and what to do about them. Personally (call me a stickler), I can’t give much credence to any scientist incapable of pronouncing the word “protein” correctly, but Dr G has definitely hit on something when he speculates that the Party Beach horrors might react adversely to sodium (bit like throwing salt on the slugs in your back garden… one of Mrs F’s favourite activities, by the way). You might well think that the required element would be shipped in, lickety split, by the military but no… Hank has to jump into his sports car, drive over to NYC and jolly well buy some sodium (?!?) After a few bags of that have been chucked around the monsters disintegrate into fizzing piles of goo and the world is saved forever from the perils of irresponsible nuclear technology. If only…

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Extras (aside from the inevitable trailer) include an archival interview with the late Del Tenney, an agreeable bloke who expresses himself satisfied with what he’d achieved in life. His widow Margot Hartman appears in Dan Weaver’s retrospective documentary Return to Party Beach. Surviving Del-Aires Bobby Osborne and Ronnie Linares (who’ve got a great future as teen idols behind them) reminisce, knock out a few numbers and test the water re a possible comeback. In the featurette Shock & Roll, film maker Tim Sullivan agues that “horror movies are to movies what rock’n’roll is to music” and based upon this persuasive proposition, mounts an entertaining survey of Rock & Roll Horror Movies.

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As ever, Severin have come up with an appropriate assortment of marketing knick-knacks and indeed gee-gaws to accompany this release and if you’re planning on hosting your own Beach Party this Christmas, check out their Bundle of Party Beach, which includes an Inflatable Beach Ball and an Enamel Pin with which to burst it. Personally, this dancin’ fool could do with one of those dance step diagrams to work on my Zombie Stomp but hey, you can’t have everything…

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