FANTASY AND THE MACABRE - Glut of Brainless Horrors Geared for the Teen Set
THE SAN FRANCISCO CHRONICLE - December 29, 1985
Author: JOHN STANLEY
It was a year typically dominated by science-fiction movies angled toward the youth market, and the summer saw a glut of brainless plots about teen-age inventors that left one wondering if some producers had compromised their art to attain a new level of ineptitude.
Especially awful within this short-lived subgenre were "Weird Science," an incomprehensible misfire from John Hughes in which a pair of nerds creates a sexy woman from the bowels of their computer, and "My Science Project," in which some wimpy teenagers misuse a force-field weapon from a flying saucer to enter other times and dimensions.
Of a slightly better quality, with director Joe Dante at the helm, was "Explorers," in which yet more teenagers invent a device that speeds them into space, where they meet some cutesy aliens who speak our language, all too well.
Evidence that a science-fiction or fantasy movie didn't have to appeal to the lowest common denominator, and didn't have to depict teenagers in any way, was Ron Howard's unusually mature and sensitive "Cocoon," which dealt with a group of senior citizens and their personal joys and dilemmas when they undergo a youth rejuvenation brought about by alien visitors. Its popularity indicated it was time for a re-evaluation of some of the cliches producers enjoy spouting about what makes a movie successful.
Steven Spielberg kept his crown as the leading producer of glossy, high-tech fantasy movies, hitting his popular stride in 1985 with a witty time-travel comedy, "Back to the Future," which was still one of the top grossers into December, and which is continuing to pull in audiences at the Regency III Theater.
SPIELBERG fared less well with "Goonies," a horribly bloated fairy tale-style search for a pirate's treasure that was such a slight, silly idea it couldn't possibly sustain its enormous, over-rich production. Spielberg ended 1985 on a happier note with "Young Sherlock Holmes," one of the best-crafted films of the year, a stylish tribute to the Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's detective for the first half, a rousing Indiana Jones-style adventure for the second.
The sequel to "Alien" won't be here until next year, but for 1985 we were subjected to an Alien-look-alike in "Creature," a well-done low-budget space-horror adventure. Its craftsmanship would have warranted greater respect had the story been more original; instead, it was almost totally derivative of "Alien." "Life Force" was a Tobe Hooper fiasco about vampires from outer space that turned into a special effects sideshow with no other substance to support it; and "C.H.U.D.S." was an offbeat creatures-in- the -sewer tale photographed in slimy New York locations with a serious attempt to inject a socio-relevant plot into the mayhem; its cheapness ultimately pulled it down a manhole.
"Godzilla 1985" was the hardly awaited revival of the Japanese hulker, who had been off the screen for 10 years. Most critics, after seeing a man in a dinosaur suit crash through cardboard sets with the sleaziest special effects bursting around it, hoped the fire-breathing behemoth would stay away another 10.
Another dinosaur, Baby, in "Baby: Secret of the Lost Legend," rampaged through this Disney film that came and went so fast, even it is considered a lost legend. In fact, Disney had a terrible year: "Return to Oz" was a monumental $27 million disaster, depicting the dark side of Dorothy and her friends on the Yellow Brick Road - a misguided concept the public instantly ignored, and " The Black Cauldron," a long-awaited animated feature, emerged a routine sword-and-sorcery tale with the fire under the kettle fizzling out about halfway along.
Capturing a greater sense of excitement through animation was "Starmaster: The Legend of Orin," touted as the first 3-D cartoon feature. While it had its thrill-packed moments, and featured some imaginative secondary characters, it ultimately became a clone of "Star Wars" - George Lucas would surely have grounds for a lawsuit if he felt like pressing it.
Those who had hoped that Australian director George Miller would top his "Road Warrior" with "Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome" were mildly disappointed. While the new sequel to "Mad Max" was wall-to-wall action, enhanced by the presence of Mel Gibson, its sense of breathlessness was gone.
Political science-fiction remained a lukewarm box-office draw for "1984," a British version of George Orwell's novel of a totalitarian future ruled over by Big Brother. While it was distinguished as the last feature of Richard Burton, it was less distinguished as entertainment, being a bleak depiction of a society without love or hope. It was very very depressing.
A political flight-of-fancy of the worst kind, following on the heels of John Milius' "Red Dawn," was "Invasion U.S.A.," a farfetched proposal that the Russians would land a commando force on a Florida shore and then go around killing innocent Americans as a way of showing our government that we are a stupid lot of cattle being led to the slaughter. It was really just an excuse for Chuck Norris to blast several hundred invaders away, and, coming on the heels of "Code of Silence," it w as a terrible comedown for the box-office star.
In the vein of fantasy adventure there was "King Solomon's Mines," with Richard Chamberlain as H.R. Haggard's great white hunter, Quartermain, but this Golan and Globus movie had nothing to do with Haggard and everything to do with cloning Indiana Jones. While it was a breathless assault of nonstop action, and featured half the tribes of Africa as extras, one couldn't help but be offended by the direct swipes from "Raiders of the Lost Ark" right down to the line "Trust me."
In the mold of James Bond was "Remos Williams: The Adventure Begins," the farfetched premise about a New York cop who is turned into a super spy by a clandestine government agency and trained how to dodge bullets by an Oriental guru (Joel Grey in the oddest casting of the year). The action scenes were good, including a Statue of Liberty acrobatic act. The Golden Gate Bridge, on the other hand, was where Agent 007 found himself dangling from in "A View for a Kill," the weakest Bond film i n a long while, with Roger Moore looking too old for the role and delivering his lines in a bored, tired fashion as he pursued a madman bent on destroying the Bay Area with a devastating earthquake device.
The best horror movie of the year from a standpoint of blood and gore, and downright nightmarish visuals, was "Re-Animator," an independent production that claimed to be based on H. P. Lovecraft short stories. The only similarity was the use of the name Herbert West for the science student who resurrects the dead with a green serum. What was remarkable about "Re-Animator" was its creation of a macabre night land of the starkest horrors - from its walking dead, its talking severed head (with an undying yen to kiss the heroine) and its final surrealistic moments that are right out of a mortician's worst nightmare.
If any one horror film disappointed it was George Romero's third and final part of his "walking dead" trilogy. "Day of the Dead" was nothing compared to "Night of the Living Dead," no matter how much better its scenes of ghouls munching on human flesh or tearing apart a human body piece by piece. It had none of the suspense or punch or restraint that made the 1968 film a cult favorite.
To everyone's surprise, the 1985 release that overtook "Day of the Dead" was "Return of the Living Dead," a delightful (but still occasionally scary) pastiche of the George Romero genre spoofing punk rock, teenage vapidity and Romero himself. Dan O'Bannon, author of "Alien," wrote and directed this unusually bright effort.
Another surprise delight of the year was "Fright Night," with Roddy MacDowall as an ex-"Creature Features" host who gets involved with a young couple stalking a vampire in modern suburbia. The wild and woolly climax was a visual delight of horrors but without being sickening or repulsive in the vein of "Re-Animator."
There were two Stephen King movies in 1985. First came "Cat's Eye," three original tales written by King that were quite literate and exciting, especially the tale of a demonic troll trying to kill a little girl in her bedroom, and scampering through the toys and litter on her floor.
The second King script was "Silver Bullet," based on his famous novella, which was basically a remake of " The Wolf Man" with the hairy beast closing in on Gary Busey and a crippled nephew. The film was handsomely produced, but ultimately, when the smoke from the silver bullet had cleared, the whole thing seemed too slight to be a Stephen King movie.
Werewolves were also busy in "Teen Wolf," an unusual teenage comedy that didn't have one murder - it was all about how Michael Fox adjusts to finding out he's a werewolf halfway through high school. And lycanthropy was the theme of a beautifully photographed English film, "Company of Wolves," an allegory enwrapped in a fairy tale that ultimately became the stomping grounds for Little Red Riding Hood. It was autumnal and lovely, but too esoteric for American horror audiences.
The slasher genre gave out its last gasps. "Final Terror," in which some park rangers and their girlfriends are terrorized by a crazy old lady during an outing, finally came to San Francisco after a couple of years on the shelf, but even exploiting Rachel Ward and Daryl Hannah in the cast couldn't help.
Paramount milked many millions more out of the masked killer named Jason in "Friday the 13th: A New Beginning," the fifth and worst in the series - but surely not the last. There's too many more millions waiting to be picked up.
Sword-and-sorcery waned in '85 without a new Conan movie, but Arnold Schwarzenegger was nevertheless on hand in "Red Sonja," playing swordsey with beautiful Brigitte Nielsen (Sylvester Stallone's new wife) and stopping a green talisman from blowing up the world. Far superior was "Ladyhawke," a medieval myth about two lovers who are cursed, she becoming a hawk by day, he becoming a wolf by night.
Charles Band cranked out a couple of cheapies this year: "Ghoulies," an unmitigated rip off of "Gremlins" but without the style and the sense of humor, and "Dungeonmaster," a spinoff on role-playing games that jumped around from incident to incident as a wicked wizard tried to put the whammy on a heroic guy and vulnerable, tied-to- the -stake gal.
Harry Ho, manager of the St. Francis, was still booking lesser known exploitation movies - grind-house fodder that would warm the heart of Joe Bob Briggs - in exclusive runs. The best exploitationer of the year was "Hellhole," a women-behind-bars genre flick with a twist: A Frankenstein subplot with mad doctor Marjoe Gortner and lustful lesbian Mary Woronov injecting beautiful women with a serum to achieve "liquid lobotomies." Woronov's intense performance was the strangest of a ny movie lesbian yet.
Ho also brought in " The Mutilator ," a Friday- the -13th clone that featured several chopped-up bodies and one cut exactly in half. He double-billed "Superstition" ( The Exorcist Meets the Shining) and "Seven Doors to Death" (haunted house thriller).
Across the street at the Electric Theater, owner George Lung and projectionist Pat Marsh were still priding themselves on finding obscure, little-known horrors that even Ho would probably turn his nose up at. The best for 1985 was " The Stuff," a brand new Larry Cohen science-fiction horror thriller that New World Pictures had refused to give a general release. The white substance of the title turned out to be a natural packaged dessert (resembling yogurt in texture) that took over the eater and turned him into a zombie if it wasn't crawling up the wall like The Blob.
There were two Italian terrors double-billed ("Autopsy" and "Eyeball" ) that were simply awful, and there was the biggest ripoff of the year, "Zombie Island Massacre," which didn't have a single real zombie in it, and which wasn't even a horror film. Italian gangsters and stuff like that.
There was "Sacrifice," a sequel to "Make Them Die Slowly," a sickening cannibal film that featured the on-camera deaths of several animals that were really sacrificed by the filmmakers, and a revival of two gore classics: "Blood Feast" and "2000 Maniacs."
The Electric's final special of the year was " The Deadly Spawn," a science-fiction horror exploitationer in which a toothsome alien monster comes to Earth aboard a meteor and terrorizes some boring teenagers in their home, with scads of little tadpolelike E.T.'s with big teeth swarming into the woodwork and the food. Watching it, as with so many of the year's gross-outs, was an ugly experience.
GORE AND VIOLENCE IN THE OFF-SEASON by Lou Lumenick
GORE AND VIOLENCE IN THE OFF-SEASON
The Record (New Jersey) - January 28, 1985
Author: By Lou Lumenick, Movie Critic: The Record
April may be the cruellest month, but January is when exploitation pictures fill the nation's theaters. Low-budget independent quickies have long filled the vacuum between quick-expiring Christmas flops and the next wave of major studio offerings in February.
So many 1984 holiday movies have folded so rapidly ("Dune," "Protocol," etc.) that this month has brought a bumper crop of B movies. These films invariably combine a maximum of nudity, violence, and gore with a minimum of writing, directing, and acting talent. If they're rated at all, they get an R, and their running times are usually under 90 minutes. Most are not even reviewed by critics.
" The Mutilator ," "Emmanuelle 4," and "Surf II: The Nerds Strike Back" (there was no "Surf I," in case you were wondering) already have come and gone in North Jersey theaters during the last three weeks. "Avenging Angel" and "Walking the Edge" are still playing (but probably not for long). This last weekend they were joined by " The Perils of Gwendoline" and "Superstition."
" The Perils of Gwendoline" is unusually ambitious for its ilk, an English-language French production with a reported budget of $4.5 million. (Most exploitationers cost less than $1 million). It's based on a comic strip by John Willie, helpfully identified in the film's press notes as "one of the most recognized, durable, and unique practitioners of the art of bondage illustration. "
Sounds pretty racy, and the TV commercials for "Gwendoline" promise some fairly kinky adventures along the lines of ( the preliberation Jane Fonda's) "Barbarella. " So you can imagine the disappointment at the Hyway Theater in Fair Lawn Friday night when an audience of 32 souls ranging in age from about 10 to 60 discovered a tame, slow-moving knockoff of "Raiders of the Lost Ark. "
Disappointed crowd
Gwendoline (played by Tawny Kitane, the improbably-named heroine of "Bachelor Party") is a wide-eyed American novitiate manquee who's searching for her missing father, a butterfly collector, in 1930's Macao. Accompanied by her friend Beth (Zabou, who speaks dubbed English) and a reluctant mercenary named Willard (Brent Huff, "raised in a backwoods community in the Ozarks," say the press notes), Gwendoline sets out for the land of the Yik Yak (don't ask), where her father was last seen. They meet up with alligators, cannibals in blackface, pirates, and a campy mad queen (Bernadette Lafont) attended by 60 scantily clad gladiator girls.
Although writer-director Just Jaeckin ("Emmanuelle," " The Story of O") contrives to present Gwendoline, Willard, and Beth in various stages of dishabille ("Take your clothes off quick! " is a typical line of dialogue) and some nifty leather gear, there really isn't anything going on to qualify "Gwendoline" as even a soft-core romp. Only the scene where some gladiator girls pulled a chariot got much of a rise out of the Fair Lawn crowd.
Not so "Superstition," a schlocky slasher film that inspired a great deal of audience participation during its near-sellout showing at the Route 17 Triplex a bit later Friday evening. Mostly high-schoolers on a date, they cheered when one guy's head exploded in a microwave oven; applauded when an elderly minister (Stacy Keach Sr.) bought it at the business end of a runaway electric saw; and roared at the awful dialogue ("I thought you loved me," says a libidinous young man when his date balks at some back seat action).
Not that the audience was unaware of James Roberson's absent-minded direction or the film's less-than-taut editing. When, at the end of an endless series of suspenseless tracking shots down the corridors of a deserted house, a character says, "let's get out of here," the audience shouted its agreement.
Hilariously awful
"Superstition" is essentially a slasher film incorporating elements of "Poltergeist," represented by an orgy of modestly spooky special effects in the final reel. There is also a hilariously awful flashback sequence of a witch being executed in 1692. The witch apparently is played by Lynn Carlin ("Taking Off"), who also turns up as a madwoman who advises a detective (Albert Salmi) and a young minister (James Houghton) investigating the bizarre murders that their problem is "you have 20th-Century minds. "
They were lining up, too, for a Saturday matinee of "Superstition" in the downstairs auditorium of the National Twin in Times Square. Upstairs, only half a dozen brave souls (in a 1,000-seat theater) turned up to catch "Walking the Edge," a woozy revenge melodrama featuring Nancy Kwan, who was a big star in in " The World of Suzy Wong" and "Flower Drum Song" a quarter of a century ago.
Kwan still looks smashing at 46, but she and Robert Forster ("Stunts," "Alligator"), a B-movie veteran of above-average talent, fight a losing battle against Norbert Meisel's lame direction and Curt Allen's inane script. The latter concerns a cabdriver (Forster), a former Triple A baseball pitcher ("a right-handed Sandy Koufax") who's now a runner for a bookie. He inadvertently becomes involved with Kwan, whose husband a drug dealer and young son have been brutally executed by mobsters in the film's opening scene.
She wants to get even, of course, and in the course of 93 minutes Kwan and Forster brutally eliminate half a dozen villains of various ethnic persuasions without so much as a visit from the Los Angeles Police Department. Between killings, they fall in love.
"What do we do now? " Kwan asks as they literally ride off into the sunset in Forster's cab.
"Got me," he replies as the movie ends.
Revenge is obviously the theme of "Avenging Angel," which managed
to fill only about a dozen of the 1,127 seats at the RKO Warner later Saturday afternoon. It's a sequel to "An 772077gel," last January's biggest exploitation hit.
The earlier movie concerned a Los Angeles high school honors student by day who was a hooker on Hollywood Boulevard by night. "Avenging Angel" takes place four years later, and our heroine (now played by Betsy Russell, star of "Private School" and the well-stacked granddaughter of political columnist Max Lerner) is studying law. When the police officer who got her off the streets is murdered, she returns to her old precincts to settle the score.
While there are a couple of rousing shoot-outs, the new "Angel" (Robert Vincent O'Neil returns as director) suffers from an overabundance of comic relief. Returning from the first film are Rory Calhoun as a demented drugstore cowboy, and Susan Tyrell as Angel's old cigar-smoking lesbian landlady. Joining them are a gaggle of eccentric street performers, a pair of transvestites, and a baby whose kidnapping becomes a key point of the plot.
"Avenging Angel" did garoer a few laughs from the sparse audience, although it was sad to see poor Ossie Davis as a police captain who gets a lecture on criminal rights from law-student Angel.
Such is justice on the exploitation movie circuit.
The Record (New Jersey) - January 28, 1985
Author: By Lou Lumenick, Movie Critic: The Record
April may be the cruellest month, but January is when exploitation pictures fill the nation's theaters. Low-budget independent quickies have long filled the vacuum between quick-expiring Christmas flops and the next wave of major studio offerings in February.
So many 1984 holiday movies have folded so rapidly ("Dune," "Protocol," etc.) that this month has brought a bumper crop of B movies. These films invariably combine a maximum of nudity, violence, and gore with a minimum of writing, directing, and acting talent. If they're rated at all, they get an R, and their running times are usually under 90 minutes. Most are not even reviewed by critics.
" The Mutilator ," "Emmanuelle 4," and "Surf II: The Nerds Strike Back" (there was no "Surf I," in case you were wondering) already have come and gone in North Jersey theaters during the last three weeks. "Avenging Angel" and "Walking the Edge" are still playing (but probably not for long). This last weekend they were joined by " The Perils of Gwendoline" and "Superstition."
" The Perils of Gwendoline" is unusually ambitious for its ilk, an English-language French production with a reported budget of $4.5 million. (Most exploitationers cost less than $1 million). It's based on a comic strip by John Willie, helpfully identified in the film's press notes as "one of the most recognized, durable, and unique practitioners of the art of bondage illustration. "
Sounds pretty racy, and the TV commercials for "Gwendoline" promise some fairly kinky adventures along the lines of ( the preliberation Jane Fonda's) "Barbarella. " So you can imagine the disappointment at the Hyway Theater in Fair Lawn Friday night when an audience of 32 souls ranging in age from about 10 to 60 discovered a tame, slow-moving knockoff of "Raiders of the Lost Ark. "
Disappointed crowd
Gwendoline (played by Tawny Kitane, the improbably-named heroine of "Bachelor Party") is a wide-eyed American novitiate manquee who's searching for her missing father, a butterfly collector, in 1930's Macao. Accompanied by her friend Beth (Zabou, who speaks dubbed English) and a reluctant mercenary named Willard (Brent Huff, "raised in a backwoods community in the Ozarks," say the press notes), Gwendoline sets out for the land of the Yik Yak (don't ask), where her father was last seen. They meet up with alligators, cannibals in blackface, pirates, and a campy mad queen (Bernadette Lafont) attended by 60 scantily clad gladiator girls.
Although writer-director Just Jaeckin ("Emmanuelle," " The Story of O") contrives to present Gwendoline, Willard, and Beth in various stages of dishabille ("Take your clothes off quick! " is a typical line of dialogue) and some nifty leather gear, there really isn't anything going on to qualify "Gwendoline" as even a soft-core romp. Only the scene where some gladiator girls pulled a chariot got much of a rise out of the Fair Lawn crowd.
Not so "Superstition," a schlocky slasher film that inspired a great deal of audience participation during its near-sellout showing at the Route 17 Triplex a bit later Friday evening. Mostly high-schoolers on a date, they cheered when one guy's head exploded in a microwave oven; applauded when an elderly minister (Stacy Keach Sr.) bought it at the business end of a runaway electric saw; and roared at the awful dialogue ("I thought you loved me," says a libidinous young man when his date balks at some back seat action).
Not that the audience was unaware of James Roberson's absent-minded direction or the film's less-than-taut editing. When, at the end of an endless series of suspenseless tracking shots down the corridors of a deserted house, a character says, "let's get out of here," the audience shouted its agreement.
Hilariously awful
"Superstition" is essentially a slasher film incorporating elements of "Poltergeist," represented by an orgy of modestly spooky special effects in the final reel. There is also a hilariously awful flashback sequence of a witch being executed in 1692. The witch apparently is played by Lynn Carlin ("Taking Off"), who also turns up as a madwoman who advises a detective (Albert Salmi) and a young minister (James Houghton) investigating the bizarre murders that their problem is "you have 20th-Century minds. "
They were lining up, too, for a Saturday matinee of "Superstition" in the downstairs auditorium of the National Twin in Times Square. Upstairs, only half a dozen brave souls (in a 1,000-seat theater) turned up to catch "Walking the Edge," a woozy revenge melodrama featuring Nancy Kwan, who was a big star in in " The World of Suzy Wong" and "Flower Drum Song" a quarter of a century ago.
Kwan still looks smashing at 46, but she and Robert Forster ("Stunts," "Alligator"), a B-movie veteran of above-average talent, fight a losing battle against Norbert Meisel's lame direction and Curt Allen's inane script. The latter concerns a cabdriver (Forster), a former Triple A baseball pitcher ("a right-handed Sandy Koufax") who's now a runner for a bookie. He inadvertently becomes involved with Kwan, whose husband a drug dealer and young son have been brutally executed by mobsters in the film's opening scene.
She wants to get even, of course, and in the course of 93 minutes Kwan and Forster brutally eliminate half a dozen villains of various ethnic persuasions without so much as a visit from the Los Angeles Police Department. Between killings, they fall in love.
"What do we do now? " Kwan asks as they literally ride off into the sunset in Forster's cab.
"Got me," he replies as the movie ends.
Revenge is obviously the theme of "Avenging Angel," which managed
to fill only about a dozen of the 1,127 seats at the RKO Warner later Saturday afternoon. It's a sequel to "An 772077gel," last January's biggest exploitation hit.
The earlier movie concerned a Los Angeles high school honors student by day who was a hooker on Hollywood Boulevard by night. "Avenging Angel" takes place four years later, and our heroine (now played by Betsy Russell, star of "Private School" and the well-stacked granddaughter of political columnist Max Lerner) is studying law. When the police officer who got her off the streets is murdered, she returns to her old precincts to settle the score.
While there are a couple of rousing shoot-outs, the new "Angel" (Robert Vincent O'Neil returns as director) suffers from an overabundance of comic relief. Returning from the first film are Rory Calhoun as a demented drugstore cowboy, and Susan Tyrell as Angel's old cigar-smoking lesbian landlady. Joining them are a gaggle of eccentric street performers, a pair of transvestites, and a baby whose kidnapping becomes a key point of the plot.
"Avenging Angel" did garoer a few laughs from the sparse audience, although it was sad to see poor Ossie Davis as a police captain who gets a lecture on criminal rights from law-student Angel.
Such is justice on the exploitation movie circuit.
THE MUTILATOR aka FALL BREAK (1985)
APPALLING GORE FAILS TO DAUNT FILM AUDIENCES
Miami Herald, The (FL) - October 16, 1985
Author: CARL HIAASEN Herald Columnist
Imagine this: It's a sunny holiday afternoon in autumn. Birds sing. Teen-agers lounge on Haulover beach. Joggers trot through the Grove.
Yet in a dark downtown theater, redolent of foul hot dogs, more than 40 people are watching one of the most abominable movies of all time.
The film is called The Mutilator . Its profoundly repugnant newspaper advertisement features a gleaming marlin gaff and promises: "By sword. By ax. By pick. Bye bye."
I have not come to review this motion picture, but rather the audience. I anticipate a cavalcade of geeks, troglodytes and sociopaths -- who else would pay $2.50 to watch a bunch of dumb white college kids get hacked into corned beef?
But a quick survey before the action starts offers these demographics: A well-dressed young couple, sharing Polaroid snapshots; a moody guy in a dingy tank top, girlfriend on his lap; several teen-agers, slightly rowdy but too muscular to rebuke; up front, an entire family, including a 6-year-old, a toddler and a nursing infant.
And, of course, sitting by himself: the obligatory strange pale man with the baggy pants and bucket of popcorn. You know the one.
The film begins, and even before the opening credits there is a gruesome killing that would send most normal folks scurrying for the door or the restrooms. Not this bunch -- a true gore corps.
The titles flash: The Mutilator . "Written and directed by Buddy Cooper." Enough said.
Then the actors, none of whose names are remotely familiar (aliases, no doubt).
Then: "Special appearance by Ben Moore."
Who the heck is Ben Moore? No one seems to know, but instinct suggests that he plays the title role.
The plot unfolds:
A group of boisterous, beer-guzzling college kids talks a pal into crashing Dad's beachfront townhouse for the weekend. The father happens to be a demented lunatic who sleeps under some gardening tools in the garage and has a respiratory disorder so severe that his breathing can be heard all the way to Seattle.
Beyond this, The Mutilator follows the identical script of Friday the Thirteenth, Halloween and all other teen slasher movies:
1. The Trampy Co-Ed is the first to die, but only after the mandatory semi-nude swimming scene.
2. The Dumb Blond Jock is the next to be mangled.
3. The Goofy Comic-Relief Guy is third on the menu (and the only character whose mutilation seems to sadden the audience).
4. Next is the Concerned Cop, who gets beheaded.
5. Then there's quite a tedious Stalking Sequence, with lots of bad camera work and bass violas.
6. The climax is the tired old Car-Won't-Start-Scene, with Mr. Mutilator clumsily hacking his way through the convertible top.
7. Finally the killer is gored, stabbed, burned and run over by the young collegiate heroine, who is (I swear) a self- proclaimed virgin and proud of it. She also is a master of Kung- Fu, as any Southern California virgin must be.
During all this carnage I expect raucous outbursts from the crowd, but the theater is reverently quiet, as if we are watching Olivier do Hamlet.
According to my notes, the only audible exclamation comes during the decapitation scene when a man in the back row cries, "Oh s---!" Which pretty much sums up my sentiments, too.
Sitting one row ahead of me is a handsome gray-haired woman with an embroidered shopping bag. She watches the entire film silently, without a murmur or a flinch. In fact, she is sitting so still that I begin to worry that she might have passed away during the marlin-gaff scene.
But, moments after the final mutilation, the old woman bolts for the exit, understandably eager to escape before the house lights come on. I catch up with her and ask what she thought of The Mutilator .
She smiles and says, "It's incredible, yes?"
Oh yes.
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GORY ' MUTILATOR ' JUST ANOTHER CHIP OFF THE OLD BLOCK
Boston Globe - March 9, 1985
Author: Michael Blowen, Globe Staff
The modus operandi for this gory story is the same as countless other slaughterhouse pictures.
The weapons include a battle ax, a fishing gaff, a machete, a cigarette lighter, a knife, a pitchfork and a chainsaw. The motive is money for writer- producer-director Buddy Cooper. The victim is the audience.
As one of the faceless murderees says, early in this putrid excuse for a motion picture, "I've got a bad feeling about this." Me too.
The film is unrated because the producer is not a member of the Motion Picture Association of America and was not obligated to submit it. It would most likely have been given an R.
THE MUTILATOR - Written, produced and directed by Buddy
Cooper, starring Matt Mitler, Ruth Martinez, Bill
Hitchcock and a cast of other unknowns, at the Beacon Hill
and suburbs, no rating.
GREAT WHITE aka THE LAST SHARK (1982)
REVIEW MOVIE\ A GREAT WHITE ' PUSSYCAT\ GREAT WHITE - DIRECTED BY ENZO G. CASTELLARI, WRITTEN BY MARK PRINCI,\ STARRING JAMES FRANCISCUS, VIC MORROW AND MICKY PIGNATELLI, AT THE\ PI ALLEY AND SUBURBS, RATED PG.
Boston Globe - April 20, 1982
Author: Michael Blowen Globe Staff
Because of its "substantial similarity" to Universal Pictures' "Jaws," a federal court in Hollywood ruled April 6 that " Great White " should be barred
from release. Last Wednesday, the distributor, Film Ventures International, and Universal reached an out-of-court settlement for an undisclosed amount of cash that allowed " Great White " to open. Unfortunately.
On one level, Judge David V. Kenyon, in his initial decision, was right. There are similarities between the two films - a shark, an ocean, a selfish politician, a veteran fisherman with an Irish accent and a massive marketing campaign.
However, that's where the resemblance ends. "Jaws" succeeded through Steven Spielberg's gripping direction, fine performances by Richard Dreyfuss, Robert Shaw and Roy Scheider, punchy editing, excellent special effects and a riveting music score.
" Great White " is a shoddily constructed, poorly acted, ridiculous ripoff.
From the out-of-synch dialogue to the phony accents, director Enzo G. Castellari's fishy movie is a completely unconvincing sharksploitation film that deserves to be blown out of the water.
In one sequence, when Vic Morrow is explaining the vicious habits of the shark, Castellari cuts to a grainy shot of a great white that's obviously in an aquarium tank. In fact, the scenes between the actors and the "shark" are so horribly matched that I would be surprised if the actors even saw one shark during the filming.
The plot is the same as its predecessor. Marine author Peter Benton (James Franciscus) and fisherman Ron Hammer ( Morrow ) team up to capture a giant white shark that has killed a surfer, disrupted a windsurfing championship, lunched on a teenager's leg and yanked a helicopter into the sea. Naturally, these two intrepid sailors eventually win out. But it's hard to understand what they are afraid of.
"Bruce," the mechanical shark from "Jaws," has been replaced by a beast that looks like a balloon left over from Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade. Consequently, when Franciscus and Morrow set sail to kill the fish there is no fear or tension. They look like what they are - two guys trying to kill a balloon.
The only real sharks in " Great White " are the people who made it.
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A Laughable ' Great White '
Washington Post, The (DC) - April 23, 1982
Author: FRANK SANELLO
Universal failed to stop the U.S. release of a small-budget Italian movie called " Great White " because of the film's similarity to "Jaws," its mighty moneymaker, but the studio shouldn't worry: " Great White " probably will be laughed out of the U.S.
Starring James Franciscus and Vic Morrow , it compulsively yet superficially imitates the original, whose scariest elements don't bear repeating on the cheap.
The phoniest thing about the production is its "star," a bargain-basement version of Bruce the Shark. Whenever the creature appears you can almost see the taxidermist inside, still trying to make it look fierce.
The underwater stock footage has a shark that doesn't even appear to belong to the same species as a big white , and doesn't match the lighting or graininess of the rest of the film.
See if the story sounds familiar: The mayor of a coastal resort in Georgia (much of the film was actually shot in Malta) is running for governor and refuses to cancel the city's annual windsurfing regatta even though a shark has already noshed on one contestant. The shark enters the regatta and makes mincemeat of many, rather than taking his victims serially a la "Jaws."
Chastened, the mayor calls in an experienced shark-hunter, Vic Morrow , who has a Scottish accent (Robert Shaw's was Irish in "Jaws." James Franciscus has Roy Scheider's role, but instead of a logical occupation like Scheider's chief of police he is cast as a shark-hunting novelist.
The remainder, interspersed with leaden, irrelevant exposition, consists of the shark taking on various challenges and winning handily, including chomping a helicopter, which is the only original and riveting moment of the 90 minutes.
Your neighborhood seafood restaurant has more drama and marine realism.
GREAT WHITE -- At 17 area theaters.
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' Great White ' Rip-Off
Washington Post, The (DC) - April 24, 1982
Author: Richard Harrington
"I've never seen anything like it in my life!" says Vic Morrow halfway through " Great White ." Of course, after 45 minutes of de'ja viewed shark mayhem, he must be kidding.
And the filmmakers must feel it's been long enough since the visceral shock of "Jaws," because " Great White " is now on 17 area screens . . . and just when you thought it was safe to go back in the theaters.
(Actually, it may not be on those screens for long. Universal Pictures, distributors of "Jaws," succeeded Thursday in getting a preliminary injunction against Film Ventures International, requiring withdrawal of " Great White " from exhibiting theaters, cancellation of all advertising and a recall of all prints. Universal has sued Film Ventures over the new film and a trial is pending.)
Most of the elements are familiar: the Centennial Windsurfing Regatta that's vital to a coastal resort's business; an ambitious mayor (Joshua Sinclair) who's manipulating the local media in a bid for the governorship and refuses to close the beach down; a taciturn shark hunter ( Morrow ) and a likable shark-author (James Franciscus) who've settled in a town where a shark hasn't been seen in 30 years; juicy young kids (mostly with Italian names) who don't seem to grasp the fact that they're being eaten up.
Then there's a 30-foot shark who seems to enjoy playing with his food and who likes to knock all the windsurfers off their boards in a game of underwater pinball; he doesn't even eat them! This is a smart shark who traps a couple of guys in an underwater cave by piling up rocks at the entrance. This is a bold shark who seems unafraid to bite off more than he can chew, whether it be a boat, helicopter or a pier with half a dozen people on it. This is an agile shark with a bit of dolphin blood in him; like an Ivory bar in the bathtub, he spends a lot of time popping up halfway out of the water, begging for food. This is a nasty shark who, just before he sinks his teeth into someone, actually seems to gloat.
Add the obligatory underwater footage as Great White heads for his meals; every time someone steps into the water, there's little guessing about who's coming to dinner. Throw in a quick slide show about Great Whites . Mix up stock footage of a real Great White with a mighty mediocre mechanical Great White (trying unsucessfully to make them look alike). Enhance the muddy picture with a sound track that sounds like it was recorded underwater and, voila , you have, not a shark, but a turkey.
Selected dialogue: "She's gone surfing with the boys . . . must be a hell of a specimen . . . they found something . . . there's something funny here, I don't like it . . . there was nobody in the boat . . . Couldn't it have been something else . . . Good God . . . No explosion did this . . . there's too much at stake . . . No damn shark's going to ruin a whole year's work . . . I'm going for a swim. Who's coming? . . . nothing's going to happen . . . there's nothing to worry about . . . that's a mighty big fish down there . . . what if we don't find him . . . did we get him . . . it's my fault, I should have known . . . he's down there, I can feel it . . . Do you think this thing's going to work? . . . It's my shark! . . . Don't worry,it's just a fish . . . Damn you! . . . BOOOOOM!"
Admitedly, we've come a long way from "The Old Man and the Sea," but it seems a shorter distance between "Jaws" and " Great White ." Unfortunately, it's all underwater.
REVENGE OF THE DEAD aka ZEDER (1983)
REVIEW MOVIE\ DEADLY REVENGE'\ REVENGE OF THE DEAD - DIRECTED BY PUPI AVATI. AT THE PI ALLEY AND SUBURBS,\ UNRATED. MENACING ATMOSPHERE AND OCCASIONAL GORE .
Boston Globe - June 16, 1984
Author: MARK MURO
Heard of any bartending jobs?
Know anyone looking for a gardener?
How about a garage that needs a mechanic?
If so, please call.
"Revenge of the Dead," dubbed with semi-hilarious consequences into English from the Italian, is a prohibitively dull zombie flick and, friends, we must - repeat must - find a new line of work for Pupi Avati, its director. We better hurry, too.
This movie, you see, is deadly. Involving a mysterious typewriter, a lot of mumbo-jumbo about undead personages and a murderous priest named Don Luigi Costa, the plot follows a mousy-looking novelist's attempts to figure out why everything is so weird in Bologna, Italy, in Chartres, France, and everywhere else he goes. Clues accumulate, strange old ladies administer the evil eye, but very little happens. Though our hero - a cut-rate ringer for the young Humphrey Bogart - wanders around constantly in dark crypts and houses full of inexplicable heavy breathing, what we wind up with is a thriller totally devoid of thrills. Six rather routine maimings are not nearly enough to sustain so witless and incomprehensible a little movie.
There is, however, one fun snort of idiocy. This occurs late, with the score standing Undeads 4, Good Guys 0. "I have to understand what it's all about," snivels our hero to his cheap cutie of a girlfriend. "Too many things don't make sense." That said, he almost cries. You know how he feels.
MARTIN (1977)
Four Excuses in Search of Some Gore
Washington Post, The (DC) - May 12, 1978
Author: Judith Martin
Blood may be replacing sex at the movies. The number of films that are excuses to watch people copulate seems to have leveled off, so to speak, but there's a boom on movies that are excuses to watch people bleed to death.
The newest, and one of the most pretentious, is "Martin," a film by George Romero, whose "Night of the Living Dead" in 1970 attained the high distinction, in the genre, of being called "a cult movie."
"Martin" is pretentious in a way that pornography is when it is dressed up for people who don't want to admit to their taste. We're not really coming for that , it seems to say; that is just there because it is an integral part of the story.
Sure it is.
"Martin" is a film about a punk who goes around killing people in the messiest possible way. Blood in all over the screen most of the time. But no fewer than four different excuses have been supplied, to disguise the fact that it's designed for people who like bleeding.
Excuse 1: This is really a literary movie, the concept of the Vampire being a mythology that explains allegorically the human predicament. The film is full of references of Vampire lore, with the repeated assertion that this is adding to a long literary tradition with new information.
Excuse 2: This is really a historical film , showing us our roots. Each scene in the present reminds Martin of something that happened to him in the previous century. However, this is kept to a minimum because of course the past took place in black-and-white, and blood doesn't show up as well as in our colorful present.
Excuse 3: This is really a psychological film , expressing the alienation of modern youth. The Vampire looks like the other rotten kids on the block, and is constantly throwing out clues for the analyst: "It's just that I'm shy . . . "In real life, you can't get people to do what you want them to do."
Excuse 4: This is really a satirical movie, making fun of all those other movies that cater to people who really like horror movies. There are several references to how "It's not really like the way they did it int 'The Exorcist,'" and the Vampire's confidant is the host on a call-in radio show.
Of all the excuses offered No. 4 is probably the lowest. If people want to enjoy pornography, or blood, they shouldn't claim to be doing it out of superior feelings based on putting down people who admit enjoying it.
But then, nobody really enjoys watching others bleed to death - and the people who buy pornographic magazines do it only because they enjoy the articles about the economy that separate in pictures.
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