Review: Sanguivorous (Kyuketsu)

Text © Richard Gary / Indie Horror Films, 2013
Images from the Internet

 

Sanguivorous (aka Kyuketsu)

Directed, edited and music by Naoki Yoshimoto                       
Tidepoint Pictures
Rain Trail Pictures
Stavros Films                                
56 minutes,2009 / 2013
www.MVDvisual.com

Literally translated, the title of the film is to feed off the blood of the living, usually referring to parasites and certain bats; here, it is merely shortened to “sucking blood.” That works, too.

It is not surprising to me they shortened the definition, because the film runs just over 56 minutes. It’s on that borderline that makes it more of a featurette, which works well on the festival circuit rather than a cineplex. But this will probably never play as a first liner except at conventions, fests and possibly art theaters.

Sangafanga, as I’ve been calling it, is a Japanese vampire film that is over-burdened with an art aesthetic that is both beautiful and cumbersome. Much like films such as Where the Dead Go to Die (2012, reviewed HERE) or Profane (2012; reviewed HERE), the director, Naoki Yoshimoto, has a more ambitious vision that he wants to put to digital celluloid, as it were.

Ayumi Kakizawa

Mixing black & white, color, muted color, and digital film effects, Yoshimoto brings us into a world that is usually dark, both in tone and vision (or, if you will, figuratively and literally), as we are introduced to the only four characters. First there is a young woman played by Ayumi Kakizawa, who is haunted by weird visions, strange feelings, and general anxiety. Her thin-cut side-burned (hipster?) boyfriend, embodied by Mutsuko Yoshinaga, reads a text that borrows from the Bram Stoker idea that a ship with a coffin containing a many-hundred year-old vampire came ashore onto Japan centuries before, and the heirs of its contents still have the vampire blood floating around waiting until it is aroused (the film’s term, i.e., lose your virginity and…). Joining in is an older couple (her parents?), played by Masaya Adachi, who has the prerequisite Asian long, white fingernails, and the striking, muscular and bald Ko Murobushi, who looks like he was imagined from a manga comic (Ko is a leading avant-garde butoh dancer in his “day” job).

The story is kind of murky for a number of reasons. First, there is barely any dialog, other than exposition, so most of the storytelling relies on visuals and sounds. The main reason, however, is its artistic bent. Mostly filmed in black and white, it is often digitally treated to look like the Nosferatu period (1922), or scratchy, or with just a hint of color. Occasionally there may be one object in vibrant color, such as a red kimono, and more rare, a shot entirely in vivid color, such as a field of yellow flowers.

Ko Murobushi

Even with the blending of visuals, arty editing, unusual angles, extraneous close-ups of objects, and all the other modern methods to make it look older, there is definitely a beauty to the film. The way characters move, and how they are presented speak as much as the sparse dialog. Sure, you really do need some patience in this post-MTV/Transformers world, because this mostly moves at a snail’s pace, while still managing to fill the senses with unusual imagery.

While there is some blood, and some wicked looking teeth, I would hardly call this a gory film by any stretch of the imagination. Most of the shock value comes from the use of sound, be it a sudden loud noise, a piece of dissonant music, or just silence. Yoshimoto, who plays the piano on some of this, ties it all together to make it work, even if it is unconventional.

Speaking of Yoshimoto, there is a 10-minute or so making of short where the relatively young director talks about how the film came to be, mixed with some short interviews with Kakizawa and Murobushi. His solid grasp of English makes it coherent and helps to explain a bit of what is going on in the film.

The other extra is an additional short film called Nowhere, which is also around10 minutes. It definitely has a similar auteur feel to Sangafanga, in which a man stumbles into a deserted factory and screams a few times, before walking out an meeting someone on the road. Again, there is no dialog other than the repeated yelling, and we a presented with a switching of color and B&W. I believe it is about a post-apocalyptic world, but I am not sure. It did win a prize for digital short at a festival, and that is hardly surprising.

To recap: the film is esoteric (perhaps not as much as, say, Dog Star Man (1962, by the way overrated Stan Brakhage) and intentionally obscure, but it is also a beautiful piece of art with horror as it heart. I’m leavin’ it all up to yo-oo-oo, as the song says.

 

Review: Zombie Babies

Text © Richard Gary/Indie Horror Films, 2012

Images from the Internet

Zombie Babies

Directed and screenplay by Eamon Hardiman              

Independent Entertainment           

112 minutes, 2011 / 2012  

Zombiebabiesfilm.com

AlternativeCinema.com

MVDvisual.com

Okay, with a name like Zombie Babies, y’just know this is not only going to be a comedy, but one of a broad nature. And yes, there is no subtly here.

I’m not quite sure when the story is supposed to take place, but I’m guessing around the time Roe vs. Wade had just passed in 1973. This sets up the premise where redneck “discount late-term abortionist” ($10 per) Dr. Burt Fleming and his less-than-able-and-not-too-bright assistant Teddy decide to fight against legit docs performing the deed, and decide to have a “Abort-a-Thon” and use the old Jewish vaudeville joke punchline, “Volume!” They send out invites to couples to visit their decrepit building, once a hotel and casino, to have their wombs vacated in a party atmosphere.

Four dysfunctional couples accept the offer. Most of the actors who play the roles have an amazing amount of credit behind them (and upcoming), most in the sexploitation horror genre (the kind of stuff in which the underrated Misty Mundae would appear; if you know who I mean, you know the genre I refer). Needless to say, though I will anyway, there are lots and lots of tats on both genders, and a number of body piercings present. In no particular order the couples are:

There is hooker supreme Capri (Desiree Saetia) and her boyfriend, pimp, and Thurston Howell III wannabe - right down to the cap and accent - Reggie (Ford Austin, who has had quite the career, having been in every genre from Happy Days [1978] and a semi-regular in Night Court [1985], to the likes of Showgirls 2: Penny’s From Heaven [2011] and Aliens vs. A-Holes [2012]), who perhaps is named after Reggie Mantle from the Archie comics. Austin doesn’t seem to take this too – er – seriously, in that he seems like he doesn’t want to be there, and is less memorable for it. Saetia, who also chews the scenery in her role, comes off a bit better, having a nice tour-de-force performance about half-way through the film.

Another is the weighty and sweating Lewis (Shawn Phillips), who somehow managed to knock up knock-out redhead Veronica (Ruby Larocca). Of course, she treats him like a doormat, and he is desperate enough to accept that role. Phillips plays the role with just amount of whine to make him both pitiable and annoying, definite a hard and fine-line to project without delving into one way or another. He actually has a number of credits in the genre, such as Girls Gone Dead (2012) and Blood Orgy at Beaver Lake (2012). As for Larocca, well, she’s actually been in a number of films I’ve already reviewed, such as Bill Zebub’s Zombiechrist (2010), and some of the voices on the animated Where the Dead Go to Die (2012; HERE).  She was also in one of my favorite titled films that I’ve seen, The Lord of the G-String:The Femaleship of the String (2003). She is also frequently in films with Mundae. It’s not surprising her credit list is incredibly long, as she seems fearless, as well as tattooed. As with much of the cast, she also has a history of writing, producing, and directing within the genre. This may be a silly film with bizarre characters, but these are some smart-as-whips actors.

The third grouping is manipulative baseball groupie Jami Lynn (Missy Dawn) and professional athlete Jackson (Dean Stark). Perhaps by coincidence, both these paired actors have the least amount of credits to their name: Stark has this as his only listing, and Missy’s menu is three films, all by this director. Stark, despite being a bit diminutive for a pro baseball player, nails the character’s vain and aggressive behavior, even if it’s a bit stereotypical jock (and I have found many jocks in my life have this same attitude, so this is not a criticism). The wonderfully moniker’s Missy is way taller than him, and gives the right edge to someone who expected more than the Jackson character can give. However, she is also the most willing to hit the sack than of the others.

The last, and most central of the ensemble, is loser tee-shirt entrepreneur Kevin (Trent McKelvin, a pseudonym for the director, Eamon Hardiman), and the nagging (don’t really blame her; she just wants someone reliable) yet adorable Leah (Kaylee Williams). Of course Kevin is a bit of a hero while still being a zero – directors can give themselves that role – while Kaylee comes across as the most naturally accomplished and natural actor of the troupe.

And, despite the low budget and genre, this cast is actually quite strong, if goofy as all get out. Even when the occasional scenery chewing occurs, especially by the good doctor (I’ll get to that in a minute), it’s so much freakin’ fun that you just don’t care.

The – er – good Dr. Burt is played waaaaaay over the top with much glee by Brian Gunnoe, who, like most of the cast, has appeared in previous Hardiman films (including the Porkchop slasher franchise). Gunnoe portrays him with southern hillbilly aplomb, dressed in a white tee covered by a red… well, it’s either a robe or smoking jacket, I’m not sure. Though he plays a mean blues acoustic guitar, he’s not necessarily someone you would want to trust with as delicate an operation as this one, especially since he performs the procedure using the cheap type of white hangers dry cleaners give out, not even the more solid, copper-colored ones.

Meanwhile, Roy Cobb plays Teddy rightfully understatedly. Again, it would be easy to make him a complete and annoying moron, but he comes across as more dazed than deranged. That makes the character more dangerous because he’s misleading. Teddy also wears a fez, for some reason, and a white, sleeveless tee-shirt with nothing over it, with his belly hanging out under the shirt.

Oh, and did I mention that Dr. Burt was well over 100 years old (not looking a day over 40), thanks to some mystery moonshiney type of concoction that he mixes in the basement, next to the bloody pile of excavated fetuses? That’s where the story goes… hell, it’s already so joyfully off-the-wall that by the time the formula starts bringing the fetuses to murderous life, you’ve already said goodbye to any sense of levels of credibility. And rightfully so, because, well, I mean, hell, you’re watching a film called Zombie Babies.

When the fetuses become zombified, they’re not necessarily flesh eaters in the (now) classic zombie sense as much as revengeful mutilators out to kill their parents (and others) in revenge. How the parents recognize the fetuses as their own, and vice-versa, of course, is a head scratcher in itself.

The revitalized babies are way too big to be merely fetuses, even late term, and they sometimes look a bit like some of the main characters of Full Moon Studio’s Puppetmaster (1989). Two different types of puppets are obviously used, one with the hand up the back and sticks to move the arms (like most Muppets), and other times marionettes. In true DIY, indie, low budget mode, there are some joyfully sloppy moments, where the strings are digitally edited out, but the scene is also zapped, so you see some white lines where the strings were before. And in one case, you can easily see the shadow of the hands holding the sticks, while the sticks themselves were clumsily taken out. And don’t get me started on the green-screen debacle of when the couples arrive on the grounds of the abortion casino. While in a big budget film this would be terrible, in this film it’s all part of the joyous fun and woo-hoo lets-make-a-movie mode. If this was trying to be a serious film, even indie, I would be annoyed by it. But this is the kind of film you have your friends over for, to watch and yell at the screen, so it becomes part of the fun.

By far the funniest part of the film is actually a semi-serious conversation on white-on-black violence. Part of what makes it a hoot is the out-of-context-ness with the rest of the dialog, which includes the very quotable “We gonna kill us some fuckin’ babies!”

The gore level is pretty high, including garroting and beheading via umbilical cord, a hysterical gauntlet of flying zombie babies/fetuses, and of course, what would this film be without the classic baby in a blender gag?

I can see both sides of the abortion debate using this film, though probably not up there on their attention plane, as proving their point (as was done with Juno). The anti-abortionists can point out that, “See, them baybehs is ahlave. ‘N look how disgustin’ them abortionists aw, y’all! (sorry, I have to do it in a Southern accent. If I may digress, as I am wont, comedian Steve Landesberg [RIP 2010] – aka “Dietrich” on Barney Miller – once said that Southerners aren’t necessarily more racist than those in the North, it just sounds so much better to say, “hayng hym”).

As for the pro-choice, well, in a similar vein, the use of coathangers and the disgusting unlicensed abortionists also can be used as symbols of why the procedure needs to be legal (the side on which I am strongly learning, FYI).

With its high level of amateurishness (if that’s even a word… well Microsoft Word recognizes it so it must be), zany levels of gore and ridiculous plot that seems to be written during a bender, shit, I had a lot of fun from beginning to end. This just flies by between the gore effects, the gross-outs (don’t get me started on how Reggie kicks it), the ample amount of exposed and colored flesh and plot holes that are harder to put together than finding who committed the JonBeney Ramsey murder (sorry, again; I just recently rewatched ThanksKilling). What plot holes? Well, for one of thousands, the fact that just hours after having the abortion, nearly all the couples connubially combine with their significant other.

You can just tell the actors are having fun. Just that so many of them have appeared in a few other films by Hardiman shows that we are viewing a good time that extends beyond the set. Will this offend? Let me repeat slowly for ya: Z-o-m-b-i-e B-a-b-i-e-s. Get some of them buddies together and have fun talking back to the screen.

Review: Terror of Dracula

Text © Richard Gary/Indie Horror Films, 2012

Images from the Internet

                            

Terror of Dracula

Directed by Anthony DP Mann     

World Wide Multi-Media (WWMM)                      

100 minutes, 2012  

wwmm.info/

MVDvisual.com

In the DIY world, if someone won’t do it for you, take it into your own hands. Can’t get a gig? Get some bands, hire a hall and equipment, and put on your own showcase. Can’t get a record deal, even from the indies? Put it out yourself. Fixated on 19^th Century literature and want to make a film about Sherlock Holmes or Count Dracula? Get some likeminded friends together who need some exposure and, as they say in Canada, get ‘er done.

Oh, I may have forgotten to mention that Terror of Dracula is a Canadian film, based in the lovely (seriously) granite-capital of Kingston, Ontario, a “place I know right well” (to quote the song “Leaving of Liverpool”).

So, Anthony DP Mann, along with Bill Bossert, wrote a screenplay supposedly meant to be accurate to the original 1897 Bram Stoker novel, and then Mann added himself to the main role, and also directed the film, such as he had done with his previous two films, Sherlock Holmes and the Shadow Watchers and Canucla (aka Dracula in Canada). I have not seen these others yet, but would be willing.

As the moving picture show begins, we are presented with title cards, explaining that this release predates most the others, including the Hammer Films, and it has been restored. This is a nice touch, as this was obviously shot on digi, and just released this year. Not a complaint though; just the opposite, as it was appreciated.

With the help of the city’s local Theatre Five troupe (whom I had seen perform a few times in the late 1980s). Actually, I got excited when I saw that Dr. Seward, who runs the institution that houses Renfield, and is the father of the Count’s first on-land British victim, Lucy, is played by Dick Miller. However, it was not the Dick Miller. Oh, well, unlife goes on. Apparently, none of the other cast members have any film credits other than either this, or Mann’s previous Sherlock release.

Oh, there’s lots of other unintentionally amusing bits – and again, this is not meant as a dig, just the eye of a viewer of many indie films – such as the cell where Renfield is kept at the institution is obviously the same we Jonathan Harker’s bedroom at Castle D.

A reason I was hot to watch this film is because of its reputed loyalty to the book, one I’ve read a number of times. It really is nearly impossible, as the novel takes place in various forms of correspondence, after the fact (for example, a paraphrase may be something like, “Oh, what a horrible series of events occurred last evening, and here is why…”). Like all other retellings before this one (while Hammer was especially bad for loyalty to the original, they were usually great films), there is – and has to be – quite a bit of original input by Mann and Weil… I mean Bossert, including the unsurprising yet fun ending.

One disappointing aspects of this film is the slow pacing. In a stilted verbal manner or through chewing of scenery to express angst, the cast plays this like a stage drama, with overwrought tones and non-literal handwringing, in part due to way the cast reads the 19^th Century-ish dialog, a trap that most period pieces fall into. This is not helped by the extreme and claustrophobic close-ups that are the core of nearly every scene. It’s sort of like when you watch a filmed concert, and they focus on the strumming hand rather than both that and the one playing the chords. I kept wanting more visual information that just when eyebrows are lifted. I was almost expecting the actors to turn around too fast as hit their nose on the camera (yes, Mel Brooks did perfect that).

Another is how dreadfully serious they seem to be taking the production. Truly, a low budget and a newbie cast is much better serving the audience if there seems to be some sense of camaraderie with those on- and off-screen. Sure, the tale of Dracula and his ilk deals with evil beings out to suck the world dry in high drama fashion, but even in the original novel, one could argue that Renfield and his insistence on entomophagy was a comic thread on some level. The Hammer Films versions also had moments of dark humor. Mix together the dead (pun intended) seriousness and the stilted language and acting, you end up with a product that is self-important and pretentious, even if that is not what was meant as the outcome. I’m just sayin’…

Mann plays the titular character either with static intensity or overdrawn – er – intensity. The beard looks okay, but there is no explanation of why it turns from white in Transylvania to dark in Kingst… I mean England.

While I’m at it, there were a few parts in the book that are terrific, but were left out here, I’m sure due to financial constraints, so I’m not blaming, I’m just noticing. An example is the terror aboard the Demeter, the ship that brings ol’ Drac and his many boxes filled with native soil to the UK. In the book, it is a very palpable set piece, and it is even well done in the original Nosferatu (1922), though I do have to admit it is barely shown in the more famous Lugosi-led Dracula (1930).

The rest of the cast also meanders over stilted language and emotions, as I’ve indicated above, although Angela Scott fares well as Lucy, with minimal ham-foolery. It would have been easy to do the dying character as a Camille, with arms amok, but she stays true. However, the three women who play the “wives” of the Count are jaw-droopingly overdone performances. To be fair, this is actually a hard part to play, because there’s three of them vying for notice always in the same scene, and again, there’s an overwrought level to them; even in the book, as they cower from their “master” and bound after their prey (a baby), so perhaps I’m being too hard on them.

I respect what Mann is trying to do, but perhaps he is doing too much. He needs a cinematographer who knows how to back the hell up, a dialog coach (especially if he continues to film costume dramas), and an AD who will have the balls to tell him that he needs to either ramp a scene up, or clamp it down.

Note that this film has been getting a lot of really good notices, so I may be one of the few who had some difficulty with it. The only extras on the disc are two versions of the trailer, so if you watch the VoD version, you won’t miss much. Perhaps check it out for yourself. See it… for your mother’s sake.

Review: The Scar Crow

Text © Richard Gary / Indie Horror Films, 2012

Images from the Internet

                            

The Scar Crow

Written and directed by Andy Thompson and Pete Benson                

Gaia Media / Dead on Arrival Digital / Jingai                 

83 minutes, 2009 / 2012    

Gaiamedia.co.uk

MVDvisual.com

Well this is a just-miss Hammer-esk film that is a bit of a mixture of early-1970s and mid-‘80s clichés. The story of three fetching witches (Prim, Proper, and Vanessa Tanner) enacting a bloody plan to escape a curse by their lecherous (and non-warlock?) dad and move on after 300 years could have been right out of the mind of those who wrote the Karnstein Trilogy (look it up HERE) rather than written by co-directors Andy Thompson and Pete Benson).

Let me start with the good stuff, coz that’s the kinda guy/fan I am. The film looks beautiful, is shot well, and edited strongly (if sometimes confusing of the action, especially in dim-lit scenes). People fading in and out are certainly nice touches and the sense of atmosphere works incredibly well; also soundly done is a scene where the audience can see the post-carnage effects in a room, but some of the characters who are enchanted cannot. The British countryside and the farm have just the right feeling of isolation, creepiness and loneliness to show the emotions of the sisters, without needing dialog to explain, though the words and actions are there.

The shimming light of fire rather than electricity, for example, is used without much loss to the image (i.e., too dark to see), and the color saturation is nicely tuned (fire tends to make things too yellow or red).

As the viewer is taken back and forth between the origin story centuries ago that weaves through modern times, it is never confusing, and they tie together in a solid knot that is the center of the story.

Ah, yes, the story. Actually, it is a really decent tale that is poorly told (as you can see, I’m starting on the problem parts now). While the acting is mostly either over- or underdone, which I will get to shortly, it is the co-screenwriting by the directors where is the most troubling.

But first, let us catch up a bit on the story. You got the three enticing witch sisters who cannot leave the farm until the curse is lifted (they are both bodily solid and spatially fluid, depending on the circumstance, which is actually a nice touch), and then there are the four macho insurance salesmen (is that an oxymoron, or are they just trying to mock a cliché?) copping out on a mean-spirited office team-building weekend (I would quit the job before going through this ridiculous and physically rigorous nonsense; most office workers could not do what is expected in the film, and beside, many insurance sellers these days are women, and there is nary a true representation in the group. But, as usual, I digress…). Running out on the exercises (rightfully), they come across the rural farm with the witches, to become fodder, as expected.

Man, I hated these four guys. They are every macho jock moron bar bully you ever met. We are also never given a chance to really feel pity for them, because, with one exception, there is no background story given about them, and absolutely no character development. All they do is drink (excessively), talk about how they’re going to score with the three women (disproportionately), and goad and fight with each other, calling their supposed good buddies “twats” over and over. The dislike I felt for them, including the supposedly sympathetic one who is more than willing to cheat on his girlfriend, was palpable. There were a couple of times there where I just said to the screen, “Oh, c’mon, kill the asshole already.”

There is also no shock value in here. When one of the four twats (as I now will call them) stops for a potty break in a field, there’s no doubt as to what is going to happen. Even the ending is no surprise, if you’ve seen any horror film in the last 30 years.

 But the biggest annoyance for me was the questions that went through my mind about the plot holes. For example (and I’ll only give two here), if the witches are planning to use these twats for their great escape, why would they let them go to the town pub and mix with the locals, including the cliché wise-but-not-taken-seriously-by-anyone older guy (bar owner, here) who warns them to leave? And why, when they are seducing one of the twats, who is tied to the bedposts, would two of the sisters undress over him and start kissing each other?  I mean, gratuitous lesbian incest, really?

As for the cast, well, most of the acting, as I said, was either too subdued or too scenery chewing. For example, the witches are supposed to be 300 years old and isolated (are you trying to tell me that no one else has been on that farm in all that time for them to do what they need to escape?; obviously, there are more than two questions…), but they sure do seem to know a lot about Twenty-first Century mores for women from the Eighteenth Century, including stripping at the drop of a corset. When they speak, they sound stilted in their language, like a high schooler trying to do Shakespeare, rather than have it flow naturally. This is especially true, sadly, for the most film-credited actor in the cast, redheaded Marysia Kay (as the eldest, Vanessa). Her line reading is atrocious here (I haven’t seen her in anything else, so I don’t know if it’s endemic for her, or she just didn’t care about this mess). The other two sisters, busty and beautiful Gabrielle Douglas (middle child Proper) and the cute and more reticent Anna Tolputt (youngest Prim, short for Primrose), fare a bit better, but are caught in a maelstrom of clunky writing.

As for the twats, well, mostly they seem interchangeable. Their characters were so vacant and transparent, and their portrayers so bland, that half the time I couldn’t remember who was whom. In fact, I’m not even going to bother with them, other than the supposedly sympathetic anti-hero (?) Dez, played by Kevyn (really?) Connett (who looks remarkably like Canadian comedian Shaun Majumder). While his acting probably comes the closest to being best among the troupe (possibly why he is the lead male role), he is also hampered by a ham-fisted script.

Now the all important gore-factor: I read a review that claimed it was not up to par, but actually, I thought the blood-to-kill quotient was quite good, and with one exception of a very obvious prosthetic in a corn field, was pleased with the various body parts strewn about in various scenes. It is amusing to me that a similar gag employed here – a hand reaching through a body to lift out a heart – was also used almost identically in a more recent film, Zombie A-Hole, reviewed recently on this blog by moi. Oh, sidebar here: I actually was annoyed that the character who had his heart removed above, along with other internal organs, was still alive to view all this happening way beyond the point of even suspension of disbelief. Again, poor writing/direction.

                                          

I realize this is a first film by Benson and Thompson, so I’m going to cut them some slack. After all, as much as I loved them, the similar could be said about some of the early works of masters like Chronenberg, Waters, Hooper, and yes, even Romero. I’ll keep my fingers crossed, even though they’ve only worked on one film since this was filmed in 2009. Perhaps we can get them to direct something they have not written, or have edited by someone else, where their strengths will all come together, because if they can match their content with their visuals, they may become a force worth noting.

                                                                      

Bonus clip:

Review: Where the Dead Go to Die

Text © Richard Gary/Indie Horror Films, 2012
Images from the Internet

Where the Dead Go to Die
Written, directed and animated by Jimmy Screamerclauz
Unearthed Films
96 minutes, 2011
Unearthedfilms.com
MVDvisual.com

Let me state, right off the top, that this is a great title for a film.

As a culture, we are all becoming more aware of motion capture in films, thanks to the likes of that Tom Hanks Christmas polar crap, and even Lord of the G-Strings…oh, wait, that’s different film… Anyway, my point is, everyone has come to think of it as a timely and expensive project, suitable only for the “big guns” of major studios (or at least a production with a decent budget).

However, with the help of some friends and an Xbox 360 Motion Capture, using Cinema 4D and importing Poser, Screamerclauz filmed and then edited it on Adobe Premiere. He has successfully shown that it is indeed doable with this dark trio of inter-related tales, titled “Tainted Milk,” “Liquid Dreams,” and “The Masks That the Monsters Wear.” Each takes place in a small town, showing a group of friends’ lives at various stages from children to adulthood, but not necessarily in chronological order.

The axis of the story is an evil(?)/godly(?) dog with glowing red eyes that can talk in a whispery, stuttering voice (somewhat like the pooch in Davy and Goliath), named Labby (to remind you of Lassie, though it is not a collie breed). Then there is his “owner” Tommy (Timmy) and something possibly malevolent in the well (as in “Timmy fell in the well!”). Some of the other characters are Johnny and Sophia. They have to deal with Labby, questionable parents (one voiced by the Linnea Quigley), and strange black-clad cyclopeses called “shadow people.”

The film is quite stunning to see, with nudity, sex, blood and gore, and a swirl of tentacles and eyes that appear often. The storylines are quite confusing and, honestly, half the time I didn’t know what the hell was going on, but I enjoyed the ride anyway. I strongly recommend watching the solo commentary by Screamerclauz afterwards. Now, I have to warn you, he is an annoying and whiny pain in the ass (“I didn’t know what I was doing,” “I don’t know what to say,” etc.), but he does help the story along somewhat to explain that this is that person from another story at a different time, for example. Note, though, that there is a lot more technical talk, for those into that, than story explanation. I almost wanted two tracks, one for the story and one for the technical, but Screamerclauz seemed to be having trouble with just the one, even ending it abruptly before the film ends.

Some of the interesting comments include him stating that he thought the film was funny rather than disturbing (actually, he says that more than once), and that “I just like wild things on the screen. I like flies, too.” Personally, I think he was stoned outta his mind when he recorded the track; and do I remember him actually lighting one up, or is that a dream?...

The music that flows nearly throughout is loud speedcore thrash, and most of the time it helps underscore the visuals, though occasionally I thought, okay, enough. Hey, I’m not expecting Peter, Paul and Mary, but it seems like every indie is using some speed metal in their films these days. It’s becoming unimaginative, unlike the rest of the visuals.

Despite all my whining, I think Screamerclauz has a lot to be proud of, since this really does look really great, despite the jerkiness of some of the movement. Truly, I think it would be terrific if he continued doing it, but I would also wish to add the caveat of wanting someone else work with him, to help edit his ideas more coherently.

While I don’t imbibe, myself, and also do not recommend or suggest it for others, I’m guessing this is a stoner’s dream (nightmare?).

Review: House of Flesh Mannequins: The Director’s Cut

Text © Richard Gary / Indie Horror Films, 2012
Images from the Internet

House of Flesh Mannequins: The Director’s Cut
Directed by Domiziano Cristopharo
Elite Entertainment; Unearthed Films 2009 / 2012 / 2020
96 minutes, USD $19.95
elitedisc.com
www.unearthedfilms.com
MVDvisual.com

During the 1980s, there used to be a term for films like this, often associated with the likes of Richard Kern and Nick Zedd (who coined the phrase): Cinema of Transgression [Here]. While this particular one may be on the borders of that idiom, as it usually refers to pictures made in New York on cheap cameras, the philosophy is similar: push the envelope way past the point of the mainstream until it becomes its own object of synergy.

Filmed in Los Angeles with a mostly American actors and a crew from Italy, House of Flesh Mannequins dances between reality and the mind, sometimes mixing them both, and not always coherently, but never failing to be interesting.

The basic plotline of this supposedly true story (though no information to that effect appears on search engines) is that 30-something Sebastian Rhys (Domiziano Arcangeli) is a freelance photographer who had survived a twisted childhood thanks to a scientist father who used him as an experiment in sleep deprivation. Now he films bloody accidents and snuff films for an underground audience. Still living in the family building that has since been turned into apartments, Sarah Roeg (the incredibly lovely Irena Hoffman) and her father (Giovanni Lombardo Radice) move into one of the flats. Sarah, way too young for Sebastian (we are introduced to her at her 18th birthday party), pushes herself on him, not knowing toward what his life is directed, but you know she’s bound to find out by the conclusion.

Meanwhile, Sebastian casually slips in and out of reality while watching violent images (that he has filmed) and of home films of his own childhood tortures (recorded by his father), most often while listening to Italian operas, such as Paligacci. A segment of the film is a(n obvious) extended dream sequence where he walks through the titular House of Flesh Mannequins, in a peep-show theater, where people are viewed in various forms of disfigurement (one leg, dwarfism, etc.) or in the process of being mutilated.

Right on the DVD box, it states clearly, “Warning: This film contains scenes of an explicit sexual nature, torture and gore.” Yes, it does. Mind you, this is not the first “straight” film to have full explicit sex in them (e.g., Tinto Brass and Bob Guccione’s 1979 Caligula, Vincent Gallo’s 2003 Brown Bunny and John Cameron Mitchell‘s 2006 Shortbus), in this case including intercourse, oral, masturbation and even a money shot, but they are all very quick takes and highly (and intentionally) unerotic, though somewhat unnecessary, other than to add to the transgression I mentioned earlier (note that none of the main actors in the story are involved directly in these actions).

The film achieves its goal in that’s it is extremely disturbing. I’m not saying it all makes sense, and first-time director Domiziano Cristopharo tries a bit too hard to be a giallo leaning towards Argento-meets-Fulci (more to the former than the latter in style, though in the proto Four Flies on Grey Velvet period, around 1971). In this fashion, the film actually moves at a slow pace, with close-ups, quiet conversations, extreme gore, weird angles, and a series of quick cut bits (usually the more transgressive moments, such as the snuff films) mixed into long scenes with minimal edits. Take out the oddities, and this could be a BBC-snail pace piece, but please keep in mind that it is never, ever, dull, despite it’s usually minimalist shots.

Domiziano Arcangeli

Much of the acting also fits into the low-key giallo framework as well. As you can see by the trailer (below), Arcangeli goes from expressionless (in most scenes) to extreme emotion, especially after he cuts off his beard in the last act. Archangeli, as with many of the actors in this film, have quite the resume, including many in the horror genre, such as Orgy of Blood, Waiting for Dracula, Silent Night Zombie Night and Werewolf in a Women’s Prison; he was also in one of my fave recent indie movies, the western The Scarlet Worm [HERE]. Before 2000, he appeared in numerous cinemas Italiano.

Giovanni Lombardo Radice

Likewise, Radice (aka John Morghen), whose character smokes while having a tracheal stent in his throat, manages to be very menacing, even while being monotone and demonstrating restraint in movement (one of the reasons he won best actor in the 2009 E Tempo di Cultura festival in Rome). His resume includes many classic period Italian horror films, such as City of the Living Dead and Cannibal Ferrox, and was also in Scorsese’s Gangs of New York. Despite his slim build, he looks like he could easily tear you even more than a second one).

Irena A. Hoffman

Hoffman, looking much taller than her 5’9” frame (probably thanks in part to her co-star’s height, or lack thereof) goes between lighthearted to concerned until the end when thing become clear to her. She actually seems the most comfortable in her role in the film, and appears the least to be ac-ting. She’s been in a few indie films, ranging from the acclaimed Moonlight Sonata to the comedic Transylmania, and even made an appearance on Two and a Half Men.

Many of the other actors, however, do some pretty terrible line readings, such as Hollywood legendary memorabilia collector Randal Malone, or Iggy Pop-looking Murrugun the Mystic, though their characters are more peripheral, albeit pivotal.

While being hard to watch in its extremity, the film is also quite beautifully shot, with minimalist sets, bright colors, primary hued lighting, and a sharp sense of contrasts (both color and black & white, and shadows. Oh, and wetness, lots of various types of wetness. It doesn’t surprise me that it’s won a bunch of awards, such as the 2010 Independent Spirit Award at the A Night of Horror International Film Festival (held near Sydney, Australia).

Director Domiziano Cristopharo

This is the Director’s Cut, but not having seen the earlier incarnation, I have to go by this one. A bit different than a number of other films that glorify the hardcore of different types, such as Hostel (2005) or A Serbian Film (2010), there is an artistic bent that goes beyond what is happening in the story, bringing it into the giallo subgenre similar to the ‘70s, but with present sensibilities.

There are a few extras worth noting. One is called “It’s Just Flesh,” which shows some of the F/X prosthetic designs and applications. There are a bunch of intermingling “Interviews” that is quite enjoyable, but I would have liked it better if there was some captions telling who was whom in the crew. The “Behind the Scenes” piece was decent, but nothing earth-shattering. First up, though, are the complete five snuff films that the Sebastian character watches / taped. They are interesting works, but quite honestly, I couldn’t watch the last one, which appears to be a real video of extreme S/M, including someone hanging by their flesh from hooks in their back, a practice that does not interest me at all. When they pulled out an electric drill, I turned it off. For myself, I don’t mind if it’s realistic, but I am bothered by the real.

Is House of Flesh Mannequins a bit pretentious? Yes. Gratuitously violent? Yes. Pornographic? Yes. Powerful? Yes. Interesting? Yes. Definitely art house material and certainly not for the squeamish, but if you have a high tolerance for the winceful, you may be surprised by its beauty, as well.