Vintage Ad Mat Invasion

 

I'm not sure how I did it, but I snuck into this heavily policed flicked on a school day and got momentarily groped by an old bloke reaching for his coat. The grope was more shocking than the movie. Polanksi is interviewed and shares some vague views on "snuff", but the purported snuff film in the movie is segments from Wes Craven's Last House on the Left. Ripped off!

Now, the "snuff" we imagined back in those days has been well and truly eclipsed by the reality of atrocity videos posted on the net. For sheer, sickening brutality, nothing comes close to the Mexican chainsaw beheading video currently doing the rounds, or the truly horrendous videos (there are a couple) documenting the real life murders of innocent people by the 'Dnepropetrovsk Maniacs' (thankfully tucked away in prison). 

Wiki link:  h*tp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dnepropetrovsk_maniacs    (replace * with 't', of course)

Back in the 70's, nothing could have prepared us for the extreme nature of  this material, or predicted the means by which it would be globally 'distributed' and propagated. 

For mine, the whole "snuff" myth never made sense, anyway, because nobody could possibly get away with marketing and distributing a movie in which "actors" were actually killed. What gets done in private is what gets done in private, but the issue of publicly exhibited "snuff movies" is an issue for idiots.

 

Melbourne had a healthy grindhouse culture in the 70's and I made sure I was part of it. Unfortunately, I wasn't even a teenager for half of the 70's, so my grindhouse ambitions (and cred) were thwarted by age and my mother's Catholic sensibilities.

And speaking of Catholic sensibilities... My mother bought a Catholic newspaper called 'The Advocate'. I had no use for this rag until I discovered their extensive film listings. A priest with cinephilic yearnings would review the good, the bad, and the ugly playing at the 'pictures'. He would then sort his past reviews into four or five categories including Highly Recommended, Recommended With Reservations, Not Recommended, and, the granddaddy of them all, ADVISED AGAINST

It became quickly apparent to me that under the Advised Against category was a cinematic stew of exploitation magic. Films I remember appearing in that section were The Night Porter, The Passage, Straw Dogs, 'Tis Pity She's A Whore, A Clockwork Orange,  Cruising, The Decameron, Vampyres, and, of course, The Exorcist and Tower of Evil -- essentially, the movies that would shape my entire pulpy life and the lives of folks reading this blog.

I don't know who you were, Father Film Reviewer, but I thank you for advising me against the films I grew to love... and a bonus thank you is also in order for you because you practiced cinephilia on me, not  pedophilia.   

     

  

I feel sorry for youngsters today who'll never know the magic of exploitation triple bills at sleazy hardtops and drive-ins.

 

A bucket load of false advertising and a collage of bald-faced lies. Dave Prowse's 'Monster' turned up for the ad mat, but his Horror of Frankenstein is MIA from this program. In Aussieland,  Horror was initially paired with Scars of Dracula. 

One of Russ Meyer's ladies is lending her face to the ad, too, but there's not a Russ movie in sight.  

I saw none of the triple bills above at the time, but I did get a schoolboy kick out of the title Spermula. Unfortunately, I also got a kick from my father when I walked around the house yelling "Spermula is cumming!" over and over again to my siblings and mother.

 

I saw this double at Melbourne's wonderful Silver Screen Art Cinema, the notorious home of Killer Fish's notorious three month long run.

 

First in line for this one. Hot for Barbara Bach, too. What young lad wasn't? 

A couple of years later, the Dendy Collins Street went porno.

 

Rode my bike to the Burwood Drive-in to see the first film on this program, The Decameron. Couldn't stay for the other two because my bedtime was around 10 pm. Damn parents and their damn school night rules!

 

I was on a first name basis with the manager of Detroit's Northgate theater. The place smelt of butter spilled decades ago and the carpets were stickier than a bukkake set. 

 

Fairly obscure poster for the brutal and nihilistic Death Wish 2. 

The Graphic Sting of Couleur Sang (Bloody Heavens)

 

Recently stumbled on this lusty '81 publication from Collection Secrete, and I certainly can't say it pulls its punches.

A work of elegant sadomasochism, it uses graphic pictures and text (in French and English) to tell the fanciful story of an unfortunate young woman who is humiliated and degraded in a country house from hell. 

The traditional S/M iconography is here, as is a thoroughly nihilistic, unrelenting odor of perversion. 

The accompanying text is close to the length of a standard porno novel, and there are almost thirty pages of brutal illustrations. 

 

Images such as the one above remind me of Danish pornography in the 70's from the Color Climax stable. There is a whiff of Eric Stanton and DeMullotto, too.

Other books by Joseph Farrel include Painful Flavours and Humiliations. 

Ad Mat Attack

 

Sunnyside ('79) represented Joey Travolta's fifteen minutes of fame. The film, an average Warriors wannabe, flopped at the box office, robbing Travolta of further leading man opportunities.

In all honesty, I was more interested in the film's two supporting features, and enjoyed both immensely. Director Charles B. Pierce, who captained both of these, had a seven year period between '72 and '79 where he turned out neat little docu-drama horror flicks with excellent titles. In addition to these, his The Legend of Boggy Creek, a very creepy little thriller, enjoyed some success.   

 

After The House By The Lake (aka Death Weekend), I expected big things from director William Fruet. Unfortunately, he never did anything to better that film.  

Search and Destroy, seen by me at the Abbey Theater (in Madison Heights, MI) was a terse revenge drama along the lines of Rolling Thunder and The Exterminator, but without the balls of those two.

Don Stroud, who was dynamite in House, did his best with the limited material.

I remember the throbbing electronic score punching up proceedings.

 

 

Interesting how the Aussie distributor added the virginity angle to the ad mat. 

The girls in this movie were 15, but there was nothing risque about any of it. In fact, despite the marketing angle, the film is quite a sensitive portrait of awkward teenage relationships and the clashing expectations of the sexes.

McNichol was terrific, O'Neal (coming off Paper Moon) was adequate.

A porn version of the film was released, but the ages of the characters, not surprisingly, were upped.

Hollywood Action Scorecard

 

It's clunky and all over the place narratively, but I enjoyed Contraband.  The set-up is as cliched as hell (a young punk fucks up and his brother-in-law has to square it with a local sleazeball) and director Baltasar Kormakur rips off Michael Mann's Heat wholesale, but the pulpy plotting got to me and I succumbed to the double-crossing carnage.

Walberg plays the kind brother-in-law and gets to shoot and maim and bulldoze his way through Panama City as he attempts to import a load of fake dollars into the US. It just keeps piling on the jeopardy and bloodshed until there's very little left, and for this reason, I'd recommend it.

 

Stephen Soderberg's Haywire feels more like an expensive cinematic experiment than a fully fledged action movie, but that's not a bad thing.

The most interesting material involves shrewd sound mixing and the use of David Holmes' music in a number of suspense scenarios.

The action sequences are fresh because they are shot and cut very cleanly, and we get to appreciate star Gina Carano's stellar fighting prowess.

The film did not stick with me after I'd seen it, but I appreciated its virtues and creative smarts.

When Joe Carnahan's The Grey begins, it feels like a remake of Frank Marshall's Alive, a terrific movie by the way.  When the doomed plane crashes with Liam Neeson on board, the survivors don't eat each other --  wolves eat them instead.

The bloody narrative builds towards Neeson having a face-off with the mother of all manhunters. As expected, those who survived the plane crash have less luck surviving in the chilly wilderness and are torn limb from limb by gnashing teeth and ripping claws. Wisely, Carnahan turns his flick into something more than just a contemporary version of William Girdler's Day of the Animals. The film takes a crack at being an existential thriller and pretty much succeeds, the result being it is richer and more layered than expected.

Neeson, Hollywood's latest action hero,  plays a flawed fella who isn't afraid to admit that he's scared. Naturally, he's the last man standing, so it's up to him to risk it all to save his frozen skin.

The Grey's final minute provides no cathartic pleasure, but it will incite debate.

The Utterly Splendid World of Suehiro Maruo

 

Miminashi Hohichi in the Dark (1999, 2011; Seirin Kogeisha)  is another extraordinary excursion into the world of Suehiro Maruo, the prolific artist behind Mr. Arashi's Amazing Freak Show (filmed as Midori) and Ultra Gash Inferno.

Although there have been several English language editions of his books, many have never been translated from the Japanese, and probably never will.

 

Maruo often insinuates iconic figures into his work, so the appearance of Frankenstein's 'Monster' in one story here provides disturbing and fascinating pulp fodder. After encountering a mother and daughter, he proceeds to engage in intercourse with one while the other becomes an equally unwilling participant.

There have been slightly sexualized versions of the Monster's story, but few feature the ferocious carnality of this gem.    

 

 

Georges Bataille's Histoire De L'oeil (Story of the Eye; 1928) surely had a muscular influence on Maruo and many of his contemporaries. Variations of and tableaux inspired by the book's deliciously grotesque eroticism permeate the artist's work.

 

Imo-Mushi (Beam Comix; 2009) is Maruo's take on Edogawa Rampo's Caterpillar story (filmed twice as: Caterpillar, and as one of four stories in the uneven Rampo anthology Rampo Noir). 

 

 

With surprisingly little fanfare, Koji Wakamatsu's Caterpillar (reviewed on this blog several months ago) has finally been released in the US by Kino Video.  

Although I had some reservations about its very plain digital appearance, it is still a very worthwhile and respectful take on the story.

 

As these images indicate, Maruo's version is a more deeply erotic interpretation, eschewing some of the source's political content. Still, the artist amply conveys the horrors of war hero worship and delivers a frightening, brutal yarn.

  An upcoming Maruo translation to English is The Strange Tale of Panorama Island. Although the book has been delayed for a while now, I hope it's release is still imminent. 

Personally, I'd prefer a translated volume of Maruo's insanely brutal and beautiful Lunatic Lovers (2007; Seirin Kogeisha). The images below barely capture the corrupt, vile, transgressive essence of this work.

 

 

 

An exceptionally good source for Maruo's work is  akatako.net

Pulpy Porn Is Erect Again

In John McNaughton's superb Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer, the titular anti-hero works part time as an exterminator. In one scene, he meets with his boss, an oily individual, and is told that work has dropped off due to the sluggish economy. When Henry makes a gesture to return his trusty spray can and pump, the boss tells him to keep it, not too concerned.

The cover of the lewdly titled 'Sharon's Slavery Sessions' (above) depicts Henry's oily boss (far right in sunglasses) in a sexually appropriate situation (approproate for him!) far removed from the bug spraying business.  He appears to be having a good time and seems unconcerned by his flagging fortunes.

Take another look at the film if you doubt my observation. It's Mr. Oily for sure.  Perhaps he took his eye off the bug business when slave training caught his interest.   Can you blame him?

As a card-carrying island lover, I'm quite partial to this scenario from the infamous 'Captive Women' series. The fella in the flannelette shirt appears to be the patient type and is quite alright about waiting for his turn. 

If someone can send the co-ordinates of Lust Island, I'd be mighty appreciative. A Google Earth link would be fine, too. 

 

Not only is the lady a 'tormented teaser', but she's an 'All American Tormented Teaser'. I'm not sure what difference it makes, but American culture has a strange obsession with placing the word 'American' before everything from pimps (American Pimp) to psychos (American Psycho) to werewolves (An American Werewolf in London).

Mr. Red Jacket (previously known as 'Peter Perfect') is one eager beaver, and he's combed his hair just right. The bloke in the middle is a little overdressed for the occasion, although he'll certainly keep warm once the Winter winds start beating the walls of the cabin. The punter on the right must have drawn the short straw because he's copped shibari duty.

Retreat Through The Wet Wasteland

Although released by Nikkatsu and marketed as Roman Porno, it is, in fact, a crime thriller with a light sexual undercurrent and an obligatory rape scene in a church. Originally titled Retreat Through The Wasteland, the distributor added 'Wet' to attract an entirely different market after director Yukihiro Sawada took the project in a direction not originally envisaged by the financier. It then became Retreat Through The Wet Wasteland.

The art below is from the reasonably rare Geneon DVD, but the art above, which is sensational, is the original theatrical art. I love the foreground angle and the intense background biker action. I find this super-erotic and ultra-evocative. It constantly refreshes my love of cinema.

The film is a flawed but compelling gem.

America's Growth Industry

Sondra London, whose work is fascinating, opens this almighty tablet of surreal ugliness with an introduction titled 'Murder Road'.

"Murder is America's number one growth industry," she begins.

In this intro, she discusses the importance of these stories: "Today's killers all share one fate: some are regular Joes, some are charismatic psychos, but having crossed that line they become one of  'them',  and are shunned by 'us'. Their physical presence is no longer tolerated, and their ideas, feelings, and works are dismissed as well. Yet, isn't there a vital significance to their stories? Afterall, even on Death Row there is life."

I concur with London, and can never understand why anybody would want to dismiss, for example, the writings of a killer, the fantasies of a rapist, or the poetry of a dictator. What makes any human being fascinating, criminal or non-criminal, is his history. We can learn much from criminals and miscreants. They provide us with a perspective that is rare and impossible to acquire by any other means. To know hell, you must go there. Or, you must return and tell your story.

First hand stories provide a type of insight that the psychiatric profession never will. As all the stories in this book attest, there are reasons for everything, but those reasons fall into "acceptable" and "unacceptable" categories. It is difficult for most humans to accept that not all criminals were victims in a traditional sense, and not all victims are as innocent as they seem. To some extent, we all violate and have been violated. It's human to fuck and equally human to fuck up. To judge others too harshly is about the most hypocritical and pointless thing a human being can do.

A fascinating section of this book focuses on London's relationship with serial killer Gerard John Schaefer before and after he killed. She met him at a high school dance in 1964 and he flirted with her. Her parents approved of him, and they became lovers. They even made love amongst tombstones in an old cemetery (something I recommend you do at least once!) and parted amicably. When the newspapers announced that  her "baby-faced dream" had been arrested and charged with six murders, with twenty-eight possible, she reflected: "Did I lose my virginity to a real lady-killer?"

In every sense, this is an absorbing, insightful, funny, macabre, and confronting book. In addition to London's own essays, the writing by Schaeffer (technically the first killer to be defined as "serial") from his prison cell is extraordinary, as is London's piece on Otis Toole in which she quotes an unnamed serial killer: "You don't understand because you're not a killer. My statements are inconsistent... because the experience is inconsistent. It's like I'm throwing rocks at your window... and you're trying to figure out where the rocks are coming from... and you can't... because they're all different colors. But you see... they're different colors... because they're all coming... from different places."

Twenty years after the book was first published, it's interesting to note that the US murder rate has not consistently risen since its publication. What has risen is the amount of people imprisoned in the US. Private prisons are one of the few growth industries. Good for some, but not so good for most in a country where rights supposedly guaranteed by the Constitution have been eroded by syphilis-brained presidents of both political persuasions.   

If you can find Knockin' On Joe, you'll have a strange and compelling time with it.

The meaning behind the title, which I won't reveal here, is wonderful.

 

London mentions an upcoming title from Nemesis about Otis Toole. 

Based on interviews the killer did with the publisher, it is titled Devil's Child - The Story of Otis Toole.

I've never come across this book. Has anybody? Was it ever published?

Mexican Magnificence

 

Enjoy these wonderful cover images.  

 

The Women of Sagawa's Psyche

Just as Playboy delights in showcasing the women of a particular institution or college ('The Women of Walmart', for example, or 'The Women of UCLA'), it seems fair to provide an album of women favored and adored by Issei Sagawa, Japan's Godfather of Cannibalism.

Recently, he admitted that his penchant for European women has finally been sated, and he's focusing his appetite on the creamy delights of his home country.  

Of the beautiful Aya Ueda (above), he said: "She is too good to eat."  I say: "Literally, perhaps, but..."

The gorgeous Kyoko Hasagawa (above) is another lass who has captured a cannibal's heart. "Her legs are beautiful," he said in Vice.com's 2010 documentary

Akiko Yada, another beauty from Okinawa, Sagawa's preferred destination for Nippon delicacies, has also earned a place on the flesh eater's bedroom wall. It's hard to argue that his tastes aren't impeccable.

Finally, Erika Toda, who appeared in the filmic adaptation of popular manga Death Note, is another favorite of Mr. Sagawa. When he beholds these dreamy ladies, he "feels an appetite".

Not entirely surprising.