OctoBOOr 23rd: XTRO, dir. Harry Bromley Davenport, 1982 (United Kingdom). 0.5/5 pumpkins.

“…”

I should be thankful for XTRO. I got quite a bit accomplished while watching it: checked my e-mail – both personal and work, wrote a blurb or two for the blog, gchatted with some friends, went and heated up some Pop-Tarts…it’s too bad that being engaged by it wasn’t one of them. If the previous night’s selection, Sleepy Hollow, proved how vital the British studio Hammer was to horror, XTRO goes to show how far the state of horror across the pond was after Hammer stopped producing films in the early ‘70s. It lacks any character development, discernible plot, subtlety, or class – the film’s only claim to fame are its admittedly gross special effects, including an alien proboscis rape and a full-grown man being birthed by the unlucky rapee. There’s absolutely no verve to the direction, the dialogue is stale and the acting even more so, and the soundtrack is grating in the extreme. Future Bond girl Maryam d'Abo gets naked, so if you spent an early adolescence oogling her in The Living Daylights, that’s a treat. The film takes a decidedly surreal turn around the climax, which is incomprehensible and signifies nothing, but at least provides a break from the constantly bland shots of a pasty English kid manipulating toys with his mind. I’m doubly disappointed by this one, because XTRO was one of those VHS covers I longingly gazed at as a kid, wanting to rent but forbidden to do so by the parents. I should have known they had my best interests at heart all along.

October 17th: Basket Case, dir. Frank Henenlotter, 1982 (United States). 2.5/5 pumpkins.
"What's in the basket? Easter eggs?"


I’ve always been a big fan of Brain Damage but have managed to avoid seeing anything else from Frank Henenlotter prior to this viewing last week. I love how this film really captures all the filth and grime of New York City circa the late ‘70s/'80s. For as slick as Maniac is, this is equally grungy – just check out that doctor’s office with the rusted pipes and flaking paint in the background, or the protagonist’s flop-house dwelling really is that, and not an antiseptic set. The natural layer of filth on everything, combined with the eccentric cast of supporting characters, is really the reason to see this one. The assorted freaks and oddballs that constantly gather outside of the hotel room door when Belial starts throwing temper tantrums are equally as amusing as the silly stop-motion puppet. Suitably trashy and gross. 

OctoBOOr 6th: Nightbeast, dir. Don Dohler, 1982 (United States). 1/5 pumpkins. 
“You’re a very attractive girl, Lisa.”



I suppose this was a movie, in that it was a series of scenes spliced together, featuring people in front of a camera, occasionally doing things. The story, such as it is, concerns the titular nightbeast crash-landing in some un-named backwater (I’m going with Flanneltown, U.S.A. given the costume department’s predilection towards that fabric), vaporizing folks in a blaze of disco glitter with his laser, and a sex scene that couldn’t possibly be more unappealing or less titillating if the nightbeast himself reared his, uh…head. Look, one does not go in to a Troma-produced film expecting seamless special effects, actors who will one day be cross-examined by James Lipton, or even a basic level of competence, really. I would expect at least a modicum of internal consistency, though—our second major action sequence with the nightbeast takes place in broad daylight. One just can’t trust this movie.