Cut and Run (1985)

Ruggero Deodato’s Cut and Run (aka Inferno in Diretta aka Straight to Hell) opens with a vicious attack on a jungle drug lab by loincloth-clad natives led by topless madman, Quecho (Michael Berryman).  Waiting in the wings for the narcotics is Colonel Horn (the late Richard Lynch) and his amphibious plane.  Meanwhile in Miami, reporters Fran (the late Lisa Blount) and Mark (Leonard Mann) stumble upon another drug-related massacre while investigating a smuggling ring.  The duo talk their way into a travel assignment to probe deeper on the premise that their search will also turn up TV exec Bob’s (Richard Bright) missing scion Michael (Willie Aames).  Naturally, this is a great idea, and will turn out just fine and dandy.

Cut and Run is an Action film.  It is a Cannibal film (in texture if not content).  It is a Survival film.  It is a Cult film (in the zealotry sense of the word).  You’ll notice that’s a lot of influences.  You’ll also notice that sounds like an awful lot to try and pack into a ninety minute film.  And you would be right.  For as much as this is any one of the things it wants to be at any given point in its runtime, it doesn’t completely satisfy that facet before it leaps to the next one.  The film begins with a strong action scene.  The natives and Quecho are brutal, terrifying in their animal ferocity, yet the filmmakers cut around some of the “money shots.”  They take the time to show the natives strip and attack two women and then cut away at the moment of their fate.  Yes, we get an aftermath shot, but it feels like a whole lot of build up to not much payoff.  And this is the general approach to almost every scene in the film.  It’s not simply that they exit scenes early.  They exit scenes prematurely, and so the viewer is left dangling.  Interestingly, there are some extremely graphic splatter effects later in the film.  Yet, what they chose to show and what they chose to edit around is baffling, because it doesn’t feel motivated in the slightest.  Coming from a director who is best known for one of the most notorious Splatter films ever (Cannibal Holocaust, in case you were wondering), this backing off on the grue is a letdown.

Further to this, the hopscotch approach by the filmmakers is a detriment to the narrative.  For example, Michael cares for fellow prisoner Ana (Valentina Forte).  He watches her be used for the pleasure of any man Vlado (John Steiner) wishes.  He does nothing to stop this (and it should be noted, Aames’ character does little more than mewl whenever he’s on screen).  He connects with her afterward in a very cursory way.  They get split up.  They meet their individual fates.  The various arcs in the film have beginnings and endings, but they lack any real sense of development before they finish.  Consequently, there is no resonance and very little gratification.  And this doesn’t just apply to Michael and Ana’s story.  The whole reason the audience is willing to take the journey to the jungle in the first place is because we want to see what Horn and his minions are planning.  But even after we get any kind of an explanation, we still have no idea what the hell is going on; the reason given is as nebulous as the course Fran and Mark followed to get there.  It’s like having a comic book with all but the first two and last two pages torn out, and the last two are sliced down the middle besides.  The art may be appealing.  What writing you take in may be entertaining, but that doesn’t change your feeling of being cheated (or maybe just frustrating your desire for completion).  With a little bit more connective tissue, a tiny bit more fleshing out, and a tighter focus on the end goal, this could have been a great film.  Inexplicably, what the film does give you is certainly enjoyable up to a point.  However, by continually pulling the rug out from under our expectations, the film ultimately only ever confounds.  Despite my kvetching, however, I have to say I will almost definitely revisit this film at some point, and I dare say I’ll find something to like when I do.  Nevertheless, anyone coming to this movie for the first time really needs to do so with lowered expectations.

As with Deodato’s aforementioned gutmuncher classic, there is an element in Cut and Run about the media.  When Fran and Mark come upon the initial bloodbath in Florida, they do what we expect from the media: they film a report detailing the carnage, exploiting it.  Later, they will do this again as they send transmissions from the jungle back to America.  Unlike the despicable characters in Cannibal Holocaust, Fran and Mark do not facilitate the butchery they are in the midst of, yet they impassively dwell on it, leer at it.  By following the “if it bleeds, it leads” ethos to the letter, they surrender part of their humanity.  They never really do what’s “right” outside of their documentation of their experiences.  Of course, the viewer becomes complicit in this dehumanization because this is what we want to see from the comfort of our seats.  Additionally, it should be noted that Horn’s interaction with Mark and Fran is a form of punctuation on this.  He has the reporters film his statement of purpose (it doesn’t matter that it’s head-scratchingly vague) because he knows that this is the only way to be heard in this world.  For years, he hid away, believed dead, but Horn understands that through the media his thoughts can live on and perhaps inspire others to follow.  To be fair, this most likely will never happen since his words and deeds seem contradictory and unconvincing, but that he wants his actions filmed for posterity forces viewers to confront how they interact with the media, to some degree or another.

Similarly, there are themes of idolatry.  Horn was a follower of the infamous Jim Jones, and Horn’s own cult among the natives is an extension of that.  Like Kurtz in Heart of Darkness/Apocalypse Now, Horn is, for all intents and purposes, a god to these people.  He understands the value of showmanship to promote his brand of cultism to his select few, but he also appears to be a true believer.  He wants to keep these people “pure,” and he feels that the outside world, especially the media, has brought nothing but contamination into the jungle.  Despite this, Horn claims no ultimate wisdom.  He states, “There are no answers.  Only actions.  By our actions, we are judged, pure or unholy.”  It’s an intriguing enough philosophy on its surface, but how Horn draws it to its final conclusion belies his words.  He thinks he’s showing members of the electronic jury a true path, but what he is actually doing is giving them more of what they want.  I do think the filmmakers have things like this to say in Cut and Run, but the questions they want to raise are muddled by the schizophrenic film that surrounds them.  Like I said, it’s confounding.

MVT:  Deodato is quite adept at manufacturing atmosphere, and Cut and Run certainly has a palpable texture to it.  It’s just laid over top of seriously shaky foundations.

Make or Break:  The opening assault is impressive.  Its culmination is indicative of what to expect: simultaneous highs and lows.

Score:  6.75/10                

Race With The Devil (1975)

I once wrote the single worst short story about a satanic cult ever. I know that (since you read and enjoy my weekly reviews) you can't possibly believe this, but it's true. This was back when I was still very young. It was called "Cultism: Closer Than You Think," and I even decorated the front cover with one of the worst renderings of a satanic cult member ever. Actually, he looked more like a member of the Klan, in retrospect, but that's neither here nor there. The story (in as much as it can be claimed it had one) involved me (did I mention this was written in First Person perspective?) stumbling upon a coven of Satanists in the midst of a blood sacrifice. After a short chase, I wound up spending the night up a tree (much like the plot), and the next morning, the cultists were gone. The end. I swear to you, loyal readers (all five of you), I have never seen this week's film before watching it for this review.

Roger, Frank, Alice, and Kelly (Peter Fonda, Warren Oates, Loretta Swit, and Lara Parker, respectively, and not to be confused with Bob and Carol and Ted and Alice), head out on an early-year vacation in Frank's brand-spanking-new, fully-loaded camper. After some dirt biking and grabassery, Roger and Frank get mildly toasted for the evening. Across the shallow river, fire erupts, and thinly-robed people begin to prance around. Taking a closer peek, the two horndogs think it's just some filthy hippies having a harmless orgy. But when the coven leader (in a very nice mask, by the way) unsheathes the sacrificial dagger and plunges it into an all-too-willing female member, the men suddenly realize they're in some deep crap (sound familiar?). Alice's big mouth (she was "Hot Lips" Houlihan, after all) alerts the cultists to the vacationers presence, and our hapless quartet find themselves, not really in a Race With The Devil, but definitely in a race away from his worshippers. 

The basic story premise for Jack Starrett's film goes all the way back to the pulp magazines of the early twentieth century. Stories about strange cults, the people (usually dames) who espy them doing their dirty business, and the two-fisted shamuses that busted them up (the cults, not the dames…well…) abounded. The Seventh Victim (produced by the legendary Val Lewton and directed by Mark Robson) also dealt with the subject of Satanism in a very personal, very disturbing manner. That it did so in 1943 is, to me, both intriguing and somehow more affecting. Of course, while the viewers of an illicit act are usually decent, normal citizens, the viewees almost always are not, and they are also not exclusively creepy religious zealots. Just look at Hitchcock's Rear Window, Stephen Hopkins's Judgment Night, or Malmuth's Hard To Kill. The act viewed doesn't even need to be criminal in nature, and Park Chan-wook's Oldboy bears this out. Suffice it to say, the basics are a well-trodden path, and like all types, it's what you do with them that counts. Starrett, a very workmanlike but solid director of exploitation fare (as well as being an actor), doesn't go the way one would necessarily expect with the film, and crafts a mostly successful effort. But there are a few bumps in the road, to be sure.

The film is centered on (in fact, is predicated on) the notion of The Gaze, what's seen or not and by whom (audience included). Frank and Roger witness something they weren't supposed to witness, and the chase is on. As the couples are haunted and harried by the cult, we rarely see any overt actions against them onscreen. In essence, this amplifies the tension and suspense, because like a poltergeist or a monster in the closet, we don't know when something is going to pop up to threaten the protagonists. It's not until the third act that the cultists act in a more public fashion to reach their ends. This is also the weakest point in the film from a Horror point of view (even though half the reason for making and watching the movie is to see cars smash into things as well as each other). 

But it's a different facet of how The Gaze can be utilized where I think Starrett and company played their hand very well. Using the Kuleshov Effect (consciously or unconsciously, but I suspect the former, even if they didn't know what it was called), they give us montages of different people everywhere our heroes go juxtaposed against the reactions of the principals (particularly of Kelly), with the reaction shots informing our interpretation of the incessant menace the four find themselves poised against. The shots of the people outside the camper seldom convey any open emotion or intent. That the protagonists feel threatened by nothing (or at least by what a rational person not being hounded by Satanists would consider nothing) plays into the building of tension and adds to the film's edginess. I found it rather odd, then, that no one in the camper ever objected to allowing strangers at gas stations to work on the camper or insisted on double-checking their work afterwards. Perhaps that's part of the plan to get the viewer to shout at the screen and work up some adrenaline. If so, then mission accomplished.

As a Chase film, the film falters a hair. By this point in time, Fonda had done Dirty Mary Crazy Larry as well as Easy Rider and was no stranger to the Road/Chase movie subgenre. Oates, though not as indelibly identified with this type of film, had done what many consider to be one of the best exemplars of it a few years earlier with Two-Lane Blacktop. Plus, he was already very much an icon of badass cinema from his work with Sam Peckinpah in The Wild Bunch and Bring Me The Head Of Alfredo Garcia. One would think that just having these two occupying a vehicle while being pursued by hostile forces would be enough, and maybe had they handled the material differently, it would have. However, in the struggle to serve two masters (both Horror and Chase subgenres), the filmmakers shortchange the latter. Rather than have our heroes constantly on the move, pedal to the metal, hellbent for leather, Starrett instead has the chase paced more leisurely. Consequently, the terror and paranoia angle and the escape angle are at odds throughout the runtime. They never occupy the same space or really tie themselves together completely. The car stunts, when they do come, are handled very well and shot effectively, but there seemed to me to be a bit too much downtime (and a mild air of non-concern from the protagonists) that deflates some of the uneasiness. It's not enough to ruin the film, and there is certainly enough here to satisfy almost anyone. However, as the film crosses the finish line, Race With The Devil feels more like a sprint than a marathon. 
 
MVT: How in the world can I not have Warren Oates as the MVT? The man could say more with that cynical smirk of his or his withering glare than any ten actors could say with three pages of dialogue apiece. 

Make Or Break: Everyone who watches this film is watching it to see the Satanic ritual scene (and, by extension, the action springing from it), and I admit I am one of them. Not as garish as it could have been, it sets a realistic tone that the film embraces right up until the closing frames.

Score: 7/10

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Deathmaster (1972)

Two studio logos always gave me a thrill in my younger days when they would appear on my television screen. The first is Toho's, because it was more often than not followed immediately by the strains of an Akira Ifukube score (or even more exciting, the first few bars of "Save The Earth," as sung by Adryan Russ). This, of course, would be the lead-in to a Godzilla movie, and my ass would be planted for the next two hours. The other was for American International Pictures (the Washington Capital building or the stylized yellow "a" and "i" in a circle, it didn't matter). While AIP were always a bit riskier (they didn't only make monster movies [neither did Toho, but you wouldn't know it from what was seen broadly in America at the time]), you were usually entertained for a couple hours, at least. Our offering this week comes from the latter.

A coffin washes up on a quiet California beach (how Biblical). A curious surfer investigates but is strangled by giant mute, Barbado (LaSesne Hilton), who then drags the coffin off down the beach as the credits roll. Hippies, Pico (Bill Ewing) and Rona (Brenda Dickson), are hanging out with local square, Pop (perpetual nebbish, John Fiedler), when biker, Monk (William Jordan), and his chick, Esslin (Betty Ann Rees), roll into town. When Monk bullies Pop, Pico steps in with some Billy-Jack-esque kung fu, but the youths bond when the fuzz show up, and Monk and Esslin are invited back to the local hippie commune. There, amid all the folk-song-playing, Khorda (Robert Quarry) appears and displays seemingly miraculous powers to the kids. The hippies immediately adopt Khorda as their mentor. Very quickly, however, Khorda's true nature is made clear, and it is left to Pico and Pop to stop the Deathmaster and save his girlfriend.

Even more than being a vampire movie, Ray Danton's Deathmaster deals with the idea of cults. In the early 1970s, Charles Manson and the Tate-LaBianca murders as well as Anton Lavey's controversial Church of Satan were prominent in the public consciousness, and the film picks up on this. Khorda is presented as a bearded, long-haired, charismatic guru. He pontificates about how "to know love, one must first be alive" and about the sanctity of the eternal and so on. It's all gobbledygook in order to inveigle young minds, but at the same time, Khorda seems to believe it (whether or not he actually does is an issue for debate, but either way, Quarry sells it). The hippies sit around prior to Khorda's coming and ponder the meaning of life and try to figure out where their place in the world is. They are, for all intents and purposes, innocents (perhaps incredulously so), but their naïveté helps sell the idea of how easy the seduction of their minds by evil is. 

The only person who doesn't trust Khorda is Monk, but he's also slightly older and portrayed as having been around. Seeing as the film came out after the Manson Family effectively murdered the "Summer of Love" and after the biker movie became passé, it can be viewed as a statement on the end of the hippie movement and the tamping down of outlaw bikers (though much less so this latter aspect). The film is nihilistic and violent and antithetical to the utopian idealism hippies ostensibly held dear. As a matter of fact, it can be argued that Pico's cynicism and distrust is his ultimate strength in the face of evil. Conversely, these same qualities which insure his survival will ultimately doom everything he loves. This theme is punctuated by a metatextual final shot that I suspect Lucio Fulci saw at some point.

That the villain of the piece is a vampire seems to me almost an arbitrary decision. Aside from talking about how long he's been alive, occasionally sprouting fangs, and sleeping in a coffin, Khorda doesn't do a hell of a lot of vampire-y things. The closest he (and the film) comes to being traditionally vampiric is when he seduces Esslin. He caresses her body while whispering of the gift he wants to bestow on her. He doesn't appear in her mirror. When he finally bares his fangs and attacks, Esslin succumbs in a manner moving from rape to ecstasy. When the other hippies are turned, it happens (inexplicably) within minutes. Further, after they're in Khorda's thrall, all they want to do is dance around half-naked, while Barbado slaps the bongos. Interestingly, vampirism in the film can be seen as both a drug and as a holy sacrament. Tragically, not much is done with this idea.

The film is not action-packed, and I'm not so sure it was meant to be. Like any piece dealing with mysticism and spiritual issues, the emphasis is not on the physical. Unfortunately, as a vampire movie, that's something of a mistake. If vampires don't attack humans and drink their blood, they're pretty crap vampires. This is the film's biggest misstep. Even when Pico and Pop make their final raid on the commune, none of the characters seems to want to lay hands on one another. The climax is built on a steady, quiet tension rather than on escalating action. Pico's martial arts skills are never brought into play after his brief scuffle with Monk. Khorda circles around Pico, laughing and taunting rather than attacking. It's almost as if any victory for good or evil should be decided spiritually rather than corporeally. Of course, this metaphysical conflict will have consequences in the physical world in ways that cannot be undone.

And yet, despite its lack of action, despite its tinkering with the accepted rules of vampirism (or arguably enhancing them), Deathmaster is overall an enjoyable movie and a small gem of the horror genre. My personal feeling is that this is due to the all-encompassing, nihilistic feel the film is steeped in. There is no escape from the darkness, and self-indulgent indecision and childlike trust will prove destructive to both body and soul. These facets, to me at least, are more intriguing and frightening than getting bitten by a monster or stabbed by a madman. Annihilation of the self is the truth of horror, I feel. The filmmakers here do a great job of making this point, even if the film itself doesn't hold together one hundred percent under the weight of its genre trappings. 

MVT: Robert Quarry does a marvelous turn as the mellifluous wolf-in-sheep's-clothing. You can tell he believes everything he says, and his performance sells the fact that the character has been around almost since time began. 

Make or Break: The "Make" is the opening on the beach. It's quiet, creepy, violent, and surreal, and it adroitly sets the tone for the film.

Score: 7.25/10