Patrick plays Jim, a Hollywood porn auteur who is living the west coast high life with his permanently strung-out and occasionally naked girlfriend, a scampish toddler, a Porsche and a trendy beach condo. His dream is to build a massive boat and set sail with his family for “the islands, the blue water … and just get high.” Jim won’t be winning any Father of the Year awards for his career choice, but figures he can provide a better life for his family if he completes a few more porn jobs to finish paying for his boat.

The problem is, Jim’s clients aren’t paying up, he’s having an affair with an actress, and an anti-porn police dragnet is closing in. As his relationship with his paranoid business partner and nagging girlfriend goes up in a haze of bong smoke, Jim finds himself on his own to complete his final lurid masterpiece.

Set in seedy warehouses, apartments and beachfront boardwalks, Blue Money may as well take place in an alternate universe, one completely devoid of people (unless they are directly related to the plot) with settings so utterly bland and nihilistic that it makes a Moon crater seem lush and teaming with fauna. Patrick’s portrayal of Jim reeks of Euro-sleaze cachet and the accomplished French accent, real or fake, is so utterly on-point for the modus operandi of the tormented artist.

Similarly, Barbara Mills (Chain Gang Women) churns out a decent performance as Jim’s beautiful but naive girlfriend/common-law spouse Lisa. Her propensity to prang out over Jim’s pornographic profession gives her few endearing qualities, but she’s nice eye candy all the same.

The picture also stars Jeff Gall as Jim’s production partner, Mike, and Oliver Aubrey as porn buyer “Fatman” (His only other credited role was Santa Claus in an episode of “Little House on the Prairie”). Sexploitation actress Maria Arnold (Flesh Gordon, and If You Don’t Stop It… You’ll Go Blind!!!) also appears as one of Jim’s actresses.

Like 1997’s Boogie Nights, Blue Money provides a look behind the scenes of the hardcore industry — particularly in the climate of the early 1970s when the legality of the production of sleaze was still a gray area. But there simply isn’t enough plot to make the film interesting. What should be a film about Jim’s rise and demise as a smut peddler, is simply a film about his desire to put his ostentatious pirate ship into the Pacific, and the light slap on the wrist he receives from police when he’s ultimately caught (filming a ménage à trois in his condo no less…). At the end, Jim, his girlfriend and his young daughter ride off into the sunset, with or without a lesson learned.

This is an utterly sterile film. Nudity is kept to a minimum and Jim’s profession is given a decidedly chaste treatment. Aside from a few F-bombs, some suggestive language (”Are you going to ball that girl?”), casual weed smoking and some boob shots that are tame compared to ethnographic films of the 1930s, Blue Money hovers in PG-13 territory. The end result is a rather dry meditation on one man’s travails, and an emotionless one at that.

Disc information:

Blue Money (1972)
Featured on the After Dark Thrillers collection (2007)
BCI / Anamorphic Widescreen (1.85:1) / Color / Mono / 93 minutes

Bloody Moon isn’t just a slasher film; it’s a cynical, over-the-top parody of the slasher. It’s Franco thumbing his nose at the big, dumb American horror film.

In a recent interview included on Severin’s release of Bloody Moon, Franco admitted he was hired by the film’s financier to produce a horror film with “50 highlights” — that is, 50 moments that would leave the audience wincing in horror — similar to the wave of American “body-count” films that erupted in the 1970s and early 1980s. Franco (who has directed more than 180 films, among them, The Awful Dr. Orlof, Faceless and Justine, etc.) ran with the concept, despite production problems ranging from a lead actress who suddenly decided she didn’t want to do sex scenes, to dealing with a “primitive” score composer (according to Franco, producers initially promised him Pink Floyd was to score the film).

The trademarks of the genre are there: A killer’s point-of-view shot through the eyes of a Mickey Mouse mask; the red herrings; the body count; creative deaths; and of course, one idiotic character who makes a point to say “I’ll be right back,” when we all know damned well she’s going to get butchered in a bad way. But the way Franco introduces these elements is so random and unconnected, so inexplicable, that the film has to be read as a comedy. There’s nothing frightening here. The gore is more Herschell Gordon Lewis than, say, Tom Savini.

A good slasher should generate suspense, and at least make an effort to suspend the disbelief of an audience, yet Franco seems to go out of his way to kill any sense of foreboding by having his chaste lead actress/final girl spend the majority of the film wandering mindlessly through Alicante. Meanwhile, groan-inducing subplots about a gigolo gardener, 1950s-era roller-dancing at the “Disco Club,” and a scheming headmistress who stares topless at the moon, are kludged together with atrocious overdubbed dialog so purposefully banal and idiotic that it makes me want to stab myself in the face with a shiv. I’ll blame the latter atrocity on screenwriter Rayo Casablanca. It’s not a big surprise this was his first and last script.

The plot apes Halloween from the get-go. Miguel (Alexander Waechter) crashes a costume pool party and attempts to bed a young lady who recoils from him in horror when his mask comes off, revealing his scarred face. The failed coupling results in the angered Miguel stabbing the intoxicated party girl to death. Five years pass, and Miguel, who has been recovering in an asylum, is released back into society under the care of his sexy brunette sister, Manuela (Nadja Gerganoff). (Franco makes his cameo as Miguel’s psychiatrist)

Manuela has her own issues, namely allowing a little incestuous relationship to prosper with her disfigured brother. When she’s not presenting her goodies in diaphanous lingerie, she runs an “international language arts school for girls,” where European beauties listen to Spanish language tapes, play tennis and laze topless by the pool by day; then drink and flirt with an oversexed greens keeper by night. Lets not forget the resident peeping tom handyman, who can only manage monosyllabic simian groans, all while smiling like the stunted one-eyed banjo player from Deliverance.

Everything seems OK until sexy Olivia Pascal’s character, Angela, shows up like the final camper in the original Friday the 13th. Then the bodies start piling up, beginning with an unexplainable stabbing of a young co-ed. Frankly, it’s one of the film’s better effects — the knife goes into her back and exits one of her nipples. Shameful!

Insane, inspired deaths ensue — choking by fireplace tongs, an old lady is burned to death, death by hedge clippers, a meddling child gets steamrolled by a speeding Mercedes — and of course, the film’s centerpiece, the infamous rock mill saw decapitation of a co-ed who willingly allowed herself to be tied up on the cutting table for some kinky fun. A plastic clothing mannequin’s head bounces off the floor and a geyser of the red stuff spews out like an existential money shot.

Again, how can I take this seriously?

Bloody Moon clocks in around 80 minutes and sure seems longer thanks to the slow build-up in the first hour. It’s probably too ambitious for its own good, considering how many characters and subplots are jammed into the package.

Despite the low-budget treatment, Bloody Moon is strangely stylish. The Spanish location (in and around Alicante) is remarkably alien. Its beaches are blasted and desolate, while the school itself resembles an Orlando budget resort. The camerawork and lighting are both surprisingly good for a Franco film, although the film’s cheesy synthpop-meets-progressive-krautrock motifs are excruciating.

The film’s low point is probably a scene of animal cruelty in which a live snake is snipped apart with a pair of shears, ending on a shot of the snake’s head writhing in a spreading pool of blood.

Throw the crap dialog, the goofy music, sex, nudity, violence and sleaze together, and Bloody Moon is to Friday the 13th, as Scary Movie is to Scream. This is the best of all that is the worst. All hail Jesus Franco!

Disc information:

Die Säge des Todes (The Saw of Death), aka Bloody Moon (1981)

Severin / Anamorphic Widescreen (1.85:1) / Color / Mono / 81 minutes

Check out a trailer of Bloody Moon below:

Available on DVD June 16, 2009 through MVD Visual

The Whole State of Indiana, The Indy Film Co-op and The B Movie Celebration is again proud to host TromaDance Indiana. This is the second edition of a new expanded summer version of TromaDance which will be taking place September 25th-27th in Franklin and Shelbyville Indiana.

Lloyd Kaufman, Founder of TromaDance will be in attendance as well as a crack squad of the always loyal Tromettes. TromaDance Indiana is part of the transformation of TromaDance from a festival into a fully immersive film experience featuring a larger screening schedule, panel discussions and various hands on workshops all geared towards meeting the needs of emerging filmmakers.

This year also feature a triumphant roasting of that purveyor of all things’ TromaDance by some of the industries strongest proponents of independent cinema including Karen Black, Herschel Gordon Lewis and many more. Lloyd’s roasting will occur at the historic Strand Theatre.

About TromaDance TromaDance is the first film festival wholeheartedly devoted to filmmakers and fans. Unlike every other film festival we do not charge filmmakers to submit their films. Entrance to the screenings is free and open to the public. There are no VIP reservation or preferential treatment. TromaDance is truly for the people. TromaDance is a chance for everyone who has ever picked up a camera to have their work seen without compromises. TromaDance is very proud to be the first and the only film festival of the people, for the people and by the people.

If interested in submitting your film please download the following instructions and entry form

Please go to www.summertromadance.com/2009entryform.pdf

GIRLS NITE OUT is an utterly forgettable foray into ‘80s slasher territory. The flick opens with the death by hanging of Dicky Cavanaugh, a former student of Dewitt University who “lost his mind” during initiation into his fraternity.

The same night as Dicky’s apparent death, Dewitt University wins the big basketball game and holds their annual sorority scavenger hunt. But someone kills the team mascot and dons the costume in order to stalk the beauties and exact misogynistic revenge. Among the many questions raised during GIRLS NITE OUT (like why am I watching this movie instead of surfing the internet looking for fake celebrity nudes… for instance) is the question of the killer’s identity. Is it the doughy boyfriend aka Super Mullet who’s tired of being pushed around by his slutty girlfriend? Is it the ambiguously gay basketball hero who has skipped off campus to feed his taste for prostitutes and other perversions? Or perhaps it’s somehow the twin sister of Dicky Cavanaugh who runs the diner where all the kids hangout and pops up at the end for absolutely no reason other than to give cause to mercifully roll the credits and end this turd of a movie?

I think it may have been that last one there but I watched the film in its entirety and still can’t be sure. Probably the only thing that kept me going in GIRLS NITE OUT was the prospect of some college girl hijinx sans clothing. But save for a bikini clad dancer during a party scene there was none in sight. That said, the ladies are certainly cute and well, it’s always a pity to see loveliness murdered by some steak-knife wielding psycho in a bear costume. Always.

The actors of GIRLS NITE OUT are cartoons and parody the lives they probably live on college campuses themselves. Most of the performances are over the top and reek of the playful spontaneity that indicates no prior rehearsal and a one-take production schedule. They aren’t funny nor are they funny ha ha. It’s just bad. The guys are pig headed buffoons and the women are helpless and stupid.

The plot’s scavenger hunt construct is weak and convoluted. The Eugene Levy lookalike and Dewitt radio DJ banters throughout the film relaying clues to listeners. Never mind that there are something like 40+ arcane riddles for the drunk college kids to solve at 3am in the morning throughout a dimly lit campus. By the way, GIRLS NITE OUT is a testament for the installation of emergency call boxes on university grounds everywhere.

But I can’t forget the one saving grace of GIRLS NITE OUT. The film features the fine work of venerable character actor Hal Holbrook (ALL THE PRESIDENT’S MEN, INTO THE WILD). He plays security guard Mac whose own daughter met an early demise we learn, after some not-so subtle character exposition. He’s in charge of everyone’s safety and does a terrible job – after all like 5 people eat it over the course of the night. Interestingly though, Holbrook’s son David plays the aforementioned Super Mullet but I do believe pops hoarded most of the acting chops in the family. It’s painfully obvious that all of Holbrook’s scenes were shot in one day with practically none of the other main characters on set. Most every shot is a single. Which makes Mac’s scene with Super Mullet (that would be Father Hal and son David) that much more pathetic without the inclusion of a 2-shot.

The extra features on the DVD include a banal interview with Julie Montgomery who plays good girl Lynn, an alternate title sequence featuring the film’s original name THE SCAREMAKER (all 13 seconds of it) as well as a trailer featuring a woman not even in the movie. Other trailers include GROOVE ROOM, BANNED LAS VEGAS SERIAL KILLER and HELL’S BLOODY DEVILS. Fangoria International makes a plug for a few decent looking foreign horror/thriller/suspense trailers to boot. The picture is clean though the film is shot very darkly and presented in it’s original 1.85:1 format. I give GIRLS NITE OUT 1 star.

Mr. Andy Haworth being the gentlemanly type that he is, let me borrow a stack of sleaze I told him I’d be proud to write about for the site. Three of them form the THE SLASHER DVD collection which I assume was bought from one of the ubiquitous big box electronics stores. And while I was none too impressed with this first offering in the set, I hope to be starting from the bottom and working my way up to some more shamefully choice material. Stay tuned.

Of course I’m talking about CANNIBAL WOMEN IN THE AVOCADO JUNGLE OF DEATH, which features Maher alongside softcore porn queen, Shannon Tweed, and cult film darling Adrienne Barbeau (SWAMP THING, CREEPSHOW).

The plot of this little gem concerns a feminist professor hired by the government to protect the nation’s avocado supplies. Along the way she runs into a tribe of “Piranha Women” who believe men are a food source. Insanity abounds, much of it centered around Maher, whose chauvinist character, Jim, makes out like a sleazy Indiana Jones.

Check out a trailer for CANNIBAL WOMEN below:

Beautifully photographed by the prolific Tak Fujimoto (THE SIXTH SENSE, DEATH RACE 2000), his work on SILENCE would earn him awards from BAFTA and the Boston Society of Film Critics. The following stills are a testament to Fujimoto’s abilities, particularly in his use of lighting Anthony Hopkins’ Hannibal Lecter for dramatic effect. The entire film feels like those gloomy, unsettling moments just before twilight.

Yes, we are ripping off Moon in the Gutter wholeheartedly, and highly recommend that site for erudite commentary on the greatest films of our generation. Blogger Jeremy Richey also has a wonderful eye for cinematic stills and his weekly feature, “Images From The Greatest Films of the Decade” is something to look forward to each week.

Without further rambling, here are some great scenes from Kubrick’s 1980 classic, THE SHINING!

During a particularly lubricated evening of deep conversation and delectable food, the boys took in 1971’s WILD RIDERS.  Our roundtable review was a little hard to come by this week but what follows is probably all the discussion the film will ever need … by anyone.

Stewart: WILD RIDERS (1971) by any other name would defy the utter lunacy that ensues when a gang of bikers wreak havoc on unsuspecting hipsters of 1971 California.  After committing what must have been the gang’s most heinous act yet (the rape and crucifixion of a young girl) as alluded to by the long dramatic pauses and flashback edits to the crime throughout the film, Pete (Arell Blanton) and Stick (Alex Rocco) invite themselves over for some fun at the expense two innocent bathing beauties in the Hollywood Hills. Though you might call into question that innocence considering Rona’s (Elizabeth Knowle) sexual compliance with an absolute stranger and Laure’s (Sherry Bain) penchant for being the “watcher” during such sexapades. Nonetheless the sadistic tendencies of Stick are no match for Laure when left alone to his own devices.  While Pete is loving up Rona in the pool house, Laure is pulled into the depths of depravity by Stick.  After what seems like maybe 36 hours of insanity, a deal goes wrong, neighbor Perry bites it, Rona’s husband comes home and well… the wild ride finally comes to an end.

(LONG PREGNANT PAUSE)

Andrew: The sound of crickets in the night …

Bill: I can throw out some random thoughts:

1. The high-pitched, electronically-enhanced screams that haunt Pete — these had to have been inspired by the very similar-sounding screams in NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD when the little girl murders her mother.

2. The sleazy neighbor (”Helllooooo”) is played by Steven Vincent, a regular actor in David F. Freidman skin flicks (SPACE THING, BRAND OF SHAME). He was the police sergeant in William Rotsler’s MANTIS IN LACE, which we watched a long time ago.

3. The opening reminds me of Gothic horror films of the time that opened with a witch or warlock being executed, but not before announcing his or her curse. In a way, the dead girl curses Pete and the others in that she’s the cause of the gang’s breakup and the re-emergence of a dormant psychosis in Pete.

Stewart: Were we to assume the gang had never “gone that far” in their deviance before?  Was this a new low even for them.  I’m thinking so.  Nailing somebody to a tree is hateful.
It was frustrating how dimwitted the females seemed to be in their helplessness to escape the torture.  It seemed like Rona almost wanted some of this craziness to take place.  She resents the kept-woman status she has through her husband’s success.  She wants a bit of excitement in her life which is why she invites Pete into her bed.  But she should be careful what she wishes for… if only for Laure’s sake!  That poor girl is violated time and again!  Rona’s only ever emotionally attacked as best I can remember.  She comes away unscathed.  All-in-all this film has a surprisingly happy ending for the turf that it cruises through.

Bill: You know, I can’t even recall how Stick bought the farm.

Stewart: Dude.  He was gauged by the spike of the cello.  Which I just looked up – and it’s actually called a spike.

Andrew: That’s the best part of the whole picture!

Bill:I remember him crashing through the window, but then it’s a big blank. For me, the memorable part was Pete getting his eye poked out by the bow.

Stewart: Well I think we can agree that this one will probably be forgotten by next week.  Not the worst we’ve seen but far from the best.  A collective 2 stars – It’s Gettin Rough!

Bill: Here’s a House of Shame trivia question for you: without going to IMDB, name another film we’ve viewed at the House of Shame that starred Alex Rocco (who played Stick).

Stewart: Good one.  Hmmmm…  We didn’t watch THE GODFATHER … I thought he looked like the crazy murderer from THE INCREDIBLE TWO HEADED TRANSPLANT but I don’t think that was him. Did Rocco headline this film or was he just in it for a couple scenes?

Bill: He was the hero/leading man.

I’ll give you a hint: even though we’ve watched far worse movies, this one has to rank as the most forgotten film we’ve ever viewed at the House of Shame.

I’ll give you some more hints: it was B&W and was set in the southwest.

Stewart: This one’s too obscure for me.  I was cheating a little by looking at the list of movies we’ve seen but it didn’t help.  Some I don’t remember whether I saw them with y’all or not!

Andrew: Black and white and in the Southwest.. Sounds like THE SADIST… But I have a feeling it’s not.

Stewart: I was thinking FASTER PUSSY CAT! KILL! KILL! ??

Bill: Getting close!  A pussycat was involved … but instead of a sadist, the bad guy was a psycho.

(LONG PREGNANT PAUSE)

Andrew: The sound of crickets in the night …

Bill: MOTOR PSYCHO directed by the esteemed Russ Meyer!

Check out the trailer for WILD RIDERS below:

The British might be known for their stiff upper lip, but in the world of HOUSE OF WHIPCORD, the act of flaunting one’s jiggly bits can result in a death sentence.

At least that’s the premise of Pete Walker’s darkly satisfying and overtly nihilistic look at life inside an unsanctioned reform institution for wanton women. HOUSE OF WHIPCORD has overtones of women-in-prison films, but isn’t as formulaic as that fare, and that’s a good thing. Instead, it’s a decidedly English amalgam of old-school torture-porn, Gothic weirdness, social commentary and outright tragedy.

Young French model Ann-Marie Di Verney (Penny Irving) has a bright future ahead of her in Mod England, where she models the latest fashions of the time. A recent photo shoot ends with a public wardrobe malfunction and Ann-Marie is ticketed for indecent exposure. At a swingin’ party, she meets one Mark E. DeSade, a tall, dark and poorly-coifed stranger who sweeps her off her feet with some well-placed palaver. Later he earns her trust with a parlor trick involving a dinner knife and an ice cube, possibly foreshadowing the sadism to come.

Ann-Marie and her new beau set off on a weekend trip to meet his family. Unfortunately for her, DeSade has an ulterior motive. His mother is Mrs. Wakehurst, a failed prison headmistress, who along with an ex-judge and a host of cruel staffers, dish out what they believe to be proper justice to young women accused of minor crimes. Ann-Marie is stripped, hosed down and thrown into a cell with another offender — a young women accused of shoplifting. Eventually she’s found guilty of public lewdness by the blind and dementia-prone Justice Bailey, played by Patrick Barr (OCTOPUSSY, HOME BEFORE MIDNIGHT).

House rules are of the three-strikes and you’re out variety: One misstep earns a prisoner two weeks of solitary; a second results in a lashing; and a final screw-up ends in hanging. Even so, Ann-Marie joins with her fellow prisoners to plot two escape attempts that both go horribly awry, resulting in punishment. Old Mark E. DeSade makes a reappearance also, appropriately deriving pleasure from the suffering of the prisoners (he likes to watch…), and an inappropriate relationship with his own mother is hinted at, not unlike the dysfunctional family from another Walker film, DIE SCREAMING MARIANNE.

HOUSE OF WHIPCORD maintains an impenetrable atmosphere of pessimism and hopelessness and it all culminates in a jarring twist near the end. This film is dark, both thematically, and physically — it’s like watching a dream through a lens splattered with tobacco spittle. But I like it though. Kudos to Walker’s confident, nicely-paced direction, and a provacative script courtesy of David McGillivray, who also collaborated with Walker on FRIGHTMARE.

Irving, known for her work on the British comedy “Are You Being Served,” manages to bring credibility to her role as Ann-Marie, who we initially view as something of an airhead. But Irving conjures every iota of pathos as her story arcs into depravity, beginning with the loss of her clothing, to the blood-stained brutality of her flogging.

The film’s best subplot is also the one that frames the film. We actually begin in the middle of HOUSE OF WHIPCORD as Irving’s character has escaped the prison and is rescued by a good Samaritan truck driver. Unfortunately for the delirious Ann-Marie, the trucker, believing the nearby jail is a “private hospital,” delivers her right back into the hands of her captors!

The internal power struggles between the jail’s headmistress and judge are ultimately less interesting than Irving’s narrative. Although it’s interesting to note, unlike a traditional WIP film, men are not the ones inciting torture here; it’s Mrs. Wakehurst and her all-female staff.

Perhaps as a swipe at the establishment and so-called proper morals, the film opens with a “dedication” of sorts “to those who are disturbed by today’s lax moral codes and who eagerly await the return of corporal and capital punishment.” If anything, the ending message is one of hypocrisy: Those in charge of correcting society’s ills are actually the deviants and the ruined.

There’s nothing terribly horrific or gory about the whole affair, but it’s still worth seeing for its unique story and atmosphere. Highly recommended! The DVD print, although dark and dingy, is passable. Extras include a commentary track featuring Pete Walker and a collection of Walker trailers.

Check out the trailer below: