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Inquisition
Written, directed and starring
Paul Naschy, playing no less than three roles,
Inquisition feels like a work of intense passion. There’s a level of research and grounding in the plot that are at odds with the genre’s contemporaries. It’s clearly a film that wasn’t overly restricted by budgetary concerns; the sets and costumes feel lavish in comparison to most Spanish horror of the period. The Inquisition descends upon a small town with plague festering at its outskirts,
Naschy’s Inquisitor Bernard de Fossey wreaking a torturous retribution on Satan’s disciples. The scenes of torture are typically lurid, elaborate whirring devices; one gratuitous nipple-tearing scene is ghastly. The film has a bizarre moral compass, de Fossey’s resolve weakening as he falls in love, ultimately becoming a victim to machinations he once symbolised.
Inquisition is uneven, but brisk and bewitching in its excessive nature.
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The Devil's Rain Robert Fuest’s
The Devil’s Rain is notorious for the participation of founder and self-proclaimed High Priest of The Church Of Satan,
Anton LaVey. Despite
LaVey’s input there’s an abundance of over the top stereotypes, but the hellfire and brimstone delivery has a kitsch charm.
Ernest Borgnine steals the show, even his eyebrows feel inspirited by the devil, lending a solemnity to the histrionics.
William Shatner gives a sincere, earnest performance that feels from a different decade, shorn from a black and white ‘50s monster movie. The film lulls in scenes that lack the presence of
Borgnine and
Shatner, but at its best
The Devil’s Rain is face meltingly atmospheric, riotously entertaining in its corny artificial aesthetic.
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Scalpel
The decaying husk of Southern Gothic as modernity bleeds in is the perfect setting for
John Grissmer’s deceitful inheritance thriller
Scalpel. Erstwhile high society meets a cunning, hungry generation, eager for affluence. Plastic Surgeon Dr. Phillip Reynolds encounters a naked woman in the road, beaten to a bloody pulp, the face mutilated, featureless. Reynolds reconstructs the woman’s face with that of his missing daughter, to claim his Father-in-law’s inheritance. There’s something about facial reconstruction in film, the bandaged face and eventual reveal is indescribably captivating. There’s a restrain with the doppelganger aspect, never quite abused in the way it traditionally is. The resolution features an illogical artifice, but satisfies in a detestable character meeting a deserved fate.
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Deadbeat At Dawn Jim VanBebber’s
Deadbeat At Dawn is unmistakably a product of the ‘80s, a grimy countercultural story of gang warfare told in a hyper-stylised way. It’s visceral, the nightmarish world the gangs inhabit almost seems post-apocalyptic. It’s a conventional story, gang leader Goose wants to leave the gang, settle down, live a more traditional lifestyle with his girlfriend, but originality bleeds in with the telling, Goose’s girlfriend is a practicing witch, having foreboding visions of Goose’s future. There’s a gritty nihilism to the proceedings, but a playful sense of humour, one of the gangs have uniform jockstraps, their leader donning a broken Batman mask.
Deadbeat At Dawn was ahead of its time, possessing an intensity to the action set pieces that resembles modern graphic novel adaptations.
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Star Time Star Time is one of those films that seemingly slipped the net, an incredibly connecting and captivating experience that never caught the attention it deserved. There are essentially just three characters, Henry, disillusioned, angst ridden, despondent, without aim or purpose, his counsellor, love interest and good conscience Wendy, and bad conscience Bones, who arrives at Henry’s nadir, when they’ve cancelled his favourite TV show. Bones instils a slogan heavy rhetoric into Henry, feeding his delusional obsession with fame. Shot almost entirely at night, there’s no natural light; the film feels completely artificial until the cold harsh light of reality sets in just before the credits roll. There are no action set pieces, corpses are stumbled upon, or reported about, the horrors of
Star Time are psychological, a wall of televisions hauntingly seeping directives into Henry’s consciousness. It’s a film that feels kin to the early works of
Cronenberg, and
Lynch, but has completely been overlooked, lost in the multitude of channels.
Star Time was a complete surprise for me. I can only imagine the reason it's so poorly reviewed across various platforms is because people come to it expecting a typical bodycount slasher. Which it most definitely isn't! I haven't had a chance to watch the shorts on Arrow's Deadbeat At Dawn release, but I've seen one previously (My Sweet Satan) and rate it, so I can't wait to check out the others. 6 more left...
