The Unseen #49: The Trip

Why’d I Buy It?: Came in the Roger Corman Boxset I Purchased (Last One Of These!)

Why Haven’t I Watched It?: Indifference.

How Was It?: There is a problem inherent in making any movie about psychedelic. As anyone who has ever dabbled in it even the slightest bit knows, any hallucinations in the Beatles sense of the word is completely secondary to the profound shift in perception that occurs in the user.

(Not entirely accurate)

In other words what’s remarkable isn’t so much that you would meet a clown with the face of a fish who speaks in the voice of your dead auntie. Its that this would not surprise you at all. But it's not even really about that either, its about the sense of connectedness, seeing behind the makings of things however temporarily. A sense of profundity. However fleeting it ultimately silly it may feel in the harsh light of sobriety.

So basically no matter how many fish eyed lens, vibrant colors, quick zoom ins and zoom outs, or how much you shoot in Widescreen without anamorphically adjusting the image you’re never going to capture that intangible feeling. Which is why so many of the most famous psychedelic movies, Fantasia, 2001, The Fountain, have absolutely nothing to do with Psychedelia.

Instead, you’re going to just waste your time and effort looking really really silly.

Which is as you may have guessed exactly what happens in The Trip.

The kind of movie were people do things like were Nehru Jackets and speak lines like “Hey don’t bogart that joint!” whilst wearing them, all without even the slightest whiff of irony..

Peter Fonda plays a young executive suffering from malaise (were there any other kind in the sixties). He procures some acid from Dennis Hopper (always a dicey proposition at best) and with Bruce Dern as his spiritual guide (once again, always a dicey proposition at best) he wanders out into the night on the Sunset Strip. A Place where young nude painted dancers gyrate wildly to music provided by a band called Electric Flag. Brightly colored strobe lights flicker and everything is always canting CANTING CANTING!!! He also wanders in and out of random peoples homes. Giving long winded musings about commercialism, sex and women’s lib. Some are so pleased to find Peter Fonda stoned out of his ever loving gobstobber has deigned to stumble into their home and drop his science that they have no choice but to have sex with him. I have a feeling he would have less success if he tried this now.

Also Bruce Dern pulls him naked from a pool.

It all culminates in the hallucinogenic “Trip” of the title. In which Dennis Hopper wearing purple velvet menaces Fonda as he rides a carousel (Man I’ve been there) and then Fonda looks at pictures of Che Guevera, Sophia Loren, and Khalil Gibran (one of those things is not like the other) with mounting horror until he screams “BAY OF PIGS!!!”

It’s all profoundly inexplicable.

As you might have surmised The Trip is a pretty big turkey. But I think its almost impossible not to have fun with. It’s goofy as you can get, and calling it a time capsule does damage to the right honorable and venerable tradition of Time Capsules.

But every once in awhile it is nice to remember that for however briefly there was a time when Nehru Jackets and a band called Electric Flag were both the very height of cool.

31 Days Of Horror: Day 22: The Unseen #42: The Premature Burial

Why’d I Buy It?: Came with the Roger Corman Boxset I purchased.

Why Haven’t I Watched It?: It’s a Corman Poe picture that doesn’t star Vincent Price. Which is like Bruce Springsteen without the E Street Band. Yes The Ghost Of Tom Joad is a very nice album, but no one’s is ever going to confuse it with Darkness On The Edge Of Town or Tunnel Of Love.

How Was It?: Well, better then I expected in segments, and worse in others.

The story as you might have surmised from the title, follows Ray Milland playing a man with a morbid fear of being buried alive. The film is called The Premature Burial, no points for guessing what happens.

I don’t think anyone would argue terribly strenuously, if I said that this is the least of Corman’s Poe Films. It lacks both the frenzied lurid intensity, hallucinogenic color saturated style and strange unearthly beauty of The House Of Usher, Tomb Of Ligeia, and The Masque Of The Red Death. Only Milland’s perfunctory “Drawings O’ Satan” really even wave in this direction.

Furthermore, Milland, though a fine actor in his own right just doesn’t quite hit that same wavelength of melodrama without camp that Price maintained throughout The Poe films.

Worse, the film is narratively disjointed, even for a Corman film. Though all of the Poe Picutures had to leap through all sorts of odd narrative hoops in order to drag their twenty to thirty page source materials into feature length. The Premature Burial takes this to the extreme.

It’s understandable, unlike the other Poe storys which at least give small opportunity to expansion, there’s really not much to deal with in original The Premature Burial. A fellow is buried, it’s a touch premature, he deals with the consequences of this. Oh hey it turns out he was actually on a ship, and just randomly lost his shit. Have fun turning that into 90 minutes, with a poster to bring in the drive in crowd.

So yeah, there’s a whole bunch of filler. Milland builds an elaborate premature burial proof tomb, just so he can destroy it in the subsequent scene. Dark family secrets are disclosed just so they can be forgotten. Long elaborate hallucinogenic nightmare scenes take place just so the film can get that much closer to feature length. Etc. Etc.

This unpredictable plotting ends up being the film’s secret weapon when (minor spoilers) the film, apropos to nothing suddenly morphs into “Raymond Milland’s Badass Revenge” (AKA Ray Milland Brings The Pain) in its last fifteen minutes. Dishing out some a Bride level of hurting bombs to all how have injured and annoyed him over the course of the runtime.

That’s fucking badass.

The Premature Burial belongs to that odd class of movies, that I can’t recommend but would never dissuade anyone from seeing. While there’s a lot that doesn’t work, there’s a lot that does, including the burial itself and the afore mentioned final fifteen minutes. It probably works best when viewed as a variation on Corman’s Poe films, which in all fairness is exactly what it is and will probably play best with foreknowledge of said same.

It doesn’t work in the usual ways, but it works in some very unusual ones.

The Unseen #30: Gasssssss

Why’d I Buy It?: Came in the Roger Corman Boxset I bought.

Why Haven’t I Watched It?: Its tucked away in the corners of said Roger Corman Boxset. Its reputation is less then sterling. I just never got around to it.

How Was It?: Not bad actually. Going into Gas there is one thing you have to know. It is a movie made by complete fucking hippies, for complete fucking hippies. A Gas is released that kills everyone over twenty five. Resulting in a world ruled by well, complete fucking hippies.

Gas is a pretty naked attempt to capture the post Easy Rider zeitgeist (and profits therein) of hippie kids with Camera’s fucking around (Corman acts as director here, making his ability to capture said zeitgeist oddly impressive). The film has a colorful aesthetic and an appealing slapdash feel that doesn’t quite overstay its welcome. Despite the fact that by all rights it really should.

The film has a slapdash lets put on a show vibe. Not even reaching eighty minutes, and padding itself out with scenes like its opener, where an “animated” John Wayne like general and a scientist argue for about ten minutes before accidentally releasing the titular Gas. (Placing in the film’s padding contest a distant second to its, “Oh fuck, watch this band play.” That it desperately tries to fill time with)

The film doesn’t have a plot per se its more of a sketch comedy, with only the slightest of overreaching plots separating it from The Groove Tubes of the world.. But is mostly a loosely connected series of incidents, ranging from banal, a gunfight where the fighters cry out the names of Western Heroes while shooting at each other. To actually pretty funny, such as their adventure in a small Colorado town that has been turned into a paramilitary cult run as a zealous football team. Led by a despot who uses a combination of Religious mania and Ra Ra tactics to inspire his team to burn El Paso to the ground. Not that would be, you know, a bad thing.

The film stars pre fame Bud Cort and Talia Shire, who both do strong, if a little stoned seeming work.

Gas is a film that has aged poorly. . Which makes is both the key to its charm (hippies) and other less recommendable attributes (Including what must be the single most tasteless consequence free Rape Joke I have ever seen).

Its tough to imagine anyone getting anything out of Gas on more then a purely academic or ironic basis, but I have to admit I kind of like it. Don’t mistake that as a recommendation. Perhaps more then any other film I’ve written about YOUR MILEAGE WILL VARY dependent upon how much you like weird shit. It might not be what you would call a good movie. But it’s such an odd little artifact, like all of Corman’s film an accidentally meticulous record of its time and place. What can be said except, Groovy.

The Unseen #29: The Young Racers

Time For Another Installment In Things That Don’t Suck’s Red Headed Step Child. THE UNSEEN!!!

(For once you will get EXACTLY what the poster promises)

Why’d I Buy It? : Included in the Roger Corman Box set I bought.

Why Haven’t I Watched It ?: To quoth Murderface The Young Racers lacks a certain zazz. There’s nothing WRONG with The Young Racers but when its placed next to the lurid delights of something like Bloody Mama, X The Man With X Ray Eyes, or A Bucket Of Blood, The Young Racers can’t help but look a little anemic.

How Was It? : Interesting. The Young Racer’s isn’t a movie I would call good. But based on the way it acts as both a perfect example of and exception to Corman’s work, makes it a must see for any fan of his.

The film follows a kind of douchey professional racer touring the European circuit. He’s basically kind of an asshole and seems to be suffering from both raging narcissism and a half formed death wish. He’s befriended by a young journalist/novelist/would be race, who joins up with the racer’s entourage made up of his resentful brother, bored wife, willing groupies, and assorted hangers on. But does the young journalist have a, DUH DUH DAAAAA, ulterior motive.

On one level it’s a total fulfillment of the Corman Formula. Find a gimmick (racing). Find an exotic location (Europe). Go on from there.

On the other hand, The Young Racers feels atypical of Corman. For one thing, it doesn’t look cheap. The racing sequences have a real feeling of scope and speed, most of them are set not in tracks but on city streets, which presumably had to be blocked off, so as not to kill the pedestrians. For another, Corman pads the film with footage of his disaffected young cast walking around Mediterranean villa’s saying vaguely angsty things to one another. The result looking uncannily like a Roger Corman produced Antonionni film.

The real problem with the film is that its cast is deeply unappealing. With neither the star in his fading twilight years, nor brash up and comer that Corman was usually able to provide to anchor the picture, we’re left watching a bunch of bland people participating in skullduggery between the heats.

Who do we root for? The vain preening ass hat veteran? Or the callow non entity journalist? Or should we ally our sympathies with the vapid Euro hotties who Corman owed a favor to. Like Hitler versus Stalin whoever wins humanity ultimately loses.

Still despite the utter lack of any rooting interest Young Racers remains an appealing watch. The racings scenes are in themselves worthwhile. And in the era of the queasy cam its almost obscenely gratifying to watch a film made by someone who knows the value of relative motion. Plus its kind of fascinating to watch a filmmaker as thoroughly attuned to Midwestern sensibilities as Corman deliver his version of swinging sixties Euro Sophistication. Its like watching a Hee Haw episode centered around La Dolce Vita. Where Stock Cars, decadence and ennui meet on equal footing. On second thought this movie is kind of glorious.

Piranha 2: The Spawning

Having never seen Piranha 2, James Cameron’s debut film, I decided to use the current Navi obsession sweeping the nation as an opportunity to check out Piranha 2. After all this is James Cameron we’re talking about, teamed with Roger Corman. This is also Piranha we’re talking about, possibly my all time favorite movie to come from the Corman stable.

The orginal Piranha is a wicked black comedy/creature feature from Joe Dante. Infused by Dante’s anarchic sensibilities, possessing a likable cast, scripted by the absurdly over qualified John Sayles, and with a vein of exceedingly nasty black comedy (Kids and Puppies, not safe) Piranha is simply put a great time at the movies. With a similarly over qualified pedigree could a neglected little masterpiece be hiding behind the cheesy title and bargain basement production values?

No.

Still I liked it better then Avatar. I’m being facetious, (or am I?) but Piranha 2 is such a bizarrely incompetent film, bungling on so many level’s that I’d would be surprised the director managed to learn to tie his shoes on his own, never mind becoming the man I consider to be one of the greatest cinematic innovators of all time.

In terms of acting, production values, and scripting, Piranha 2 is barely a step above porn, and it features about as much nudity and sex as your average porno as well. The film starts out with a couple engaging in some vigorous underwater fucking only to be eaten by large angry fish. As promising of an opening that may be, the film falls into a disappointing lull from which it never recovers. Hope you enjoyed that shot of mutant piranahas because it’s the last time you’re going to see them for about forty minutes.

The rest of the film is spent at a hoighty toity tropical beach resort where we get to watch the wacky antics of whoever wandered onto the set that day. Most of the film follows Lance Henrikson (playing a standard hero which is a bit like watching Christopher Walken play a romantic lead) as the resort’s harbor cop who must stop the mutant Piranahas, his estranged wife as the diving instructor who stumbles upon the mutant Piranha’s, and their annoying moppety son whose taking a rich family out on a boat tour and is often in danger of being eaten by the mutaunt Piranhas.

When I say it takes a long time to get to the Piranahas I mean it takes alooooooonnnnggg time to get to the Piranahas. We instead get to watch the antics of the Islanders which are broad even by Corman standards. Including Gold diggers! Old Horny Women! Bikini Clad Grifters! Jovial Rastafarian Dynamite Fishermen! And a Manager who describes everything in disturbingly graphic sadio masochistic terms! Thank God we have their shennagins or else we might have been forced to watch boring stuff. You know like killer mutant flying fish!

Of course when the piranhas do attack its hardly an improvement, the chintzy effects and laughable amateurish acting creating a nightmarish litany of scenes like this.



And This



OK that last one was pretty cool

Yes as you may have gathered the Piranha’s have no problem being mobile on land for reason’s too stupid to relate..

Thanks to such scenes where Henrikson crashes his helicopter with little reason Piranha 2 does in the end work as camp if nothing else. Barely. As much as I hate to admit it Piranha 2: The Spawning Is an entertaining film, but not something I’d attempt with less then six beers on hand.

The Unseen #20: Bloody Mama

Why’d I Buy It?: Came in the Roger Corman boxset. I picked up.

Why Haven’t I Watched It?: Well here’s the thing, I hate Shelley Winters. I mean I really hate Shelley Winters. I’ve never been one to shy away from Kitsch, but God damn, something about that braying queen bothers me. Like a proto Juliet Lewis, she infects movies I love. I have to flinch through the opening twenty of Night Of The Hunter, and Harper. She’s the reason Lolita is my least favorite Kubrick Movie.

Since Bloody Mama is a Shelley Winter’s vehicle this poses something of a problem. But at the same time I was curious. Its one of De Niro’s first movies, even predating Hi Mom (Though not Greetings). It’s a twenties Gangster movie, AND a Southern one, both subgenre’s I have an affection for. And it’s the Cinematic Paterfamilis of the far superior Boxcar Bertha. So I couldn’t help but be curious.

How Was It?: Bloody Mama gets to a pretty fucked up start with an old man raping his grade school aged daughter. Which even by exploitation film standard is a pretty inauspicious start. This for some reason inspires her to start a big family, one CW song later and we have Shelley Winters in all her drag queen glory lording over a gaggle of Rednecks including a young Robert DeNiro.

Before you can say naked Bathtub wash, Winters is defending her boys against a true accusation of Gang Rape. Now look I liked a fucked up exploitation movie as much as the next guy, Hell I praised the trailer for The Rape Killer, I liked the Candy Snatchers, in a kind of slack jawed stunned way, fer Christ sakes. But man Bloody Mama’s got one pretty fucked up Moral Compass. I suppose its supposed to be somewhat ironic, there’s a scene where Winter’s praises The KKK’s infamous march on Washington. But still the movie feels genuinely dirty. As an exploitation movie should I suppose. And that’s before prison rape.

The movie doesn’t have so much of a plot as it does a bunch of shit that happened.

Still despite Winter’s cawing at the center of nearly every scene (And voiceover too Jesus Christ) there is a lot to recommend Bloody Mama. Despite the fact that it was obviously done as cheap as it could possibly be, there’s a lot of fun period detail to the film. And though Corman’s better known as a producer as a director, there’s a certain something to work behind the lens. Though Corman has films where he can be accused of lazy direction, when he gave a fuck he was an energetic and innovative director. He showcases it here, splitting the difference between Altmanesque intimacy in some scenes and out and out exploitation in others. Sometimes like in a conversation carried out during a sex scene in a moving car he combines both.

Look Bloody Mama’s not perfect, its not even good. But if you want a genuinely corrupt exploitation experience there’s nothing that fits the bill better.