Documentary Review: Underground Horror

Text © Richard Gary / Indie Horror Films, 2021
Images from the Internet

Underground Horror
Directed by Tony Newton
Tony Newton Productions
119 minutes, 2021
www.facebook.com/TonyNewtonFilm/

Before the term independent – aka indie – was commonly used for low budget cinema not produced by a major studio, especially if it fell under the genres of art, transgression, exploitation, sexploitation, or blaxploitation, it was known as underground. The reason for this is that they were generally shown in showcases that were dives, such as along 42 Street or across America in what is known as Art Houses.

This could be anything from Andy Warhol’s early releases like Empire (1964) and Chelsea Girls (1966), or the likes of Hershell Gordon Lewis’ The Wizard of Gore (1970) and The Gore Gore Girls (1972). This also include nudie flicks like those done by Doris Wishman, such as Bad Girls Go to Hell (1965).

Stylistically? Well, as one of the opening quotes in this documentary by director/writer/actor Phil “Chip” Herman states, “The difference between underground and mainstream movies is balls.” That can be taken both figuratively and literally. Jim Towns, the director of House of Bad (2012; reviewed HERE), essentially states that underground cinema is not bound to studio interference. This is true, as most indie films are created by the directors and writers directly, rather than through a third-party studio. This started to happen in the 1960s as underground films fought the Hays Office gatekeeping and theater monopolies, by going all the way to the Supreme Court, thanks to law suits due to the lack of distribution of a non-genre Italian film called Ladri di Bicilette (Bicycle Thieves; 1948).

Through the use of talking head interviews, this documentary on independent/underground horror is broken up into unofficial segments, such as defining what exactly is underground cinema, and how the interviewees, all of whom are in the field, began their careers and manage with such tiny budgets.

A large segment is about what they consider to be the most extreme film. The three that come up the most are no surprise, though they are not all, and their explanations about the films are interesting. They include Salo, or 120 Days of Sodom (1975), Nekromantik (1987), and the winner apparently is A Serbian Film (2010; reviewed HERE), which is being rereleased uncut soon by Unearthed Films. Writer and director Dane Keil gives an excellent analysis of it. As Tony Newton, this documentary’s director understandably says – and I agree – “It didn’t scare me as much as shocked me.”

Another topic is pondering the future of underground films. Surprisingly, this was not the last question. The general consensus was, and again, I agree, is that the future (and somewhat the present) is DIY: Do It Yourself. With the proliferation of technology for films, editing, etc., being made easier (many mention cell phones), it is only natural that the river of beginning filmmaking would flow that way; in my opinion, that started with Super 8mm and expanded with VHS. One thing not mentioned is that the process of homemade cinema has exponentially exploded with people staying home due to COVID. Not only has it lit a fire under the cause of homegrown filmmaking, but it has created new genres around social distancing and software such as Zoom; for example, this film this one, where no two people are in the same frame, and check out Zoë Bell’s “Boss Bitch Fight Challenge” on YouTube; reviewed HERE). 

Fortunately, the future for indie films looms positive, as is somewhat discussed within these parameters. Progression from outlets for these films have gone from dodgy cinemas to owning VHSs and DVDs, and now to streaming services, from specialists like Shudder, to bigger outlets like Amazon and Netflix, to finally the smaller venues, like TubiTV.

Another relatively surprising segment is about a film I have not yet seen, Circus of the Dead (2014). Fortunately, one of the stars of the film, Parrish Randall, and its director, Billy Pon appears among the present crowd. Amusingly, there is an 8x10 photo of Bozo on the wall behind Pon.

Speaking of which, most filmmakers are also collectors, and it is always fun to look behind the person speaking to see what films they are displaying on a shelf. Most collectors may need to watch this a second time without being distracted (a good thing) by the “Got it. Got it. Need it. Got it” consistent with the collecting bug. For example, Dustin Ferguson, the owner of SCS, now the U.S. Division of VIPCO Distribution, has numerous Tony Newton releases on a shelf behind him, such as VHS Lives and VHS Lives 2 (both 2017).

As with all of Newton’s documentaries, he has gathered his buddies to state their opinions and tell about themselves, such as filmmakers Jim Towns, Phil “Chip” Herman, Peter Goddard, Matthew Fisher, JD Ellenberger, Tim Ritter (Truth or Dare: A Critical Madness; 1986, reviewed HERE), the great Todd Sheets (such as Bonehill Road, reviewed HERE, but I have also reviewed others), and bringing up the Italian end, David Pesca and Domiziano Christopharo (Red Krokodil, 2012, Reviewed HERE; one of three of his features reviewed on this site). Others include writers/reviewers Martin Unsworth from Starburst, and the omnipresent Shawn C. Phillips, who has his own podcast.

Smartly, the talking heads are broken up with clips from numerous films, from the underrated Dreaming Purple Neon (reviewed HERE) to the more obvious ones like Texas Chain Saw Massacre (1974). There are also some behind the shoot scenes from Circus of the Dead during its section.

The only real drawback, in my opinion, is that this is a complete testosterone fest, as there are no female filmmakers included. Like the porn industry during the reign of the video nasties of the 1970s and ‘80s, the women are the draw, but they get the (no pun intended) short end of the production side credit, even though they were there.

The last section is about what the directors are working on now. It may be dated quickly once those works are released, but over time, it will be a fun nostalgia piece to look back upon.

Newton is quite prolific with his documentaries and his writings (including horror-related poetry), so I am looking forward to the next release, which should not be too much longer, especially as the COVID isolation continues.

Trailer TBD

Review: Flesh & Blood – The Hammer Heritage of Horror

Text © Robert Barry Francos / Indie Horror Films, 2018

Images from the Internet

Flesh & Blood: The Hammer Heritage of Horror

Written and directed by Ted Newsom

Narrated by Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee

S’more Entertainment / Bosustow Media Group / Hammer Films / Act 3 – Heidelberg Films / MVD Entertainment

100 minutes, 1994 / 2015 / 2018

www.mvdvisual.com

Before I started watching this update of a reissued 1994 British documentary television show about arguably one of the three most important horror film companies in the 20th Century – the other two being Universal Pictures and American International Pictures (AIP) – I tried to think back to the first Hammer Film Production I can remember seeing in the theater. It could have been She, The Nanny (which began my crush on Pamela Franklin for a couple of decades), Die! Die! My Darling!, or One Million Years BC (all released in 1965). However, I have a vague memory of seeing The Creeping Unknown as a second-bill feature years after its original release as Quatermass Xperiment (1955), probably as a back-up for one of the AIP Poe releases with Vincent Price; they helped cement my love of the genre through the decades. Since then, I saw so many of their films and franchises, Dracula and Frankenstein, especially.

It makes good sense that the narrators of this documentary are the biggest stars Hammer helped introduce to Western cinema: Christopher Lee (d. 2015) who was best known as Dracula in Hammer Films, and the man with the world’s greatest cheekbones, Peter Cushing (1994, soon after this was released; I was a member of his British Fan Club), who reimagined by Dr. Frankenstein and Van Helsing. It should be noted that Cushing’s career dates back to appearing in the Laurel and Hardy feature, Chumps at Oxford.

                                                                                                              

Wisely, it starts off right at the beginning, with how the name Hammer originated (which I did not know, or perhaps did not remember), into its formation as a viable force during the post-World War II period, and how they attained their admirable talent, such as director Freddie Francis.

There is a nice compendium of archival footage and early ‘90s modern interviews, so many of the stars of the early releases, as well as the classic ones, such as Francis (d. 2007), Hazel Court (d. 2008; one of the few to be in both Hammer and AIP films), Ingrid Pitt (d. 2010) and Veronica Carlson are present for first-hand accounts. We see original footage and modern interviews of both actors and crew. Also enjoyable are interviews with some American directors, and how they were influenced by the Hammer collection, such as Joe Dante, John Carpenter, and Martin Scorsese.

A point they make here but don’t dwell on (consider the name of the documentary, after all), is that early on there was hardly a genre that Hammer didn’t tackle, including swashbuckling, crime dramas, and science fiction. It was the Quatermass mash-up of sci-fi and horror that got them noticed to an Ameican audience, which is where the larger money was, and from there it was the revitalization and reboots of the classic Universal monsters where the studio became financially sound. Peter Cushing says at one point, paraphrasing the name of one of his films, “Frankenstein Created Hammer.”

Rather than follow the releases merely chronologically, wisely break the film up into “groups.” For example, there is a whole segment that just focuses on the Frankenstein films, some more successful in quality than others, in my opinion, and thankfully everyone looks at it both nostalgically and with a sense of whimsy, including David Prowse (he would go on to play Darth Vader in the original three Star Wars films) and Cushing himself, who comments at some point that his hair in a later film looked like Helen Hayes. Needless to say, this is an exciting part of the film for me.

After Frankie-Baby, there’s “The Count Also Rises,” discussing, well… Dracula (are you surprised? If you are, you need to see this and learn your horror history, Jack… or Jill). Actually, I do agree and disagree on a point they make in this segment. They comment that what makes Lee’s Dracula so special is the level of sexuality he brings to the character. Well, yes, onscreen he definitely made some in the audience swoon (both female and male, from those I’ve talked to), but to imply that Lugosi’s Big-D wasn’t sexy is just wrong. Lugosi was a major sex symbol in the 1930s and ‘40s (pre-drug addiction), and while there was no blatant sexuality on screen as there was with Lee (e.g., a woman lying in bed pulling down her neckline to be bitten), Lugosi’s portrayal just burned with sensuality, using his voice – as is true with Lee’s baritone – and eyes, specifically. Can I get an Amen?

Younger people may think of Lee as Saruman, but for those “kids” of my g-g-generation, Lee is Dracula and Dracula is Lee; and I say this with the utmost respect and admiration. When he plays other roles, such as Lord Summerisle in the wickedly great The Wicker Man (1973; not the Nic Cage travesty remake), it’s easy to accept. But when Lee’s name is mentioned, it’s his cape and red eyes that come to mind. The Dracula-based series was also extremely popular for the company, though Lee pulled the plug on himself continuing the role after the cartoonish and garish Dracula AD 1972 (1972) and The Satanic Rites of Dracula (1973). He explains why here, which is good to hear dripping from his lips directly.

The second half of the documentary is a bit more esoteric, covering many bases. For example, there is a look at a few films that did not make money, such as the sensationalist courtroom drama Never Take Candy From Strangers (1960) and the sci-fi thriller The Damned (1963) to how Hammer had one of the first full-time female producers with Aida Young (though Freddie Francis sorta poo-poos her role). On more a more technical side there is discussion about how Hammer used exceptional crews and eventually had their own look (they definitely did), and how they managed to score major talent, such as Oliver Reed, from both the UK and the US.

Adaptations of classics (e.g., Phantom of the Opera in 1962 and The Devil Rides Out in 1968) are discussed, including an interview with my personal favorite horror writer, Richard Matheson (d. 2013).

Now, Hammer kinda hit its stride, especially with me, in the late 1960s and in the early ‘70s, and I have no doubt looking back that part of it had do so with what is covered in a chapter here called “Hammer Glamour.” The stars were good looking; there were bountiful cleavage, and a strong sense of both horror sexuality and sensuality. Films like Dr. Jekyll and Sister Hyde (1971), Lust for a Vampire (1971) and Twins of Evil (1971) were fine examples of what fed a teenage boy the equivalent of what many superhero films do now with the same formula using Harley Quinn (Margot Robbie), Black Widow (Scarlett Johannson) and Wonder Woman (Gal Gadot). Wisely, this film looks at both the good (marketing) and bad (sexism/gender politics, as well as the overuse of the theme of sexy lesbian vampires*) of this aspect, though because it was filmed in the early ‘90s, perhaps not as deeply as it might since the emergence of the #metoo current history.

This logically leads into the prehistoric releases that seemed to begin with One Million Years BC, including interviews with its two major stars, Raquel Welch and the underrated Martine Beswick; the latter would go on to other dinosaur-and-human releases that seemed to come out quite often, and were often over-acted and over-melodramatic in joyful exuberance. There are also a couple of brief interviews with the man who designed many of them, the king of pixilation himself, Ray Harryhausen (d. 2013).

This was actually getting close to the end of the Hammer phenomenon, with their the horrible but (unintentionally) hilarious last horror film To the Devil and Daughter in 1975, and the 1979 horrible and not hilarious (unintentionally) comedy The Lady Vanishes. But thanks to extended footage added to this new version of the documentary, we are told of its somewhat limited revival in 2008, with the likes of Let Me In (2010) and The Woman in Black (2012).

This is a fun and informative way to spend a couple of hours of horror film history, and with the 40 minutes of added footage, all the more bettah. It’s well thought out, extensive in its clips and interviews, and pretty thorough.

I do need to add a comment, however, about something I felt was left out. In the late 1960s and through the ‘70s, Hammer wisely chose to go into the home distribution market, well before the advent of VHS. It was common to see 8mm and Super 8mm short versions of Hammer Films in 50’ (4 minutes) and 200’ (15 minutes) versions, both with sound and silent. I still have a batch of the silent ones somewhere, though no projector anymore. This was some solid marketing.

* It should be noted that one of the very first horror stories ever published in modern history, even before Dracula, was the 1871 Joseph Le Fanu novella, Carmella, about a lesbian vampire.

Review: Fan of the Dead: The Zombie Fan's "Road Trip Movie"

Text and live photos © Richard Gary / Indie Horror Films, 2018
Live photos © Robert Barry Francos / 2018
DVD cover from the Internet

Fan of the Dead: The Zombie Fan's "Road Trip Movie"
Directed, produced and written by Nicolas Garreau
Cheezy Flicks, 2008
60 minutes, USD $12.99
www.cheezyflicks.com
www.fanofthedead.com

I have no memory of where I was when I heard about the killing of Robert Kennedy or Martin Luther King, but I know exactly where I was when I first saw George A. Romero’s Night of the Living Dead (1968). It was at the Walker Theater in Brooklyn, during a revival showing in the early ‘70s. During whatever the opening film was, the three tough Bensonhurst guys behind me kept kicking my chair and harassing me; but I refused to move. Then NotLD came on, and by the time it was over, we were all sitting together.

[Karl Hardman, who played Harry Cooper in the first film; he appears in this documentary (d. 2007)]

The director / producer / writer of Fan of the Dead, Nicholas Garreau, is fascinated by all things George A. Romero. We watch as he plans a three-day journey from his home in France, and chronicles his journey to the Pittsburgh area, which is to Romero as Maine is to Stephen King or Baltimore to John Waters. In those short days, he plans to seek out locations that Romero used in his films.

While the main focus of this documentary is the original Romero trilogy of NotLD, Dawn of the Dead (1978) - which Garreau calls by its European name, Zombie - and Day of the Dead (1985), he also seeks out the Night of the Living Dead remake (1999; Romero screenplay) and even one segment of Creepshow (1982). Most likely it was time constraints that kept him from searching for the locations of Martin (1977) and The Crazies (1973), not to mention lack of said zombies.

[Kyra Schon, who was little Karen Cooper in the first film (her character in on the shirt in the background); she appears in this documentary with Karl Hardman, her real father]

Garreau, whose musings to his hand-held camera are translated from French by a narrator, is a true fan-boy, and I use that term affectionately. He is both bemused by what is happening and the people that he meets, and giddy with excitement: in the words of Ed Grimley, – "It's like waking up on Christmas morning and finding an entire fort, y’know."

The chapters are broken up into days, with titles of the films whose locations were visited on that day. Most of this is essentially a road trip as he travels from location to location, and his honest exhilaration is catching. His giddy look at lamp posts, elevator doors, and where houses used to stand, is catching, and you just want to say, bon pour vous. When he finds the now iconic basement from the first film (nowhere near the house indicated in the film), you, the viewer, almost want someone there to high-five.

[Marilyn Eastman was Helen Cooper, and a cameo as the zombie who eats the bug off the tree in the first film]

The centerpiece of the film is a trip to the Pittsburgh Comic Convention, where Garreau interviews some of the actors who played both major and minor roles in the trilogy, and then he goes on a tour of the mall in which the second film is set, let by one of the film’s stars, Ken Foree (who was also excellent in Stuart Gordon’s From Beyond, I would like to add). This sightseeing expedition is accompanied by some of the same actors, who narrate for the fans who signed up for the tour (hell, I would have gone). The viewer can tell how much the actors (including Foree and David Emge, two of the four main leads) are enjoying not only the attention from the fans, but getting to share their experiences (e.g., “This spot is where…”). Garreau has obviously made a good impression on them, as they acknowledge him by name more than once.

Garreau’s extensive knowledge of the series is evident as he wanders through graveyards indicating the actions of a scene by the names on the stones which appear in the film. And yes, he does say the line, “They’re coming to get you Barbara” at the appropriate spot, as I’m sure many others have. As I would.

[Make-up artist / actor / director Tom Savini]

I’m just sorry he could not use some of the footage from the films to compare then and now (especially since the first NotLD is out of copyright and readily available), so unless you’re a fan on Garreau’s level, I would recommend viewing at least the three original zombie films (68-85) before watching this. Certainly, I recognized the cemetery and mall that was central to the first two, but I’m less familiar with the third one, so the locations seemed less of a bonus to me (though I intend to re-watch Day of the Dead, and then watch this documentary again. As for the remake of NotLD, well, Romero was the screenplay writer, and it was directed by Tom Savini, so it seems a bit out there, but what do I know?

This is a love letter to George Romero’s work, and both to and for his fans.

The bonus tracks include a photo collection of the trip, and some older psychotronic trailers (such as “Horrors of the Black Museum”), snack intermission shorts, and some regional restaurant ads that were shown in theaters. All fun stuff.

Originally published in FFanzeen.blogspot.com