Blimey, that's...Brave

Cannibal Holocaust with an 18 cert? I've lived too long!!

Yes, Shameless films apparently spent another 3 months in the BBFC's waiting room, to get Cannibal Holocaust certificated, and only 15 seconds of cuts (replaced by reaction shots of the same length, to avoid jumps in the soundtrack)! I'm surprised that the BBFC had to cut as little as that, given the legal restrictions under which they operate regarding animal cruelty; since I'm the first person to verbally pistol-whip Our Esteemed Classificators for their often daft responses, I have to doff my bonnet to the serious consideration they gave to the film and that they describe here (Well, me with a nice thing to say about a BBFC decision? Maybe these are the End Times after all...).

Now; Cannibal Holcaust, see, was a harder watch than films like Salo, for me; because cheek-to-cheek with the faked rape, staged arson and body-painted extras chewing on ribs, CH has real, unfeigned animal cruelty and death of at least...four (possibly five) live animals, including a pig (kicked, then shot), a river turtle (de-shelled while still alive and piteously flapping its flippers), a spider (business end of a machete, may have been subbed for a rubber spider), a monkey, and some sort of muskrat(?) thing. Perhaps it's hypocrisy, since I'm comfortable with animals dying to fill my belly (yes, it was a delicious beef madras that I had the other day, thanks), but not for my amusement (not planning on a trip to a bullfight any time...ever). We all make our...accommodations with our consciences, and this one's mine. There is a non-animal-cruelty version available; included with the R1 boxset that I have; a sensitive viewer may find that less troublesome; rest assured that the real (pre-existing) atrocity footage of an African civil war has been retained in that version.

On an unrelated point...I'm not entirely convinced that the South American locals playing the anthrophages were ever, you know, PAID for all their running around, rolling in mud, and being pretend-raped and pretend-killed. I start to visualise a 'The Last Movie' situation, and shift awkwardly in my seat; curse you, white liberal post-colonial guilt!

CH is...actually, probably indefensible for a moral human being in the 21st century and just to shrug and say 'oh, them crazy Italians'...yeah, probably not good enough. What it is, among other things, is an indictment of an even worse trend in the Italian cinema of the time; Mondo films which really did traffic in 'real' war crimes footage [including a more-than suspicion that some of it may have been, um...'arranged' for the cameras] or at least, that executions, army-charges, etc were scheduled for the film-makers' convenience. Consequently, there's very little that the filmmaker characters in CH do, that Jacopetti and Prosperi (the directors of Mondo Cane and the fathers of the entire 'Mondo' movement) weren't at least accused of,up to and including real animal death, setting up atrocities, exploitation of native populations, and at the very least culpability in rape and killing. For more background on those charming fellows Signore Jacopetti and Prosperi, and the whole Mondo subgenre, I'd highly recommend Kerekes' and Slater's Killing For Culture, albeit vastly overdue for an updated reprint; I'd particularly like to see them cover the Blair Witch Project; the most successful 'Snuff' film ever made.

So, Cannibal Holocaust; problematic, all right, in more ways than you'd think were possible; still, I'm glad that it's around, and available in as intact a form as possible. Your correspondent urges you, in this as in all situations, to see it for yourself (punt some cash into Shameless Films' pockets, since I'm sure there are still more Sirpa Lane films awaiting their DVDebut), use your own eyes, and make up your own mind.

So...I was looking for my spare sewing machine bobbins...

...And opened a box that I haven't opened since I moved house (last October). Which turned out to be full of dvds! Whee! Well, what have we got?

Ooh! Nightmare Before Christmas! Nightmare on Elm Street Box Set; [Night of the] Intruder; - yes, I alphabetise; what of it? National Lampoon's Class Reunion! Napoleon Dynamite? How the Sam J Jones did that get here? Ah, curse you, vanished Virgin Megastores and your 4-for-£20 offers! I would wish a pox on your line...if that hadn't already happened.

So, perhaps this is A SIGN that I should start up the reviewing things thing again. Or that I am a lazy slattern. Either/or.

Now, perhaps those bobbins are in that other box, with my Fango back issues...

Arise, Sir Triple-Nippled Vampy-Wizard of Summerisle:

And about time too...

"Christopher Lee, best known for playing Count Dracula and starring in Lord Of The Rings, has been knighted in the Queen's Birthday Honours list."

What took you so long, Big Liz? Alan Sugar's had a knighthood for approximately 400 years, and what's he done, except peddle sketchy stereos, look like a badly-pickled walnut and shout 'bladdy' at MBA-clones? The only question is, of course; when Sir Vlad gets knighted, who is going to bow to whom? As any fule kno, Lord Summerisle is the posher of the two...

Now, I could fill an encyclopedia with the many, many, MANY faces of Sir C of Lee, but here are a few less-seen ones (thx Google Image Search!)

I have this very book myself...






Family Reunion, from House of Long Shadows (not quite sure where John Carradine's got to, though...)





Um...yes...well...The audition for Crimes of Passion went well, but in the end Ken Russell decided to go with Kathleen Turner after all; will posterity prove him wrong? No; not at all.

Stupid burns like a white-hot flame

Well.. if she can do it (or, perhaps more accurately, her underpaid PA can do it), then I suppose I can blog every day too.

I want you to know, non-existent readers, that I have never before in my life said "Bitch, please"...

But..."Bitch, please"

[adds a third spoonful of refined sugar to my morning coffee, and reaches over for another cinnamon roll]

Back From the Dead...

Well, that WAS a long hiatus, wasn't it, non-existent audience?

It's been a busy few months, so, what with work, and Christmas, and getting shacked up; which was nice.

I do seem be back now, though. Let's see how long it lasts.

Ill-Advised Remake Monday: Day of the Dead

First things first; while this film is certainly ill-advised on almost every level, I'm not sure it qualifies as a remake. There are some zombies, there are some soldiers, there is a scientist called Logan, and a soldier called Rhodes, and a semi-sentient zombie called...wait for it...Bud (See? Get it? Not 'Bub'? Get it? See? I believe it was around about this point I started bleeding from the ears...), but actual remake? Possibly not. It has as much of 28 Days Later (fast zombies, jittery fast-shutter camerawork), The Crazies (military fail to control icky outbreak) and the original Night of the Living Dead (disposable teen couple, squabbling marrieds) as it does the original Day.

Plot? Umm....Military quarantine a town in Colorado, all the cast tries not to get eaten; some fail. Mina Suvari is the shortest soldier in the military. Your hapless correspondent wonders why Ving Rhames now qualifies for the Brad Dourif billing ('AND Ving Rhames'), until I realise it's one of those got-him-for-three days show-up-and-die overgrown cameos (the sort of thing Rob Zombie has 5 or 6 of, and one of them is Danny Trejo); one facial expression, a messy special effect, and his agent's phone number visibly protruding from his fatigues pocket. The only other major black character just has to be a cool, gun-toting, slang-talking street kid with a self-sacrificing heart of gold and absolutely-god-forbid-NO romantic interest in his tiny blonde superior officer. The not-Bub resembles Robbie Benson. People get poorly, get very poorly, go a bit blank, then turn into pasty, screaming meth-heads with a taste for cerebellum tartare. Who, after a brief cheap-CG phase. turn into blobs of black oily glop when set on fire.

And while I'm on the subject, what the hell is it with the fast zombies? How come, right up to the mid-90s, zombification made you dull and slow-moving, and now it suddenly has the same effect as a cocktail of steroids, Red Bull and PCP? Even the zombie chorus-line in Thriller, funky movers to a decomposing man, were not what you could call...speedy. Somewhere, I'm sure, there is a highly-academic paper to be written on the subject, but it'd need one of those doctorate-y horror people, and since my highest qualification is a Retail NVQ (Level 2), this is not that place and I am not that person...

In summary; not the worst film I've ever seen...not even the worst film with 'Day of the Dead' in the title (see 'Day of the Dead 2: Contagium' sometime, if you ever feel as though you have too many brain cells and need to lose a few)...Watch it if you want to appreciate the original more, if you like to feel the warm glow of familiarity, or if you just can't get enough gun-toting blondes, shouty soldiers and infected people...and the last copy of Planet Terror is taken.

My Favourite Genre...

I have to admit that my favourite genre, or I should probably say sub-genre, is your rural killer movie. Backwoods slashers, inbred families, good ol' boys vs city types, and the city boys a-comin' off worse. In a word...Hicksploitation. Whether it's because I'm from the suburbs, and therefore don't have to take a side in the eternal country-vs-city fight, or whether it's a result of being brought up in a succession of dull British towns, and finding everything American exotic and exciting (I remember being fascinated that you Americans have a chain of shops called 'Piggly Wiggly'...and you don't think that's at all odd?), but I do love them. Of course, they are basically an American thing; here in the UK we just don't have the room. There was that episode of Torchwood with the Welsh Valleys cannibals, but everyone south of Pontypridd or east of Swansea thought that was a documentary...Internationally, there are a few interesting Australian entries like The Cars that Ate Paris, and Wolf Creek, and from Europe there's Calvaire, and I've heard interesting things about this new French film Frontieres...but for me, to have the backwoods slasher in its true form you need Interstates and 'Gas, Food, Lodging' signs.

And, in that spirit; ten signs that you're watching a hicksploitationer:

1. Stupid city people: The most common formula tends to be one or two teenage/college age couples and a boat-anchor hanger-on (relative, stoner who owns the van, one of the girls' whiny best friend). Increasingly of late, the girls will tend to wear vest tops with no bra; said top to generally be light-coloured and end up splattered with someone's blood, not necessarily that of the wearer. Occasionally a film will have a lone female, very rarely a lone male, and once in a great while (Deliverance, basically) a group of men. Mild recreational drug use, and distribution of one character note per person is usually seen, as a chance to make the victims 'human' (annoying) before the movie stops pissing about and gets to the kills.
   
2. Stupid country people: Overalls optional; number of fingers variable. Generally just as creepy-looking as your antagonist(s)/cannibal(s)/guy(s) with power tools, and just as likely to have a gutted teenager in the shed, but usually just there for the orthodontically challenged contrast with the tanned, vitamin-ed, flouride-in-the-water-ed city types. Likely to also fall under point #3:
   
3. The guy at the Gas Station: He's in on it; of COURSE he fucking is. He may be all smiles and barbecue, but he just wants to dump you in a sack and take you back to the creepy house. What do you think the barbecue is, anyway, when you haven't seen a cow in 200 miles?
4. Useless law enforcement: Whether dumb and horny enough to fall for the voluptuous horror of Karen Black (House of 1000 Corpses), or Head-Satanist-takes-off-hood-and-OMG!-It's-the-sheriff!!11! ('surprise' ending of every small-town Devil-worship TVfilm that was ever made), anyone wearing a badge will not help you here. Especially if you're a pinko Commie longhair faggot collegeboy city type; which, let's face it, is all of them.
5. No phones: since the ubiquity of the mobile phone, harder to make the 'killer cuts the phone line/lines down in the storm/'oh, no, Missy, we don't have no phone out here' sound convincing. Now films have to be set in the 10 square miles of the country with no coverage, or in the 1970s, to prevent the audience wondering why the characters don't whip out their iPhone, call for help, and end the movie in 10 minutes. A 'period' '70s setting also has its advantages in that it allows the costume designer to break out the tank-tops and hotpants, and the writer to haul out what I'm going to charitably describe as 'pre-feminist' attitudes with only a modicum of audience eye-rolling.
   
6. 'They moved away the highway': I confess, I claim no knowledge of the complex decision-making process that covers major road placement in the United States, but it seems to me that there would be a lot less trouble if you just put the road where you wanted it to go in the first place. Do you people not plan ANYTHING? In the US, do roads just...happen? It seems to me that moving roads causes a lot of trouble for the small towns who suddenly get no passing trade, and leave the inhabitants therein with nothing to do all day except go crazy, build waxworks and have sex with their relatives. Leading us neatly to points #7 and #8:
7. Unnatural relations: apparently every country in the world has an area about whom the same sorts of jokes are told; 'where men are men and sheep are nervous', '"Let me introduce you to my mother, my cousin and my sister; her name's Ethel"'. Odd families. Marrying farm animals, dead people; anything suffixed -philia, basically. Family trees with a few less branches than they, perhaps, ought to have. I too have tried to work out the family dynamic of the Leatherface clan in the Texas Chainsaw Massacre series; so, if Grandpa is Grandpa, and Grandma's upstairs, then is the Gas Man Dad? And where's Mom? And the platehead guy in the sequel? And where exactly does Matthew McConaghey fit into all of this? Then I had to go and get coffee and paracetamol, and I never did get back to getting it worked out. Anyway, like I say, also point #8:
   
8. Creative impulses: you know, country-style handicrafts are not all quilting and corn dollies, whatever Martha Stewart says. Your rural slasher will tend to have a sideline in anything from eerie, possibly ambulatory, waxworks (Tourist Trap) to eerie, made-from-dead-people waxworks (House of Wax remake), to...ahem...'found objects', which avant garde stylings might find them a place in some ritzy Manhattan gallery, if they could only get an agent. Also, if the world was ready for an artiste using the medium 'human skin, chicken bones, innards and the occasional face'...That isn't Damien Hirst.
9. Cannibalism: yes; long pig. Considering the ease of modern intensive farming methods, not to mention the comparatively-long maturation period of the average human and the low body weight of most of the tank-top girls in these movies (not to mention the fuss they make; all the screaming and running around and all), you would think it would just be easier to raise, you know, actual pigs. Still, cannibalism does seem, from my highly unscientific what-films-spring-to-mind-right-now statistics, to be one of the most popular reasons for preying on the passing tourist. Perhaps, though, we just don't get to see all the occasions when the anthropophages lucked out to a bus full of an outing of the Texan chapter of the BBWs society, which kept them going for a whole winter.
10. Country people hate you: That's what it boils down to, really; whether you're Northern, 'hippie', 'Liberal', female, 'college boy', draft dodger, 'city type', or just come from more than 15 miles away, they hate you and they want you dead. You come down here with your fancy talk and your 10-dollar words and your shiny car and your tank tops and your teeth...#spit#...and you think you can do what ev' you want? This ain't the way we do things down here...boy...

Ahem. Well, you get the point. So, I'm going to be commencing a fairly-irregular series of reviews of my favourite 'Don't get off the highway' films. As irregular as everything is around here. At least it should give me a break from all those awful remakes I've got lined up for Mondays. Just to whet your appetite, follow the link for the theme song from what is probably one of the Ur-texts of the genre; the Northern-hating, banjo-playing, spiked-barrel-rolling 2000 Maniacs:

All together now: 'The South's gonna rise again...'