If you have Showtime, you know the basics of Stargate. But just in case you don’t…After a brief prologue set in 8,000 B.c., we open in 1928. A team of archeologists working in Egypt uncover huge burial stones, ornately-carved with untranslatable hieroglyphs. And under the stones, they find something even more ornate and interesting…
Fast forwarding to the ’90s, we meet Dr. Daniel Jackson (James Spader), who holds a few…unpopular theories regarding the Great Pyramid of Giza, mostly concerning how the Pharaohs of the fourth dynasty did not and could not possibly have built it. This thesis is bold enough to win Dr. Jackson the ostracism of his peers. Want to meet a close-minded person? Talk to a scientist. Thankfully, before he’s tossed into the rainy, New York streets, Dr. Jackson gets a super-secret job offer from the Air Force: fly out to NORAD and translate a bunch of untranslatable hieroglyphs someone apparently carved into a gigantic, 10,000 year-old burial stone, discovered in Egypt back in the 20s. {More}
If there’s a tag-line less appealing than “from writer of Anaconda,” it would have to be “from the writer of Batman and Robin.” But we’ll talk about Lost in Space later. This right here is Komodo, which not only boasts the writers of Anaconda, Hans Bauer and Craig Mitchell, but Michael Lantieri, one of Jurassic Park‘s many, many special effects designers. My theory: the producers hired Lantieri out of some last ditch effort to balance out the lukewarmth of Bauer’s and Mitchell’s script. Or perhaps I overanalyize. Perhaps it was as simple as finding Lantieri in a gutter somewhere, clutching his Oscar. “Hey, buddy, wanna job?” “Sure, man. You pay in cash or weed?”
I kid, Mike. I do. I love the stuff you did in JP. And I love the fact that you conned Phil Tippett (who’s far from extinct) into helping out on this little piece of crap. Without the smooth-as-silk CGI lizards, Komodo would be absolutely unbearable. As it is, Komodo won’t cause cancer in lab rats, but human subjects should beware of the early stages of narcolepsy, which set in sometime around the end of our prologue. {More}
For some reason I can’t possibly fathom, people hate rats. I mean, sure, they spread the Black Plague through Europe casing a famine that wiped out thirty millions people over the course of several centuries, but come on! Were those peasants really all that important to history? I ask you…Never had a problem with rats myself. Not as long as they’re relatively clean. (Those big brown ones that crawl around in industrial waste can just stay the hell away from me, thank you very much.) Thankfully, rats in today’s movie are some of the cleanest vermin I’ve ever seen.
Willard centers around a boy named (did you guess?) Willard (Bruce “Senator Kelly” Davison in his second feature role). Willard is, in technical, psychological terminology, about ready to fucking snap. Willard’s Evil Boss, Mr. Martin (Ernest Borgnine) stole the shipping company Willard works for from Willard’s father…somehow. Consequently, he hates the Willard with a passion. Also, Willard’s mother (Elsa Lanchester) is a dotting leech who (gladly) dies before the halfway mark. {More}
If I may paraphrase a respected Movie Scientist: Ed Wood is a warning. A warning to all of us. When mankind falls into conflict with reality, monstrous films are born. Shambling, pitiful things that beg to be put down harder than Seth Brundle. Wood is also one of the strangest celebrities of the twentieth century. Ignored in his own time, he became famous for the worst reasons two years after his death. In 1980, the right-wing fellow traveler and PBS movie critic Michael Medved named him the Worst Director of All Time, and awarded tonight’s picture the undeserved title of Worst Film Ever Made.
Wood’s generation was one of the first to grow up with the movies. An encounter with Bela Lugosi’s Dracula at age seven permanently warped the Poughkeepsie store clerk’s son, who had a movie camera in hand by the time he left high school. The War put Eddy’s dreams of being the next Orson Welles on hold for four years, but by the end of his life he’d amassed the kind of resume that would shame other, better directors. Even now, at the height of his fame, only a bare handful of his films command any kind of notoriety. Plan 9 has managed the hat trick of surpassing even its siblings and achieving a twisted sort of popularity, something Wood might even enjoy today, wherever he is. With Bela, surely. {More}
Do we really need to go over just how much this movie rips off Jurassic Park? No? Okay, good.
Saying that Roger Corman makes his pay check on the backs and creativity of others is stupidly redundant. Redundant like saying, “Armageddon sucks!” Unfortunately, whenever Corman steals a concept he always runs with it beyond the borders of sanity and good taste, all the way into that Other World. Corman World.
Oh, ’tis a vile, evil place, where malformed monsters writhe and seethe in ever lasting flames that burn, but do not consume. This is a land where Humanoids from the Deep is considered a good film. A good feminist film, in fact. And It Conqured the World replaces Citizen Kane. Continue reading Carnosaur (1993)→
The 1980s were a watershed time for American movies studios. After the protracted collapse of the old studio system in the 40s and 50s necessitated a major overhaul of Hollywood’s entire production architecture, major studios spent the 60s and 70s establishing financial relationships with independent movie producers. Previously considered the lowest form of life on Earth, a rising generation of creative types proved instead that smaller films staring no one anybody had ever heard of could make major bank. All they needed as an idea, and a group of people who believed in that idea enough to see it put on screen.
The result? Well, we can see the result on any video store shelf: oodles of low-budget, indy films, no longer made so much as distributed by the major studios. Smaller companies, geared toward nothing but selling these pictures to theaters, sprung up like gravestones in the Crystal Lake Woods. One of them, founded in 1967 by distributors Michael Lynne and Robert Shaye, was named New Line. Continue reading A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984)→
People keep coming back to Crystal Lake, myself included. I saw my first Friday the 13th film at age ten on a requisite dark and stormy night and here I am all these years later still mindlessly prattling on about it.
Except that’s inaccurate: the requisite storm turned our satellite reception to shit so by the time it moved off I only really got to “see” the last fifteen minutes of Part 2. “What?” I said, for I was an inquisitive scamp. “This is it? What’s everyone so hard on about? This is great shit. Hot chicks beating rednecks over the head with chairs? Yes, please!” At the time I thought, The only way they could possibly improve this would be to stage the whole thing in a Wrestlmania ring, surrounded by thousands of cheering assholes and lights.
Imagine my naive joy as I loaded Friday the 13th Part 3 into the VCR and prepared to have my mind blown by ninety minutes of that. Imagine my disappointment. No Amy Steel burdened with all manner of weapon, from chainsaws to machetes to her own highly-attractive knees. No Frugal Ku Klux Klansman since Amy and her douche boyfriend Paul let Jason Voorhees’ malformed head out of the bag at the end of Part 2…and the beginning of Part 3. Still, as with the last picture, director Steve Miner helpfully tacks these last bits of Part 2 onto Part 3, just to make damn sure we’re all caught up.
And this is a deliciously phallic shot. You could get a graduate course on psycho-sexual symbolism out of this frame alone.
I appreciated that at age 10. Now I imagine a voice (the voice of Walt “Crazy Ralph” Gorney, or Bettsie “Mrs. Voorhees” Palmer, perhaps) solomly intoning, “Previously on Friday the 13th,” as if this were some horrible TV series…rather like the one that would eventually bear Friday the 13th‘s name. Jason chases Ginny. Ginny almost kills Jason. Paul comes conveniently back from the dead since Ginny’s obviously running low on Hero’s Battle Death Exemptions. Ginny kills Jason. The end.
Except, of course, it’s not, because Part 2 proved far too popular to leave things hanging like that. Especially in an age that had stopped considering the Cliffhanger Ending one of several potential stinger devices at the disposal of creative storytellers and instead looked upon it as necessary set-up for the inevitable sequel.
So here we are, on the other side of the BIG, JUTTING CREDITS (reminding us this was originally filmed in 3D, as will plenty of other things) and Henry Manfredini’s somewhat-retro score which, no longer content to rip-off John William’s Jaws, now rips-off its percussion track from every shitty disco band who ever debased the 1970s and its eerie theremin sounds from every Universal Monster Picture ever made between the 1930s and the 1960s. So I guess that’s what they call “progress” ’round these parts.
Marty, it's all your fault.
Afterwards, Jason teleports (not shown) to a lakeside bait and tackle shop owned by the redneckiest couple of rednecks we’ve seen since Part 1. No Rosanne-ish air of dignity here. It’s hair-curlers, bad game shows and nagging for the lady, whiskey bottles hidden in the outhouse for sir. Jason puts both out of their misery only after we’ve enjoyed what feels like a glacial age in their presence. I know it was only ten minutes…but I can’t shake the feeling Steve Miner threw those in just for an excuse to wave more things at the camera.
Here’s a fun game you can play. Pause that shot of a rattlesnake lunging out at Sir Redneck’s face (dangit, it misses). Point out the clearly visible string jutting from the snake’s mouth (and possibly wound round its jaw) to your friends. Allow them to reflect upon the fact that 3D is cheap, meaningless gimmick trotted out by desperate movie studios as an excuse to inflate ticket prices and make up for the fact that movie theaters are becoming irrelevant in an age of five hundred channels, an internet full of crap, and TVs the size of walls.
Here stands a man fervently hoping for a threesome.
After you’ve driven all your friends away, resume film. Time to meet this week’s episode’s entry’s cast. Thankfully, after Part 2‘s Bland Brigade, these Pretty White Kids seem a colorful bunch, even if their Problems are the same kind of superficial bullshit that now clogs basic cable line-ups. Chris (Dana Kimmell), the obvious Final Girl, we’ll talk about later. Andy (Jeffrey Rogers) and Debbie (Tracie Savage), are our designated Guy and Girl couple, and thus doomed. Shelly (Larry Zerner) is the real wild card. Here the Odious Comic Relief is redesigned as a special effects nerd in larval form, the filmmaker’s projection of their own “core” audience members. Too bad that projection is a socially-inept, insecure jerk, fond of dressing up in masks and fake-stabbing his friends. Vira (Catherine Parks) is Shelly’s “date” for this “weekend in the country,” and thus his Doom in a Blouse. Not that she’ll fuck him. Nor should she. He’s a socially-inept, insecure etc. Chuck (David Katims) and Chilli (Rachel Howard) round things out by being the worst type of movie stoners, having to be asked before they share the wealth…a disgrace to the entire stoner race. And two years out from Cheech and Chong’s Next Movie. For shame.
This merry band is off to Chris’ parent’s place, Higgins Haven…which may be on Crystal Lake, but…shit, how large is the lake, anyway? Never mind. First they meet a crazed local in the Crazy Ralph mode, ignore his Warnings From the Divine, and proceed. They meet Rick (Paul Kratka), a Manly Spice chiseled from the Paul and Steve mode, at Higgins Haven, setting off an extended back and forth between Rick and Chris. This helped me come to terms with a central fact: the writing in this series has actually improved as things have gone along. Sure, Rick has a one track mind and that track leads right between Chris’ legs, but she just ignores him and remains in a better humor about it than I certainly would, were I in her position. Here she is, trying to get over a Past Traumatic Experience, and all Mr. “Dumb Country Boy” can think of is doing the horizontal hoola.
"Hey, man, you tell me where else I'm gonna get a speaking role these days?"
Alas, it’s 1982 and Final Girls hadn’t yet learned to respect themselves. (Just look at the useless dicks Alice and Ginny settled for.) I only mean to say “the writing’s improved” in relation to Parts 1 and 2. Characters are now recognizable as characters rather than mere archetypes. The Slasher movie has completed its house in Stereotype Land whence it remains to this day. Sensible plotting remains beyond the series, over the boarder in the lands of “real” movies. Having tossed the “camp” out of their “lakeside summer camp murder” movie franchise last go ’round, they here jettison the “lakeside.” Why did Jason go after that Redneck couple anyway? Why go after the kids at Higgins Haven? Assume he just needs to kill everyone in the Crystal Lake woods. What kept him from doing so in the five years since his Mommy dearest’s death-by-Alice? And I’m sorry, but…suddenly Crystal Lake’s big enough for its own biker gang? The fuck you say?
I suppose anything that gives black actors speaking rolls is better than nothing…but, of course, they play criminals. And they die pointless deaths. But at least they served a narrative purpose, providing a conflict that Shelly must overcome. And does. So the film almost pulls me back from the brink by dangling the chance to watch at least one character develop before me, like a coy stripper dangling that last little bit of fabric.
In that same vein, Chris here is the first Final Girl with a Defining Element of Tragedy in her past. Alice had a thing obviously going on with her boss and “something” to do in California. Ginny had a college career, opinions, her boss wrapped around her fingers, and knees that functioned the way any sensible woman’s should if and when she is chased by a maniac. Ah, but Chris…she has a tragic story to relate to Rick (and thus the audience) once they get tired of hanging out with her dumbass friends. A year ago, after a tiff with her parents, Chris ran away into the woods. She fell asleep while sulking and woke up to the sounds of a hamburger-faced maniac trudging toward her. She ran, he chased her, he caught her, she blacked out…and woke up in her own bed with no memory of what happened.
Boing!
Here’s a Death Exemption to end all Heroes Battle Death Exemption and yet another shark jumped in the name of adding depth to a series that self-consciously centers itself around the meaningless deaths of fake teenagers. Credit where it’s due: screenwriters Carol Watson and Martin Kitrosser are actually trying. They just don’t do anything with the tools they spread out in front of themselves.
As with Part 2, we spend an entire film watching Jason kill everyone he comes across…and yet here’s Chris telling the laziest kind of survivor story. “I blacked out. I don’t know what happened after that.” Because neither of our screenwriters, nor our director, could figure out a good way to have Chris (a) meet Jason and (b) survive.
Goddamnit, Friday the 13th. Pick a sport and you’re way out of it. Way out from any of your initial premises. Oh, Jason drowned in 1957, cries the first film. Driving his mom co-ed-killing insane. But wait, cries the second film. Jason didn’t really drown. He’s been living in the woods all this time, doing a bit of mom-worship and killing everything he comes across. So what sent Mom so carve-you-up mad? Who cares? this film asks. Here. We’ll kill Jason and then bring him back to life again. Just like you did in the first film? Yeah, man. Only this time, we’ll pit him against this chick he came across in the woods last year. So he found a nubile teenage girl in the Crystal Lake Woods and didn’t kill her? Why not? What stopped him? What’s so special about Chris? Hey, says the film, don’t be so harsh. You ask too many questions. You got this negative vibe going. Smoke some grass. Chill.
Ah, they filmed my dreams...
I’d need more grass than Snoop Doggy Dog to “chill” in the face a plot hole like this. Okay, maybe Jason had to work his way up to Part 2‘s “kill-death-destroy” rampage. “Typical” real world killers (I use that adverb lightly, fully acknowledging its pitfalls) often take time to test how their fantasies play out before moving up to acting them out on humans. These often amount to a series of “Oh, shit,” moments, as in, “Oh, shit, my victim didn’t passively submit to being strangled and stabbed. I better refine my technique before I screw up and get my ass jailed.” Only problem with that (from a storyteller’s perspective, at least) being, who said Jason’s a “typical” killer? Seems pretty a-typical to me, what with the coming back from the dead and all…twice now…
Never mind, says the film. Time to cull tonight’s herd. With these deaths, and Debbie’s death in particular, an almost shot-for-shot recreation of Kevin Bacon’s death in Part 1, the series announces it’s officially run out of ideas and started ripping itself off, right down to the violations of basic physical laws.
Debbie climbs into the hammock and starts paging through Fangoria in a perfect example of the co-option that turns entertainment “journalism” into cheerleading for shit. Blood starts dripping onto the (quite well-written) Godzilla article she’s reading. She looks up. Fucknuggets! There’s Andy, sliced in half by Jason’s machete. A hand reaches out from under the hammock and stabs Debbie through the chest.
Awww, man...that issue's worthless now. No collector wants to touch blood.
So…Jason killed Andy while Debbie was in the shower…stowed the two halves of Andy’s body in the rafters without recourse to a ladder, chair, or any of the other height-increasing pieces of furniture in the room…magically ensured Andy’s guts would defy gravity and stalwartly remain inside his abdominal cavity…and somehow concealed his own bulk behind the various covers thrown over the hammock until Debbie got into position.
Jesus H. Christ. So what if the film has characters in it? Every film should! And the little drips and drabs of characterization can’t distract from the basic, logical problems underlying this whole series.
I should probably come up with some grand sociological theory as to why these films are so popular, given how deeply and truly they suck…but I can’t get anything past Occam’s razor except “tits + blood = financially successful horror movie.” Except that’s what They Who Live While Sleep want us to think. Really, the equation runs something like, “$1 million dollar film + $40 million dollar box office = successful horror film.” Make um cheap, make um quick, and you’ll make your money back, so long as you sacrifice whatever dreams you might’ve had of making “good” films.
There are good bits here. Shelly’s “boy-who-cried-wolf” death scene is a perfect moment, and the inclusion of the Biker Gang both pads out the body count and provides a good reason for Chris’ Mystery Machine to break down, forcing her into the usual Final Girl confrontation. A battle that’s much more varied and kinetic than Ginny’s…or Alice’s…or Laurie Strode’s, for that matter. One that’s resolved with a brutal finality indicative of the Slasher movie’s overall obsession with humanity’s inhumanity towards itself…
…and then promptly ruined by a tacked-on, bullshit cliffhanger that does nothing but echo Part 1‘s tacked-on, bullshit cliffhanger. Oh, Friday the 13th series, you coy bitch, why don’t you toy with my emotions some more?
Uneven, illogical, contrived, and haphazardly assembled, Part 3 could’ve signaled a move toward more nuanced storytelling and at least the illusion of depth other, better horror movies at least try to paint. The cast is a marked improvement over previous entries, evidence of the greater production value behind the show, but having only one note to play certainly must’ve made things easier.
Given the number of trends this movie set for the rest of the series (Jason’s hockey mask and machete being only the most obvious, along with Chris Defining Element of Tragedy) I’m tempted to call Part 3 required viewing for anyone curious about why horror films suck as much and as often as they do…but I don’t want to subject you to this much obviously horrific 3-D.
ACTING!
Thanks to the internet, terabytes of worth of data and opinion on all three of these films is readily available. Read some of that instead. I’d recommend Liz Kingsley‘s exceptionally well-done write ups of these films, which not only entertained me a great deal more than the film’s they describe, they’re also real value changers.
At least then you’ll be reading. Improving your mind and what-not. And don’t worry…there’s no hockey-mask wearing redneck hiding under your hammock…or is there?
Few things are more informative than the obscure early work of now-famous creative types. Key themes emerge and patterns emerge…often so apparent that, even if my Unrated Special Edition tonight’s film weren’t plastered over with little stickers that read “From the Creators of South Park!”; even if I didn’t know what Trey Parker and Matt Stone look like; even if I had never bothered to read their credits on a single South Park episode, it would still be pretty goddamn obvious, and just as enjoyable to boot.
This sophomore effort from Parker, Stone, and (if the various commentary tracks on this disc are any indication) every friend they had in the world at the time, resounds with themes already touched on in the boy’s (and girl’s) first film, Cannibal! The Musical. Here, as there, expect a preference for gross-out humor and overblown Action movie plotting, dramatic music cues, some stuff that refuses to make sense, and a strangely ambivalent relationship with Mormonism. Meant to be a musical for all of five seconds, this saga of a pornographic, Mormon superhero may just be the best superhero film of the late-1990s, the nadir of Superhero Cinima’s Golden Age. It certainly satisfies the criteria laid out in Peter David’s October 2, 1990 But I Digress column in the Comic Buyer’s Guide, when he called a much more serious movie“the perfect super-hero film of all time.” {More}
There are some films that are good but don’t hold enough shocks or surprises to make them completely memorable. Then there are films that dare to cross boundaries and deliver shocks to the maximum. HOUSE ON THE EDGE OF THE PARK (1979) falls into the latter category. It is a prime example of the raw, no-holds barred horror and exploitation films of yesteryear. Films like HOUSE ON THE EDGE OF THE PARK will never be made again.
At the time this graphic Italian low-budget nasty was being made, Europe was booming with all kind of horror, exploitation, sexploitation and the like. There was a big market for this type of film making. Today, that is far from the case. The flow of unrestrained cinematic brutalities has ceased to exist. The morally conscious critics and protest groups of today would probably eat a film like this alive if it were released in the present time. Sure there are still some film directors such as Quentin Tarentino who like to push the envelope, but there’s nothing like the good old days when they ripped the envelope to shreds.
Director Ruggero Deodato had already cemented his reputation as a master of shocking imagery the year before with his notorious CANNIBAL HOLOCAUST (1978). He carried the brutal violence from that film right over into this one, and the effect is unsettling. Deodato seems to have a way of looming graciously over the grim scenes before us and very little is left to the imagination. This is exploitation cinema at it’s finest.
Some may say that this is a LAST HOUSE ON THE LEFT (1972) rip-off, but I don’t think that’s entirely true. If Ruggero Deodato intended to make a film that imitates the 1972 cult classic, why would he wait seven years to do so? Besides, director Aldo Lado had already beaten Deodato to the punch in the European Last House rip-off sweepstakes with his film, THE NIGHT TRAIN MURDERS (1975) (Italian title: L’ULTIMO TRENO DELLA NOTTE). Maybe it’s because classic screen psycho and lead killer Krug in LAST HOUSE ON THE LEFT, David Hess, was cast as the maniacal lunatic on the loose again in this film. There’s nobody that I can think of that’s better than Hess at playing the role though.
The opening pre-credits sequence gives the whole film a grim kick-off and sets the stage for more vile actions. The gritty opening shots of rapist/murderer thug Alex (Hess) driving casually down a highway in New York looking for a victim, paints the sleazy picture of the film nicely. A pretty young twenty-something lady drives down the same stretch of road, unaware of the sadistic fate about to consume her. Alex catches up to her and taunts her a little, before maniacally running her off the road. Quickly, with evil intentions, he scurries over to the car and hops in next to her. Almost drooling and with a cunning grin, Alex says he just wants to say hi. We soon learn his real motives as he forces the struggling female into the back seat, rips her clothes off, and savagely has his way with her. In the process he strangles her to death. This scene is made all the more disturbing by the haunting choir song “Sweetly”, composed by Riz Ortolani and sung by Diana Corsini. The song highlighted the girl’s innocence being ravaged by desensitized inhumanity. A graphic opening to a graphic film. No holding back.
Alex runs a car repair shop out of an underground garage with his simpleton friend Ricky (played by Giovanni Lombardo Radice). The two men are getting ready to go out on the town and “boogie”. The fact that this was made in 1979 is very evident as Hess talks jive while making adjustments to a not so pretty yellow suit and black bell bottom pants. I love the late 70’s atmosphere myself.
Meanwhile, a catchy little disco number called “Much More” grabs our attention as upper class big shots Tom (played by Christian Borromeo) and Lisa (played by the gorgeous Annie Belle) head to a party located in New Jersey. They experience car trouble and wouldn’t you know it, they end up at Alex and Ricky’s garage. Right away as the two pull up, you can tell by that cocky, callous look on Alex’s face that he’s up to no good. He immediately takes notice of Lisa, as he looks her up and down salivating at the thought of what he could do to her. A thought he would later try to make a reality.
At first, Alex tells Tom and Lisa that they can fix it themselves. He and Ricky want to go out and get down. Tom offers triple the price to fix it, but Alex is told about the party that they’re headed to by Lisa and gets other ideas. Meanwhile, dim-witted Ricky takes a crack at the car and gets it going, and then seeks childish approval from Alex. Ricky needs approval from Alex for everything. It’s almost like his security blanket to receive attention from his best buddy. Now that the car’s been repaired, Alex sees this as his opportunity to score an invite to the party. He basically invites himself and insists on going. Tom and Lisa are reluctant at first, but soon agree to let Alex come along. However, Tom really would rather that Ricky didn’t join them, but Alex already promised he could come. Just before they all head off in Tom and Lisa’s car, Alex runs in and gets something that will play a big part in the agony and blood shed to come. He opens up a locker and from it he takes his utensil of torture. An extremely sharp straight razor!
The scene with the four driving to the party is classic Hess. He gets a major kick out of playing the yuppies for complete idiots. His sleazy and sly personality immediately surfaces as he lies to them and hints at his intentions as Tom and Lisa fail to catch on to the underlying message.
When asked about his profession by Lisa he replies, “The only real bread in the automotive industry is if you’re dealin’ hot cars, otherwise you barely make a livin’. But a, I’m not into that kind of shit.” With a cocky grin and a glance over to Ricky, they both know what he’s really into. If only Tom and Lisa knew. Or do they? “Have you got a girlfriend?”, Lisa asks Alex. Alex knows he can make her believe anything. “Oh yeah, we’ve been together for a long time. She’s wonderful! I think I’m gonna marry her!”, he exclaims with a smirk. Alex is proving by now to be the master of cons. Lisa turns to Ricky, “And how about you?” Ricky pipes up, “No me, I don’t have one.” Then Alex sends chills with another big grin at Ricky and says, “You might find one tonight.” Oh yeah, these chicks will be Alex and Ricky’s girlfriends. Whether they like it or not!
They arrive at the title house where three others are awaiting their arrival. Alex and Ricky are introduced to the lovely Gloria (played by Lorraine De Selle), the arrogant prick Howard (played by Gabriele Di Giulio), and the unique and beautiful Glenda (played by Karoline Mardeck), as a groovy disco beat plays in the background. The whole soundtrack is amazing. Almost immediately everyone starts to boogie to that wickedly funky track “Much More”. Oh yeah, I can here it now. “Do it to me much more (love me more and more), do it to me much more (love me more and more)” What a tune!
Gloria and Lisa seem to be getting their amusement from Alex and Ricky. One of the best and funniest scenes in the film comes when Gloria asks, “What else do they do besides fixing cars?” Alex answers, “We can dance” Well good old Ricky, always eager to impress with his little talents, proudly says to his pal, “Hey Alex, tell them how I can dance!” “Why should I tell them?”, Alex proclaims. “Do your number!” Ricky does just that as he grooves and gyrates all over the place. Little does he realize however, that the rich scum are not laughing with him, but laughing at him. In fact, they’re down right making fun of him. Ever observant Alex sees what’s going on and his blood begins to boil. It’s not going to be long before the blood begins to spill.
From here, Tom, Glenda, and Howard invite Ricky to play some poker while Alex follows Lisa up to the shower. I’d do the same. Lisa proves to be a major tease though, as she flirts with Alex and invites him in to scrub her back, and then simply walks away and leaves him hanging (literally). This adds fuel to the raging fire that is Alex’s deranged mind. Pissed off, Alex comes downstairs and takes notice of the shifty game of poker that Ricky’s taking part in. The greedy assholes are robbing him blind and Alex knows a cheat when he sees one. “Be careful Ricky”, he warns him. “They’re takin’ ya for a ride. These bastards wouldn’t know a straight game if they followed one home!” Tom and Howard try to get tough with Alex, but they don’t stand a chance. Alex punches the shit out of both of them and pulls out his trusty razor to show that he’s not playing games.
He forces everyone to sit down at the poker table and sees to it that Ricky wins all the cash as he deals whatever card he pleases. “You’re great Alex! I always said you were great!”, Ricky exclaims with glee. “Well, what now?” Do we blow this shithole?” Alex has other plans. “You must be cartooning, the best is yet to come! Now we’re gonna have some fun with these cunts!” Let the brutal ass kickings begin!
At this point Alex really starts to take over, wielding his razor like a battle sword. He gives Ricky a shot at whatever girl he wants to force down and screw. “Go ahead, pick the one you want.” Ricky’s eyes light up. “I get first choice?!”. Alex tells Ricky what he wants to hear. “I’m your friend ain’t I?” Ricky picks Gloria as his lucky victim, but after he rips off all her clothes he can’t bring himself to do it. This enrages Alex and he decides to show him how it’s done as he mounts Gloria. Before he can do the deed though, Howard grabs Alex from behind as Tom and Glenda fumble the razor. Alex quickly regains control as he flips Howard, grabs Tom and says “Lesson time!”, as he slashes his face. He then punches Howard to a bloody pulp with a psychotic expression on his face, takes him outside, kicks him in the pool, and takes a leak on him. As only Hess can do.
The rest of the film continues the same violent way. It’s an orgy of rapes, face smashings, torture, and psychological humiliation. What a swell pair of guys! One really nauseating scene has Alex running his razor up and down the body of visiting virgin neighbor Cindy (played by Brigitte Petronio). He gently sings “Cindy, oh Cindy, don’t let me down”, as he wiggles the blade up and down her torso, before shockingly cutting the hell out of her. Brutally grim scene.
I don’t want to spoil this classic video nasty so I’m not going to say anything about the film’s climax. However, it does take the savage tone of the film to an ultimate high.
Fans of European horror and exploitation will have a field day with the many familiar faces. Of course, there’s the incredible David Hess, who is well known in North America, as well as Europe for his roles in such respected films as HITCH HIKE (1978). Giovanni Lombardo Radice is no stranger either. He’s been in such graphic horrors as the vomit inducing CANNIBAL FEROX (1981), Lucio Fulci’s CITY OF THE LIVING DEAD (1980) (aka. THE GATES OF HELL), CANNIBAL APOCALYPSE (1980), and the fantastic slasher/gialli STAGE FRIGHT (1987). Lorraine De Selle was also in CANNIBAL FEROX, as well as other unpleasant outings such as the controversial Laura Gemser film EMANUELLE IN AMERICA (1976), Bruno Mattei’s SS EXTERMINATION CAMP (1977), and WILD BEASTS (1982). Annie Belle, who happens to be a total babe, was in Aristide Massaccesi’s ANTHROPOPHAGUS 2 (1981) (aka. MONSTER HUNTER), and Christian Borromeo was in Dario Argento’s TENEBRAE (1982). Lot’s of well know Euro-cult stars in this one.
The only other thing I can say about this take no prisoners, in your face film is that it is incredibly acted by Hess and Radice. They play their parts to the fullest and both give realistic performances worthy of praise.
So, if you want a film that breaks taboos and doesn’t say no, seek out HOUSE ON THE EDGE OF THE PARK. Director Ruggero Deodato may be ashamed of the film, but I’m proud to have this relic of a bygone day of film making in my collection. Memorable stuff.
If you have Showtime, you know the basics of Stargate. But just in case you don’t…After a brief prologue set in 8,000 B.c., we open in 1928. A team of archeologists working in Egypt uncover huge burial stones, ornately-carved with untranslatable hieroglyphs. And under the stones, they find something even more ornate and interesting…
If there’s a tag-line less appealing than “from writer of 
If I may paraphrase a respected Movie Scientist: Ed Wood is a warning. A warning to all of us. When mankind falls into conflict with reality, monstrous films are born. Shambling, pitiful things that beg to be put down harder than Seth Brundle. Wood is also one of the strangest celebrities of the twentieth century. Ignored in his own time, he became famous for the worst reasons two years after his death. In 1980, the right-wing fellow traveler and PBS movie critic Michael Medved named him the Worst Director of All Time, and awarded tonight’s picture the undeserved title of Worst Film Ever Made.
