Bloodmoon (1990) Alec Mills

One of the less feted slashers to still earn a release on a non poundstore/fly-by-night DVD label, Bloodmoon is generally taken as proof positive that the slasher genre had well mouldered away its last worth by the late 80's, and that Australians were never good at making them anyway. Apparently their older effort Nightmare is actually quite a solid giggle but I haven't seen it yet. Easy to see why Bloodmoon gets little love, it's a copiously flawed work, yet I found it difficult to really dislike. Problems first, starting with plot which is sloppily worked out with several fudged motivations and a lack of clear central protagonist. In the first half hour a teen rivalry subplot weighs heavy, but that dissolves completely into cheesy romance, which is then largely set aside for luridly schlocky soap operatics. Of course murder is bubbling away at the heart of it all and things catch alight sometime in the second half with a turn into suspense shocker, but even as things come to a head the impression remains of two fairly distinct scripts hastily pasted together. Along with plot deficiencies the kills mostly aren't up to much, poised without much suspense, staged with little skill and perhaps worst of all displayed with little grue. There's some blood and a couple of nice after the fact body shots, but given that the killer's weapon of choice is a loop of barbed wire for garroting purposes the general absence of rent flesh and gushing red is coming on tragic. And adding to the malaise is an unmemorable score from the usually reliable Brian May (not to be confused with the shaggy haired Brit astrophysicist), spiced up with a couple of typical for the era wuss rock tunes which are really no match for the butt rock of its genre contemporaries.

But for all this, a good time for me. The younger cast members cast are bright and enthusiastic, performing without guile and selling the material with charm. There are a number of attractive girls and a bit of nudity, but in a nice departure it feels innocent and fun rather than sleazy and deliberate (even if it was indeed sleazy and deliberate, which I suspect was the intention). The older members do well too, especially a creepy, toadishly pathetic Leon Lissek as a cuckolded teacher and Christine Amor a delight as his ice bitch wife. The locations are pleasing and the direction randomly atmospheric, one of the kills is surprisingly vicious and others achieve in random shots a certain offbeat charm. And due to the well stuffed plotting there's always something to entertain going on even if it is decidedly inane. So I rather enjoyed it all and was never bored. Not a film I'd ever recommend as "good", but worth a watch for bad slasher junkies.

Blood Frenzy (1987) Hal Freeman

Ah, now this is the good stuff. In one of those wacky japes the like of which I really hope were never actually sanctioned by the APA, a therapist takes six patients off for an intensive desert retreat, at which exactly what you expect happens. If Blood Frenzy were less entertaining I'd be pretty ill disposed towards the way it treats as normal some of the more reprehensible myths about mental health professionals and their patients, that the former are well meaning but easily deluded and somewhat nitwitted and the latter often have little more than standard social dysfunctions and readily experience cathartic breakthroughs, but since its kinda awesome as far as no budget late 80's slashers go I thought it forgiveable.

Simple fare for the most part, writer/director Hal Freeman (better known as a pornographer and centre of the vital court case of that culture) avoids the sap and psychodrama or multiplous red-herrings that one might expect from the situation. The writing is rather fun and snappy, carving out somewhat agreeable characters from clay stereotype, with a good dose of enthusiastically delivered profanity (Pussy-bumper!). Pacing is well measured for the small cast, with death and excitement portioned nicely for suspense purposes, events building to a rather fine over the top and twisted finale that would be more at home in some of the genre classics of several years previous. Although the kills don't have much in the way of variety or invention they are mean and bloody, even mustering a small measure of style and eerieness. More nudity than just the one short occasion would have been most welcome, in keeping with the generally sleazy vibe but you can't have everything. The cast make up in enthusiasm what they lack in talent with one John Clark amusing as the sort of chauvinist who would usually be merely insufferable, and its nice to see Lisa Loring, who followed this up with the crap but fun ski themed Iced the next year. There's some awkward editing and the desert setting is rarely put to all that much atmospheric effect (though this is partly down to the problem that the majority of available prints of this seem decayed), but there are one or two good shots, and while the score passed from my mind almost as soon as the credits rolled there is nice use of a nursery rhyme. So altogether a winner and well worth a watch for fans of the era and style.

Naked Blood (1995) Hiseyasu Sato

By quite a ways the best known film from Hiseyasu Sato (a bucket or two of the good old claret will do wonders for your distribution!), Naked Blood sees him on decent albeit by this point slightly unsurprising form. The most striking difference to his earlier work is that Naked Blood isn't really a pink film, there's an important sex scene and some nudity, but the focus has departed from the carnal. In this vein is the other change, the film concerned almost as much with innocent (relatively speaking) victims as the warped guilty. But otherwise the expected is all there, ills in heredity here rather smartly detailed, progress for all it's lofty goals just a catalyst for flesh obsession, and of course isolation and voyeurism with a rooftop, camera and binoculars getting a look in.

With no random detours into sleaze to keep the producers happy Naked Blood is pretty slow and measured stuff, only really sparking in the final block which earned it it's sterling reputation even among the less devoted to the strange. But the plot and characters are compelling, even indefinably moving, and slants of outright science fiction are fresh and interesting. Sato gets ever closer to the apocalypse hinted in the like of Brain Sex, but with warmer, almost tender touch, the maturity of someone finally knowing to get their hands dirty. He engages more with his subject rather than spying, progress of sorts, but here lies the problem with the film. It's a simple engagement, he never fully gets inside the story and characters, never properly guts, skins and pins. Instead of revealing whole new aspects of his obsessions he just fractionally advances their study. It's frustrating because there's so much potential here and Sato has trod such material before (Naked Blood being a reworking of his earlier film Pleasure Kill which I have not seen but is apparently superior), I suppose it clarifies his limitations.

Still, taken individually as an art shock piece Naked Blood is well worthy of consideration. It avoids the general pitfalls of emotional drudgery, static shots and overdriven pseudo intellectualism, and its symbolism is neither forced nor over-obscure, it coheres on a narrative level with little dubious ambiguity. And importantly its gruesome scenes are well handled and thoroughly twisted without obvious contrivance a far cry from the sorts of films that treat educated audiences as fools to be shocked from complacency. So my misgivings granted, still recommended.

The Bedroom (1992) Hiseyasu Sato

Sex, drugs and cameras have made the new reality, this is The Bedroom. A strangely warm film, even when dealing in it's central location, the mysterious and nefarious "Sleeping Room" in which women come to be fondled and photographed in drugged submission. The tone is erotic, perplexing, beguiling, not cold or clinical. Where earlier Sato films gave us seductive dance now is the consummation, disconnections complete through Halcion and fractured psyche, cameras an active, living presence, voyeurism no longer perversion but healthy state of mind. It's a slippery film despite a climactic revelation that appears to draw events together, like a wet dog it squirms away virtually at the instant of a firm hold, but the effect is not unsatisfying, it appears more an understanding of the folly of certitudes. There are some clear and notable features though, mostly cameras which have grown from mere mediating devices to active participants, their work in the Sleeping Room and how they act outside. In that strange room, female bodies in soft focus, nude, pliant and bathed in shifting light. The red light of watching camera swollen to great imposing orb casting unreal glow about the scene, with red combating swells of deep blue, transforming bodies to abstract communication, in one scene flesh very much like soft clay. Then the sleepy struggle of faltering relationship played out in protagonist Kyoko's flat, her afflictions passed on to her husband, they try to play out a normality they know to be a lie. Cameras here are not transformative and mystical, just another lying presence, when Kyoko films herself having sex the viewpoint remains hand held but wanders impossibly, when her husband uses the camera for video-diary he records contrived close ups and filter effects. And of course there are the trademark Sato rooftop conversations, his moods of bleak isolation, of a city bare, lyrical apocalyptic musings and psychology that emerges mostly in the gaps.

This is all good stuff, emotive with streaks of visual flair, culminating in perhaps my favourite moment of the film-maker so far. But at the same time his growth in maturity has its corresponding loss in punkish energy, The Bedroom doesn't excite and ignite in the way one might hope. There also isn't much in the way of perversion or genuine menace, though there is rape (of course) and some violence, and perhaps one could probably argue that paying to fondle and photograph an unconscious woman is not exactly a hallmark of psychosexual stability. Interesting but not really enough, this needed more fangs. The art crowd will surely dig this more than Sato's earlier work, and fans of his earlier work will no doubt like it less. Me, I liked it well enough, and I suspect repeat viewings will present it clearer, sharper in the mind for better appreciation. So 7/10 for the moment I guess. 

36 Pasos (2006) Adrian Garcia Bogliano

Like many I suspect, my first experience of Adrian Garcia Bogliano was his raw and gritty rape revenge shocker No Morire Sola. This earlier work is a much different beast though, where that was a humourless and traditional piece harking back to classic exploitation days, 36 Pasos is an offbeat, darkly comic and even layered film, much more a modern affair. The story operates in the twisted captivity genre that has become so popular in recent years, with a group of young women held in a sunny, idyllic country home for reasons unsure. But unlike much of the genre 36 Pasos eschews elaboration, not a film of grandiosely contrived vengeful plotting nor of dubiously inventive and unlikely Rube Goldberg inspired instruments of torture. And the young ladies aren't criminals, scumbags or self condemned by bad faith. Instead the violence is blunt, simplistic and bloody, and the characters are realistic, recognisable people, albeit all decidedly attractive. They may not always be smart or likeable but they compell, and the uniformly fine, natural performances miss nary a beat. The gradual unfolding of the story into the crazed finale, short sharp bursts of violence, underswells of dark humour (albeit never mean spirited) and occasional experimental flourishes paint a rather interesting picture, the set up is essentially an abstract stand in of multiple possibilities, an account of absurd striving. Question the rules and face dire consequence, question authority or try to escape and face the same. And while the rules may seem not harsh, even curiously reasonable, they are but a happy face on cruel reality. So whether its getting ahead in business, social spheres or just the business of living in general, 36 Pasos fits.

But for all those uninterested in subtext this is a fine entertainment without looking any further. Though the budget is evidently pretty small the gore is effective with even a wince making moment or two, it also comes at a good clip while maintaining an element of surprise, from a bloody, gnarly corpse in the first five minutes or so to appearances from our good friends chainsaw, nail-gun and branding iron. A smattering of nudity adds to the exploitative charm also, without coming across as forced or silly. And the ending draws things together in satisfying, even oddly moving fashion. Now straightforward slasher or splatter fans probobly won't like this too much and I expect thorough-going art horror fans will find it too trashy, but for me this was most agreeable stuff. Well, I suppose I expected more leftfield weirdness, but what I got didn't disappoint. 8/10, highly recommended to indie horror fans.

The Peace Killers (1971) Douglas Schwartz

Of the many and beautiful subgenres of exploitation out there I'd have to say that bikersploitation has always been one of the least attractive to me. I don't find much visceral appeal in speeding hot metal or the open road, and seeing a bunch of dudes in leathers just makes me want to go dungeon hopping. Plus as a general rule I'm not all that find of black and white representations of subcultures designed to play on the ignorance and prejudice of the masses. So far as I can gather bikers weren't all inherently violent at best and grisly sadists at worst. And hippies weren't just simple minded peaceniks. The Peace Killers plays both stereotypes to the hilt, patently silly however you look at it and probobly a little offensive if you were there at the time. But setting aside history and reason it pretty much rocks, a swift, no nonsense bit of nonsense that any old school exploitation fan could love.

The plot follows Kristy, who used to run with the vicious Death Row gang but fled after seeing a gang rape. Nothing beats a good gang rape for getting your moral compass spinning. She defects to a hippy commune but is spotted at a gas station by some Death Row members so they go after her. After some violent altercations the hippies and her team up with a rival gang led by hard as nails mama Black Widow and the stage is set for confrontation. There's little to no fat here, no extraneous dicking around with romance or scene setting parties, things just move. Just enough characterisation to make things matter, a bit of torture, a bit of rape and regular doses of fun violence all building up to a rather splendid climax that makes up for its lack of choreography or slick shooting with bloodshed and a great rough 'n tumble energy.

Of course it wouldn't all work without actors, and they do a good job. Jess Walton is agreeably innocent and lovable as Kristy (doesn't hurt that she's gorgeous and shows skin), Paul Prokop brings a sense of sincerity to his ridiculous cartoon caricature hippy leader Alex, despite lines virtually indistinguishable from the sort of mockery expected from South Park or The Simpsons. Clint Ritchie is terrific as arch baddie Rebel, charismatic and enthusiastic enough in his nastiness to be one of the more impressive pre Hess exploitation villains. But most fun is Lavalle Roby as Black Widow, spitting her lines with immensely enjoyable, even Pam Grier worthy venom. Cult fans will probobly enjoy Michael Ontkean (Slap Shot, Twin Peaks) as well, though he has a pretty uninteresting role.

So all in all this is a winner. It isn't especially strong or brutal, but for a pre Last House on the Left effort it's still nicely mean at times, plenty die, blood is spilled and there's even a genuinely thrilling sequence that I won't spoil. Unjustly it still seems to be pretty obscure these days so I say track down a copy as soon as you can.

Sex Jack (1970) Koji Wakamatsu

Despite the inviting Anglicised title Sex Jack (I don't know what the Japanese Seizoku actually translates to) is one of the more restrained and ordinary Wakamatsu efforts that have made it to Western audiences. There is sex but it's neither gratuitous nor violent, and there's no character named Jack. What we have here is the life of a revolutionary group, on the run and eking out last days of sex and boredom in a run down flat. Wakamatsu was something of a revolutionary himself, but neither aloft intellectual nor hungry juvenile, possessed instead of a notable fervid insight. So the characters are not beautiful or glamorous, not intelligent nor energetic, sustained only loosely by a sense of group solidarity, a faith in their own existence. The camera is close but not intimate, never warm, critical and never sharing. The trouble is that there isn't a whole lot of action in the physical sense or otherwise, so while the well evoked ennui is pretty interesting and makes for a smoothly watchable ride it isn't especially compelling and certainly not all that memorable. At least there are some terrific visuals, a reckless muddy scuffle and a conversation under a bridge separating worlds, a whole different realm out away in the bright unknown horizon, powerful facial close-ups and other highlights underscoring all the muck, clueless youth and isolated longing.

There's some intrigue to the story also, the group fearing for their future, wary of government, perhaps a mole in their midst. Things neither unravel nor wind up to breaking point but brood, the films progress has the quality of a thickening, and gradual clarification, purpose coming to be through the pointless. Enough here that I was entertained, but students of the era may very likely find more, with socio-historical context more apparent. Without context though, it still manages to be slightly more successful than Wakamatsu's similar, later Ecstasy of the Angels, which despite featuring slightly stronger content was overlong, over-complex and a little dull. All together Sex Jack is best recommended to fans of the director who were never too fussed about the seedy and grotesque sides of his work, those interested in vintage cult cinema, Japanese or otherwise, and those who appreciate political cinema of a time when art really felt like it mattered to the world. I almost feel bad for not liking it more but hey, I did still like it some. Worthy use of my time, 6/10 kind of film or so