Review: Camp Massacre

Text © Richard Gary / Indie Horror Films, 2015
Images from the Internet

Camp Massacre

Directed by Jim O’Rear and Daniel Emery Taylor
Deviant Pictures / itn distribution / MVD Visual
129 minutes, 2014 / 2015
www.mvdvisual.com

Slasher spoofs range from the good (such as Bloody Bloody Bible Camp [2012]) to the bad (A Haunted House [2013]). This one, originally released under the title Fat Chance? Well…

After the seemingly mandatory opening killing during a mandatory full-nude shower scene, we are presented with a behind the scenes story (not found footage, gratefully) of a reality television show called “In for a Pound,” where the winner of $1 million will be whomever loses the most weight in the month of shooting.

Among the group is a few Redneck bullies (one well played by co-director Daniel Emery Taylor – which is not surprising as it was filmed in Marion, ‘Bama), an exceedingly offensive gay stereotype, a jumpsuit wearing paisan from Jersey (Soprano’s reference, I’m pretty sure), an old white rapper self- branded as Two Ton, a Marilyn Mason-type goth named Darc Ness, a Latino who doesn’t speak Ingles, and the nice and shy guy who writes poetry named Jeremy (Nick Huntsman in his first film role, a great horror actor name if I ever heard one). He has a crush on the show’s inadequate nurse, Stefani (Megan Hunt), and she just may be warming up to him – or not – or…

Among the others surrounding this gaggle-plus-three of bears (you heard me) is the sadistic exercise coach (G. Larry Butler, a kingpin in manga voice-overs), an equally sadistic “babysitter” to make sure the contestants stay in line (professional wrestler Al Snow), the also equally sadistic food nazi, Arthur (David Coffin), the also sadistic power hungry host, Warren (co-director Jim O’Rear, in the first role I have ever seen anyone vaping), a New Agey Dr. Phil-modelled doctor, James (Carl Donovan), and the one sane and somewhat professional person on the entire crew, the producer Natalie (Ava Cronin).

Oh, and the masked killer is a wonder, and possibly the funniest thing in the film. Diminutive, with an apron on (food kind, not industrial), and for a mask a bucket from a chicken shack that has two small holes cut out for the eyes.

Using what I call the James Balsamo School of Cameo (meant totally as a compliment), the top liners of the film who are actual “names” are all in it for brief periods, probably available for the day. In this case it’s ex-porn star Bree Olson of Human Centipede III (2015), the above mentioned Snow, Scott Tepperman of the Ghost Hunters International cable show (which I’ve never seen), and classic genre actor Dick Warlock. But that’s not fair, in this case, because most of the cast has a huge screen credit list (though most of them are sort of One Day Shooting appearances, as well).

The idea of the film works well as an homage to the genre, and Independent Film Quarterly’s quote on the back of the DVD box, “It’s The Biggest Loser meets Friday the 13th” is actually quite accurate, but much of the humor falls flat in its reach for the gross (partially melted chocolate bars under man-boobs and a slab of human crap-in-the-face for example). But the SFX, which is appliance rather than digital, is superb. Lots of blood, guts, gore and mayhem, and the using various weapons is amazingly effective.

Also impressive is that I did not figure out who was the killer beforehand, which is rare. I made a guess (though I wasn’t sure why), and was completely off. Kudos on that. Plus there is a fight scene with Snow that is funny and feels somewhat partially improvisational. What drove me crazy, though, was sometimes it seemed the humor outweighed (pun unintended) the reason we are there. For example, the blade of the machete that the killer uses is not only way too thick and looks plastic, but at one point, the killer actually grabs the damn thing by the blade. Purposeful? One would hope.

There are three major issues I had with the film. First of all, there are way too many dialog scenes that do nothing to further the story, and trimming them would have easily cut 20 minutes off the film length. For example, when the two romantic leads yak it up discussing each other rather than the events, it was repetitive and went on too long. Also, the obligatory opening with Olson and two others sitting on hotel beds discussing what to do with the evening just goes oooooooooon; I said to the television, in a British accent of course, “C’mon, move it along, there’s nothing here to see here.”

Speaking of the opening, my second point, other than having Olson there and her do a full frontal nude shower scene, it added nothing to the story, or at the very least was not well explained, other than a reference in the film’s coda (if the directors want to tell me what I’m missing, please feel free in the comment section; and why the scabs?).

For me, the biggest contention in the film, and this is true for many low budget genre flicks, is the bad and overacting is over the wall. Yes, I understand Lithgow did it and got a ton of awards for it on Third Rock from the Sun, but as much as I respect him for his work, I hated what he did in that show. Here, again considering the large volume of credits some of the actors have, I wonder if either there was a lack of commitment, purposeful scenery chewing to add to the “humor” or lack of competency. That being said, there was one standout in the film by a mile, and that was Ava Cronin. Her timing was mostly spot on, and you really got the feeling she was pissed off. When she spits out a line, I bought it. Yeah, there was some facial mugging towards the end, but mostly her scenes were the highlights for me.

So, it’s a mixed bag. The film was shot well, the gore effects (especially in the opening) were totally enjoyable, the sound was really good, the choice of music was enjoyable (my mind has erased the one rap song), the editing cohesive albeit a tad long, as I said, and the lighting was just right so it was easy to see what was going on at night; and then there is everything else I whined about previously. If you know what you’re going in for, though, you may actually find some of the faults charming.

To be fair, I would like to acknowledge that it did win Best Horror at the Dark Zone Film Festival, and was official selections at the Alabama Phoenix Festival, Marble City Comic Con, and the Creative Con.

Take it this next comment or leave it, and I understand why you would, but for a reality show, there really was a lack of cameras around. In fact, it’s only there in one scene. But that’s just me… Other than that and the DVD having no extras except the trailer, the only thing really missing is the Rodney Dangerfield jokes: “He’s so fat, when he sits around the house, he sits around the house. He weighed himself on one of those talking scales and it said, ‘One at a time, please.’ He’s so big, he has his own area code.” Thank you and good night. Try the veal!

 

Reviews: Two Mockumentaries: The Lost Realities of Hog Caller, and TIGHT

Text © Richard Gary / Indie Horror Films, 2014
Images from the Internet

These exploitations seem to go together for a number of reasons. First of all, they’re supposed documentaries about real bands that are not your average run of the mill groups. Second, they both came out around the same time. Third, they are both award winners of dubious prizes. Finally, the odds at success for the bands are a bit farfetched. Other than that, these two groups are worlds apart, as are the styles of the film. And enjoyment levels.

 

The Lost Realities of Hog Caller
Written, directed and edited by Tom Richards
TPR Productions
Wild Eye Releasing
85 minutes, 2011
www.wildeyereleasing.com
www.mvdvisual.com

This “found footage” mockumentary about a grindocre duo called Hog Caller is a nearly psychedelic ride into the backwoods of Middletown, PA, home of Three Mile Island, and apparently Osama bin Laden. Who knew?

With just a little too much fondness for pig heads and David Lynch’s Eraserhead (1977), this real (?) band of two lunatics live out in the woods. A local television reporter, Skip Jenkins, is doing a piece on “Where Are Hog Caller,” and has apparently bought a box of video (yes, VHS) tape home Hog Caller movies, and we watch them interspersed with Skip, and a whole mess of messed up crap.

Words used to describe this on the box include “Repugnant” and “Sickest,” and yeah, it is that. Lots of pig bodies and disembodied heads with flies flying around them are shown in various stages of decay. One little one is dressed in a bonnet and hauled around as if it was a baby, on a playground swing or getting ice cream by one of the Callers.

There is also something about a guy in a bad rubber George W. Bush mask (actually supposed to be Bush) giving money to a way-too-short guy dressed in Arab garb with a very fake beard (an obviously blond dude), who has a shooting camp just outside of town where the targets have pictures of Jesus and Mary in the middle of them. Yep, it’s designed to offend more than succeeds in being funny. I wasn’t offended, and didn’t find it funny, either. Just too obvious. Osama is taken out by one of the Callers who is out huntin’.

Everyone here has only this film to their credit, but I’m pretty sure that’s because most people use fake names that one could call Moe’s Bar with, such as Phil Morehole, Stinky Puscadero, Brenda Paxil, Emily Zoloft, Sandy Seroplex, and Suzy Jihad.

Lots of drug mention/use, lots of alcohol, lots of fast editing, many dead animals, and little of anything else, such as story (again, the Eraserhead homage). But the problem with the film isn’t that it’s “repugnant” and gross, which it is at times, the biggest issue I have with it is actually the same one I had with Eraserhead: it’s pointless. I don’t mind weirdness, and I don’t mind psychotropic filmmaking, but at least keep it interesting.

I’m not sure if Hog Caller is an actual group, but for the purposes of this film, they are the duo of Tom Richards (bass and vocals, aka the Dirtfarmer, aka the director of this film) and Steve O’Donnell (guitar, aka Vomitrocious). The instruments and vocals are fed through a synthesizer to make it into noise. They call it grindcore. Okay. There are also a lot of real animal carcasses (mostly pigs). The gore that is shown as bodies are chopped up toward the end, are obviously some of the animal parts from the animal butcher shop where the rest of the carcasses are bought.

Extras are the trailer and a making of documentary.

All in all, I found this more annoying than disturbing, and equally boring as gross. I am annoyed because I feel like I just watched two guys masturbating for 84 minutes in their own ego.

 

 

Tight
Written and directed by Shaun Donnelly
Mind Engine Productions
Wild Eye Releasing
114 minutes, 201X
www.wildeyereleasing.com
www.mvdvisual.com
 
The band (left to right in picture above:
Tuesday Cross: bass
Alicia Andrews: drum
Monica Mayhem: vox
Bree Olson: manager
Layla Labelle: guitar

I have seen this described as both a documentary and a mockumentary, and that’s just on the same DVD cover! And yet, they both feel accurate.

Porn actress Bree Olson tries her hand in “reality” filming. Mixing the biz she knows and the idea first fomented through the Monkees, she enlists four of her colleagues to form an all-girl pornstar rock band. Most of the women knew their craft musical before (albeit somewhat limited), and in Micky Dolenz fashion, Alicia Andrews learned to play the drums just before joining in the group.

From there, it starts to feel like most other reality shows. The four women are put up in a house together so tension can both build through familiarity (remember, pornstars tend to be grown on body image and ego) and induced situations. Here, they have five days from forming to their first performance. The first piece of armor scratching comes when Monica Mayhem wants to rehearse (i.e., sing) no more than three hours a day to save her voice. This is actually not far off standard, but it causes a supposed ruffle in the band while the other three bond without her. What I would have done is sing the three hours, but stay with the band while they rehearse to form a collective, rather than stay home. We don’t see where the decision not to be there comes from, be it from Monica or the producer(s) (Olson).

During that first gig, where Tight are told they are going on first rather than headlining (well, duh, they’ve only been together for five days, and the now-headliner is fellow pornstar and more established awful pop singer, Brittaney Starr), it feels like a planned set-up to see their reactions. During the gig, Monica tells the bassist, Tuesday Cross, to flash her ass, which she does. They then show an insert of an interview with guitarist Layla Labelle (and her lovely Montreal accent) rightfully saying, when up on stage they should separate the band from the porn. This is thrown out the window as by the second show Monica is shown singing topless.

There is a lot of nudity and sex (sometimes from porn shoots especially, and a supposedly spontaneous scenes that seem way too…convenient with a camera going a foot in front of the action) from everyone involved. The sex is all hard softcore, i.e., no male body parts shown, but does not shy away from it or give any indication that is it faked). Which brings me to this topic: this is not a horror film, so why is it on this blog? Well, for a number of reasons, but specifically because this is not limited only to blood and gore, but also to exploitation and sexploitation as well, and this definitely fits into those two categories, especially since it is an indie production. True, I had to look just about everybody up to find information on them, but hey, it’s all in the line of duty, right?

So, speaking of formulated situations to get reaction, Olson brings her sex-obsessed and Ichabod Crane-like cousin Joel as Assistant Manager. He’s a creepy guy who likes to see Olson on-location filming sex scenes while eating sardines from a can with his fingers, who is brought into the producing of Tight’s first music video. Naturally, Olson goes and leaves the guy (real or a written character, I’m not sure) there to foster more angst among the group. This just feels too fabricated and planned, but at the same time it’s like an accident where you can’t avert your eyes. If you decide to see this, I guarantee you will utter, out loud, “ewwww.”

Brittaney Starr, in a totally see through top and looking a bit worn, shows up at a rehearsal tells Tight they sound “rusty.” Again, this feels like Starr and Olson planned this to rattle the women for the camera.

An ill-fated tour to Denver strands the ladies with lots of misadventures and a solo bubble rub in a tub (again, does not feel spontaneous). To make some money, of course there’s some porn filming. Shouldn’t Bree, as their manager, send them some cash? I’m beginning to wonder if there is a more hardcore version of this planned? Will I see it? Nah, but I’m curious to know if I’m right. For me, that’s one of the biggest issues about the video is that all the sex is so unspontaneous, and most of the situations they are put in feel scripted. There are some moments that feel real, like Layla being mad at Tuesday for whipping her with her studded belt buckle when Tuesday is wasted. It is almost like she doesn’t know how to express her anger because it feels real. A lot of the other anger that is expressed, though, I don’t know if it’s normal band-on-tour-tight quarters kind of stuff, or triggered by things that we don’t see, or there is someone off-camera saying, “Okay, you and you fight this time.” The line between real and script is sometimes easy to see, and sometimes not as much.

Lots of mayhem (pun unintended) as the ladies drink and slug it out both figuratively and literally, leading up to a record producer hearing them play on day 37. What happens then, you’ll have to see, but it’s pretty clear.

But, you are probably asking, this is about an all-woman pornstar rock band. How are they? Well, I have certainly seen a lot – and I mean a lot worse over the years. The playing is rudimentary, the songs are kinda repetitive, the vocals are okay, and, well, they’re not bad though not great. Considering we follow them together for the mere 37 days of this shoot, and they have their first live gig within the first week, it’s actually pretty impressive. I don’t think they could go anywhere on just being a rock band, without the gimmick of their other life, but yeah, they’re decent.

The closest I have come to the reality of this is seeing Penthouse Pet of the Year Cheryl Rixon front a band in the early 1980s or so. That was pretty good, but she was helped along by her co-Australian bandmate, who used to be in the Easybeats (“Friday on My Mind”). Tight don’t have that option (that we see).

There are lots of cool extras including many deleted scenes which are enjoyable, a couple of music videos, photo shoots, multiple trailers for both this film and the wonderful Wild Eye Releasing, and so much more.

So, this m/d/ocumentary smacks of reality TV, including the incidental music and pacing, but it sure beats out some of the other fakes, such as Honey Crap Crap and Duck Shit, whatever they’re called.