B-Master

Movie

Sneak Peek

Not that you need me to tell you this, but Glazer is far from the only camper with sex on the brain. Eddie (The Exterminator’s Ned Eisenberg) is especially horny, and considering the ass on his love-interest, Karen (Carolyn Houlihan, whose ass is also featured in A Little Sex), I can’t say I blame him.

By any fair assessment, the vast majority of the horror movies that got snagged in the Video Nasties dragnet were indeed utter garbage, relying for their profitability upon their appeal to an audience (you and me, for example) that revels in the poorest possible taste. There were a few, however, that have come to be regarded as classics in the twenty-odd years since then, and Sam Raimi’s The Evil Dead is almost certainly the foremost of that lot.

Now here’s a premise that, depending on your perspective, is either a sure-fire ticket seller or the ultimate cue to run screaming in the opposite direction: Ruggero Deodato ripping off— indeed practically remaking— The Last House on the Left.

I imagine I’m the only person alive who ever said this with a straight face, but for me, I Spit on Your Grave is the feel-good movie of 1978. Why? Because the fucking sons of bitches get exactly what they deserve, and they get it from the person who most deserves to give it to them.

An opening title card informs us that “The following is based on a true story. The names have been changed to protect those still living.” One assumes that was reckoned to have slightly more horror movie street cred than “The following is based on a much-respected Swedish art film. The names have been changed because none of you dumb-asses would ever be able to pronounce ‘Ingeri’.”

There was an odd relationship between Lenzi and his fellow Italian schlockmeister, Ruggero Deodato, during 1970’s and early 1980’s. From the moment Lenzi basically invented the Italian cannibal movie with 1972’s The Man from Deep River until the time about ten years later when the genre sputtered to a premature but much appreciated halt, the two men seemed to be engaged in a sort of undeclared duel to see who could make the most disgusting movie about gut-munching stone-agers.

If Larry Flynt had been allowed to direct an episode of “Hogan’s Heroes,” it might have come out looking something like SS Hell Camp.

There is one more test he must pass. He must share a meal of human flesh with the tribe elders. And here we have possibly the best metaphor anyone could have thought of for Deodato and his film. In order to bring back the message he needs to convey, in order to get his film back from the jungle, he needs to do something horrible; something that will change him; something that will forever separate him from other civilized men. And after he's done that terrible thing, and has a chance to see what his sacrifice has gained him, he'll be forced to wonder for the rest of his life if the sacrifice was worth it.

I'm not sure how this [movie] was supposed to contribute to bringing down Western civilization. Perhaps the Powers that Be were worried that the film might start a trend of people spontaneously erupting in a shower of innards. Or maybe they were afraid that the rate of Martian invasions would skyrocket. Or maybe — just maybe — the guardians of public morality had their heads stuffed so far up their asses that they couldn't and didn't actually see the movie they were banning.

Zombie... creeping... flesh? Honestly, if they were going to remind us of a Peter Cushing movie, they should have chosen one of the worst: wouldn't Zombie Blood Beast Terror have been more appropriate?

Dr. Stephens is experimenting with "unusual psychiatric methods," which usually means "dumbass ideas which will get you killed" in the movies. For instance, he gives an axe to one of his patients, "the Judge" (Gene Ross) to work out his frustrations on a log. Now, I'm not a psychiatric professional, but I think it a little careless to so empower an unpredictable mental patient and then get distracted and turn my back on him. The Judge apparently thinks so too, and buries the axe in Dr. Harvey's back to show his displeasure.

Meanwhile, we return to Lucy, who is back in the ring. I mean, c’mon, this is a Mexican horror movie and we haven’t had a wrestling scene in like fifteen minutes. Oddly, this match seems to be playing out before the exact same crowd as the one seen in the beginning of the movie, who moreover all appear to be sitting in the exact same seats. Season tickets holders, I guess.

Because the credits to Slaughter were removed from Snuff and apparently lost, the character names and exactly who played them will probably remain an eternal mystery, like how many licks it takes to get to the center of a tootsie pop or why Michael Bay movies make more money the worse they are.

Bay of Blood is neither your typical giallo or your typical slasher film. It's something much smarter and better composed than the bulk of films it inspired. Bay is mean but not exactly mean-spirited, clever without being irritating, and really just sort of nastily funny. One gets the feeling that Bava really relished the opportunity, after infusing so many of his films with a humanist compassion toward the lead characters, to simply cut loose and let a bunch of conniving, spoiled schemers really have it.