Review: ThanksKilling

Text © Richard Gary / Indie Horror Films, 2019
Images from the Internet

ThanksKilling
Directed by Jordan Downey
MVD Visual
66 minutes, 2009 / 2011
Thankskillingmovie.com
MVDvisual.com

According to the commentary track with director Downey and co-writer Kevin Stewart, the purpose of this $3,500 film, shot in 11 days back while they were both in college, was not to make a horror film per se, but by aiming towards the “so bad it’s good” (SBIG) category, rather make it a comedy with horror elements. It is true that when one goes for SBIG, usually horror is the genre on which to point.

From the box alone, you know the territory is going to be no-prisoners: make the viewer laugh at any expense, no matter how low, no matter how silly, no matter how forced. And have they achieved their goal of making a comedy and the worst horror film ever made? Well, yes and no. Let’s discuss…

As promised on the box, the first shot in the film is of a naked breast, apparently that of a healthy and hefty pilgrim running topless through the woods, played in cameo by older adult star Wanda Lust (nee Shelia Hansen). She is fleeing something raised by the Indians (this film is intentionally not PC, so I won’t bother with the terms Native Americans or First Nations) to kill the Pilgrims on the first Thanksgiving. Let’s stop there a moment and ponder. Totally realizing that there is an abnormally large need for suspension of disbelief, let me say that if this had happened, we certainly wouldn’t be celebrating the holiday, would we? But as far as stretching credulity goes, this is one of the minor ones, relatively speaking. Again, though, that’s part of the point. It’s important to keep remembering that, going forward.

After the pilgrim prologue, we meet five high school students (okay, there goes that credulity thing again in my head…easy now, brain, this is just the beginning of the ride) who are going to be both heroes and victims of… well, it’s pretty obvious from the box, so I don’t think I’m revealing anything by saying it’s the killer turkey, imaginatively named Turkie (if they really wanted it to be scary, it could have been named Tofuerkie). I must say right now that for a killer puppet turkey, Turkie looks pretty good. Kudos guys. Perhaps they could pair up with the makers of The Puppet Monster Massacre, as both these films are sequel bound? Or perhaps even Poultrygeist: Night of the Chicken Dead? But I digress…

So, the teens are totally (and purposefully, according to the commentary track, which I highly recommend if you’re going to watch this… ha, bet you thought I was going to say “turkey”!) cinematic clichés, including Johnny, the jock with a heart of gold (Lance Predmore), his goofy hick pal, Billy (Aaron-Ringhiser-Carlson, doing his best Tyler Labine impression), Billy’s nerd hanger-on Darren (Ryan Francis, who in “real life” is the drummer of the female-fronted Ohio punk band Overated , as Huge Euge), good girl Kristen (Lindsey Anderson, whose only previous notation was in Troma’s Terror Firmer, 10 years before this), and bad girl Ali (Natasha Cordova, in full John-Lithgow-sitcom-overacting style, coming closest to what the commentary states they wanted).

The five set off on Thanksgiving break (yeah, I know and the writers acknowledge in the commentary) to go camping. Of course, they run into said Turkie in the woods, who was resurrected by the pee of the dog owned by a hermit named Oscar (as in “the Grouch,” played well by General Bastard, who is the singer of his own punk-garage band). 

Of course, this meeting of late-twenty-year-old teens and Turkie turns into a battle that takes it back to town, where Turkie does away with a bunch of townsfolk, including relatives as well as some of the main cast. While Kristen’s dad, the town sheriff (Chuck Lamb, who has made a mini-career out of playing dead bodies in films and television), may have the fakest looking moustache in recent cinema memory (though it works for his character, and I’d like to say Lamb did well in his rare speaking role), probably the goofiest moment is when Turkie disguises himself as the sheriff by putting on a hat and a plastic Groucho glasses / nose / moustache, so not even his daughter can tell them apart. It is one of the few moments that I actually laughed out loud, in sheer audacity. Well played, Jordan Downey.

One of the two most infamous scenes, though, is Turkie disguised as a woman, and then getting picked up as a hitchhiker who is obviously aroused, thinking he’s a (human) girl. Let’s just say it doesn’t end well, especially for the audience. The other is when Turkie has his way with someone (“You’ve been stuffed,” he states after), though it should be noted that it was done safely (at the scene is found an extra small condom, gravy flavored).

As with Freddie Kruger, Turkie gets a whole bunch of groaner puns to state at specific times that, yes, I have to admit, are memorable and I’m sure repeatable at some time or another in life (though, I can’t think of anything needing a “Gobble-Gobble Motherfucker,” except for it’s own sake; hey, it’s even on the box).

So, is this the worst movie ever made? No, of course not, because it doesn’t take itself seriously, and tries too hard. For a film to be truly bad, it has to be done straight, such as Plan Nine From Outer Space, Cape Canaveral Monsters, or Lara Croft: Tomb Raider. But again, even as an acknowledged bad film, such as Bill Zebub’s The Worst Horror Film Ever Made, there is more a sense of either general goofiness or laziness than planned direction. That’s what is wrong with films like Epic Movie or Date Movie, in that they try too hard in a way that Fonzie kept trying so to keep his cool that he actually wasn’t.

The viewer has to be careful how to approach a film that intentionally tries to be bad. For example, I watched this the first time with a group of people who are a bit older (i.e., around my age), and even though they knew they were in for something bizarre (they did read the box, after all), they found it kind of silly more than anything else. I must admit, I appreciated it more after listening to the commentary by the director and writer (shame there were no captions because it would have been great to do both). Obviously, the demographic the film is aiming for is high school to college kids who either like inanity for inanity’s sake (hey, I’ve been there), or the alcohol and weed stoners who will laugh at a fart joke.

For me, the film definitely had its moments, and I was glad to watch it a second time by myself and actually see it (as opposed to in a talk-back crowd), and then, dare I say it, a third with the commentary. Waste of time? Sure. Sorry I saw it? No. While it may not have been the worst movie (I’m with Elaine about the film The English Patient, a book I thoroughly enjoyed, though), nor even a great comedy, it was a fun way to waste an afternoon.

Meanwhile, I’ve got my bag of popcorn ready for the nuker when the sequel (with a budget of $100,000) comes around.

This film was originally reviewed HERE

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Review: The VelociPastor

Text © Richard Gary / Indie Horror Films, 2019

Images from the Internet

The VelociPastor

Directed by Brendan Steere

Cyfuno Ventures / Hollow Tree Films / Laika Come Home /
Wild Eye Releasing / MVD Entertainment

75 minutes, 2018

www.wildeyereleasing.com

www.mvdb2b.com

I’ll be honest with ya, as I always am… I try to review things in the order I get them, but as soon as I saw this, I put all others aside and threw this on the player. Some films project that they are so bad that they grab your attention and say, “Oh, you’re gonna wanna see this” to me. A priest who turns into a velociraptor? I’m all in, dude!

It’s important to note that this is not just a version of a werewolf film, it’s actually more. In no particular order, it’s an homage to the amazing bad horror films of the mid-VHS period of the late ‘70s-early ‘80s, before there was CGI (most of the effects are practical, but there is one key digital moment during a flashback sequence in the middle); also it’s as played-straight comedy filled deliberate errors to emulate the micro-budget VHS features; it’s brilliant in its own goofy way; and there are so many genres thrown in and mixed in a bowl here it’s bound to get your attention, a multitude of styles of movie mayhem from that period you liked.

Greg Cohan

So, let’s break it down a bit, first with what’s going on, in the most surface of ways as I don’t want to ruin any of it for you. After a tragedy, Father Doug Jones (buffed-out Greg Cohan) travels to Asia where he comes in possession of an artifact that lets him turn into the titular creature: a very rubberized man-in-a-suit that looks more like a mini-T-Rex. Meanwhile he comes to the acquaintance of forbidden love object and hooker Carol (Alyssa Kempinski, who has some killer cheek bones), while gangsters and a Chinese warlord priest with Japanese Ninja guards who speak Korean come sniffin’ around with various agendas. Then in Family Guy fashion, there’s those flashback memories of family and war. Who will win the battle for Doug’s soul, as it were?

 

Okay, now for the framework of the film. This isn’t the first one of use deliberate measures to show low budget and incompetence (Richard Griffin’s Seven Dorms of Death [2015] comes to the top of my head), but it’s still a hoot. Here, there are action shots missing with a notice for the CGI to be added later, and when a head is ripped off, it’s pretty obvious (i.e., intentionally) that it’s a store mannequin’s topper. The fight scenes are straight out of the Dolemite school of martial arts. There are other fine moments that had me laughing out loud, but I’ll leave that as a bonus when you see it.

Alyssa Kepinski

The acting, again, is a mix of purposefully hammy and dead serious, and the two leads especially not only excel in this (it’s actually harder for a good actor to pretend to be bad, than the other way around), but really seem to be having a blast playing these roles. Meanwhile there’s lots of blood and cheesy-type gore, enough to make a splatterfest fiend smile, but not necessarily turn off a neophyte fan of the red stuff.

There are some decent extras here, including an amusing nearly 9-minute gag reel, the film’s trailer (along with a bunch of others), captions that can be a bit on the quick side, and at the Texas Fightmare 2019 Festival Midnight Screening Q&A hosted by Matt D. (representing Wild Eye) that lasts over 28 minutes. Usually the sound quality for these festivals is terrible, but this one wasn’t too bad, I’m happy to say. Present are the director, Cohan and producer Jesse Gouldsbury. The group were amusing, telling great stories and explaining the genesis of the film (originally a school project of the director’s) with humor straight across.

Then there is the film commentary, which I was looking forward to hearing; it is also Steere, Cohan and Gouldsbury. Sometimes it’s a bit hard to tell who is talking, but most of what they are saying is fun and relevant (though there’s a bit of dross, such as discussing the food they are eating while recording the commentary). There is a bit of overlap from the festival Q&A, but that is common and forgivable. Mostly it’s enjoyable, and it’s pretty obvious these guys get along. I do wish that Kempinski was in on it, too; I think hearing a female perspective would have enriched the experience, but I don’t want it to sound like I’m complaining, because I’m not.

One of the strong points of the film is the look and editing. There is a lot of split-screen action that is incredibly well done for a group that is this novice, i.e., haven’t made that many features yet. Steere discusses how time-consuming certain scenes were, and I believe it. Beautiful to look at and kept the pace moving along.

My favorite scene in the film is towards the end, involving the Ninjas during an emotional moment, but I won’t give it away. There is talk in the commentary about a sequel in the works. If that’s so, I am so up for it. It’s actually quite difficult to purposefully make a “bad” film and have it shine like this hybrid horror / action / kung fu flick.

Reviews: The Violent Years; Anatomy of a Psycho

Text © Richard Gary / Indie Horror Films, 2018

Images from the Internet

                                     

The Violent Years (aka Teenage Girl Gang)

Directed by William Morgan; written by Ed Wood, Jr.

AGFA / Something Weird Video / MVD Visual

65 minutes, 1956 / 2017

www.americangenrefilm.com

www.mvdvisual.com

I’m happy to say I originally saw this one in the theater. No, not when it came out, I’m not that old. I either saw it at an Ed Wood, Jr. respective at the Thalia Theater in New York City, back in the ‘80s, or, it could have been at the World’s Worst Film Festival, run by the Medved Brothers, but I can’t remember.

Ed Wood, Jr. (d. 1978) gets most of the credit for this film because of the name value, but he was only the writer. The direction is flatly in the hands of William Morgan. Before this, he made mostly B-Westerns, and this was his last one before he died in 1964.

There’s two ways (at least) to look that this film: what it is and what it means; in other words, the film itself, and the message it was infused to give in the context of its history. I’ll start with the easy one, which is first.

This film gets a lot of flak for being a piece of bad cinema. I’m not going to argue with that per se, but there’s a lot of different ways to look at that, as well. To be fair, this is actually no better or worse than most of the b-films that were coming out since the 1940s, especially the cheap and fast ones during wartime. Like most of those, this too was a propaganda film, but I’ll get more into that later.

Jean Moorehead

The basic premise of the film is the non-rise of a girl gang that robs (mostly gas stations), assaults people, and whose members are just angry at life. The foursome is led by Paula (attractive Jean Moorehead, who was the October 1955 Playboy Bunny of the month; Hershell Gordon Lewis would do the same with June 1963 Playmate Connie Mason in his 1963 Blood Feast, but I digress…). Each of the four is given names that are easily masculinized, which they call each other as nicknames, for the filmmakers to subtly indicate to the audience they are not being “womanly”: Paula/Paul, Geraldine/Jerry, Georgia/George, and Phyllis/Phil (no Ringo, though).

The acting overall, yes, is quite wooden, but there are some nice moments, such as when Paula sneers to the wasp-waited Sheila (Lee Constant), their link to the underworld, “I killed a policeman tonight. Yeah, a cop” (it’s in the trailer, below). But mostly, it’s high drama acting where everything is either under- or over-stated. Again, that’s very typical of the period films of this nature. The worst acting, though is the judge (stalwart b-film western actor I. Stanford Jolley), who either looks like he is saying his lines with his eyes closed, or reading the script below him; though the court bailiff who flubs his one line gets honorable mention.

The Girl Gang

Also typical of b-films, this one is just merely over an hour in length. In a time when it was common practice to have double features, the longer the films the less turnover of customers, so they tended to be quick.

Overall, the writing is okay, most of the story is told in flashback, though admittedly clunky. The revitalized print is really good, but nothing could save the many overused studio stock footage b-rolls of the police cars screaming down the streets with sirens blaring.

As for the sociological aspect of the film, well, there is a lot to unbox. Most of the juvenile delinquent films from the ‘50s were geared to two different audiences. First to the parents as a scare tactic (such as the evening newscast in New York City that for decades started with “It’s10 PM. Do you know where your children are!?”).  With the rise of rock and roll, and all the media hysteria that went with it, films like these were used to scare parents about their teens, and also give them a message: pay attention to your kids or they will go bad. Here they imply that because the mother is more interested in things outside the home (in this case charity work, but it could be seen as any employment), it will lead to ignoring the children who will go wrong without direct and constant supervision. That is just one of the subliminal messages meant for the audience.

It could be noted that all the characters here (other than gonif queen Sheila) are middle class, with Paula coming from wealthy parents. The message of stay home with your children seems geared towards white, middle class and upper. It’s as if the lower classes were expected to be lost causes, so the subtext is “these are the children of the future, not those others, so watch your social status or we will lose our advantage!”

                                

The other side of the directed audience is teens, who were coming to be recognized as a marketable demographic in the late ‘50s (that, too, came with rock and roll record purchasing) with some spendable income. Films like this wallowed in cheesy, establishment versions of rock and roll music (very toned down boogie-woogie with lots of sax). This and the teen crime element made it an interesting topic for the young, but it was also a warning to them to stay on the straight-and-narrow. The film opens with some “good citizenship” notes on a blackboard that the main characters walk by (as they are introduced with name title cards), and scoff.

This was the middle period of the Cold War, between McCarthyism and the Bay of Pigs, but the fear was still intense. The fear was palpable back then, so in films like this, they tried to connect the rising imagined JD problem with Communist influence. Here, Sheila hires the ladies to wreck the school, and subtly adds, “And don’t worry if a few (American) flags get destroyed in the process. Let’s just say it’s part of a well-organized foreign plan” (again, check out the trailer).  

And then there’s the ever-present fear of S-E-X before marriage. Or, as they show here, will lead to multiple unwanted consequences (don’t want to give too much away).

                                                                                           

The theme of the film is, literally, “so what?,” which is said numerous times. If this film was made today, I wonder if they would have used Anti-Nowhere League as a theme song. 

This is a really nicely cleaned up print, so great job AGFA and Something Weird Video.

The extras are some grainy (8mm? 16mm?) footage that Wood shot in one day for a film that was never made called Hellborn. Even in those 8 minutes, you can see the difference between his style and, say, the main feature’s. Though seeing Wood in his drag persona is always a pleasure. Some of this b-roll was used in a couple of his other films. There is also the trailer for The Violent Years, but also added is a collection of other youth in trouble films, mostly from Europe, and almost all have the same catch phrase: “Never before has a film been so frank about sex!”

                                   

While The Violent Years would have been a great double feature with Switchblade Sisters (1975), it is probably more appropriate to have the following as the second film:

Anatomy of a Psycho

Directed by Brooke L. Peters (aka Boris Petroff)

75 minutes, 1961 / 2017

First, the reason this one is included with main feature is that Ed Wood, Jr. added to the screenplay, under the pen name Larry Lee, so it kinda makes sense.

While the other film deals with saying “no” to society and its norms, this movie deals with more of a psychological aspect, with a criminally insane Juvenile Delinquent. There is a difference between being anti-social and being a sociopath, and that’s where this film has its feet.

A murderous criminal is sent to the gas chamber as the film begins. But the story revolves more about the aftermath of his actions than on him, since he’s smoked less than five minute into the story.

Ronnie Burns and Pamela Lincoln

His normal sister, Pat (the cute and toothsome Pamela Lincoln, who had appeared as Vinnie Price’s wife in The Tingler in 1959), is trying to get over the social shame of having her brother be a murderer. But she’s in love with Mickey (Ronnie Burns, the real-life adopted son of George Burns and Gracie Allen), and her aim is to have a normal life with him.

Their other brother, Chet (Darrell Howe) is another story, and is the titular character. He can’t stand that his brother was executed, and decides to decimate anyone who aided in the arrest. He’s not the Arch Hall, Jr. screaming freak of 1963’s The Sadist, but more the type of tall guy who leans over you with a cigarette dangling in his mouth and idly holding a switchblade. He has his manic moments, especially by the end, but mostly he’ll non-chalantly start a fire, for example. It’s a slow build.

Darrell Howe

Other than a lot of smoking by a lot of characters, one would think the film would be focusing on Chet, but it seems like Mickey is oddly the central character (definitely the biggest name of the cast), as he is arrested for a murder actually perpetrated by…well, you know.

Unlike, say, The Violent Years, his film is not used as a propaganda tool to scare people into doing or being something that society expects, it’s more a straight-out crime that could have easily played on television on one of the many cop shows that were on at the time. Part of the reason for that, I believe, is that the three siblings come from a lower class stratum, so are not seen as socially relevant; though Pat is marrying into supposed respectability, before he is arrested.

While overall it’s a pretty silly film, and Chet is both scary and laughable (at times), in the social context of the time, it is still good escapism. It’s right as a second feature, as it’s not good enough a story to be A-line, but I didn’t feel sorry watching it, any more than spending an evening with a CSI: Whatever or NCIS: Wherever. It doesn’t need to be brilliant to be an enjoyable time killer.

Review: Winners Tape All: The Henderson Brothers Story

Text © Richard Gary / Indie Horror Films, 2016

Images from the Internet

Winners Tape All: The Henderson Brothers Story

Directed and edited by Justin Channell

IWC Films / Brainwrap Media

67 minutes, 2016

www.facebook.com/winnerstapeall

www.iwcfilms.com

The timing of this film is very – er – timely. What I mean by that is there is a wave of nostalgia in the genre market for the quickie and cheap films that arose during the 1980s, flooding the hungry retail market for horror films and giving birth to the B-level slashers. Okay, sometimes C- or D-level. Yet, were these films actually any good?

Don’t get me wrong, I was one of those renting and watching as many as my time and money (and occasional schoolwork) would allow. Even then, as now, I preferred the indie, micro-budget films like The Orbitrons (1990), as I do now, and I wallowed in the Foreign releases that glorified (and rightfully so) the likes of Fulci and Argento, but also (and perhaps not as rightfully so) Paul Naschy. It also gave prominence those such as Fred Olen Ray and Jesse Franco. Thankfully it also began the careers of the Scream Queen royalty, such as Brinke, Linnea and (my then-personal fave) Michelle Bauer.

If one were to look back at some of these releases that we enjoyed so much, if we haven’t kept watching them over and over, would we still find them so fascinating? Would The Boogey Man (1980), Creepozoids (1987) and Sorority Babes in the Slimeball Bowl-O-Rama (1988) still retain their charms? That is the premise of this mockumentary.

During the late ‘80s, the fictional West Virginia-based Henderson Brothers, Michael (Zane Crosby) and Richard (Josh Lively), made two straight-to-video films, The Curse of Stabberman and Cannibal Swim Club. And much like Nicholas Garreau did in real life as an obsessed fan of George Romero in Fan of the Dead (2007), the Hendersons also have their own both charming and creepy uber cheerleader in Henry Jacoby (Chris LaMartina).

Richard (Josh Lively) and Michael (Zane Crosby)

Bonded together by their love of horror films at the age of 10 when their parents re-married, the step-brothers took advantage of both the outlet for indie VHS and their lives basically being in the crapper (e.g., dropping out of college), to live their dream.

Mixed in with the talking-head interviews with the brothers (and Henry, of course doing solo “analysis” of their releases), sometimes together and sometimes by themselves, is scenes from the two films, …Stabberman and Cannibal…, with Michael and Richard giving play-by-plays that essentially are like commentary tracks. Of the two, the latter is the more wacky one, and thereby all the more fun. Many of the scenes are joyfully stolen by the horrendous acting of the “swim club owner,” Jerry McElroy. His cackling and on-screen script reading (like Brando in the “Gatfather” [sic] says Michael), kept me more than amused, as well as his tendency to Jay Leno a pun by explaining it, such as, “I don’t see this new job panning out for you. ‘Cause it’s a pan!”

Not only financial constraints darken the Bros filmmaking, but so do the occasional rise of sibling rivalry, or weird choices, such as Richard’s tendency to put on a Quint/Robert Shaw type gruff New England accent when one is not called for the story.

Henry (Chris LaMartina)

A reality of this piece is how one of the main props (a hand) is used in both films. If you tend to listen to as many commentaries as I do, you often hear the directors or SFX people talking about the appropriation of sets, people and paraphernalia in future endeavours. It was a wise choice to do this here, in a bit of a subtle way as they don’t discuss it, though it is prominently placed.

Starting especially in the ‘80s was the use of “themes” (as Michael Henderson might say), which would become tropes used even to this day. There are a bunch of them that are touched on here, such as one camper giving the history of the villain (i.e., Stabberman, whose real name made me laugh hard enough to pause the film) to the others (and us viewers) around a campfire. But there is also taking advantage of the moment scenes that are used (e.g., rain), which often happens in fly-by-seat-of-pants productions.

There is also a bit of reality in this story as well, being this is sort of how Hershell Gordon Lewis became an icon after a series of fun and badly shot films reached a fan, Jim Vraney (d. 2014) who promoted him (and others) via a VHS distribution company called Something Weird Video (I own a number of SWV films; yes, on VHS). Lewis was a direct marketing guru at the time of his re-emergence (and still is), and now his films from the early 1960s and ‘70s are considered horror classics – and rightfully so – even though they are not exactly strong in the writing or acting.

Even now, thanks to digital technology, people are shooting their own films and then editing it on computers, such as then 15-year-old Johnny Dickie’s Slaughter Tales (2013; reviewed HERE).Will Dickie be a future Lewis or Henderson Brothers? Time will tell, but I bet there will be “Henry Jacoby”-type fans to support him and others like him.

So this particular film also looks like it was made on a dime (and the use of a 110 camera, apparently!), but to the better of the result than the hindrance, since that is the look it was going for, in the long run.

Any fan of micro-budget films, be it from the 1980s VHS boom to digi productions now, is going to get the elbow in the ribs humor that runs from beginning to end. If you’re more used to the bigger budget Sinister or Insidious kinds of films, it may be a bit over your head (or under it), but I know I was smirking at the least and laughing at the high-jinx of these three guys (including Henry). The outtakes near the end with Michael and his whistle are particularly enjoyable.

Be sure to stick around and read the credits, as there are little “Easter Eggs” of humor throughout the text and visuals.

Review: Dangerous Men

Text © Richard Gary / Indie Horror Films, 2016

Images from the Internet

Dangerous Men

Directed (and everything else) by John S. Rad

Sima Sim International

Drafthouse Films / MVD Visual

80 minutes, 2005 / 2016

.www.drafhousefilms.com

www.mvdvisual.com

There is a place in the heart for certain people like myself when it comes to really bad films. I grew up with the likes of those directed by Ed Wood Jr., The Cape Canaveral Monsters (1960), and Robot Monster (1953), all of which could be seen on television. In the 1980s, with the advent of VHS cheapies and television shows like Elvira’s Move Macabre (1981-85) and Rhonda Sheer’s USA Up All Night (1989), another layer of bad films was leveled on an audience that either enjoyed the experience or just didn’t get it.

Now there is a new generation of bad cinema that has come to light with the medium of digital filmmaking, giving us some pretty awful releases, like The Room (2003), which have achieved cult status and are regular screened for adoring fans.

This film is a bit different. Even though it was officially released in 2005, it was shot on film with Rad’s own money over 22 years (starting in 1984), which would certainly explain the jumpiness of the story, what there is of it. It has gained fame over the years since 2007, finally being released digitally to the public now. Sadly, the director, a Persian named Jahangir Salehi Yenganehrad who self-penned himself John Rad, died in 2007, never seeing its success.

Melody Wiggins as Mina

Perhaps because it took over two decades to make, it’s no surprise that a character that is central to one part is not the focus of another. This happens a lot in here. In the first half, it’s sort of a revenge narrative as a cute and petite woman, Mira (Melody Wiggins, who is a physician now), whose fiancée is murdered by a couple of bikers, sets off on a Ms. 45 / I Spit on Your Grave man-killing spree. The second half is more about the fiancée’s brother, a police detective who is also out to bring down some bikers; evil motorcyclers are the largest percentage of “dangerous men” in the film, though not the only ones. The gang is led by an almost albino surfer-type dude, known as – wait for it – Black Pepper (Brian Jenkins, an actual surfing teacher; d. 2013).

The very end is both a head scratcher and guaranteed to make you do one of those confused-dog-head-tilting-to-the-side motions. Not that goals aren’t narratively necessarily completed, but…hunh? One of the things I find interesting is how Rad manages to squeeze in some unconnected Iranian aspects to the film, such as the wife of one of the main characters being Persian (the first face the audience sees), and the inexplicableness of having an actual belly dancer (Roohi) at a particularly odd moment.

Brian Jenkins as Black Pepper

The acting is pretty inconsistent. For example, sometimes Wiggins is spot on emotionally, and others her emoting is terrifyingly unintentionally amusing, which makes it all the more disturbing. For example, before her first kill, you can see her face is full of rage, but it was more disturbing than anything else. But when she smiles, she brightens up the scene. Some of the other actors are just terrible: the bartender at the biker bar, the woman playing darts (who has a large role than just that), Jenkins, for example. It’s actually the bikers that come across as most genuine. And for once, they’re more realistic as bikers than, say, the romanticized versions by Marlon Brando or Peter Fonda, or even Jack Nicholson.

Also, there isn’t any gore, really, though some blood. Considering the number of stabbings and shooting, as there is a nice sized body count, there is relatively just a smidgen of blood. But nudity is another story. There’s plenty of female bodies shown (and a few close-ups of the belly dancer’s upper torso shaking), including one full frontal, and even some male nudity from the rear, not to mention an obvious genital grab. Certainly enough to keep it interesting for everybody.

John S. Rad

The extras include some of this and other film’s trailers (including Ms. 45), a 30-min documentary called “That’s So John Rad,” a road trip about searching for things John Rad and ends up with interviewing his daughter and grandkids; a 10-minute interview with the Director of Cinematography of all 22 years named Pater Palian (also Iranian); and a local access television show called “Queer Edge” where the loquacious and stupefying John Rad is interviewed sorta-kinda by the host and Sandra Burnhart. There is also a full-length commentary by genre authors Zach Carlson and Bryan Connolly. Most of it is good, as they tend to discuss what you are seeing more than behind the scenes goings-on. The only negative really is that the sound of the film is turned on too high and sometimes interferes with what they’re saying (though I’ll take that over when the film soundtrack is completely turned off on commentaries).There is also a really nice booklet included, with a reprint of a 2006 interview with Rad from the LA Weekly.

A reason this film is so honored, considering it really is a terribly made albeit extremely entertaining one, is because it is a prime example of (a) never giving up dream, and (b) a pure example of DIY workmanship. Sure it’s rough around the edges (and the middle, and the sides…), but you can see the dedication, sweat, personal money and in the case of the wrecking of his daughter’s car, personal property, in every frame. It could be considered an anti-masterpiece.

Just like there is the “Outsider” genre of music, meaning untalented musicians who believe so much that they are creating important music (e.g., Wildman Fischer, Legendary Stardust Cowboy, Drake) that it actually gives the songs credibility, this is also true of Outsider cinema (such as Richard Kern and most of the Transgressive subgenre). It goes beyond the “so bad that it’s good,” to the level of “so bad that’s it’s just bad, and thereby it’s so good.”

Honestly, I would only recommend it for those with an understanding of this kind of thing, and you may be surprised how many there are considering it tends to sell out some shows by those in the know. If you are one of those, you may believe that it can give even the classic Outsider film The World Greatest Sinner (1962) a run for its money.

Review: Rise of the Black Bat

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

 

Rise of the Black Bat
Directed by Scott Patrick
Tom Cat Films / Brett Kelly Entertainment
80 minutes, 2012 / 2014
www.tomcatfilms.com
www.mvdvisual.com

I know this is going to sound cliché, but I love indie films, especially indie horror films. I also love comic books and superheroes. During the time when I was seven and comics were a dime, my dad would buy a buck’s worth every two weeks for three years for both me and my brother (my brother and I? Screw it) which we would read while we waited in lobby of a convalescent hospital for my parent to visit my grandfather. Batman was always my favorite. Here, this may rattle your cannoli: we had Spiderman #1, Fantastic Four #1, Hulk #1, and so many others, which my dad ripped up because we read them after lights out. But I digress, and please continue after you pull your chins off the floor…

Around the time of Batman’s first appearance in the 1930s (decades before I was born, thank you), there was another character which was similar in a book called, yep, the Black Bat. He looked similar to Batman, as he had the black everything including a cowl, but without the ears, no utility belt, and a long black leather coat instead of the cape (which seemed impractical to me, even as a kid).

This film is based on that other character, rather than the one we know so well. Mickey Spillane-ish hard-boiled District Attorney Tony Quinn (Jody Haucke) is trying to bring down seemingly untouchable Crime Boss Oliver Snate (Leo Frost), so on the verge of getting the bastid, Snate has Quinn blinded via an acid attack. With the help of some guy who for some unrealistic reason has become his servant, Silk Kirby (Richard Groen) and a revenge-minded socialite, Carol Baldwin (Dixie Collins), he goes to “the Orient,” where apparently all medical staff is non-Asian. While there he has a series operations. The result of all this is that he now has the power of sight in the dark as green vision, which we only get to see in use once.

Apparently without any kind of training, he dons the black clothes, grabs a gun, and goes after the bad guys.

You may have noticed my snarky under tone in this. There is a reason for that: simply put, this is a bad film. No, not “so bad it’s good” bad, just bad. The acting is atrocious, that’s true, but the overall fault lies squarely on Trevor Payer, the writer, and especially on Scott Patrick, the director. The dialog is terrible; in fact, there were three separate places where I said what the characters were going to say before they did. It’s that predictable. There are way too many holes in the story, such as lack of training as I mentioned earlier, that the people are unbelievable, and there is absolutely no sense of character development, even with more exposition than action (mostly through first-person narration in trying to sound like, well, Spillane).

The film, which is a mere 80 minutes, with proper editing should have been about half of that. For example, a woman is chased by two muggers down an alleyway for nearly 4 minutes. There’s another scene where a shot on a nurse talking in stilted dialog is seen in a (purposefully) fuzzy unedited one-shot talking to a doctor and not really saying much for another few minutes. Then there’s the 80 shots fired in a short distance back and forth before anyone falls. And that includes a machine gun.

There is no nudity, but there is a four-person bikini contest where they prance back and forth in front of the camera for a reaaaaaally long time while the sound of clapping (obviously looped as you can hear the break) is annoyingly constant. There’s also no blood or SFX despite the occasional shooting, or even redness on the face or eyes of Quinn moments after acid is supposedly thrown in his face. The only effects, other than the cartoonish city overview during the credits, are the flash of the gun muzzles and the sound of the gunfire repeated aud nauseum. Though there is the one time they miss it and the gun just clicks, which made me laugh. No, it was not running out of bullets, because the next shot fires as it is supposed to do.

If this is going to be a franchise, I can tell you now that I am not going to watch any of the sequels.