Reviews

Hollywood’s New Blood

Hollywood’s New Blood (1988)

An actors’ seminar at a remote house in the woods is interrupted by a series of murders. Legend has it that many years ago, a movie crew got drunk and accidentally blew up a house belonging to the Glouster family. The bodies of the three brothers, Emil, Jeb, and Lou were never recovered. That’s because they weren’t really killed. No, no, no, no, no, NOOOOO, it’s not true. The Glouster boys just got burned real bad and now they are killing the actors one by one.

Sometimes when a store is liquidating their VHS stock, people get hurt. I am one of those people. Hollywood’s New Blood may have cost me only a dollar on that fateful day but what I was really losing was much, much more. My sanity, my dignity, the respect of my wife, and even my ability to have children (lawsuit pending) were all things I lost when I sat down to watch this monotonous slab of death-cheese.

Director James Shyman, in league with the devil, brings us 10 minutes of plot in a 77 minute film. Thanks, fucker. Punctuating nearly every line of dialogue are endless shots of the forest. The editor (some joker from L.A. Video-Grams) is brilliant. One of his finest juxtapositions comes when he superimposes the image of one of the actors roasting marshmallows with that of the burned face of one of the Glouster brothers. That shit is chilling, yo.

Okay, so what else is wrong with Hollywood’s New Blood? Well, I’ll tell you! There are inappropriate and totally unnecessary jungle sound effects for the forest. Is this the most generic musical score ever composed for a horror film or is it a keyboard factory farting and dying? I can’t decide. The makeup effects are pitiful with the un-menacing Glouster boys shuffling around in hobo clothes with paint and strips of latex hanging off their faces.

Instead of sending the actors to a real acting seminar, Shyman decides to put these incompetent fools in a movie together. This ensemble cast really comes into their own when they are all sitting on the couch and staring at the fire. Our hero, Brett Standish (played by Bobby Johnston), is a real stick in the mud with his little ghost stories but don’t worry, he’s gonna save the day after almost everyone is already dead. Brett is also really dreamy with that hot mullet of his. Why did it take Liz so long to fall for this super-hunk?

The final needle this movie jabs into my eyes is a clip show at the end. Because Hollywood’s New Blood obviously did not make the required amount of footage for a full feature, the fuckers in the editing room completely recap the whole dang thing after the story ends. For the next ten minutes, I am treated to the theme music of Hollywood’s New Blood (lyrics below) and a quick run through of scenes, both major and minor (they’re all minor), that I may have missed (or slept through). If anyone is reading this, I implore you, please don’t watch this movie.

“The dishes are dry. Why don’t we get wet?”

Lyrics to the Hollywood’s New Blood theme:

Yes
Hollywood bows to the flood of new blood
The new blood won’t survive
Hollywood’s New Blood
New blood stays alive
Hollywood’s New Blood
New blood

 

Haunts

Haunts (1977)

A mad slasher is wreaking havoc in a small town and the investigation is slow-going with alcoholic Sheriff Peterson (Aldo Ray) on the job. The list of suspects keep growing and it seems like every attractive lady is in danger. One of the town’s most eligible bachelorettes, Ingrid (May Britt), only narrowly escapes becoming another victim herself. Things get worse when local bad-boy Frankie (William Gray Espy) takes a break from his shenanigans with the sheriff’s daughter to give Ingrid his unwanted attentions. The already unstable Ingrid begins to crack as more and more of her horrible past comes back to haunt her.

Herb Freed directs Haunts, a bizarre little piece of filmmaking from the wonderful 1970s. More than just a proto-slasher, the film seems influenced by Robert Altman’s Images and Polanski’s Repulsion but with a trashy small town twist. What caught my attention with Haunts is the amazing editing job here. There is excellent use of intercutting between the present day and Ingrid’s memories of her painful past. The score by Pino Donaggio (Dressed to Kill) is very good and helps to give the film a much needed emotional edge. A kitschy and flat synthesizer score would have not been as welcome here.

May Britt is a great looking actress and can physically convey the emotional rollercoaster that her character is going through but her odd delivery of dialogue is really off-putting. Her Swedish accent isn’t so thick that I can’t understand her. No, the problem lies in the emotionless way that she speaks. Even though Britt sounds like a dang robot, she still manages to hold her own in a fairly difficult role. The worst line in the movie is when someone explains that Ingrid’s accent is due to the fact that she was raised in a “European orphanage up the coast”.

The rest of the cast of Haunts keep it together including Aldo Ray as Sheriff Peterson, who is a total drunken mess. Aldo Ray is actually pretty good here, especially when Peterson finds out his daughter has been making whoopee with Frankie, the town screw-up. My favorite actress in the film is Susan Nohr as Nel, the brazen but loveable hussy who falls prey to the scissor-wielding killer. Every scene with her is a treat.

Of course, the wacky scenery-chewer himself, Cameron Mitchell (Blood and Black Lace, Minnesota Clay), is on board and he is as painfully cheesy as usual. Not that anyone could steal Mitchell’s crazy fire but he is just one of many small town wackos in this flick. For instance, William Gray Espy makes an awesome ne’er-do-well and plain old lascivious duder. And there’s always the shy and creepy new guy in town, Bill Spry, played efficiently by Robert Hippard.

Much like his 1981 slasher flick, Graduation Day, director Herb Freed’s Haunts is a near miss, an almost-classic with a lot of potential that never really hits its stride. There are some great ideas but they just aren’t executed all that well. For instance, the movie has two endings with a labored final denouement that will have you begging for mercy. When all is said and done, Haunts is a kooky but sleepy pre-Halloween slasher (with gratuitous goat-milking) that’s worth a look if you happen to stumble across a copy at the flea market.

“Go back to Baltimore, you dumb creep!”

Giallo a Venezia

Giallo a Venezia (1979)

A couple, Flavia (Leonora Fani) and Fabio (Gianni Dei), are found murdered by the shore. Strangely enough, Fabio was stabbed to death with a pair of scissors while Flavia was drowned nearby and then her body dragged out of the water. Police inspector DePaul (Jeff Blynn) begins to slowly piece the case together with the few suspects and clues that he can find. He uncovers that in life Fabio was a voracious sex addict whose tastes were becoming more and more extreme with Flavia being little more than a toy in his games. Suddenly, the killer goes on a violent and bloody rampage against people connected to the murdered couple and it’s up to DePaul and the Venice police to apprehend him before any more lives are taken.

From writer Aldo Serio (Watch Me When I Kill) and director Mario Landi (Patrick Still Lives) comes, Giallo a Venezia, a sleazy, slimy, and truly trashy late 70s Giallo. Heavy on sex but light on plot and logic, this is one dirty flick. Some decent twists help the lame plot limp along until it finally sprints full speed to the end. The gore effects are cheap but nasty enough to keep me from complaining too much. More depressing than scary, Giallo a Venezia is a mean-spirited and sordid little film if there ever was one. The bipolar soundtrack ranges between utterly inappropriate disco circus music over sex scenes to pitch perfect chilling horror string arrangements in the stalking scenes.

The gorgeous Leonora Fani (The House by the Edge of the Lake) plays one of the most heart-wrenching characters I’ve ever seen in a giallo. Flavia’s short life is quite tragic and it really shows just how effective Fani’s performance is when I felt twinges of grief once her story reached its conclusion. The sinister looking Gianni Dei (The Last Round, Patrick Still Lives) who plays her “man”, Fabio, is an equally good actor, able to portray the terrifying aspects of sexual addiction. These two actors’ scenes together are especially hard to watch as Fabio’s addiction becomes ever more sadistic which leads them both down a path which will lead to their eventual destruction. The wildly sexy Mariangela Giordano (Burial Ground: The Nights of Terror) is on hand to make things even steamier. Who or what is Jeff Blynn? Aside from being the worst detective in Venice, Inspector DePaul also eats eggs and sports a non-hetero disco mustache.

Giallo a Venezia? More like Porno a Venezia! So yeah, I guess that the sex scenes are meant to show Fabio and Flavia’s destructive relationship but under the leering eye of cinematographer Franco Villa (Malabimba: The Malicious Whore), things get pretty ridiculous after a while. The brutality of the murders makes up for their somewhat sketchy effects and their close proximity with the lengthy softcore scenes also gives them a creepy edge. Giallo a Venezia is a halfway decent Giallo that is saved by its gory violence, good acting (not from Jeff Blynn), beautiful actresses, a bizarre musical score, and a thick coating of Euro-sleaze. Prepare to feel dirty afterwards, I know I do.

Autopsy

Autopsy (1975)

Mimsy Farmer plays Simona, a student of pathology, who begins to suspect that a string of recent suicides (blamed on sunspots by the media) may, in fact, be homicides. Matters take a downturn for Simona when she begins experiencing grotesque hallucinations which puts a strain on her future career as a pathologist as well as her relationship with her boyfriend, Edgar (Ray Lovelock). After her father’s plucky mistress, Betty (Gaby Wagner), turns up dead of an apparent suicide, she is convinced there is some kind of conspiracy. Betty’s brother, Father Paul (Barry Primus), joins Simona in her search for a killer that might not even exist.

Armando Crispino (The Dead are Alive) directs this tense, hallucinatory, and unsettling giallo. The tension and dread boil over in Autopsy and the viewer gets the sense that death is everywhere. The film is profoundly trashy (with hints of necrophilia and other various perversions) but with yet another brilliant score by Ennio Morricone and precise cinematography by Carlo Carlini (Virgin Terror, Seven Deaths in the Cat’s Eye), Autopsy is raised above its willingness to wallow in the muck.

Barry Primus gives the viewer their money’s worth with his wild portrayal of the rageaholic and epileptic Father Paul. Ray Lovelock of Let Sleeping Corpses Lie and Murder Rock is very cool as Edgar, Simona’s very understanding (he has a porn slide collection) boyfriend. Keep an eye out for Ernesto Colli (Torso) as the bewilderingly creepy morgue attendant, Ivo. The film may run a little long but it’s worth it, even if just for the scene where Farmer finally snaps on this guy.

Of course, the star of the show, Mimsy Farmer, gives us another of her grand, yet flawed, performances. Farmer is truly is an acquired taste and her trademarks (her shrillness, that darn pouty look) can get annoying. However, it’s easy to forgive (and even grow fondness for) Farmer, the perpetually braless staple of so many great Italian horror flicks: The Perfume of the Lady in Black, Four Flies on Grey Velvet, and Lucio Fulci’s The Black Cat, just to name a few.

Autopsy’s disarming credit sequence of the sun, heat, sounds of crying, moaning, and screaming leads right into an excellent montage of suicides utilizing various means (drowning, razor blades, submachine gun, etc.). I would be lying if I said the film keeps up this intensity throughout but how could it without being an endless stream of people offing themselves? Instead, the opening grabs the viewer’s attention and prepares you (somewhat) for a 100 minute stretch of weirdness. Unfortunately for splatter enthusiasts, even the bountiful gore in the first third of the film takes a backseat to the oppressive mood of Autopsy.

Autopsy is a film that delivers its brooding theme of death, insanity, and mystery with change to spare, making it easy for recommendation to giallo fans. Sure, the killer may not be wearing black gloves this time around but the film has its share of priestly malfeasance and crazy twists to make it a solid entry in the genre. Hell, there’s even a rushed and confusing explanation behind the killer’s motive which should make fans of the yellow films feel right at home.

Angel of Death

Angel of Death (1987)

Marc Logan (Antonio Mayans) works for a group of Nazi hunters looking for Dr. Mengele (Howard Vernon). When Marc discovers Mengele in South America he forms a team to try and capture the notorious Nazi doctor. His team is comprised of Mr. Agility AKA Jose, the acrobat, Garcia, driver and demolitions expert, David, technology wizard, and Roger, martial arts expert. Marc also teams up with Eva (Suzan Andrews), the doctor’s ex-mistress, who goes undercover inside Mengele’s Nazi fortress. Once inside, Marc’s team discovers, to their horror, just what Dr. Joseph Mengele has been working on all these years.

The Odessa File? No. Marathon Man? Uh uh. Boys from Brazil? Not even close! Filmed in Uruguay by Andrea Bianichi (credited here as A. Frank Drew White) and written by Jess Franco (Oasis of the Zombies, Vampyros Lesbos), Angel of Death AKA Commando Mengele entertains a part of your brain that modern science hasn’t even discovered yet. Jump cuts and post dubbing loops abound in this fast paced junky action classic. The off camera Nazi commanding the training soldiers to: “Try harder! Harder! Move it! Move it! Get the lead out!” and “Shuffle! Shuffle! Move around!” is looped four or five times in the same scene. The plot is a maze with no twists or turns (okay so maybe it’s more like a hallway) and the dialogue will induce both giggly hysteria and ennui equally. Rarely has a synthesizer pummeled the ears of viewers quite like Norbert Verrone’s score for Angel of Death. He composed at least 3 pieces of nearly distinct music for the movie: attack synth, there’s no evil synth, and carnival music thing.

Antonio Mayans (Revenge in the House of Usher) has this concerned/bewildered look stapled to his mug throughout the movie even while riding dirt-bike #27. Marc’s brief grieving when his girlfriend, Rachel, is killed by the Nazis gave me one of those “oh snap, it’s on now!” chills up my spine. Jess Franco regular, Howard Vernon, makes some impressive faces while playing Dr. Mengele and Fernando Rey (Companeros) spends a great deal of time on the phone as the leader of the Nazi hunters. And of course, you can’t f with the g-damn Jack Taylor (Eugenie, The Ghost Galleon). Christopher Mitchum (Faceless) is here as well playing Dr. Mengele’s right hand man, Wolfgang von Backey, with slow mo ferocity. The rest of the cast are either a million miles away from the script during their screen-time or trying to tear apart the rift between themselves and the audience watching at home. This film is not safe.

I need to stop and talk about Suzan Andrews before my heart bursts out of my chest and blows up a helicopter. Andrews (whose comeback as an actress is still marked on my calendar) plays Eva, a fiery phoenix pregnant with Nazi hormones. Not only does she risk her life by using her feminine wiles to trick Dr. Mengele into taking her back but she also uses her face to make me forget all of my troubles. Who can do that? Damn you, Wolfgang von Backey for stealing Eva’s heart with your fabulous sports car and fancy friends!

Oh, you have to watch Angel of Death; it is so goddamn important. Once you see Roger and Mr. Agility AKA Jose in action you’ll probably join the simple circus or start your own ADD dojo. You’ll never be the same once Eva’s face enters your life. It doesn’t matter that they reuse the same footage of her emoting to the camera in completely unrelated scenes three or four times, you’ll be shaken to the core. Dr. Mengele’s experiments turning people into half-monkey creatures will have you running to the mirror to check your uni-brow. Do I have a monkey ear? Oh, don’t look at me. Don’t look at me!

“Listen, I’m an acrobat. Might come in handy. And a gypsy. The Nazis gassed my father. If you need any help with those bastards, count me in.”

The Grapes of Death

The Grapes of Death (1978)

Marie-Georges Pascal plays Élisabeth, a young lady traveling by train to her village of Roubelais to see her fiancé. On the way there, her companion is murdered by a maniacal man with sores all over his face. Élisabeth jumps from the train far from her destination in order to escape. As she makes her way home, Élisabeth discovers that the countryside is populated by zombie-like people that try to murder her at every opportunity. She meets some damned souls along the way including a seemingly benevolent woman (Brigitte Lahaie) living in the mayor’s house. Two men unaffected by the zombie plague come to Élisabeth’s rescue and take her to Roubelais where she thinks they will be all safe. Unfortunately, the three of them discover the source of the evil resides in their destination.

Jean Rollin (The Living Dead Girl, Night of the Hunted) directs this incredible quasi-zombie feature. Grapes of Death is atmospheric, darkly moody, and very, very bloody. The film is put together with a great deal of care. All of the scenery is gorgeous, the lighting is excellent, and the editing is very tight. The pace is leisurely but never tiring and the ending only leaves you wanting more. The soundtrack is an interesting one, loaded with synthesizer oddness and fits the film perfectly. While not all of the gore is well done, there are some memorable moments in the splatter category. It’s difficult to criticize any film’s effects crew when there’s a severed head makeout scene. Obviously, their heart is in the right place.

Speaking of atmosphere, Grapes of Death lays it on as thick as molasses or pus from a zombie’s sore. The movie has a quiet intensity and is effectively creepy throughout. There are also some bitter ironies that give this film a cruelty that Rollin is so good at delivering (see The Living Dead Girl). The fate of the innocent and blind Lucy at the hands of her caregiver and lover is very twisted and very memorable. The plague in this film turns kind people into killers and even their own families aren’t safe from their need to kill. The zombies themselves seem subdued and appear to be sleepwalking until they set their sights on some human prey when they become murderous and bloodthirsty.

All of the actors in Grapes of Death take the proceedings very seriously and give very good performances. Marie-Georges Pascal is an excellent protagonist. Élisabeth is a strong character but not without the frailties of a human being thrust into a bizarre situation who believes that everything will be all right if she can just get home. It is a damn shame that Pascal didn’t do more horror movies during her short lifetime. Of course, the presence of the mind-bendingly sexy Brigitte Lahaie never hurt any film and the fact that she plays such a manipulative and monstrous character makes her presence even more pleasing.

Fans of Jean Rollin absolutely have to check out Grapes of Death, you won’t be disappointed. Zombie aficionados will be pleased as well due in part to this film’s similar feel to the superb Let Sleeping Corpses Lie. This film is loaded from beginning to end with horror and its tone is unrelentingly weird. There are enough gore sequences and oozing zombie sores (which looks like peanut butter and jelly) to please any gore-fiend. My only criticism is that the film’s emotional side may not click with all viewers. Oh, look, the French zombie is crying. Boohoo!

Death Warmed Up

Death Warmed Up (1984)

In order to continue his morally questionable experiments on prolonging human life, Dr. Archer Howell (Gary Day) decides to eliminate his colleague Dr. Tucker (David Weatherley). Dr. Howell brainwashes Dr. Tucker’s son Michael (Michael Hurst) into killing his parents with a shotgun. Michael is put into an insane asylum and after his release, seven years later, is looking to kill the mad doctor. He travels with a couple of friends to Dr. Howell’s huge island medical facility. It is here where Michael discovers that the mad doctor’s test subjects have become violent mutants that only Dr. Howell can control.

Okay, so now I think New Zealand is the weirdest place on Earth. This wonderfully cheesy, oddly disjointed, and completely manic sci-fi horror flick comes from director David Blyth (Red-Blooded American Girl). Death Warmed Up is an action-packed and splatter-filled romp through Kiwi country with great stunts, lots of wet gore, and plenty of imagination. The cinematography by James Bartle (The Quiet Earth) is excellent and the synthesizer-infused soundtrack fits the film perfectly. I can’t help but dig on those wild sets and fierce lighting schemes.

On the down side, the script leaves much to be desired as the dialogue is very silly and there are way too many confusing moments in the film. The loose ends and logic lapses make it feel like the movie was a 2 hour epic that someone sliced up. I’m not saying the film would be better with more footage. After all, one of the highlights of Death Warmed Up is its dizzying pace.

Although actor Michael Hurst’s intensity is appreciated, it reaches comic proportions in some points. And yes, his character, Michael, is written rather poorly. From his declaration of love for Sandy (Margaret Umbers) to his nihilistic ramblings at the end of the film, I’m just friggin’ lost. Also, if he is on a quest for bloody revenge against Dr. Howell, why the hell did he bring his girlfriend and another young couple along? Thank God for Spider (David Letch), his mutant rival, who is clear, concise, and deadly.

When I told my friend Nafa about this New Zealand-born horror film, he said “Oh, is Bruno Lawrence in it?” I laughed because it seems like the superbly talented Lawrence (The Quiet Earth, Utu) was in every flick from New Zealand until his death in 1995. Then, while writing this review, I noticed that Bruno Lawrence is indeed in Death Warmed Up. He plays Tex, one of the original mutants in Dr. Howell’s experiments but is almost completely unrecognizable. Yep, awesome.

When all is said and done, I found Death Warmed Up to be a lot of fun despite its downer ending and confusing story. The film is visually arresting, surprisingly gory, and determined to get your attention with its outlandishness. Wait, was Dr. Howell trying to cure death or was he trying to create an army of mind-controlled mutants? Your guess is as good as mine. Just beware of the sexy and evil Kiwi nurses, okay?

“I’ll get you! I’ll get you, bastards!”

Frankenstein 90

frankenstein90

Frankenstein 90 (1984)

Set in France’s near future, Victor Frankenstein (Jean Rochefort) is stealing body parts from the government lab where he works in order to complete his monster. With the help of a corrupt police inspector (Ged Marlon) he finally obtains the final body part he needs. Once he succeeds in bringing his monster named Frank (Eddy Mitchell) to life, he tries to teach him manners and how to behave in proper society.

Victor’s girlfriend, Elizabeth (Fiona Gélin), discovers what Victor has done and together they build Frank a mate named Adelaide (Herma Vos). But Frank isn’t satisfied with their creation and he goes on a rampage in the city, only to disappear afterwards. Victor, Elizabeth, and Adelaide travel to Castle Frankenstein in Germany with hopes to bring Frank back before he does any more damage.

This French horror comedy is as surprising as it is hilarious. Alain Jessua is a fine director and pays homage to the earlier Frankenstein films by poking fun at them wherever he can. The sets are intricate and the effects (although restrained) are superb. The movie is impeccably filmed with nearly flawless cinematography and good lighting.

The actors are all adept at comedy. The lovely Herma Vos is great as Adelaide, the spurned “bride of Frankenstein”. Jean Rochefort is unlike any Dr. Frankenstein I’ve ever seen. He’s more interested in teaching Frank proper table manners and how to drive than announcing his discovery to the scientific community.

Much of the film’s charm comes from Eddy Mitchell’s portrayal as Frank. Instead of a lumbering beast with bolts sticking out of his neck, this Frankenstein monster is just this really ugly French guy in blue jeans and a sweater. Despite having the capacity of a child, Frank is well-spoken and often bored with the world around him instead of intensely curious. It takes a fine comic actor to take this character where it goes and Mitchell does one hell of a job.

Frankenstein 90 twists the Frankenstein legend wherever it can. Much of the humor is subtle but breaks out into slapstick at the right (and usually totally unexpected) moments. This is definitely not a straight horror film with almost none of the heavy atmosphere one expects from Frankenstein films. The music is corny AM funk removing the last traces of seriousness from the whole affair.

I can’t help but recommend Frankenstein 90. Be warned, if you don’t like French style comedy, this may get under your skin. However, the humor here has a very dark tone and can get quite wicked in some places, so horror fans shouldn’t have to test their patience too much. This also has one of the most outlandish satirical endings I’ve ever seen delivered with such a deadpan expression.

The Driller Killer

drillerkiller

The Driller Killer (1979)

Reno Miller (Abel Ferrara) is a sensitive artist trying to get by in New York City. No one around him, not even his girlfriend Carol (Carolyn Marz), knows that Reno is starting to lose his mind. Armed with a large drill and a portable battery (called a “Porto-Pack”), he heads out onto the seedy streets at night murdering homeless people. Things only get worse (yes, even worse) after his art dealer passes on buying Reno’s latest masterpiece and Carol leaves him for her estranged husband. Now, Reno is mad.

Smear on some white pancake makeup, throw back a fistful of uppers, and most importantly: “play this film loud”! Before directing his cult masterpiece, Ms. 45, director and actor Abel Ferrara made this nihilistic vomit-poem for his beloved New York City. The Driller Killer is a trash cinema classic with a big chip on its shoulder. Thanks to this film’s infamous censorship problems in England (making the Video Nasty list), most viewers are under-whelmed (to say the least) when they catch a glimpse of The Driller Killer.

The major problem with the film is pacing. It runs about 10 minutes too long with the seemingly endless rehearsal footage of Tony Coca Cola and The Roosters (the punk band that moves in next door to Reno). And I actually like the band (for some reason) but it’s just too much. However, the high body count, Reno’s hellish hallucinations, the bristling soundtrack, and the sheer delusional nature of the whole film more than make up for the slow pace.

This disgusting heap of a film fearlessly revels in its excesses with its exploitative footage of New York’s homeless (you guys all signed release forms, right?), a gratuitous lesbian shower scene, and even a pointless animal carcass dissection. But you know what? It couldn’t have happened any other way. Bloody, offensive, overlong, overrated, and sometimes even genuinely funny, I love The Driller Killer as much as it can be loved which is completely and not at all.

“No, no, no, no, this isn’t right. This is nothing! This is shit!”

Faceless

faceless

Faceless (1987)

Helmut Berger plays Dr. Frank Flamand, a plastic surgeon who will go to any lengths to help repair the scarred face of his sister, Ingrid. He is drugging and kidnapping women to find the perfect candidate for a facial transplant. His assistant, Nathalie (the stunning Brigitte Lahaie), and his henchman, Gordon, are willing to do anything to assist the good doctor in his scheme. When they kidnap an American fashion model named Barbara (played by Caroline Munro), her father (Savalas) hires a private eye named Sam (Mitchum) to find her. Dr. Frank manages to track down a Nazi doctor who is more than happy to perform the potentially deadly operation. Can detective Sam find Barbara and rescue her before she loses her face?

Wow, what an evil creature this is. Faceless is a sadistic tribute (Tribute? Remake? Parody? Whatever!) to Georges Franju’s Eyes Without A Face. It’s difficult to compare this gorefest with Franco’s earlier works. Clearly, he was trying to tap into the splatter trend of horror flicks of the 80s and I’m sure glad he did. Franco fills this wacky flick with cornball pop music, ludicrous characters, and opportunities for softcore lovin’ wherever he can.

The worst part about this movie, without a doubt, is Christopher Mitchum. He is the hammiest ham that ever hammed a ham and I can’t figure out how he got involved in the project. The part of Sam Morgan, private eye seems to have been written for a much older actor and Mitchum never even comes close to fitting the bill. The only scene where he seems at home is when he gets into a fistfight with the stereotypically gay fashion photographer’s muscle-bound bodyguard.

The kitschy quality of Faceless may put off some viewers. For instance, the cornball pop music that is interspersed throughout the film should produce mild hysterics or nausea. Luckily for Franco, the horrifying elements of the film are truly horrifying. Most of the special effects are very well done; although there is a certain rotting severed head that could have used a little more work. Dang, it looked good when it came off but now I’m not sure. Well, just throw some maggots on it. Perfect!

If you’re looking to get into the films of Jess Franco, then please choose another gateway such as Vampyros Lesbos or The Diabolical Doctor Z. Faceless is not very much like his other films although it has some traces of his style. Don’t expect a classic here but get ready to enjoy some nice Euro-cheese with several gory moments that you won’t soon forget. Plus anything with Brigitte Lahaie (Grapes Of Death) is worth watching. Right?