Posts Tagged With: Satanism

Bad Day At Red Stone… THE DEVIL’S RAIN Reviewed

21766705_10155903316181454_361287096128806737_n.jpg

BD. Regions A/B/C. Severin. Unrated.

Publicity for the US release of Dario Argento’s super-stylish Suspiria (1977) made prominent use of the line: “The only thing more terrifying than the last 12 minutes of this film are the first 80”, from which prospective viewers could only have drawn the perverse and erroneous conclusion that Argento’s Horror tour-de-force ended on a note of anti-climax. The publicity campaign for the seventh feature outing by another noted stylist, Robert Fuest’s The Devil’s Rain (1975), made no such error, insisting that it packed “absolutely the most incredible ending of any motion picture ever!” For their characteristically lush BD revisit, Severin take a scarcely less rabid tack, promising “the most eye-popping, flesh-melting finale in grindhouse history”. So, does the ending of The Devil’s Rain live up to those billings? Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves… Fuest things first…

0*XPGLHJLQSqhzTH4L.jpg

After a Bosch backed title sequence, TDT throws us abruptly, in the best Shakespearian tradition, into the thick of its action and leaves us struggling to work out what the Hell is going on. In a remote desert dwelling, Mrs Preston (legendary film noir actress / director Ida Lupino) and her son Mark (William Shatner, filling in time before the Star Trek revival and putting in his customary… broad… performance) open their door to find an agitated daddy Preston insisting that somebody named Corbis wants his book back, before rapidly disintegrating into a rancid pool of goo on the porch.

The-Devils-Rain-3-1333x1000.jpg

At this point I was expecting a quick cut to Diana Rigg receiving a message that reads: “Mrs Peel, we’re needed”… too clever dick by half on my part, as although Bob Fuest production designed very early (pre-Honor Blackman) episodes of The Avengers and directed several in the final series, when Linda Thorson had replaced Diana Rigg, he never worked on any in the Emma Peel era… more’s the pity.

devils-rain-4.jpg

Anyway, back in the desert Shatner hot foots it over to Red Stone for a confrontation with Corbis, in the Saturnine form of a brilliantly cast Ernest Borgnine (it couldn’t have taken too many hours of make-up to turn him into a randy old goat). Under a glowering sky they enact Fuest’s little tribute to John Sturges’ Bad Day At Black Rock (1955) before repairing inside a clapped out, boarded up wooden church whose interior reveals a groovy stained glass window, various Satanic paraphernalia and pew-loads of hooded, chanting acolytes with empty black eye sockets. Borgnine swaps his cowboy threads for a crimson robe and their battle of faiths begins in earnest. Truth be told, it’s a bit of a one-sided battle and Mark is soon himself reduced to the status of empty eyed Satan fodder.

Devils-Rain.jpg

It’s Captain Kirk… but not as we know him.

Meanwhile his brother-in-law Tom (Tom Skerritt) is attending a scientific demonstration of his wife Julie (Joan Prather’s) psychic powers, presided over by Dr Sam Richards (Eddie Albert). In the course of this she experiences visions of what’s going on at Red Stone so everybody heads over there in an attempt to save Mark and Mrs Preston, setting up the climactic battle between Good and Evil and the Burman’s much touted goo spouting, Play-Do vomiting finale…

maxresdefault-1.jpg

Fuest felt himself to be on a mission to “smuggle Art into Product” and although The Devil’s Rain affords him nothing like as many opportunities to do this as his Phibes brace or  The Final Programme (1973) there are some startling moments herein, e.g. when Julie stares into the empty sockets of a devil worshipping drone and finds herself in the midst of a sepia-tinted flashback to Puritan times which explains (or purports to explain) what’s going on with that book of bloody signatures, the cauldron of souls and all manner of other bewildering stuff. In retrospect, it occurs to me that this sequence exerted a big influence over the opening one to Lucio Fulci’s gothic gore mini-masterpiece The Beyond (1981).

The-Devils-Rain-1975-2.jpg

That the above-mentioned devil worshipping drone is played by unrecognisable movie debutant John Travolta (whose then room-mate Prather got him this role and also converted him to the cause of Scientology) is just one of the esoteric footnotes to The Devil’s Rain, the authenticity of whose Satanic ceremonies was ensured by the participation, in a consultancy role, of Anton LaVey, founder and high priest of The Church Of Satan. You also see him, golden-masked, at Borgnine’s elbow during significant ritual moments.

Devils-Rain-1024x470.jpg

Much is made of LaVey’s participation in this disc’s extensive bonus materials (apparently “approved by Lucifer himself!”), including interviews with his biographer Blanche Barton, also Peter H. Gilmore and Peggy Nadramia, the Church’s current high priest / priestess. The consensus which emerges is that LaVey had a ball making The Devil’s Rain and got on famously with everybody while doing so, but wasn’t crazy about the finished film and would probably have been prouder of appearing in one of Lupino’s noir efforts. Further interviews follow with Skerritt, FX technician Tom Burman, pundit Daniel Roebuck and a short, contemporary one with Shatner. As well as her reminiscences, we get to see the on set Polaroids taken by script supervisor Ana Maria Quintana and of course the expected trailers, TV and radio spots are present and correct.b3-24-78.jpgThere’s also an invaluable 2005 audio commentary with Fuest (who passed away in 2012), mediated by Marcus Hearn. The director is every bit as distractedly eccentric as I remember from my own brief meeting with him. He frequently seems to tune out of the conversation, only to admit to Hearn that he’s getting wrapped up in watching his film. They still manage to cover his career in reasonable depth and it’s interesting to learn that after doing the Phibes movies, he turned down the chance to direct Vincent Price again in the thematically similar Theater Of Blood, though he makes a point of praising the job Douglas Hickox did on that in 1973. He declares his philosophy of production design to be “anything to disturb the eye” and refutes, in passing, the claim (originating in Cinefantastique magazine) that he suffered a nervous breakdown while making the picture under consideration here. Fuest reveals that much of the “most incredible ending of any motion picture ever” was shot by a second unit and that he finds it “like some sort of wake… it goes on and on… you could take about 20 minutes of that stuff out!” His keenness to make what is already a pretty pacey movie into something even pacier (perhaps it was Fuest’s extensive TV experience that influenced his apparent desire to constrain things within something like an hour’s running time) is evident when he attributes TDR’s “unrelenting” momentum to an apprehension that “if you stop to think about it too much, you get into trouble”.

 

devilsrainmelt.jpg

Fuest’s Faustian folly is indeed a gloriously senseless, massively entertaining mess of a movie. What a cast! What a visionary director! What a fantastic release by Messrs Daft &  Gregory, doing what they do best… rescuing cinematic oddities that have fallen into disregard or indifference from late night screenings on obscure standard definition channels and affording them definitive HD restorations, with a crop of boss extras to boot. Hail Severin!

images.jpegTheDevilsRain_030.jpg

when Bobs collide... copy.jpg

When Bobs collide… Freudstein & Fuest at Manchester’s third annual Festival Of Fantastic Films in October 1992.

 

Advertisements
Categories: Blu-ray / DVD Reviews | Tags: , , | Leave a comment

Tracey Beaker Meets The Exorcist: SUFFER LITTLE CHILDREN Reviewed

sufferlittlechildrenbanner.jpg

DVD. Region Free. Intervision (Severin). 18.

“This picture is a reconstruction of events which took place at 45 Kingston Road, New Malden in August 1984…” we are informed by the portentous introductory voice over to Alan Briggs’ notorious meisterwerk Suffer Little Children: “These events were never reported in the press. The house is now derelict and scheduled for demolition.” The events in question, as shakily reconstructed on state-of-the-art (in 1983 terms, anyway) VHS camcorder, are initiated by the arrival of a young mute girl named Elizabeth (Nicola Diana), at the Sullivan Children’s Home. No sooner has she arrived than various nasty accidents start befalling the other residents. “First things first… Basil’s in intensive care!” emotes their custodian Jenny (Ginny Rose)… poor Basil, he fell down the stairs. Another child has a door telekinetically slammed in her face. To the further consternation of Jenny and her sidekick Maurice (Colin Chamberlain), household objects begin levitating unconvincingly and there’s soon more wobbly furniture in motion than at an MFI clearance sale. Nobody seems to notice that these events coincide with Elizabeth getting pissed off with people.

DIwa0B0XcAACR4E.jpg

Matters escalate further when former resident, now pop star Mick Philips (Jon Holland) visits and starts romancing Jenny (by taking her to Cloudbursts, an appalling night club packed with plastic punks and nerdy New Romantics). Lovelorn Maurice takes this very badly but not nearly as badly as Elizabeth, who seems to have conceived some kind of Satanic schoolgirl crush on the guy (improbably so, Mick resembling nothing more than a refugee from a bad Kajagoogoo tribute band.) By arranging for some poorly made-up living deadsters to erupt from an allotment (on account of which scene I suffered a particularly unpleasant flashback to Zombies Lake… or was it Oasis Of The Zombies?), Elizabeth manages to recruit two female lieutenants to her burgeoning cult.

SufferLittleChildrenstill2.png

The situation at Sullivan’s continues to degenerate. A jolly party descends into an unseemly punch-up, then 12 of the home’s kids nearly drown simultaneously during a visit to their local swimming baths (we have to take this on trust as SLC’s budget didn’t stretch to an actual depiction of this traumatic moment.) Elizabeth and her minions throw some kind of candle lit ritual in the cellar, chanting “Come Devil Come!” and Elizabeth orders them (in her best Mercedes McCambridge tones) to take out “the Christ worshippers!” Several enthusiastic but unconvincing stabbings ensue. This outbreak of Grand Guignol (accompanied by inept heavy metal music and sufficient strobing to induce an epileptic episode in an elephant) is only nipped in the bud when Christ himself, in full crown of thorns (I’m not making this up, honest) intercedes personally to zap Elizabeth with disappointingly under-rendered  bolts of righteous Godly fury. Jenny gets a final screaming freeze frame, reminiscent of  Hilary Dwyer’s in Witchfinder General and Daria Nicolodi’s in Tenebrae.

DIwa2VLWAAAaKHi.jpg

Speaking of  Argento, SLC’s mix of paranormal schoolgirl shenanigans and inappropriate heavy metal accompaniment could conceivably be cited as a precursor to his Phenomena (though a lot of people probably wouldn’t thank it for that, either.) “Suffer you bastards, suffer!” we are advised during the interminable racket of (whatever happened to?) Jlaada’s playout music  before puzzling random shot repeats bring the shambolic proceedings to a welcome close.

The house where this sub-Italia Conti take on “Tracey Beaker meets The Exorcist” was filmed did indeed get demolished (by a fire, apparently, though I’ve been unable to establish whether this was on account of an angry god fearing mob… or even an angry God himself) and allegedly a car park now stands in the place it once occupied. As for “Never reported in the press”, though… they wish! Nothing in this am-dram Horror epic could have prepared its creators for the sham dram that unfolded in the nation’s tabloids, once they had picked up the first sniff of a scandal from that redoubtable local organ, The Surrey Comet.  “This movie was made by the students of Meg Shanks Drama School” one of its poorly generated credits tells us: “They had no experience and no money, just determination and guts”… and boy, the intestinal fortitude of all concerned would be sorely tested over the coming months!

SufferLittleChildren_Featured-735x525.jpg

Said kerfuffle is masterfully related by a strikingly handsome, witty and charismatic “video nasty”  historian in the bonus featurette Seducing The Gullible. This boy should go far. In his interview, director Alan Briggs reveals his past as a rock music promoter / huckster, which must have stood him in good stead for a stab at the success de scandale that Suffer Little Children unfortunately never quite attained. In contradiction to wild claims (typifying the atmosphere of moral panic back in the early ’80s) that he had somehow “corrupted” his juvenile cast, Briggs insists that he gave free rein to their enthusiastic creativity and that’s what you see on the screen. He talks less about SLC’s censorship tribulations than the difficulties of small film production (he’d clearly relish the opportunity to make another one with today’s technology) and distribution (in particular the difficulties of dealing with Films Galore’s rather “colourful” sounding George Goodey) back in 1983.

More than three decades after this harrowing sequence of events unfolded, the mighty men of Severin (via their “shot on video” Intervision imprint) afford us an opportunity to relive a particularly troubling bit of recent social history and see what, if anything, all the fuss was about with an uncut and now BBFC sanctioned release of Suffer Little Children. Perhaps House Of Freudstein  visitors represent precisely that special sort of cineaste who can look beyond this film’s technical and artistic shortcomings to engage with the philosophical, ethical, semiological and indeed eschatological issues it embodies. Perhaps not. In which case… “Suffer, you bastards, suffer!”

 

Categories: Blu-ray / DVD Reviews | Tags: , , , , | Leave a comment

The Other OTHER HELL Review… Bruno Mattei & Claudio Fragasso’s Jaw-dropping Spaghetti Exorcist / Nunsploitation Hybrid Arrives On Severin BD.

the_other_hell15.jpg

BD. Region B. Severin. Unrated.

I previously dug up and reviewed the Redemption VHS edition of The Other Hell (1980) elsewhere on this site, where I rashly described it as Bruno Mattei’s “wildest and best” movie (or something along those lines… go click the link if you can be arsed, because I certainly can’t). Since then, courtesy of a clutch of fine Severin / Intervision releases, I’ve been able to spend some quality time with the gob-slapping cannibal / zombie / WIP atrocities that Mattei perpetrated in the last few years of his career / life and am obliged to reconsider my assessment of this one as Mattei’s finest hour-and-a-half…. or perhaps that should be twenty minutes, as much of the supplementary material on Severin’s spanking new Blu-ray of The Other Hell lends weight to ongoing speculation that its nominal director “Stefan Oblowsky” comprises something like one part Mattei to every four parts Claudio Fragasso.

Fragasso contributes an amusing, highly self-deprecating commentary track (sample quote: “Zombie nuns… that’s cool… because it’s blasphemous!”) He confesses that shots of a burning priest were bought in from the producers of The Legacy, drops the fascinating aside that at one point he was going to write a sequel to Bay Of Blood for Mario Bava and wonders: “Why is Umberto Lenzo always so angry?” Most memorably, one of the many faults he finds with The Other Hell is that it should have been a lot “crazier”… a mind-boggling judgement considering that the film’s pre-titles sequence – wherein a deranged nun, apparently having just carried out a gory abortion in an alchemist’s lab, rants about the genitals being “the door to evil” before stabbing one of her sisters-in-Christ to death, apparently at the psychic behest of a statue with red, throbbing eyes – is one of the more studied, subdued and subtle moments in this film, which subsequently relates the vain attempts of trendy cleric Father Valerio (Carlo De Mejo) to put these unfortunate goings-on down to psychiatric rather than Satanic malaise, while all around him bats attack crucifixes, nuns vomit blood after taking communion, stigmata rend every available inch of flesh, severed heads turn up in tabernacles, exorcists catch fire, devil babies are dunked in boiling water and psycho-kinetic sculptures force nuns to strangle themselves!

THE OTHER HELL_Italian fotobusta 1.jpg

Sinister gardener Boris (perennial Mattei standby Franco Garofolo) delivers an unsolicited soliloquy about how he prefers animals to people, then leeringly decapitates an unfortunate chicken (you guessed, its headless body proceeds to take a jerky tour of the barnyard). The wheel of karma turns full circle when Boris, after killing a witch’s cat, falls victim to his own guard-dog in a scene crudely cribbed from a certain Dario Argento picture. The film’s title is clearly intended to reference another Argento picture, although naming this farrago “L’Altro Inferno” makes about as much sense as calling Alan Briggs’ Suffer Little Children, another upcoming and suitably wholesome Severin (Intervision) release,  “The Other Suspiria”!

Nobody’s ever going to confuse The Other Hell with an entry in Argento’s “Three Mothers” trilogy (hang on, I was forgetting Mother Of Tears!) but its sheer go-for-broke audacity, its all-out  sense of accelerating, no-holds-barred delirium puts it ahead of even Joe D’Amato’s Blue Holocaust (from which it swipe its Goblin score, its fluffed “shock” ending and its female lead Franca Stoppi) in the see-it-to-believe-it sick puppy stakes.

Stoppi is probably The Other Hell’s trump card, chewing the scenery magnificently as Mother Vincenza. She comes across very well in the short interview on this disc, reminiscing about days spent shuttling back and forth between the sets of The Other Hell and Mattei’s True Story Of The Nun Of Monza topped off by evenings on stage! Sadly, stage fright ended her career prematurely but she reinvented herself as an animal rights activist (and no, she wasn’t at all happy about that chicken decapitation, though Fragasso describes it as “inevitable… chickens always end up like this!”) before sadly passing away in 2011. The featurette To Hell And Back comprises archive interviews with Mattei and Carlo De Mejo. Elsewhere Fragasso offers some interesting observations as to why the careers of both De Mejo and Garofolo fell short of what those actors might otherwise have achieved.

Inevitably when a film of this vintage and provenance is re-rendered in Blu-ray there’s going to be a certain amount of grain in evidence, but Severin have managed to keep this element within acceptable levels on a disc that cannot be denied a place on your shelf… Satan himself demands it!

Other-Hell-Blu-ray-02.jpg

Incidentally, towards the end of Fragasso’s commentary track, he and his interlocutor are scratching their heads over the identity of the actor playing the priest in the film’s lame “twist” ending. Is it not (I could be wrong) “Mark Shannon” (Manlio Cersosimo), who starred in any amount of goofy horror / porno crossovers for Joe D’Amato? If so, he manages the unprecedented feat here of keeping his dick in his trousers when confronted by a movie camera. Thank heaven for small mercies, eh?

17361111_10102620160594167_524499999_n.jpgtheotherhell3.jpg

Categories: Blu-ray / DVD Reviews | Tags: , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

ALL THE COLOURS Of Blu… Sergio Martino’s Classic Occult Giallo On Shameless BD

81C6geLLetL._SL1500_.jpg

BD. Region B. Shameless. 18.

When Argento’s Bird With The Crystal Plumage parlayed Mario Bava’s giallo formula into the stuff of international crossover hits in 1970, every spaghetti exploitation director worth their salt (and several who weren’t) scrambled to get a piece of the slasher action by setting killers in broad-brimmed hats and dark macs onto scantily clad ingenues. Sergio Martino surfed this filone particularly adeptly, aided and abetted by the most scantily clad and beautiful ingenue of them all, his producer brother Luciano’s room mate Edwige Fenech. The Strange Vice Of Mrs Wardh aka Blade Of The Ripper / The Next Victim / Next! (1971) pounces enthusiastically on psychosexual hints made in Argento’s box-office smash and established a template in which Fenech’s neurotic character would jet set around the world in her attempts to live down the sexy skeletons in her closet and escape the homicidal nut job on her tail, only to discover that just because she’s paranoid, it doesn’t mean that several of the men in her busy love life aren’t conspiring in various permutations and with miscellaneous motivations to do her in. Fenech wasn’t available (probably knocking out a few period sex farces) for Martino’s second giallo of 1971, The Case Of The Scorpion’s Tail, which ran along disappointingly formulaic lines and proved conclusively that Anita Strindberg and Evelyn Stewart together couldn’t make up for the absence of one Edwige Fenech.

81-bSWgp+-L._SL1500_

Thankfully she was back for the following year’s All The Colours Of The Dark aka Day Of The Maniac / They’re Coming To Get You / Strange Vice Of Mrs Wardh Part 2, et al, in which Martino would extend the giallo’s frontiers exponentially. Fenech’s Jayne Harrison in this one is even more screwed up than the spoiled Mrs Wardh and with considerably more justification. Cooped up in Kenilworth Court, Putney, she’s suffering post traumatic stress disorder following the car crash in which she lost her baby (and it’s only later that we learn that she witnessed the fatal stabbing of her mother when she was seven) but gets precious little emotional support from her cold fish, workaholic pharmaceutical salesman boyfriend Richard (George Hilton). He obstructs her sister Barbara (“Susan Scott” / Nieves Navarro)’s efforts to set Jayne up with a psychoanalyst, insisting that she just pull herself together and keep taking the tablets (… but are they, as claimed, just vitamins?) Jayne is plagued by nightmares in which her various traumas are juxtaposed with all manner of Satanic psychedelia (good news for us because she tends to get over them by taking a shower in her nightshift… woah, baby!) and things go from bad to worse when a guy who resembles the assassin from her dreams (Ivan Rassimov, looking even more striking than usual in a pair of shocking blue contact lenses) starts stalking her. Her chic new neighbour, Mary (Marina Malfatti), waxes blasé about this (“Strange men have been following women since the stone age, Jayne!”) but does propose a novel solution to our heroine’s malaise, i.e. that she attend a black mass (?!?) Although much has made up to this point of Jayne’s indecisive character, by a flick of scripter Ernesto Gastaldi’s pen she decides there and then that she wants to participate in precisely such a shindig RIGHT NOW!

TCTGU.jpg

“Chill-O-Rama”, huh?

In a gothic folly that will be only too familiar to fans of Toyah Wilcox’s The Blue Meaning album, Jayne gets down with the Satan worshipping junky set (I think this is what we’re supposed to infer from the calamine lotion daubed liberally over their faces) and during a Rosemary’s Baby-inspired scene, is taken (to the accompaniment of Bruno Nicolai’s ravished acid rock theme) by cult honcho J.P. McBrian (Julian Ugarte from Paul Naschy’s breakthrough picture Mark Of The Wolfman, 1968). Now “J.P McBrian” might strike you as a disappointingly pedestrian moniker for a Satanic cult leader, but he’s knobbing Edwige Fenech so the dude’s doing alright for himself, OK?

Far from her being mitigated by these occult dabblings, Jayne’s problems are exacerbated when, at a subsequent ritual orgy, she is implicated in the killing of Mary, who had apparently grown terminally jaded about life and delivered Jayne to the sect as her replacement. I love the way the Satanic acolytes shuffle round each other in a little dance routine while all this is going on. Now Jayne’s stalker (Rassimov) reveals himself as “Mark Cogan”, the murderer and former lover of her mother, who had been an enthusiastic participant in all these occult shenanigans (foreshadowing a plot point in Argento’s Opera)… “Now you’re one of us, Jayne…” he glowers: “It’s impossible to renounce us!”

Todos.jpg

The plot descends into pure paranoia at this point, with the news that McBrain is a Big Cheese at Scotland Yard, though this is immediately revealed as a figment of Jayne’s increasingly traumatised, drug-addled and brain-washed imagination (check out the totally surreal “breakfast with dead people” vignette… did it really happen?) Turns out that significant characters have been motivated by all-too materialistic considerations (i.e. an inheritance) but, at the very death, Martino can’t bring himself to impose a purely logical wrap-up on the narrative. Once the mandatory shop window mannequin has been chucked off a roof, Fenech’s final (and almost certainly post-synched) lines, delivered with her face turned away from the camera, indicate that genuine psychic forces are awakening within her, an awakening which is going to either empower or destroy her… or is this is just one more level of delusion? ATCOTD’s ambiguous and haunting conclusion ensures that the viewer will keep turning the film over in his / her own mind after watching it, like a nightmare from which (s)he is struggling to wake. An inveterate mix’n’matcher of genres, Martino set the ball rolling here for a synthesis of straight giallo and the supernatural that would be handled to more influential effect by Dario Argento just a few years later…

812p7-gO1iL._SL1500_.jpg

If you think you’ve read something very like the above review on this site before, congratulations on a) your excellent taste in blogs and b) being such an attentive, retentive reader. The first time we ran Sergio Martino’s occult giallo past the viewing panel here at HOF it was on the German Marketing-Film DVD, which occasioned a certain amount of moaning about its not-exactly anamorphic presentation and the fact that its 5.1 option was only available on the German language sound track… foreskin durch technik, indeed. The Shameless BD fits our TV screen much more agreeably, albeit with no Surround option whatsoever (though Nicolai’s black music theme still lit up our left and right frontal speakers, not to mention our Woofer, to diverting effect.) The digital upscale significantly enhances the beauty and subtlety of Giancarlo Ferrando’s cinematography, while noticeably boosting the graininess of certain passages… ah well, to quote an irate French chef from a P.G Wodehouse story, I can take a few roughs with a smooth and if you’ve had the Marketing-Film edition on your shelf for a few years now, you’ll certainly be wanting to upgrade to this.

71X-WLqhNlL._SL1031_.jpg

Extras include a bunch of trailers for Fenech / Martino oriented Shameless releases and Doors, a spooky (and apparently prize-winning) short by Michele De Angelis. Hi, Michele! There’s a new interview with the ever-affable Martino, in which he sings the praises of his regular repertory players (“If you’ve got a winning team, why change it?”) and recalls the memorable occasion of his first meeting with Edwige Fenech, apparently resplendent in leather trousers (and looking far more fetching in those, one imagines, than Theresa “Mock Turtle” May ever managed to.) Once again, Sergio assures us that he felt no disappointment when the divine Fenech took up with his brother Luciano (yeah, whatever) and acknowledges the passionate devotion of giallo fans. He describes how the process ATCOTD was shot in led to framing problems and recalls that ten minutes were cut out of the film’s tricky climax when it played in Roman cinemas. Most amusingly, he opines that when snooty critics condescendingly refer to him as a craftsman, it makes him “feel like a carpenter.” Undeniably though, such moments in ATCOTD as the Lewtonesque “bus shot” (actually a “black cab shot”) are, er, very well crafted…

819MEcr2+jL._SL1500_.jpg

It’s always a pleasure to hear the thoughts of Diabolique magazine mainstays Kat Ellinger and Samm Deighan, who contribute a characteristically enthusiastic and knowledgable commentary track here. Their excitement about contributing to a Blu-ray edition of what is clearly one of their favourite films (and why wouldn’t it be?) registers almost palpably. While ATCOTD, for all its manifest merits, is thematically skinnier than e.g. Borowczyk’s The Story Of Sin (for which the Diaboliquel duo contributed an exemplary voice over to Arrow’s release), this disc is all the better for their efforts and yes, Kat does get to vent her ongoing obsession with Mathew Lewis’s The Monk. Hey, why not pick up a copy of that Gothic classic, stick some Bruno Nicolai on your stereo as you leaf through it and knock back a glass or two of absinthe while you’re doing so? Go on, you’ve earned it!

BLADE-OF-THE-RIPPERasdfghbj.jpg

Say what the fuck?!?

Tutti.jpg

Categories: Blu-ray / DVD Reviews | Tags: , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Stork And Slash… The Shameless BD Of Michele Soavi’s THE SECT Reviewed

sect_2.jpg

The Sect. BD. Region B. Shameless. 18.

Shameless’s UK disc debut of Michele Soavi’s 1991 effort The Sect (in both DVD and BD formats) follows hot on the hooves of the similar service they recently rendered to Soavi’s The Church (1989.) In my review of that one, elsewhere on this site, I recanted my long-held conviction that its many splendid visual set pieces could not compensate for a narrative that oscillates between risible and non-existent. On relection, this verdict was difficult to square with my oft-professed love for the likes of Inferno, The Beyond and City Of The Living Dead. I’ve performed a similar critical volte face after watching The Sect on Blu-ray, though it’s probably the lesser of the two films Soavi directed with Dario Argento as producer. Both of them kick in like gangbusters, only to lose momentum as bravura visuals alternate with wilfully obscure exposition through their overlong running time (The Sect clocks in just shy of two hours) en route to unsatisfying denouements. No accident, perhaps, that this one was released in the US as The Devil’s Daughter, possibly with the baffling conclusion to Hammer’s To The Devil A Daughter (1976) in mind.

00232eff_medium.jpg

If anything, The Sect’s opening is even stronger than that of The Church, slapping the viewer upside his/her head with a 1-2 sucker punch. First we witness the end of the ’60s dream as members of a Californian hippy colony are slaughtered at the behest of Damon (Church alumnus Tomas Arana), a wild-eyed mystic with a penchant for discerning profundities in the lyrics of classic rock songs (remind you of anyone?) before crossing Continents and decades to “present day” Frankfurt, where John Morghen blows his own brains out in a metro station after police discover that he’s been taking the words of the Tony Basil song Stop That Man (“He’s getting away with my heart in his hand”) rather too literally. Reassuring stuff, given that Morghen (the perennial super-masochist / martyr of pasta paura cinema) died such a disappointing death in The Church.

vlcsnap-2013-11-27-19h33m15s38.png

Frankfurt magistrate John Ford (just one of several, vaguely irritating, buffish character names) issues doomy pronouncements about the activities of sinister Satanic outfits. He’s particularly concerned about “The notorious Faceless Sect operating in the US during the ’70s”, a  cult founded by the mysterious Moebius Kelly. The briefly glimpsed Ford is played by Donald O’Brien, who’s certainly got form in this field, having run a Kito cult in his role as Doctor Butcher M.D. in the Marino Girolami film of that title.

Miriam & Moebius.jpg

Before we can work out what the hell is going on, elementary schoolteacher Miriam (Kelly Curtis, Jamie Lee’s prettier big sister) runs over a jay-walking hobo (Moebius Kelly himself, played by Herbert Lom) and takes him back to her place to recuperate. The old geezer’s got a funny way of showing his gratitude – he bungs a dung beetle up Miriam’s nose while she’s asleep and Celtic imagery begins to invade her dreams, which apparently signifies that she’s now ripe to be knocked up with the devil’s spawn. As the film proceeds, it becomes clear that many of the people around her are conniving at precisely this aim. Shades of Val Lewton and Mark Robson’s The Seventh Victim (1943)…

… and indeed, Polanski’s Rosemary’s Baby (1968) whose demonic insemination scene was restaged at the climax of The Church. This time out the titular sect contrive to get Miriam raped by a stork that jumps out of the submerged well in her basement… a submerged basement well of which she was previously unaware … did I already mention that this film’s plotting isn’t exactly its strong point?

sect_3.jpg

Just as The Church proceeded  from a vague Dario Argento diktat (“My brief to Michele was to explore the feelings I had about life in contemporary Germany beginning a new Middle Ages”), so Argento stipulated certain of The Sect’s salient imagery, including the Satanists’ full moon face ripping ceremony which (with the aid of Pino Donaggio’s spellbinding main theme) works rather well, plus some stuff that really doesn’t, e.g. the ongoing shenanigans concerning a kind of anti-Shroud Of Turin which, we learn, smothers some people but brings others (whom you’d prefer to be dead) back to life. What I really want to know about this flying snot rag, though, is… does it smell of death? And one of its victims, Kathryn, is ideally placed to comment on this, played as she is by Maria Angela Giordano of Burial Ground infamy.

sect_6.jpg26Je1bF5BIUeCoxvgcCDTEr4qn5.jpg

Struggling to impose some of his own identity amid all of this Argentiana, Soavi seems more intent on stuffing every available frame with arcane symbolism and cryptic allusions than he is with pulling all of these disparate strands of material together in a way that makes some kind of narrative sense. At one point he offers us a channel-hopping bunny which tunes into footage of the director himself doing conjuring tricks on TV! You’ll like it… but not a lot!

sect_4.jpg

“Who hid the remote in the cellar?”

It would be unfair to dismiss Kelly Curtis as just another sorry sibling recruited by the spaghetti exploitation industry solely on account of kid sister Jamie Lee’s scream queen exploits (in much the same way that Italian producers made a minor star out of Tisa Farrow and even attempted to do so with Neil Connery, before he forsook international espionage and returned to working as a milkman)… she already had a decent acting pedigree quite independently of JLC, who was born the same year that Kelly appeared as a little girl in Mom and Dad’s The Vikings (1958.) Plus, she’s actually rather good, here, ably personifying the anxieties suffered by pregnant women in a film that deals with such concerns rather more subtly than e.g. Alien (1979) or Humanoids From The Deep (1980), if considerably less so than Polanski’s picture. No doubt Herbert Lom later pleaded ignorance of any violent scenes that take place in The Sect…

sect_5.jpg

Having moaned in my review of The Church that I was only sent the DVD version, I’m happy to report that they sent me The Sect on Blu-ray and it looks just great. Given the two audio options available, I chose the Italian language one (with English subtitles) because it’s in 5.1 Surround. The mix proved strangely unadventurous and I didn’t notice any significant benefit until the outbreak of Pino Donaggio’s gorgeous main theme during the moon lit face removal ceremony… that one always gets the hairs standing up on the back of my neck to an extent only bettered by Fabio Frizzi’s Voci Dall Nulla at the climax of The Beyond.

sect_1-2.jpg

Extras include trailers for this and other Shameless releases plus the continuation of the Soavi interview from their Church disc, this instalment entitled Beauty And Terror.” Hardly surprisingly, he talks up his collaborations with the likes of Argento and Terry Gilliam but it’s gratifying to hear the director acknowledging his debts to Fulci and D’Amato (“This man had an energy not human!”), too. His “compare and contrast” reports on the various directors’ personalities, working methods and the atmospheres on their respective sets are most enlightening. Soavi also reveals that Tarantino offered him the direction of From Dusk Till Dawn (1996), which he now regrets turning down.

Michele_Soavi 1994.jpg

Given her grisly former glories, it’s interesting to hear Soavi detailing the way in which the demise of Maria Angela Giordano’s character was cut, having been deemed too gruesome. We also learn that the Sergio Stivaletti special effect by which a bug climbs up Kelly’s nose was shot with a camera that was formally Mario Bava’s.

The Sect is an uneven film, no question, but it’s probably better than anything Argento himself has managed since 1987 and only a terminally hard-to-please pasta paura buff could fail to find something to enjoy herein, if only the first screen teaming (ish… they don’t actually share a scene) of Italian Horror’s “Mr & Mrs Most Mutilated”, Morghen and Giordano. Perhaps some sinister Satanists can arrange for him to impregnate her… or perhaps even they would find the probable results of that coupling just too daunting to contemplate!

tumblr_nvmuhhSBZn1rrl4upo9_1280.jpg

Categories: Blu-ray / DVD Reviews | Tags: , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Altared States… Michele Soavi’s THE CHURCH and Robert Eggers’ THE WITCH Reviewed

CxOM4D3XUAE0vrG.jpg-large.jpgTheWitch....jpg

The Church. DVD. Region 2. Shameless. 18.

The Witch. BD. Region B. Universal. 15.

The wheels grind slowly here at The House Of Freudstein. Maybe it’s something to do with that split in the space / time continuum we’ve got going on down in the basement… one minute a badly dubbed Italian brat is running away from a shambling mosaic of putrescent human flesh, the next he’s popping up in a fin-de-siecle parallel universe. Makes my fucking head spin, I don’t mind telling you! Anyway, the wheels grind slowly…

… case in point, Robert Eggers’ The Witch, a film released in 2015. When I interviewed Harvey Fenton at Nottingham’s Mayhem Film Festival that year, for a piece which ultimately appeared in Dark Side magazine, he raved to me about this film, citing scenes such as the one in which a child dies in the throes of religious ecstasy

max.jpg

and enthusing about its possessed goat. “What… better than the possessed goat in Drag Me to Hell?” I asked. “Better than that!”, he assured me. So I promised him I’d watch it. A year went by and finding myself on the winning team at Mayhem 2016’s Flinterrogation quiz (yeah, I do bang on rather a lot about this but what you going to do about it?) I grabbed a couple of BDs as my share of the winners’ swag bag, one of them being The Witch. A month or so after that I finally watched it… and now I’ve got my shit together sufficiently to review it!

The final poke that stirred me from my default state of inertia was the arrival on my in tray of Michele Soavi’s The Church (1981), debuting on UK disc courtesy of Shameless. The striking parallels between the two films strongly suggested to me that they should be considered together. I mean, both of them offer a simplistic, Manichaeist world view in which the principal characters’ loss of faith is precipitated by and / or precipitates an inexorable paradigm shift into a new and malign reality… the other stuff they share in common being caprine capers (or, if you will, hircine horrors) by which the ram Black Phillip eviscerates Ralph Ineson in Eggers’ picture and (a much smarter day’s work, in my estimation) a Rosemary’s Baby reject bonks the beautiful Barbara Cupisti in the bowels of a cathedral crypt during Soavi’s… Country File was never like this!

the-witch-trailer-screengrab_o0whbn.jpg14682008_382254515497357_2318771466042492171_o.jpg

Eggers’ New-England Folk Tale (as the film’s subtitle has it) plays out in the 1630s and concerns a family of Puritans (the ever excellent Ineson as patriarch William, Kate Dickie as his wife Catherine and Anya Taylor-Joy as Thomasin, the oldest of several children) who leave their settlement on account of some obscure doctrinal dispute and set up in a small holding in the wilderness, throwing themselves on the bounty and mercy of God…

The-witch-movie-review.jpg

… but darker Gods are at work in the woods.

When their infant son is abducted (and a murky, impressionistic Blair Witch-style sequence suggests that he is indeed ritually sacrificed by some hovel-dwelling hag) the family turns in on itself amid mutual suspicions of Satanic involvement. Thomasin becomes prime suspect after searching secretly in the woods, with her brother, for the missing baby but returning alone. Suspicions are not exactly allayed when the boy reappears, only to die in the aforementioned religious ecstasy. As paranoia peaks, recrimination turns into physical confrontation. Black Phillip lends a hand (hoof?) in the ensuing bloody carnage which leaves just one family member standing and ready to throw in their lot with The Dark Side for a truly delirious conclusion.

the-witch-still-one.jpg

The above makes The Witch sound like a pedal-to-the-metal Evil Deadalike but in fact it’s a suspenseful, satisfying, slow burn of a movie with ravishing cinematography (courtesy of Jarin Blaschke) and sound design. Hats off to Harvey (though for me, Black Phillip’s not a patch on the possessed goat in Drag Me To Hell.) You keep expecting a rational explanation or at least an upturn in the family’s miserable fortunes until the penny finally drops, the shock realisation that this just ain’t gonna happen… reminded me of the point in Blow Up where you twig that the mystery is never going to be solved… of watching Match Of The Day pundits acknowledging, long after everybody else had sussed it, that Leicester City were not going to blow their 2015-16 title challenge… and going to bed on the 9th of November when it was obvious that Trump was going to win, while the TV talking heads were still blathering about how Hillary’s best wards were yet to be counted and she was going to turn it around.

Writer / director Eggers plundered the archives of 17th Century witchcraft testimony to mount The Witch as a realistic story and the events in it are real, if only in the minds of its religiously fanatical participants. “Buddha says…” as we were so helpfully reminded in the title sequence to every episode of Monkey: “… that with our thoughts we make the world.” The paranoid Puritan mindset made The USA and the ongoing story of how it, in turn, makes over The World in its own image is, one suspects, going to take a significant twist or two over the next couple of years. One also suspects that we will see, over a similar period, Ms Taylor-Joy emerging as “the new Christina Ricci”…

la-et-mn-the-witch-director-star-20160219.jpg

Anya Taylor-Joy, emerging as “the new Christina Ricci”… yesterday.

Universal’s BD edition of The Witch looks and sounds quiet beautiful and comes with the bonus of Digital HD Ultraviolet, though I’m too much of a Luddite to have anything more than the vaguest of ideas what that actually means… not such a technophobe thought that I don’t feel justified in having a moan about the clunky interface and slow response of the menus on this disc, problems I’ve encountered on various other Universal releases. It’s a bit short on supplementary features too, boasting precisely… none…. not a sausage… barer than William and Catherine’s family food cupboard!

witch-movie-2016-poster-trailer.jpgchurch1

Shameless’s Soavi disc is somewhat better apportioned in terms of extras. Alongside the mandatory clutch of trailers for the label’s other releases, you get the featurette Cathedral Of Fear in which the director (still looking cool, if a touch grey and grizzled around the edges) talks about his sophomore feature effort and how it emerged from the remnants of Lamberto Bava’s abandoned Demons 3. He acknowledges that Argento was a generous producer who scrupulously avoided stepping on his toes, while admitting that he found  it difficult to see The Church and his follow-up effort The Sect (1991) marketed as “Argento productions.” Soavi also concedes that he, Argento and Franco Ferrini struggled to come up with an effective ending (no foolin’) and remembers trying to coax the enigmatic smile required for the film’s closing shot out of Asia Argento, whom he describes as “handsome, attractive and talentish.” “Now everyone has gone their own way…” concludes MS “… but it was a very beautiful period of my life.” Nice.

maxresdefault.jpg

And what of The Church itself? On its release, almost (cripes!) thirty years ago, I reviewed the film with something less than whole-hearted enthusiasm… “style over substance” was the burden of my complaint against it. With hindsight and in the light of my previous championing of such comparably amorphous entities as Argento’s Inferno and Fulci’s The Beyond, that verdict does seem rather a perverse one. It was arrived at in the context of my expectations following Soavi’s stunning directorial debut Stagefright (1987), a cracking giallo (arguably the last worthwhile offering in that genre) that packed more than its fair share of visual flair but proceeded, nevertheless, along the ruthlessly logical lines of Luigi Montefiori’s script and producer Joe D’Amato’s commercial demands. At this remove, having very much enjoyed this Shameless release, I’m more inclined to celebrate Soavi’s wayward pictorial sense than to question it, especially in view of the Pasta Paura drought that we’ve suffered in recent decades.

The Church couldn’t be further removed from ruthless logic, opening with a posse of Teutonic Knights galloping through a lush forest at daybreak to the accompaniment of Keith Emerson’s infernal fugue (the film’s score, by Emerson, Philip Glass and Goblin – which at this point was effectively Fabio Pignatelli – is one aspect of The Church with which I’ve never had any issues). Acting on a hot tip-off from an over acting village idiot (Gianfranco De Grassi, “Curlie” from Aldo Lado’s notorious Night Train Murders), the knights storm the cave HQ of some devil worshipping peasants and put them to the sword.

15682fd1ad9e54f5612eb87d03e145de.jpg

This sequence features a memorable cross-shaped P-O-V shot through a knight’s helmet visor, suggesting again a world shaped by a narrow world view. After the witches have been buried in a communal grave and the site marked with a huge cross, an epic steadicam shot brings us to the present day and to the cathedral which has been erected on this spot, where one of the presiding prelates is spaghetti splatter legend and Stagefright alumnus Giovanni Lombardo Radice aka John Morghen.

Yuppie dark ages buff Tomas Arana arrives at the church to assist Barbara Cupisti (another Stagefright alumnus and Soavi’s real life main squeeze while this movie was being made) in the restoration of a demonic mural (shades of Pupi Avati’s masterly The House With Laughing Windows), while scowling Father Feodor Chaliapin (Name Of The Rose, Inferno) sermonises endlessly about the ever-present threat of demons. Apparently the ghosts of those Teutonic knights are also hanging around the place, because somebody in the foley department is working overtime banging coconut shells together to render the signature hoof tattoos of their spectral mounts. Arana, who has already displaced a marked tendency towards flakiness with his preference for the perusal of medieval inscriptions over the charms of Cupisti, is possessed by evil spirits while prying into the basement pit of souls. We know that he’s possessed because he stops combing his hair, sits at a typewriter endlessly tapping out the legend “666” (yes, we’ve seen The Shining too) and starts foaming at the mouth over Asia Argento’s ankle socks. More spectacularly, Arana is later seen in a telephone box – not changing into a superhero costume, as you might think, but tearing out his own heart and offering the still pumping organ to a boiling blood-red sky.

THE CHURCH - v4 - Silver Ferox Design.jpg

When the church warden skewers himself to the basement cross with a pneumatic drill he activates an intricate system of cogs and levers (just think of Howard Hawks’ Land Of The Pharaohs, and if you haven’t seen that try the board game “Mousetrap”) that seal our hapless protagonists (now including a party of school children, models and fashion photographers on a location shoot, and assorted tourists) off from the outside world. In connection with this the characters explicitly reference Fulcanelli, whose “Mysteries of The Cathedrals” tome also inspired Pupi Avatis’ The Arcane Enchanter, 1996 (though it was Avati himself who subsequently told me that Fulcanelli was a mythical rather than historical figure.)

17697.gif

At this point the plot, which was already as creaky as one of those Medieval ratchet devices, flies out of the stained glass window as the increasingly bemused looking participants are left to wander around the cathedral confines, rapidly losing their marbles. Antonella Vitale, who for most of the film has little to do except flounce around looking gorgeous, is nearly squeezed to death by a wedding dress she’s modelling at one point, but the fact that Argento can manage such an arch comment on the state of his relationship with this actress can only have encouraged the above mentioned doubts about the authorship of La Chiesa. Indeed, it’s interesting to note that the only other memorable scene involving La Vitale (a ludicrous one in which she pulls her face off) has been crudely cribbed from Poltergeist, a film on which producer Stephen Spielberg reputedly called more shots than nominal director Tobe Hooper.

Soavi swears that Argento was no back seat director but here has been charged with cooking up something from an Argento outline so half-baked that it could probably induce listeria poisoning (“My brief to Michele was to explore the feelings I had about life in contemporary Germany beginning a new Middle Ages.”) The viewer will have to make up his / her own mind about the exact working relationship between director Soavi and the man who “presented” his second and third feature films.

Elsewhere a castor mounted demon is wheeled in to spirit a girl off into a cloister; two bikers tunnel their way out of the church, only to discover that the light at the end of the tunnel really is an oncoming train; an old buffer’s face literally rings a bell after his wife has decapitated him (off camera, regrettably, likewise the eagerly awaited demise of John Morghen) and a risible rubber fish monster leaps out of the font to clamp its latex jaws around an unfortunate bystander’s head. Stivaletti’s attempted show stopper is an Archimboldo demon head that finally bursts through the floor of the cathedral and reminded me of nothing so much as the climax to Roy Ward Baker’s Quatermass And The Pit.

the-church-blu-ray2.jpg

The mounting confusion is hardly mitigated by the fact that various characters don’t let their deaths discourage them from returning to participate further in the escalating surreal shenanigans and in a heart warming cast reunion where they witness Arana (now in full Devil Rides Out billy-goat drag) and Cupisti restaging the devil impregnation scene from a certain Roman Polanski movie… and then that unconvincing coda.

La Chiesa.jpg

He’s so horny… horny, horny, horny…

The Shameless DVD looks OK but the music and sound effects seem to have been mixed kinda low. I wish they’d included a 5.1 audio option (when I saw La Chiesa in Rome on the big screen with a nice sound system, it proved to be a pretty immersive experience.) In fact I’d really like to have seen their (near) simultaneous Blu-ray release but you know what they say… bloggers can’t be choosers!

This release also comes with reversible sleeve options and for once I prefer the “newly commissioned art work” to the “classic” imagery on the flip… though I’m not sure they would have gotten away with it back in the heyday of the Video Packaging Review Committee… those pesky kids!

14671252_382254155497393_3936788010004010339_n.jpg

Categories: Blu-ray / DVD Reviews | Tags: , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Who Ate All The Pies? I DRINK YOUR BLOOD Reviewed

I Drink Your Blood 8.jpg

The morning after the rabid drug binge the night before…

combo_i_drink_your_blood_poster_01.jpg

DVD. Region Free. Grindhouse. Unrated.

(The company ident, the “coming attractions” and characteristically hilarious animated menus on this disc strongly suggest that the “deluxe uncensored director’s cut” edition of David Durston’s “legendary hippie horror classic!” under consideration here is indeed a Grindhouse release, though they are mentioned nowhere on packaging that does allude to MTI Home Video, Bedford Entertainment, Fangoria’s Midnight Classics and Box Office Spectaculars.)

Vying in popularity with the “Don’t (Do Something Or Other)” formula for titling exploitation pictures is that old standby “I Do (Some Objectionable Thing Or Other To Somebody Or Something Of Theirs)”, hence I Eat Your Skin (frequent double-bill mate of Durston’s 1970 gore-fest), I Dismember Mama and such unforgettable, time-specific Jose Mojica Marins (Coffin Joe) offerings as Tonight I’ll incarnate In Your Corpse, Tonight I’ll Steal Your Soul and Tonight I’ll Turn Your Corpse Red (he really needs to work on those chat-up lines…)

image16.jpg

Jerry Gross, the aptly named king of grindhouse distributors, had already scored big by marketing Meir Zarchi’s obscure rape / revenge effort Day Of The Woman as I Spit On Your Grave. We all know what fate befell that one on its UK video release, but I Drink Your Blood never made it the DPP list. The (bowdlerised) Media release was seized and perused by more than one regional police force during their periodic purges of the nation’s video shelves in the early ’80s, and no doubt they drew pertinent lessons from it on such upcoming threats to natural security as Messianic cults, biological terrorism and (most worryingly of all) rampaging gangs of rabies infected construction workers. The only possible sane response from the rest of us is to fire up that pizza, crack a cold one (or several), sit back and enjoy I Drink Your Blood for the prime slice of entertaining schlock that it is… the first film rated ‘X’ by the MPAA on the grounds of violence rather than sex.

HoraceBones.jpg

Calm down, it’s the hilt of his sword…

The picture’s tone is set by its sleazy opening scene, which details an open air Satanic ritual unfolding somewhere in the American boon docks, involving “the community of Sados” and presided over by a poor man’s Charlie Manson apparently glorifying in the name Horace Bones (played by the scarcely less exotically named Bhaskar.) “Let it be known to all the spirits that I am a Capricorn, living in The Tenth House… the house of our lord Satan!” he proclaims: ” Let it be known to all the spirits that I, Horace Bones, was born into Hell and reborn to this Earth. Let all the spirits here know that I am the first-born son of Satan! He commands my thoughts! I speak his words! Sons and daughters of Satan, put aside your worldly things and come to me. Let it be known that Satan was an acid head… drink from his cup…pledge yourselves… and together we will all freak out”. Horace’s dorky disciples obediently swig down some Electric Cool Aid, sacrifice a chicken and kick off a pretty tame looking orgy. A local gal who stumbles upon their infernal ritual is roped in for a spot of unsolicited sexual molestation, which is where things start to go downhill for Horace’s coven, which includes the superannuated exotic glamour of Jadine Wong in the role of Sue-Lin and the uncredited, non-speaking film debut of subsequent Hall of Famer Lynn Lowry, who later turned out for Romero (The Crazies, 1973), Cronenberg (Shivers, 1975) and Paul Schrader (Cat People, 1982) and is still very much in demand as an actress. As I type these words she’s guesting at the 2016 Abertoir Festival, up in tornado-ravaged North Wales.

Horace's Hippies.jpg

The local vet Doc Banner (Richard Bowler) sure as shoot ain’t gonna stand for none of these pagan shenanigans… he grabs his rifle and heads for hippy HQ, where Horace and co are busy torturing a back-sliding cult member. The doc is easily disarmed and force-fed with heavy psychotropic substances, whereupon the mantle of family avenger devolves to little Petey (Riley Mills), the unlikeliest male lead of any fantasy / horror film since that brat in the original Invaders From Mars. Not happy that local girls have been messed with and his grampappy given “that crazy L stuff”, he grabs his own shotgun (a perfectly feasible scenario in rural America, as we are reminded by harrowing news reports on virtually a daily basis) and downs the nearest rabid dog … apparently the place is just bristling with them. Displaying improbable scientific know how for such a red neck ragamuffin, Petey then siphons off the mutt’s blood, injects it into a batch of meat pies and flogs them to the Sados dudes at the family bakery (being Satanic hippies, they can’t be expected to subsist on the kind of macrobiotic mush favoured by their non diabolically inclined fellow heads… and rat shish kebabs only go so far.) Having scoffed the poison pies, Horace, Sou-Lin, Rollo, et al waste no time rolling around screaming about stomach cramps, frothing at the mouth, torturing and decapitating each other, etc. Good riddance to bad rubbish, you might well be thinking, but Petey’s master plan has unforeseen repercussions when a bunch of construction workers, on their lunch break from building a local dam, make whoopie with a rabid hippy girl.

i-drink-your-blood-4.jpg

“Rod Munch”, eh boys?

CpHp4JmW8AAJCn3.jpg

When bad acid meets rabies, there are no winners…

Can hydrophobia be sexually transmitted? Does “the fear of water (lead)”… as Durston claims on the commentary track “to an insatiable craving for raw flesh”? There’s no time to ponder these important questions, because before they’ve had time to clock on again, those rabid Village People rejects are running around growling through mouthfuls of toothpaste, decapitating goats and brandishing axes and power tools at the long-suffering inhabitants of Valley Hills… it’s threatening to turn into a Trump rally until a deputation of good ol’ boys finally turns up to mow them down, but not before we’ve had the chance to laugh our socks off at the spectacle of murderous hard hat hydrophobics being fended off with hoses and even, at one point, water splashed at them from a pond (my favourite moments in this whole gloriously tacky mess, along with those regular portentous pronouncements from the Satanic Bible according to Horace Bones).

“Rabies sure is a horrible way to die” tut-tuts the district coroner, just before the credits roll. Sure is, doc, but full marks to director Durston for managing to overcome his natural reserve about exploiting such a sensitive subject, tossing in tasteless allusions to the Tate-LaBianca killings  as he goes.

Extras include the expected trailer (for “the biggest double horror show in history… I Drink Your Blood and I Eat Your Skin!”) and radio spot (“Every horror film you’ve ever seen… every tortured body, every severed limb, every hideous creature… has been preparing you for this moment!”) , poster and still gallery… you get filmographies of the principals, a few minutes of discarded takes (some with, some without sound) and at least three easter eggs which I’ll leave you to discover for yourselves… as if all that weren’t enough, there’s “rare and shocking film of Bhaskar performing THE EVIL KING COBRA DANCE!”, after which you’ll need to go and lie down in a darkened room for a while.

The Coming Attractions I mentioned are for a bunch of stuff that Grindhouse subsequently released or intended to, including An American Hippie In Israel (“The long-lost early ’70s psychedelic classic”), Cop Killers, The Tough Ones (Umberto Lenzi’s Assault with A Deadly Weapon aka Brutal Justice and Rome, Armed To The Teeth), Cannibals Ferox and Holocaust, Fulci’s The Beyond and A Cat In The Brain, plus Mad Ron’s Prevues From Hell (a trailer anthology in which that for I Drink Your Blood / I Eat Your Skin is prominently deployed.) Best of all is the legendarily gob-slapping trailer for Duke Mitchell’s Massacre Mafia Style (1974), which famously comprises nothing but the film’s opening, er mafia massacre, attaining in two minutes or so what Quentin Tarantino has aspired to over several feature films.

mms8

Grindhouse aren’t finished there, though. Not by a long chalk. We are also treated to four deleted scenes, including a touching romantic one in which it’s suggested that one of the hippy Satanists might be capable of redemption (though in fact he ends up decapitated by a rabid construction worker), another in which we get to see more of Grampy tripping out and not one but two alternative endings… a “humorous” (i.e. puke-inducing) one featuring little Petey and “the original blood-drenched ending deemed too disturbing for ’70s audiences!”… cool!

Durston interviews  thesps Lynn Lowry, Tyde Kierney and Jack Damon, plus Barry Cohen, the ad executive responsible for changing the title of this picture from his preferred handle “Phobia” (“You might as have called it Who Shit In My Saddle Bag?”, complains the disgruntled director.) Then there’s the audio commentary from Durston and Bhaskar, in which we learn many interesting things… Durston spends much of it arguing, unconvincingly, that no animals were killed or injured during the making of his magnum opus. He also claims that the one of the rats that didn’t end up on a shish kebab subsequently starred in Ben. Perhaps we shouldn’t be too surprised then, to learn that he dropped LSD under medical supervision (perhaps not enough medical supervision) when researching his earlier acidsploitation epic The Love Drug (1965.) Bhaskar is tickled by the memory of the muscle-bound dude who played one of the rabid construction workers and his obsession with how his toupee would look on screen. We also learn that before dancing and acting, Bhaskar pursued a boxing career that came to an end when he got comprehensively battered around the ring…

Durston explains that to get around the X-rating, producer / distributor Gross authorised local projectionists to cut their print of the film into whatever shape would comply with contemporary community standards, hence the bewildering variety of versions of I Spit On Your Grave in circulation. On this disc you get a choice of two cuts, the “Uncensored X-Rated Theatrical Cut” and the “Uncensored Director’s Cut” (having watched both, I can’t honestly say that I could discern any significant difference between the two.)

The DVD edition reviewed here has been unavailable for quite some time, apart from on the internet for silly money. Thankfully (?) Grindhouse are about to release a two disc Blu-ray edition including all of the goodies enumerated above plus a newly recorded audio commentary by stars Jack Damon and Tyde Kierney, a new interview with the late David Durston and not one but two bonus co-features (!)… finally, I Eat Your Skin (plus an exclusive interview with its 2nd unit director, William Grefe) and the home video debut of Durston’s Blue Sextet (1969), a “long-lost uncensored psychedelic shocker” whose cast includes the also sadly deceased Bhaskar…  “PLUS OTHER SURPRISES!”

Put away your worldly things, dear readers, pledge yourselves to score a copy of I drink Your Blood on Blu-ray… and together we will all freak out!

000Idrinkyourblood.jpg

This blacksploitation hippy Satanist just fell victim to one of the three biggest lies in the world…

pdvd_3081.jpg

Horace… mad as a box of frogs but no wimp!

Categories: Blu-ray / DVD Reviews | Tags: , | Leave a comment

All The Flavours Of Fenech… Sergio Martino’s ALL THE COLOURS OF THE DARK reviewed

Edwige 3 copy.jpg

DVD. Region 2. Marketing-Film. Not rated.

When Argento’s Bird With The Crystal Plumage parlayed Mario Bava’s giallo formula into the stuff of international crossover hits in 1970, every spaghetti exploitation director worth their salt (and several who weren’t) scrambled to get a piece of the slasher action by setting killers in broad brimmed hats and dark macs onto scantily clad ingenues. Sergio Martino surfed this filone more impressively than most, aided and abetted by the most scantily clad and beautiful ingenue of them all, his producer brother Luciano’s room mate Edwige Fenech. The Strange Vice Of Mrs Wardh aka Blade Of The Ripper / The Next Victim / Next! (1971) pounces enthusiastically on psychosexual hints made in Argento’s box-office smash and established a template in which Fenech’s neurotic character would jet set around the world in her attempts to live down the sexy skeletons in her closet and escape the homicidal nut job on her tail, only to discover that just because she’s paranoid, it doesn’t mean that several of the men in her busy love life aren’t conspiring in various permutations and with miscellaneous motivations to do her in. Fenech wasn’t available (probably knocking out a few period sex farces) for Martino’s second giallo of 1971, The Case Of The Scorpion’s Tail, which ran along disappointingly formulaic lines and proved conclusively that  Anita Strindberg and Evelyn Stewart together couldn’t make up for the absence of one Edwige Fenech.

Thankfully she was back for the following year’s All The Colours Of The Dark aka Day Of The Maniac / They’re Coming To Get You / Sreange Vice Of Mrs Wardh Part 2, et al , in which Martino would extend the giallo’s frontiers exponentially. Fenech’s Jayne Harrison in this one is even more screwed up than the spoiled Mrs Wardh and with considerably more justification. Cooped up in Kenilworth Court, Putney, she’s suffering post traumatic stress disorder following the car crash in which she lost her baby (and it’s only later that we learn that she witnessed the fatal stabbing of her mother when she was seven) but gets precious little emotional support from her cold fish, workaholic pharmaceutical salesman boyfriend Richard (George Hilton). He obstructs her sister Barbara (“Susan Scott” / Nieves Navarro)’s efforts to set Jayne up with a psychoanalyst, insisting that she just pull herself together and keep taking the tablets (… but are they, as claimed, just vitamins?) Jayne is plagued by nightmares in which her various traumas are juxtaposed with all manner of Satanic psychedelia (good news for us because she tends to get over them by taking a shower in her nightshift… woah, baby!) and things go from bad to worse when a guy who

Yet another shower.jpg514dzz6Z9DL._SY445_.jpg

resembles the assassin from her dreams (Ivan Rassimov, looking even more striking than usual in a pair of shocking blue contact lenses) starts stalking her. Her chic new neighbour, Mary (Marina Malfatti), waxes blasé about this (“Strange men have been following women since the stone age, Jayne!”) but does propose a novel solution to Jayne’s malaise, i.e. that she attend a black mass (?!?) Although much has made up to this point of Jayne’s indecisive character, by a flick of scripter Ernesto Gastaldi’s pen she decides there and then that she wants to participate in precisely such a shindig RIGHT NOW!

In a gothic folly that will be familiar to fans of Toyah Wilcox’s The Blue Meaning album, Jayne gets down with the Satan worshipping junky set (I think this is what we’re supposed to infer from the calomile lotion daubed liberally over their faces) and, during a Rosemary’s Baby-inspired scene, is ravished by cult honcho J.P. McBrian (Julian Ugarte from Paul Naschy’s breakthrough picture Mark Of The Wolfman, 1968). Now “J.P McBrian” might strike you as a disappointingly pedestrian monicker for a Satanic cult leader, but he’s knobbing Edwige Fenech so the dude’s doing OK for himself, alright?

Satanicbunkup.jpg

Bruno Nicolai’s acid rock theme during this and subsequent Satanic sexcapades constitutes an unmitigated aural treat and if you’ve got the German DVD under review here (as “Die Farben Der Nacht”) it’s recommended that to enjoy the full effect of these scenes you flick into the deutch surround sound option… any enterprising dude out there fancy issuing some of these Martino films’ soundtracks on CD? Or (Mr Shameless, I’m looking at you) ATCOTD on Blu-ray with an English language 5.1 audio track? In its original screen ratio, too, rather than the distincty non-anamorphic presentation which marrs this German DVD… and some decent bonus materials to compliment the bare bones trailer / filmographies fare on offer here. Not asking for much, am I?

Far from her being mitigated by these occult dabblings, Jayne’s problems are exacerbated when, at a subsequent ritual orgy, she is implicated in the killing of Mary, who had apparently grown terminally jaded about life and delivered Jayne to the sect as her replacement. Now her stalker (Rassimov) reveals himself as “Mark Cogan”, the murderer and former lover of her mother, who had been an enthusiastic participant in all these occult shenanigans… “Now you’re one of us, Jayne…” he glowers: “It’s impossible to renounce us!”

The plot descends into pure paranoia at this point, with the news that McBrain is a big cheese at Scotland Yard, though this is immediately revealed as a figment of Jayne’s increasingly traumatised, drug-addled and brain-washed imagination (check out the totally surreal “breakfast with dead people” vignette… did it really happen?) Turns out that significant characters have been motivated by all-too materialistic considerations (i.e. an inheritance) but, at the very death, Martino can’t bring himself to impose a purely logical wrap-up on the narrative. Fenech’s final (and almost certainly post-synched) lines, delivered with her face turned away from the camera, indicate that genuine psychic forces are awakening within her, an awakening which is going to either  empower or destroy her… or is this is just one more level of delusion? ATCOTD’s ambiguous and haunting conclusion ensures that the viewer will keep turning the film over in his / her mind after watching it, like a nightmare from which (s)he is struggling to wake. An inveterate mix’n’matcher of genres, Martino set the ball rolling here for a synthesis of straight giallo and the supernatural that would be handled to more influential effect by Dario Argento a few years later…

ATCOTD

0175_Farben_der_Nacht

Categories: Blu-ray / DVD Reviews | Tags: , , , , , , | Leave a comment

The Devil Wears Primani… ITALIAN EXORCIST KNOCK-OFFS

BeyondtheDoor

“The Devil truly exists, and we are all in his power” 

Pope Paul VI, November 15th, 1972. 

The above quote kicks off Michael Walter’s energetic, entertainingly schlocky German effort Magdalena – Possessed By The Devil (aka The Devil’s Woman) released in 1974, the year when that Pontiff’s point was conclusively proven for him… at least in cinematic terms. For in the wake of the runaway international box office success enjoyed by William Friedkin’s The Exorcist (1973), Old Nick found plenty of work for film-makers with idle imaginations to do. No sooner had the pea-soup hit the priest, Linda Blair’s piss splashed on the floor and that crucifix caressed her crotch than horror hacks the world over began invoking Beelzebub, brushing up on their blasphemy and setting more wobbly furniture in motion than at an MFI clearance sale. In 1974 alone, America offered William Girdler’s Abby (starring Blacula himself, William Marshall, as a black bishop casting demons out of his possessed daughter-in-law, Carol Speed; Brazil begat Black Exoricsm (from nutty ol’ Coffin Joe, aka Jose Mojica Marins); and Spain spawned a tripe-whammy of succubus sagas with Juan Bosch’s Exorcism (starring and co-written by Paul Naschy) and Amando De Ossorio’s Demon Witch Child (those two released within a week of each other), not to mention (no really, please don’t mention it!) Jesus Franco’s The Devil’s Possessed.

Yep, Exorcist imitations were being churned out thick and fast, but nowhere thicker and faster than in J. P. VI’s homeland. Barely had the pea-soup dried on Max Von Sydow’s face than a posse of pesto-spewing poppets and maniacal moppets seemed to be taking over every film studio in Italy, where there was understandably a big market for this kind of stuff. In fact the first Italian Exorcist clone off the block, 1974’s Chi Sei? (“Who’s There?”) proved to be a hit not just with domestic audiences, but also (inexplicably) did significant business (as “Behind / Beyond The Door”) in the U.S., which only encouraged the flow of further Italian imitators. Released on the Videospace label in Britain as The Devil Inside Her (not to be confused with Peter Sasdy’s 1975 effort, also known as I Don’t Want To Be Born) this one had earlier played theatrically with the gimmick of sensurround (a la Earthquake), and opens with an irritating voice-over monologue supposedly delivered by ol’ Scratch himself, backing up His Holiness and assuring us that he (The Devil) does indeed exist: “That stranger sitting in the seat next to you could be me”. Alternatively, the person in the next seat could very well have been be dozing off or scratching their head trying to work out what the Hell was going on. This picture’s total incoherence (catatonic pacing, impenetrable narrative, mannered directorial tricks such as the eccentric, erratic use of freeze fame) could possibly be partially attributed to its dual direction, by Ovidio G. Assonitis (under his never-more-apt “Oliver Hellman” pseud) and his favoured cinematographer, Roberto D’Ettorre Piazzoli (masquerading as “R. Barrett”)… maybe one of them got on with the Exorcist imitating while the other handled the Rosemary’s Baby stuff?

3X Mills

Respected Shakespearean thesp and Zombie Flesh Eaters alumnus Richard Johnson is typecast as oldest-swinger-in-town Dimitri, a Satanist apparently brought back from the verge of death to claim for Satan the baby Jessica (Juliet Mills) is expecting. However badly the new sprog turns out, it can’t be any worse than the two she’s already spawned with record producer husband Gabriele Lavia. Assonitis and / or Piazzoli handle the obligatory “rebellious children” sub-text clumsily, and although the kids’ foul-mouthed, jive-talking antics are obviously intended to be cute and endearing, these are arguably the two most nauseating brats in cinema history. When some malefic influence or other causes the boy to convulse in his bed, suffering night terrors, his sister babbles. “Ken, you gotta stop that – it’s gonna blow my mind! If you don’t stop, you’re gonna have a real bad trip – y’hear?” Elsewhere Ken refers to Lavia as an “asshole”, prompting daddy dearest to ask mom if he “needs to see a shrink” (probably not, but a good slap would undoubtedly work wonders.)

Mills soon develops the mandatory leprous complexion and lapses into the expected cussing, bile-honking, head-twisting,  levitating and talking in tongues. “Jessica – what’s gotten into you?” asks her doctor, ironically. As punishment for this corny line, the incubus demands of him: “Come on you filthy pig – lick this vile whore’s vomit!” When he shows understandable reticence to comply, she scoffs a handful of it herself and chucks the rest at him. After much writhing around, she eventually gives birth to a baby with no mouth. While the viewer’s still trying to get his head around this enigmatic development, the film slips into a ludicrous epilogue featuring the kid Ken (David Collin Jr) in that freeze-frame standby of “how the fuck do we finish this one?” cinema , his eyes glowing red via a cheese optical effect.

House Of Ex

“I love what you’ve done with that wall…”

“That picture made $15 million in America and $25M in the rest of the world… it was then the most successful European film ever in America” remembers Assonitis: “It was so successful, Warner Bros tried to sue us!” Chi Sei’s international success also led to Mario Bava’s masterly 1977 psychological thriller Shock being released States-side as Beyond The Door 2 (though admittedly, Bava had probably made a rod for his own back by casting David Colin Jr as a brat with telekinetic powers and an invisible playmate who just might be real, exactly as in Chi Sei?) This wasn’t even the greatest indignity inflicted on poor old Mario due to exorcism mania: producer Alfredo Leone, who had been keeping Bava’s totally baffling Lisa And The Devil unreleased in a vault since 1972, detected an opportunity to salvage some kind of commercial return on his investment by cutting back on the original footage, splicing in inept restagings of key moments from The Exorcist (“Here’s your fucking daily bread, priest!”, snarls Elke Sommer while slinging vomit at Fr Robert Alda, elsewhere answering his questions about the identity of the demon inhabiting her with a few enquiries of her own, e.g. “Have you any idea how a virgin yearns for a man’s cock?”) and releasing the resultant mess as House Of Exorcism, attributed to one “Mickey Lion”. With a certain devilish irony, exactly the same mutilation was meted out to William Peter Blatty’s over-rated second official sequel, The Exorcist 3 in 1990. Another 1972 picture, Lucio Fulci’s giallo masterpiece Don’t Torture A Duckling, was re-released as Long Night Of Exorcism, and in one of the last blasts of exorcism mania, even Fulci’s 1970 satirical sexy comedy AllL’Onorevole Piacciono Le Donne was put out on the VPD video label as “The Eroticist” during the 1980s.

Getting back to that annus mirabilis of spaghetti exorcism, 1974, veteran journeyman director Alberto De Martino (who would in 1977 clone Richard Donner’s The Omen with Holocaust 2000) clocked in with The Tempter aka The Antichrist (on which a certain Joe D’Amato, no less, served as cinematographer.) Continuing Chi Sei’s trick of picking up on Friedkin’s Freudian sub-text and then battering the viewer over the head with it, The Tempter stars Carla Gravina as Hippolyta, hysterically paralysed as a result of living in a dysfunctional family. While still a child she witnessed her mother dying as a result of her Father(Mel Ferrer)’s reckless driving. Now she resents icy Anita Strindberg’s affair with her dad, whom she’s perhaps a little too close to for comfort (it’s also hinted that she’s having it off with her brother.)

Cz6hgQiUAAAP0jX copy.jpgThe Antichrist

Meanwhile Bishop Arthur Kennedy is celebrating mass when he discovers a severed toad’s head in his tabernacle. This he puts down to a decline in moral values, but it turns out that the Satanic shenanigans surrounding Hippolyta are rooted rather farther back than in those sinful swinging ‘60s: our heroine is hypnotically regressed to the burning of an ancestor (Gravina with a rather less severe hair-do) for witchcraft. “It was scientifically proven that previous psychic facts could be transferred from generation to generation”, opines a psychiatrist, who obviously uses a different text-book from the one favoured by most following his profession: “These phenomena happen very often, and once the trauma suffered by her ancestor has been cleaned up, I’m sure we can cure her.” Guess again, Frood dude…

Hippolyta hallucinates herself floating on her bed through the clouds to attend a witch’s Sabbath in a steamy glade. The Devil himself turns up to shag her, Rosemary’s Baby-style (a moment further recreated in Michele Soavi’s The Church, 1989). While being knobbed by Old Nick, she’s also obliged to chew on another of those toad’s heads and lick a goat’s rectum (do these guys know how to party, or what?) One quick poke by the Prince of Darkness later, her legs appear to be working again, so she nips out to the local catacombs to seduce a young lad and leave him lying with his head twisted round, back to front. At a celebratory banquet thrown by her family, she gorges food and starts spitting it out, along with curses aimed at Anita Strindberg, together with the usual non-sequitur obscenities (“Bishops… holy men of the Inquisition… I’ve fucked them all!”) Lights flicker, furniture flies through the air… you’ve seen it all before. Nurse Alida Valli calls in a cowboy freelance exorcist, but after his miserable failure (Hippolyta forces him to scarf down the now obligatory fistful of vomit) the Bishop himself is called in, resists Hippolyta’s dubious sexual charms  and – after all the usual manifestations – blithely announces that ”The Anti-Christ will not be born”.

Up to this point The Tempter had been a lot  more coherent than Chi Sei, Martino effectively building a sense of menace with wide-angled compositions. But it’s conclusion is every bit as confusing edited as the “climax’ of Hammer’s To The Devil A Daughter. The Godlike Ennio Morricone contributed the score of this picture, but it’s not one of his finest moments by a long chalk, proving conclusively that The Devil really doesn’t have all the best tunes.

Sexorcist

The condemnation of “swinging” lifestyles in Mario Gariazzo’s L’Ossessa (also 1974, and “a true story” to boot… sure thing, you guys) is the baldest statement of this sub-genre’s reactionary rationale. This kinky twist on the Pygmalion story, released on video in the UK  on a series of increasingly cheesy labels (and in varying degrees of completeness ) as The Exorcist, The Obsessed, Devil Obsession, Enter The Devil and The Eerie Midnight Horror Show (phew… talk about “my name is legion, for we are many”!) stars Stella Carnacina as Danilla, a sensitive student of art history who’s suffering emotional turmoil on account of her parents’ hell-hole of a marriage. She eavesdrops on her mutton-dressed-as-lamb mother Lucrezia Love being whipped with a rosebush by gigolo Gabriele Tinti. When her cuckolded husband witnesses the wheals on her flesh, he chides: “You bitch, you’ve acted in the most vile and disgusting way possible… subjecting your body to whips and belts and other masochistic tomfoolery.” Should Danilla stay in this heart-wrenching environment or strike out as an independent young woman and go live with her boyfriend? (You get the idea that many of these possession cases could be just as effectively cleared up by sharing a nice cup of tea with some counsellors from Relate as by the usual cross-and-holy-water routine).

Naturally, Danilla’s dilemma causes the evil spirit of a crucified carving (Ivan Rassimov, in what is literally one of his most wooden roles ever) to step down from the cross then rape, crucify and torture her (most of this stuff is naturally cut from the film’s various British video releases.) Predictably, Danilla responds by projectile vomiting, wrecking the furniture, hallucinating a black mass apparently presided over by Dr and The Medics, and masturbating enthusiastically in front of her folks. ”There’s no such thing as incest, daddy – it’s only an invention of priests!” she taunts him, receiving a wack around the head for her trouble. Enough’s enough, so mom and dad patch up their troubles, mom renounces masochistic tomfoolery for good, and they dispatch Danilla to a convent in the country where she’s softened up by nuns singing hymns before master exorcist Father Zeno (Luigi Pistilli) turns up, looking more like a gunslinger than a demon-wrangler. Morricone-esque musical flourishes enhance the impression, together with Leone-esque camera-shots (unfortunately including ultra close-ups of Pistilli’s black teeth.) After an unsuccessful run-in with Danilla’s demon, Zeno triumphs in round 2, at the cost of his life.

Responding to Danilla’s sexual temptation after round 1 (“Penetrate me… take me any way you like!”), Zeno spits:“Abomination!”, and heads off to his monastic cell to stiffen his resolve with a spot of self-flagellation. A more ambitious director would have pursued the parallels between this form of spiritual discipline and Danilla’s momma’s sexual predilections, but Gariazzo is happy to just throw all these balls up in the air and let them fall wherever they may. The end product is, predictably… a load of balls!

Nicoletti Night Child

Naked For Satan (also 1974) was directed by the ever reliable (i.e. you can rely on him to serve up a tawdry slice of drivel every time out) Luigi Batzella (alias Ivan Katansky, Paolo Solvay, et al), and resolves itself as one of those deceitful “so, it was all a dream!” efforts. The following year’s The Cursed (aka Bloody) Medallion / Night Child / Perche?! (directed by capable journeyman Massimo Dallamano) features Richard Johnson, again (as Art historian and documentary maker Professor Williams) and perpetual ‘70s Italian splatter-brat Nicoletta Elmi (above) falling under the evil influence of the titular trinket.

Needless to say, when Johnson’s Professor Williams decamps with his family to Spoleto to study a spooky old canvas depicting witch hunting, a shedload of domestic problems go with him. His delinquent daughter Emily (Elmi) is traumatised by having seen her mother falling, in flames, from a high window to her death (it’s ultimately revealed that Emily started the fire herself in a fit of pique!) “Evelyne Stewart” (Ida Galli) essays the uncharacteristically frumpy role of Emily’s nanny and suffers the pangs of unrequited love for Williams, before Emily puts her out of her misery by pushing her off a cliff. The kid’s homicidal jealousy is intensified with the arrival of Joanna Morgan (the super luscious Joanna Cassidy) to assist in the making of his latest documentary.

Once again, one begins to suspect that a therapist would be more use to this family than an exorcist before the plot line concerning that cursed medallion and Emily’s visions of herself being lynched by medieval peasants is firmly(ish) resolved on the occult side of the equation. The film’s narrative is, quite frankly, a mess ( “Perche?!” is about right) but I’ll happily watch anything with Joanna Cassidy in it (the Blade Runner scene in which she beats the crap out of Harrison Ford never fails to bring me out in palpitations) and the florid cinematography of Dallamano’s regular collaborator Franco Delli Colli is most impressive. Calum Waddell has made persuasive claims for Night Child, likening it to Mario Bava’s pet project Lisa And The Devil (1974) and arguing that “it is not too much of a stretch to say that these early templates aptly anticipate such widescreen wonders of later years as Lucio Fulci’s The Beyond (1981) and Michele Soavi’s The Church (1989) – both of which showcase nightmarish scenarios with an ominously baroque beauty.” Suffice to say that Fulci’s Manhattan Baby (aka Possessed / Eye Of The Evil Dead, 1982) certainly flatters Night Child in the sincerest way it can.

%22Eye Of The Evil Dead%22

Although spaghetti exorcism continued to recur in spasms throughout subsequent years (right up to the likes of Marco Bellocchio’s Visions of Sabba, 1987), the sub-genre had really shot its vomitous wad barely a year after the release of William Friedkin’s original. Even so, there were still some pasta puke-a-thons in the pipeline. For instance, former Hollywood heavy Richard Conte, fallen on hard times, found himself rubbing shoulders with Bruno Mattei’s favoured leading man – charisma bypass victim Franco Garofalo – in “Frank C. Lucas” (Elio Pannaccio)’s Naked Exorcism. Made in 1976, this one was released the following year (to cash in on John Boorman’s frankly ludicrous official sequel Exorcist II – The Heretic) as The Exorcist III – Cries And Shadows, which is the guise under which it appeared for its British video release on the obscure HBL label. After repeated perusal of this picture, I’m still unable to make head or tale of it, so let’s see what the liner notes have to say: “Peter, an archaeological research participant shivers finding out a strange medallion in a mysterious cave. It forms into a beautiful girl but an Evil Haggia. He gets hold of Sherry’s body and in a wild and animalistic way starts lovegame with her in a rough manner. Sherry realises it was wonderful as he had never made love to her like that. He starts killing, resulting with the involvement of the police. The Bishop’s help was sought after to perform the right of Exorcism. Haggia, naked on self-shaking bed, laughing horribly, shouting insults and curses, tries to kill the Monk who at last manages to tie up the damned soul. He takes the crucifix, presses and pours into the mouth of the being resulting in the vomiting of a filthy and horrible liquid.” Well there you go – I couldn’t have put it better myself…

Nobody has yet managed to concoct even that good an account of what’s going on in Pier Carpi’s Rings Of Darkness (1978), which stars the recently deceased Frank Finlay and Ian Bannen alongside such spaghetti exploitation stalwarts as Anne Heywood, Marisa Mell, Irene Papas, John Phillip Law and Paola Tedesco. This one focuses on the apparently Satanic exploits of the appallingly smug Lara Wendel, who’s given to repeating “What good is a doll… if it can be bought?”, in enigmatic fashion. She may well have a point there, though frankly I felt that the axe attack this “actress” suffered in Dario Argento’s Tenebrae, five years later, was no more than she deserved.

L'Esorciccio

Ciccio Ingrassia had a solo stab at doing what he had made a career of with erstwhile partner Franco Franchi – i.e. lampooning successful genres – in L’Esorciccio (1975), where poor Old Nick is expected to carry the can for the usual “Carry On”-type sexual buffoonery. Believe me, the title of this one is easily its strongest point, though it’s still preferable to 1990’s Leslie Nielsen piss-take Repossessed (in which Linda Blair perpetrated the biggest blasphemy of them all, sending up the only worthwhile role in her less-than-sparkling career.)

Andrea Bianchi’s Malabimba (1979) stars the unpleasantly androgynous Katell Laennec as Bimba, a troubled young lady who’s possessed by a permanently randy revenant and drives her fellow guests in a Medieval castle to furious sexual indulgence, though most of them seem to need little encouragement on this score. Highlights include Bimba pleasuring herself with a smurf and fellating an old cripple to death before long-suffering Mariangela Giordano – here  playing heroic nun Sister Sofia – invites the demon into herself and then – in the time-honoured Father Karras manoeuvre – hurls herself to her death from the battlements. Hard-core inserts were added to later versions of Malabimba, which made it ironic that when its producer, Gabriele Crisanti, decided to remake the picture as a hard-core effort entitled Satan’s Baby Doll (1980), the wretched thing (directed by “Alan W. Cools” alias Mario Bianchi) was only released in 1982 after all the porno footage had been take out.

Satan's Baby Doll

Damiano Damiani, one of the originators of the political spaghetti western, dumbed himself down for the opportunity of making an American crossover with Amityville 2: The Possession (1982). Old Exorcist-imitating ways dying hard, he threw out the lame-ass “haunted house” formula of the first Amityville Horror and laid on a feast of state-of-the-art bladder-induced shape-shifting effects (below) to compliment his kinky tale of patricide and incest, to highly entertaining if totally brainless effect…

… which was effectively the last gasp of Italo-exorcism as we know it. In no time at all, the influence of Old Nick – though occasionally felt in the likes of  Michele Soavi’s The Church (1989) and The Sect (1991) – would be virtually banished from Italian screens, not by the ministrations of any priest, but by the influx of zombies and cannibals advancing to claim the devil’s monstrous mantel for themselves… shortly before the complete and seemingly irreversible collapse of the entire Italian film industry. R.I.P. …

Amityville II

Categories: Features | Tags: , , , , | Leave a comment

Blog at WordPress.com.

%d bloggers like this: