The Theatre Bizarre

 The Theatre Bizarre is an ambitious showcase for the work of six directors, an anthology-style piece of cinema that borrows the structure of Amicus movies such as Tales From The Crypt, The Vault of Horror, The House That Dripped Blood, and Asylum. There is a traditional wrap-around segment from which the individual short films are launched, and this segment, in itself, is visually impressive. The British spelling of 'Theatre' in the title is indicative perhaps of the British background of the film's originating producers.

 The film was made for a very small budget and is a terrific example of what can be done with love, passion, sacrifice and commitment. The feel of the introductory segment is Grand Guignol-inspired, but the six films themselves don't necessarily adhere to that theme, and better represent the individual, unfettered dreams of directors Richard Stanley (The Mother of Toads), Buddy Giovinazzo (I Love You), Tom Savini (Wet Dreams), Douglas Buck (The Accident), Karim Hussain (Vision Stains), and David Gregory (Sweets).

 What you, as a viewer, will take from the film will depend on where your tastes lie as far as horror goes. Stanley's segment, which references Bava, Argento, Fulci, and Warren publications, is a Lovecraftian journey into witchery set in a foggy, visually stunning section of rural France. Lacking structure, it even feels like some of Fulci's more puzzling works. Giovinazzo's I Love You, set in a Berlin apartment, is an intimate essay on the disintegration of a relationship that ends as you would expect a Giovinazzo movie to end. Referencing Zulawski's Possession (at least tonally), its greatest asset is its strong cast of two. Wet Dreams, directed by Tom Savini, delivers a tasty feast of gore, sex, and sleaze. A cheating husband pays for his deeds with foul, paranoid dreams. Without a doubt, this story is in closest proximity to the spirit of the old EC-inspired anthologies. The Accident, by Douglas buck, opens with images that echoed, for me, Agnes Varda's Vagabond. Probably the most deeply disturbing of the offerings, it plays and feels like European arthouse horror, and involves an accident that affects a mother and daughter.

 Director Karim Hussein, who also shot Stanley's Toads, serves up Vision Stains, a pleasingly subversive and wet entry with a strong premise that, unfortunately, is not as well explored dramatically as it could have been. Some additional writing might have helped. Still, it's visually invigorating, and the lead performance is strong. Finally, David Gregory (also one of the anthology's producers), follows up with Sweets, his first directorial effort since Plague Town. Of the bunch, this was the most outright entertaining for me, and its subject of extreme gluttony had me squirming. Reveling in a cinematic form of Grand Gastronomic Guignol, it consciously or unconsciously references the surreal excesses of Marco Ferreri's La Grande Bouffe with its lurid tale of a  young couple and their sweet tooth. As its focus is a familiar subject, the "relate" factor to its putrid, vomitous horror is high.

Anthologies directed by one person (Creepshow, for example) are difficult to rate because success is based on the effectiveness of multiple stories, not one. Anthologies directed by six directors, such as this, are an even more difficult proposition. The Theatre Bizarre is an appropriate title because each tale is bizarre, and the theatre serves as a gallery for the exhibition of multiple genre efforts with very loose thematic connections. Also worth mentioning is the fine atmosphere and strangeness director Jeremy Kasten achieves with his wraparound segment in which a young woman is drawn to a strange theatre filled with mannequins, odd machinery, and Udo Kier. I couldn't help thinking that there is a story about this theatre and its inhabitants somewhere.

Not as consistently Grand Guignol as the title suggests, this unusual anthology is, nevertheless, well worth the admission price.

A DVD (from Image) with excellent commentaries on most segments and some brief behind-the-scenes snippets is now available. Unfortunately, Image didn't deem the film worthy of a BluRay release. Hopefully, they'll get a clue and address that error in judgment.

The Bunny Game

 The Bunny Game is a variation on a well-trodden scenario, but it's elevated somewhat by a stark sense of realism, a solid black and white grade, some inventive editing, and an engaging lead performance.

Recently banned in the UK due, no doubt, to its blending of violence (physical and psychological) and hardcore sexual imagery, it's a worthy addition to a growing sub-genre that is often labeled "torture porn". Patronizing labels undermine the merits of individual works, creating the impression that these films are as generic as porn loops (actually, even porn loops are not as generic as they seem).

 Cinema and literature have a rich history of stories involving the capture and ill treatment of human beings for sundry purposes. We can go way back to 1932's The Most Dangerous Game to locate a narrative based on a madman's treatment of compromised humanity. John Fowles' The Collector (film and book)  traversed these streets, too, with great success.

Contemporary titles of this ilk such as the August Underground movies, Hostel (I,II,III), Captured, Scrapbook, Mum and Dad, Martyrs, Seed, and Senseless owe as much to Japanese cinema of the 60's, 70's, and 80's as they do to looser Western influences.

Many of Koji Wakamatsu films such as Go Go Second Time Virgin ('69), Diary of a Japanese Rapist ('67),  The Embryo Hunts in Secret ('66) and The Man Who Assaulted 13 People aka Serial Rapist ('78)  re-drew the parameters of international cinema and were later followed by works sharing the visceral (though not the political) themes of the director.

  Titles now familiar to us such as Captured for Sex 2, Wife To Be Sacrificed, Tumbling Doll of Flesh, Lolita Vibrator Torture, Please Rape Me Once More, Assault Jack the Ripper, and the first two Guinea Pig movies owe much to the works of Wakamatsu and directors such as Kinya Ogawa,  Mamoru Watanabe, and Hiroshi Mukai. A new generation of cinematic explorers including Hisayaso Sato, Genji Nakamura, and Banmei Takahashi followed these taboo busters.

It would not be accurate to categorize the films of these Japanese directors as "torture porn", despite the fact that much of their work was extreme and confronting.

As in any genre, there are good and bad ambassadors...

 



Which brings us full circle to Adam Rehmeier's The Bunny Game.

As noted above, the scenario is well-trodden, but the treatment is fresher than some. A prostitute (Bunny), played with extraordinary commitment by Rodleen Getsic, is having a shit of a week. The blowjob she performs in the opening scene seems typical of her day, as does her mean-spirited client. After servicing a variety of vile johns, Bunny is left high and dry when a client rips her off. At a low ebb, it's not surprising that she agrees to jump into a truck with 'Hogg' (Jeff R. Renfro). Her decision is clearly a mistake from the get-go, and how this plays out makes up the bulk of the movie.

 Interesting choice of villain here, and clearly influenced by Samuel R. Delany's searing novel, Hogg ('69), a highly controversial and much-banned work (reviewed on this blog long ago). Delany's novel is focused on a perverted homosexual rapist and killer whose average day includes molesting a young hitchhiker, driving with shit-filled pants, and subjecting everybody he meets to his filth and psychotic violence. Only recently, the character's name was also used in  Adam Mason's Pig ('10) , a similar film that failed all the tests this one passes.

Although The Bunny Game has its fair share of sexual abuse and mental torture, Rehmeier and his artistic cohorts don't just subject us to to variations of the same sex act. Using an inventive editing style, the film explores Hogg's addiction to the orgasmic euphoria previous crimes created for him, and we're shown his obsessive reliving of the crimes using  garments and other objects he's souvenired. The part memory plays for this psychopath and his fetishizing of the tactile adds a layer to the narrative that separates it from swill such as Pig.

Jeff R. Renfro (Hogg), a real truck driver who donated his truck to the cause, is amateur in the best way here because he plays it straight and real. With his performance married to Getsic's, The Bunny Game is an uncomfortable slice of authentic vice in which the line between reality and fiction is difficult to discern. It needs to be noted that Getsic's performance is the primary reason for experiencing this film, and I hope to see more of her (so to speak).

It was a wise move to establish Bunny's character with well directed and cut montages of her at work. The film's stark, black and white imagery, and doom-laden tone recalled, for me, Noboru Tanaka's Secret Chronicle: She Beast Market ('79) (reviewed on this blog), a brilliant Japanese marriage of the erotic and, yes, Italian neo-realism. It was also presented  in black and white.

Until recently, The Bunny Game has been available uncut on PAL dvd. In the last few weeks, a company called Autonomy Pictures (its principals being Derek Curl, David Gregory, and Lewis Tice)  has picked up US rights to the movie, and will bow it in July, 2012.