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Doomed
WTFiethon: 7 Films To Ruin You by Richard
of DM
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In order to celebrate Doomed Moviethon’s third
anniversary, I knew had to do something special. I’ve been planning a
Werewolfiethon and something vaguely to do with Spaghetti Westerns but those
still require some more preparation. The worst thing to do is to slap
something together quickly because a lackluster theme can ruin a moviethon.
I knew that I had to get out of Italy since I’ve been spending an inordinate
amount of time with Fulci, Argento, and the whole Giallo genre lately.
Suddenly, it hit me... WTF?!
I tried to pick some of the strangest in my collection and a few obscurities
to see what kind of a cohesive yet wholly bizarre viewing experience could
be created. My next idea was to keep things short and laid back because I’m
not going for distance or speed. And I even gave myself a window between
films for a little nap. This is the best idea I’ve had in years, let me tell
ya.
Out of 15 movies, I narrowed my selections down to 7 titles that seemed to
share a kindred spirit with one another. These films have a wandering
outlandishness, a refusal to follow a typical plotline, and in some cases,
an odd blending of genres. Something I’ve discovered is that it seems that
some of these titles don’t seem to be aware of just how weird they are.
Their ignorance is my bliss.
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8:20am
Will It Ever Start?
Every moviethon starts the same: the wife and I,
running around, completing simple errands, and doing chores so that nothing gets in
the way of all the entertainment. As the clock ticks away and the morning is
getting away from me, everything feels like it’s taking too long and I have
to remind myself to chill out.
Once we get out of the house, LeEtta and I hit up our local Bob Evans. I
have my sausage, egg, and cheese sandwich with a side of oatmeal while
LeEtta has the corn meal mush and eggs (over hard). Filled with breakfasty
goodness, we go the liquor store. They are out of Admiral Nelson’s so LeEtta
has to settle on Captain Morgan’s spiced rum. Next stop, Cigar Castle! I
grab a La Famosa cigar (hand made in Honduras! (or so the box tells me)) and
we’re off yet again.
Next stop is the grocery store where we mix our regular shopping list with
moviethon supplies. I select a couple of Arizona iced teas in place of my
usual energy drinks. Sure, they’re loaded with sugar but at least I won’t
feel like death warmed over the next day. During
Giallo Meltdown,
I found that a little caffeine goes a long way and that fast food is totally
counterproductive. Sorry, no Baconator this time!
The weather is awful. Sure it’s the last week of February but here in Tampa
the humidity is oppressive and there are storms and very threatening clouds
in all directions. We arrive back home just before the rain starts and
there’s still chores to do. You see how long all this shit takes? Anyway, so
once the cat box, the vacuuming, and a mess of other real life nonsense is
out of the way, I finally sit down on the couch and start this beast. Now,
let’s get confused.
“There’s nothing you can do. I have the power to
destroy you.”
11:50am
Sugar Hill
Oh yeah, this is the perfect flick to start with. No,
this isn’t the 1994 Wesley Snipes film of the same name. Far from it. When
the song “Supernatural Voodoo Woman” by The Originals kicks in, I know just
what I’m in for. Marki Bey, the “foxy
lady” in this hot concoction of blaxploitation and zombie
horror, is seriously friggin’ gorgeous and very, very charming. She’s out
for revenge after the love of her life is killed by some gangsters.
Count Yorga himself, Robert Quarry, plays
Morgan, the evil white crime boss. He’s
got a whole mess of cronies but none of them quite as repugnant as the
wildly racist
Celeste, his bitchy mistress, played by
Betty Ann Rees. Two of the zaniest performances come from Zara Cully (AKA
Mother Jefferson) as
Mama Maitresse, the local voodoo queen,
and Don Pedro Colley as
Baron Samedi, the undead master of all
things zombie-related.
Sugar Hill has everything: an amazing horror soundtrack,
silver-eyed
zombies, a little blood, some fisheye
lens assaults, and a lot smoke machines. And like any blaxploitation movie
that’s worth a damn, there are about a dozen N-bombs and some awful
stereotypes (both black and white). The weird factor goes through the roof
after one of Morgan’s cronies gets attacked by a zombified chicken foot.
Now, my friend, pick up your
white prize so that we can move on.
1:40pm
Lunch Time
LeEtta and I break for a quick lunch time snacks. With
Sugar Hill still fresh on my mind, I chow down on some hummus
and tabule on pita. I wash this down with some cranberry juice and I must
say that I’m feeling pretty satisfied. Baron Samedi is my hero. The guy is
the baron of the zombies and a master of disguise?!!? Okay, I’m over
it. What’s next?
“Let’s kill him.”
1:55pm
Crucible Of Horror
Now here’s a sleepy little number. Overbearing
patriarch Walter Eastwood (played by
Michael Gough) and his family is
probably the most dysfunctional bunch in all of England. The mom,
Edith, spends her time locked in her
studio painting terrifying portraits of her husband. Their lovely daughter,
Jane (played by Sharon Gurney), is
planning her escape from family hell through means of blackmail and theft.
The only truly happy person in the Eastwood clan is
Rupert, the son, is played by Simon
Gough (Michael Gough’s real life son!). As if Walter’s abuse, both mental
and physical, weren’t enough, we have to watch this Rupert enjoying his
family’s suffering and even being rewarded for his complicity. This
sniveling coconspirator fuckwad makes me want to jump inside the movie and
beat him to death with my shoe.
Mother and daughter decide to commit the sloppiest (do not interpret that as
bloody) murder ever concocted. It’s pretty much a totally
brainless Diabolique tribute gone
retardedly wrong. What makes Crucible Of Horror so awesome
(and so dang
weird) are the strange dream sequences
and the
abandoned plot threads. Not to mention
the complete breakdown of the narrative towards the end. When things right
themselves, we’re treated to some more depressing shit. Yay!
3:30pm
Power Nap!
This is a moviethon first. I am tired of nodding off
during films so I devised this little scheme to keep me going. I set the
alarm for 4:15pm and try to throw myself into the deepest sleep possible in
45 minutes. It works! I wake up to my alarm screaming at me and I’m totally
disoriented for a few moments. Once I remember who and where I am, I’m ready
to get back into the flicks.
“This one doesn’t want to be born.”
4:30pm
The Devil Within Her
Most trashy horror films get better with multiple
viewings but not this one. Holy shit, this pitiful Joan Collins horror
vehicle actually gets worse every time I watch it yet I still love The
Devil Within Her. Where does this wacky piece of unnatural
entertainment go wrong? First off, the dang “Italians”! Eileen Atkins as
Sister Albana and Ralph Bates as
Gino Carlesi are both armed with some
painfully shabby mock-Italian accents. As to why either of these characters
are written as Italian is beyond me.
And then there’s
Joan Collins... Seriously though, this
woman’s horror output is stellar. Plus, she didn’t react too negatively to
the gratuitous
dwarf-grope which only encourages the
guy (named Hercules (oh cruel irony!)). Encourages him to put a curse on her
unborn baby! I think the curse is on
Donald Pleasence. His portrayal of Dr.
Finch is one of the most affected of his career.
The collapsing logic and almost incalculable trashiness of this film make
this one absolutely essential. The script constantly insults the viewer’s
intelligence with a mountain of exposition but then other
odd moments aren’t explained at all.
However, the worst dialogue occurs when Dr. Finch and Sister Albana have
their religion vs. science debate. I think I'm a dumber person having
listened to this stupid crap.
I’m really digging on this ungodly soundtrack. It is the funeral march for
some of the other awesome folks in this flick.
John Steiner (Tenebre)
and the gorgeous
Caroline Munro (Maniac)
in the same movie? Now that’s genius. Well, here is the halfhearted
exorcism scene! I have to wonder if
this
poor kid grew up to be a serial killer
after being manhandled so much in this flick.
Read the
full review.
“Don’t be afraid. I want to help you. Take my hand.”
6:05pm
Silent Night, Bloody Night
What’s this? An obtuse horror film? Or is it possible
that this creature is self-aware? All of the
characters in this film are doped up
and loopy. The lovely cult siren,
Mary Woronov, is here as Diane, our
anchor in this stagnant storm of POV-strangeness and horror schlock. Jeffrey
Butler, the most suspicious bastard in the entire moviethon, is played by
James Patterson, the guy with an amazing
mug. John Carradine is priceless as the
mute who communicates with a series of nods and bell-ringing.
The fact is that Silent Night, Bloody Night is a fractured
American classic that is begging for a remastered edition. My Diamond
Entertainment DVD is so awful that it is a testament to how much I love this
film. This eccentric gem is
bloody, intentionally mundane,
delirious, and
eerie. I’m digging on this sepia-toned
flashback sequence that takes up a quarter of the film’s running time. Ah,
it’s Christmas and there’s a madman on the loose but the magic is in the
backwards delivery. What more could anyone ever want?
8:35pm
Cigar Break & Dinner
Our friend Shelly arrives and we hit the patio for
some fresh smoke-filled air. The rain has subsided but it is still pretty
dang muggy out. My neighbors are throwing a party and they’re already
getting loud. I light up my La Famosa cigar and oh my God damn, it’s good!
The three of us talk over the party next door the best we can while I
whittle my cigar down to the nub, washing it down with an Arizona iced tea
(totally not my sponsor). When we’re done, we head back in and I throw a
couple frozen pizzas in the oven.
“Hubba hubba, boy. Let’s get with it!”
9:20pm
Without Warning
Oh,
Cameron Mitchell, who kept hiring you?
I have often wondered how I manage to put up with this jackass. Maybe it’s
because he is so fucking terrible. His character keeps saying “hubba, hubba”
to his son; what is that exactly? Oops, they’re both dead already. It’s
funny that we should be eating dinner once I put on the
goopiest horror movie of the bunch. I’m
not sure what is less appetizing: the yellow pus-like excretions of the
aliens or David Caruso’s
nut-huggers. LeEtta thanks me for both.
I’m so glad that Randy, a coworker of mine, hooked me up with a copy of this
movie. I had never heard of it before but it is friggin’ great. It’s too bad
that Predator stole the plot seven years later and yet nobody
remembers this one. The two insane badasses in Without Warning,
Jack Palance and
Martin Landau, teamed up again in the
1982 slasher Alone In The Dark (a movie I should have included
in this dang moviethon). Shelly notices that the guy from
F Troop is playing the incompetent
scout leader.
This movie has it all: terrible dialogue (“Thank God, you’re the police.”),
thick atmosphere, great lighting, awesome
surprise moments, continuity errors,
and even one really
bad perm. Man, there are some really
damaged people wandering around in the woods. Without Warning
really leaves me satisfied. It is some dang awesome shit and fans of 80s
horror movies need to track this bad boy down. Seriously.
“Drive me to the moon.”
11:03pm
The Demon
Inspiration struck during Cameron Mitchell’s odious
yet brief scenes in Without Warning. I thought, “Why not make
it a two-fer?” So, here we are with yet another
Mitchell performance that makes me
question my place in the universe. He plays Bill Carson, a retired colonel
and psychic for hire! Duders, I can’t make this stuff up. The sounds of his
grunts and moans as he tears apart a missing teenage girl’s pillow to find
her “vibes” are frightfully hilarious.
The romance between innocent
Jo (played by the oddly-named Zoli
Marki) and man-slut Dean Turner is creepily puerile and pathetic. But that’s
not important because
Mary, played by the painfully cute
Jennifer Holmes, will redeem us all. How can she do this? The answer can be
found in her ludicrously gratuitous extended nude scenes.
If you’re not heckling this film, well, then you’re not watching it.
The Demon requires scorn before, during, and after its running time.
The script is cringe-inducing and prolonged exposure eventually leads to
madness. There is even a recklessly
pointless plot twist that gets that
pesky Cameron Mitchell out of our hair. And what about “Boobs
Disco”? There were no boobs there!
Now watch as my credibility goes out the dang window: there is something
really important about The Demon. I don’t know if it is the
occasional bursts of painfully cool
atmosphere or the overwrought
showdown with “the demon” but this film
does the trick for me. What makes this film even more special is watching
(enduring) this film with family and friends. LeEtta and Shelly have been
driven right over the edge! I think this exchange demonstrates what I’m
talking about:
Shelly: “So wait, who was the killer?”
Me: “Him! That crazy guy.”
12:45am
Short Break
Shelly prepares to make her exit when we notice
something odd. My neighbors’ party has degenerated into a game of hot
potato. It seems they have set a tennis ball on fire and are tossing it too
each other. The wife and I walk Shelly to her car in case one of the party
guests tries to set her on fire. We retreat from the unholy night to lock
ourselves in as securely as our apartment allows. This is no time to get
distracted. The last (and most important) part of this moviethon is about to
take place. With LeEtta barely hanging on to consciousness, Messiah Of
Evil is upon us.
“You don’t just unzip a man and say goodnight.”
12:57am
Messiah Of Evil
If you can survive the woeful opening song, “I Want To
Love”, then you’ll be richly rewarded by what I consider one of the most
amazing 1970s American horror film that nobody’s ever heard of.
Messiah Of Evil is out there, people, and holy fuck, it is out to
get you! Marianna Hill plays
Arletty, a young woman who comes to a
small town called Point Dune in order to find her father, an eccentric
artist who has gone missing. What she discovers is a town headed for eternal
damnation and plagued by a contagious disease that turns the townspeople
into
zombies.
This film is atmospheric to the point of being too much for my senses. I’m
overloading! Arletty’s father’s house is a set designer’s dream with figures
painted on walls and tricked out perspectives guaranteed to ruin a good
night’s sleep. The freaky soundtrack adds to the purgatorial vibe and there
is no shortage of nightmarish scenes to haunt me forever. Hey Arletty, you
should really heed
Charlie and his crazy ramblings. Okay?
The weirdness machine has been cranked up to 11 and the knob has been broken
off. The rat-munching
albino is the least of your worries as
a horde of nutty (and often ingratiating) characters come marching in.
There’s the blue-blooded
Thom and his hot female “traveling
companions”. Sorry girls, no one will be leaving this town alive.
It’s not a crush, I’m in love! My infatuation with Messiah Of Evil
is almost too much to bear. As the residents of Point Dune bleed from their
eyes, I think to myself, “How do such
wonderful films happen to little old me?” This movie is a revelation. When a
movie theater is playing a Sammy Davis
Jr. western, we are obviously in hell. Never mind Arletty vomiting up bugs
and worms in the sink, we are on the verge of apocalypse here, people.
I notice that my wife is sleeping while sitting up so I encourage her to go
to bed. She wearily gets up and heads off to dreamland while I only sink
more into this mindfuck. Arletty’s missing father shows up, paints his face
blue, and then shit really hits the
fan.
Blood, paint, turpentine, seawater, and
fire mix together to make this little lost film jump right into my top ten
favorite horror movies of all time. Messiah Of Evil feels like
a prototype for John Carpenter’s Prince Of Darkness with an
aesthetic akin to Suspiria. It ends as it began and I couldn’t
be any happier.
Read the
full review.
2:38am
Conclusion
I’m paranoid. My neighbors’ party is finally breaking
up and I’m listening to them say their goodbyes to each other. There is
something terrifying about people who like to party. Why would anyone ever
want to go to a party when they could be having a moviethon? Why socialize
when you could alienate your friends with awful horror films? Oh shit, this
WTFiethon has done something awful to me. I can feel it. It’s a kind of
tunnel vision; a sharpening and a dulling of my senses. If only I had
watched Don’t Open The Door! Forget it, I’m going to go to
sleep now and dream in full frame. Happy birthday, Doomed Moviethon.
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