VOYAGE OF THE ROCK ALIENS (PRISM - 1984)

Holy Christ, I don’t even know where to begin. Before I attempt to dig into this meatball, I must state that the absolute worst part about this movie is Pia Zadora and that carp-mouthed bellowing she passes off for singing. I do not understand how this foul dwarf achieved fame, and the fact that she was a sex symbol at one point is revolting to me. The only thing slightly more disgusting than Zadora's Penthouse spread would be the prospect of a Yeardley Smith sex tape.

In my search to discover how she achieved her fame, I trolled the extensive pop culture knowledge of good friend Gerard Cosloy of sports blog Can't Stop The Bleeding. This is what I got in response to my question, "just who the fuck does Pia Zadora think she is?":

"Pia Zadora was a z-list actress with a zillionaire, aging husband. In one of her first movie roles (Butterfly), she won a Golden Globe for "best newcomer" award despite a shitty appearance in a film no one saw. Her husband [had] wined and dined the voters on his yacht. For years the award was cited as evidence that the Golden Globes had no credibility. Over time, she kind of became a running joke -- frequent punchline on Carson, etc. She used the notoriety to her advantage, taking on commercials that played on her ditzy/no-talent image. Later in life she was cast in one or two John Waters movies in small parts. She was sort of the Paris Hilton/Kardashian of her era in that she was famous for being famous for being famous for sucking. However, because she took the abuse with considerable grace (keep in mind this was before blogs and Twitter) she actually fashioned something close to a favorable public reputation despite no one actually remembering any of her work."

Ah, Mr. Cosloy drops the mortar with the bricks here. I can finally start to put this thing together now. Unfortunately a lot of sources that detail Zadora's career neglect to mention factoids such as her husband's income bracket. Anyway, onto "Voyage of the Rock Aliens."

This hernia-inducing box of “what the fuck” opens with a Flying-V shaped space craft cruising through outerspace while blasting "Openhearted" by Real Life. I see this, and I’m kind of thinking, “Fuck yeah! This is alright! I can get down with this!” At the helm of the ship, a robot pilot scans nearby planets for some sign of life. He gets a hit and looks through the scope to see this:

It’s a post apocalypse-themed music video for the Jermaine Jackson song “When The Rain Begins to Fall” featuring Pia Zadora! I'm freaking out, about to have an aneurysm of joy, thinking, "holy shit, Jermaine is the leader of an apocalypse motorcycle gang, and he's going to have to fight aliens -- this is going to be the most amazing thing I have ever seen!" But then the video ends and so do my hopes and dreams of this being a truly amazing experience. Sadly, this is not a set up for the whole movie, even though it SHOULD HAVE BEEN! It was right under their noses. Unfortunately, the video was actually shot after this movie was filmed and later tacked for the release, so I can't really point fingers at anyone for missing the boat.

The Robot scans another planet, which is far less promising than the previous. Pia’s here too for some reason, but instead of Jermaine she’s backed by some horrible Stray Cats rip-off by the name of the Pack. Throughout the duration of the movie, all I can think is that this would have been a much better movie had it featured the Pack from Germany.

So, the ship’s occupants, a bunch of Devo wannabe’s by the name of Rhema, decide that this must be the place and quickly beam down in a phone booth, ala Bill and Ted. Once there, they wind up clashing with the strict regime of the Pack and their domineering manager Frankie, played by Craig Sheffer. Pia, who also happens to be Frankie’s girlfriend, soon catches the eye of the Rhema’s leader, and sparks fly. There’s not much in terms of plot, but the dancing and singing comes in relentless, two-ton slabs throughout the course of this bottom of the barrel sci-fi spoof, and it all ends without much of a conclusion.

Bottom line, this is a wretched effort. I can't call it bad because its intentions to be a campy tribute to 1950s drive-in culture are very apparent. They're trying to make a "good-bad" movie. However, they fail at the good. In fact, there is virtually no good about this movie. Bad can redeem itself -- it can even contain goodness. The humor is not good. The actors seem uncomfortable. The production value looks below sitcom scale. The bulk of the music, which isn't even rock, is merciless in its abundance and illogically littered throughout the film. What little story there is gets continually sacked by terrible, out-of-nowhere dance numbers. This wasn't really so much a viewing for me as it was a suffering. I felt a wide range of emotions while enduring this thing, from violent impatience to sadness. However, there was one scene that saved me from the brink of meltdown. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Craig Sheffer.

This is so bad it's fucking amazing! This is a mighty kraken in a virtual sea of "whatever!" The funniest thing about this is that the song itself is fucking awful. It's so bad that at first I thought it must really be Craig Sheffer singing it, but then I learned that HE ISN’T! Sheffer is actually lip syncing to the song which is performed by Michael Bradley of Paul Revere & The Raiders, which actually might make it twenty times more amazing than it was.

The only things really worth visiting from this film are the “Nature of the Beast” number as well as the “When The Rain Begins to Fall” video, which was basically inserted into the film after it was shot. The song actually does appear later in movie, with Sheffer lip syncing to Jermaine’s part while he and Zadora piss all over the fourth wall.

Originally the film was not written as a musical. In fact, it was intended to be an ultimate homage to b-movie culture. The premise of a town crawling with supernatural activity is a warm and fuzzy one, and was more likely intended to come off like the fantastic cult comic “Creepsville.” But the common tragedy of producers with bright ideas and little creativity struck hard here, and it was their hand that sewed a colostomy bag filled with the pungent influence of 1978’s “Grease” to the back of this mess. Ultimately, this thing is a top to bottom atrocity. Sadly, this was also Ruth Gordon’s last film – a sour note to go out on. Michael Berryman also provides a glimmer of decency as an escaped lunatic. Still there’s not much that will redeem this experience.

Here’s the theatrical trailer, though this movie didn’t really get a theatrical run.

HELL HIGH (1986)

I’d have to classify this one as another "little movie that could," because in spite of the fact that a lot of die-hard horror junkies have crucified "Hell High" repeatedly, it really isn't as terrible as they say. In fact, it's not anywhere near terrible. If you think this is an awful experience, then you've been comprehensively sheltered by your mother's rack. You want to see some bullshit? Sit through the first six "Witchcraft" films with a "Demonoid" chaser, and then come back to this one. That shit load will tatter your patience like gasoline would an infant kidney and expand your understanding of what bad truly is. I don't give a fuck what Joe Bob Briggs says: if you call this movie bad, then you have a shallow barometer when it comes to your understanding of awful cinema.

The performances are above par for a low budget genre film, and it achieves a rich atmosphere. One of the things that elevates the value of "Hell High" is that the depth of characterization isn't typically what you find in horror films. I'm not saying this movie is some Mike Leigh shit, but it's still far more than what you typically get in movies like this. There are a lot of things that lift this movie above the average curve, so I'm just not sure why people hate it. Granted, there are a few retarded things that defy logic, but they seem to awaken a craven blood lust in the common horror fan that makes them wanna bury this movie. It is a seldom occasion that I am pleasantly surprised by a film so bitterly maligned. Most of the time when I approach something that's strongly hated by people I walk away with the impression that the subject at hand isn't really worth hating. But I actually found "Hell High" to be completely charming.

I can understand why most casual film goers might dismiss "Hell High" with a smirk. Most horror films are typically greeted with strong cynicism by general audiences. And on the off chance it's of remarkable quality, the movie will be sifted from the grit and the grime of a classless horror section and upgraded to thriller/suspense. So, when people who joyfully hold hands with a film genre that has become the red-headed step child of the cinematic realm revolt against movies like this, I’m baffled. This film is certainly not without its faults, but it also has some elements that work quite well.

Since acquiring this title as part of a lot I’d won off of eBay, “Hell High” had been collecting dust until very recently. I was in no hurry to see it since I’d been warned about it by friends. But whenever I’d peruse the shelves, my eyes were always attracted to the colorful spine. The box itself almost has a vintage JD schlock look to it. Most every guest that enters my video room almost always inquires about the title. One night last week, my friend Joe and I weren’t exactly having much luck during our routine weekly movie night. We’d tried sitting through a sex comedy bomb called “Pretty Smart,” only to hit eject after its first quarter. I'd never actually had a film with that quotient of nudity suck the life out of me. It was almost like being with a real woman. We sat there, feeling empty for a few minutes before I uttered what has become my usual Wednesday evening catch phrase: "Well, Joe. Pick a movie."

Joe got up, moved to the shelves, and almost immediately grabbed the box and said, "How about Hell High, maaaaan? It looks awesome." For the past month or so, Joe would do this any time I'd ask him to pick a movie, and I would hear this exact phrase up to four times a night. And I would rear from the suggestion, like the tape itself had a sort of psychic stink, and suggest he find something else. The "Pretty Smart" experience had robbed me of any spirit that evening. Thoroughly demoralized, when Joe suggested "Hell High," I sighed, and said, "It can't get much worse, right?" Joe cackled and rubbed his hands together as I slid the tape into the deck.

Joe Ryan is someone whom I’d refer to as extraordinarily pure in some ways. He has absolutely no sense of pretension. While pouring over the various titles in my library, he will often grab things I’d never think of watching even though I own them, and somehow he will convince me that we must see that particular film. Joe has a sort of new born enthusiasm that’s untainted by a bunch of hyper negative shitheads on IMDB. He doesn’t really care what anyone thinks, or about a movie's star rating. All he really understands is if something is fun or not. If the box looks fun, he will give it an opportunity. Having fun does not require a complex understanding of good technical film making. Joe simply seeks to be entertained, and through his enjoyment I’m often made aware of a film’s good points instead of simply focusing on its struggles. Watching a movie with him can be an overwhelmingly positive experience. After sitting through a few tapes with Joe, I began to realize that most people who watch a lot of movies develop a false sense of their own sophistication. They begin to think that a film must be worthy of them. They go into the film with the same mentality an English teacher relies on to grade papers. They lay in wait for errors to occur so they can spring out of their chair, smugly waggling their fingers, which of course makes them feel important. To these people, films are more like opponents in a game of chess instead of entertainment for their benefit. They don't enjoy movies. They use them. I don’t know why, but nothing makes a would-be film snob feel more secure in his meaningless position than tearing a movie to shreds in front of an audience. After all, turning people off is the easiest thing in the world to do.

One of the more common complaints about this film is that the acting is lousy. To the contrary, the performances are actually pretty good. Most of the cast are charismatic enough to entertain and engage. The more sinister characters are somewhat sympathetic. No one's really unlikable. The only problem I had with regard to the characterization is that you don't get enough time to really connect with Maureen Mooney's character, or what's going on inside of her head. The most noteworthy performance comes from Christopher Stryker, who plays the wannabe ring-leader of a would-be gang at the center of this story. Stryker shows great promise here, but unfortunately his career was cut short as he passed away several years after the movie’s filming due complications from AIDS.

The story begins years prior, with young Brooke Storm, ridiculously patterned after Patty McCormack’s Rhoda from “The Bad Seed,” playing out in a rural country side. Quality time with her dollies is interrupted when a pair of free wheeling teens bust into her shed for some heavy petting. When the boy’s advances are rejected, he rips the head off of Brooke’s doll as she watches through a slat in the wall. The teenagers climb back onto their motorcycle, and as they depart, Brooke hurls a pale of “swamp slime” into their faces, which results in a grizzly accident. The prologue is camp to the bone, and it does not do the rest of the film any justice. But still, it’s catchy and fun.

Years later, the unstable Brook is stuck teaching biology to a bunch of ungrateful delinquents at the local high school. Trouble maker Dickens gets disruptive, and Ms. Storm belts him in the mouth for it. Naturally, Dickens demands satisfaction. Christopher Cousins plays Jon-Jon, a guy coping with the disapproval of his former football team mates after quitting mid-season. Dickens capitalizes by wrangling disenfranchised Jon-Jon into his band of misfits, and soon they’re all off to terrorize Mr. Storm with Halloween masks and sacks of swamp slime. Ms. Storm has long been tormented by the deaths she caused so many years ago, and is in a fragile mental state, so they have her freaking out in no time. In the most inexplicably hilarious Scene, one of Brooke’s friends stops by, ceasing the students’ reign of terror. In spite of the fact that the house is covered in swamp slime, the back door being busted out, and her friend on the floor in hysterics, she decides to give her some fucking Quaaludes and leave. This is probably the only time in a movie where Quaaludes were actually used for their practical purpose. However, once the friend leaves, the terrorism resumes, and eventually backfires when Ms. Storm snaps.

While this film is often lumped in with late wave slasher films, it has more in common with something like “Class of 1984.” Vengeful students run amok and terrorize their teacher, which results in the teacher striking back. There are some definite horror elements within the film. It’s definitely not a run-of-the-mill slasher, primarily because of the revenge theme. There is no purely evil masked antagonist slashing through a string of high-as-fuck bangers and mashers. The performances are strong, and there are actual Degrassi-grade characters within the film, which give the situations some weight. "Hell High" further endears with a strange ending that feels like something out of an old E.C. comic. The unfortunate re-title to “Hell High” from the far more evocative “What Do You Want To Do Tonight?” almost prevents you from thinking you could get something brighter. I can see why some folks might have been disappointed if they were expecting a by-numbers slasher film set against "Grease." Fuck, I'd like to see that myself. However, "Hell High" is still fun. It doesn’t shake the foundation of the genre, but it does achieve an atmosphere worthy of any cold, damp night.

Thanks goes to FaggotSmasher for the trailer.

I KNOW WHERE YOU HIDE THINGS

The will of the lord continued to bring me down the other week, when my AC unit flooded my den, which is also where I built my in-house video shop. I entered one morning to the awful sensation of icy, soggy carpeting squish up between my toes -- only slightly less unsettling than feeling warm animal barf under your foot pad. So, I immediately called maintenance over to deal with the problem after moving some furniture out of the way so they could rip up the carpeting. One of the main problem areas was a wall with built in book cases. Beneath these cases are built in cabinets, which I actually keep blocked off with a bar which houses all my glass ware, as I am a tremendous alcoholic. Anyway, I’ve never really paid much mind to the cabinet, but that day I had to move the bar and actually open the cabinet to clear some of the water out. And much to my surprise, the cabinet was not empty. In fact, I found a cluster of VHS tapes tucked away along the top shelf, safe from potential water damage. This was a bizarre batch of fortune.

The first tape in the batch was the Sinister Cinema copy of the incredibly luscious spaghetti nightmare “The Night Evelyn Came Out of the Grave.” This thing drips morbid mood.

The next was a big box PRISM copy of “Girl in Room 2A,” which I have actually never seen before. The plot has something to do with a young girl on parole who moves into a house run by a murderous cult.

Yet another major surprise, a pretty sweet copy of New World’s “Reform School Girls,” starring Wendy O. Williams from the Plasmatics. I don’t think I’ve ever seen this movie uncut. However, the Unruly Gent recently stole this on DVD and seems to remember there being much more nudity.

I haven’t seen “Assault of the Killer Bimbos” in years, but I remember being pretty depressed by it. By the names and the packaging you think you're going to get a balanced ratio of tits, shitty jokes, and violence. Instead, you get a brain damaged "Thelma and Louise." The YouTube trailer contains a brilliant comment from user ctdsnark: “to all lovers of trash cinema: SKIP THIS – there’s no “assault” and they don’t “kill” anybody. There’s barely any nudity. The biggest disappointment since 'Nice Girls Don’t Explode.'" This is an insult to the year 1988, but I'll take it. But for some reason, some people will pay a lot of money for this piece of shit.

And lastly, I was most excited to find “The Baby,” a super fucking bizarre movie about a family that’s stunted the development of one of their members, thus keeping him in an infant state even though the dude is 21 fucking years old. Sounds crazy, sure, but shit like this actually occurs once in a while. In 1970, California authorities discovered a child known as Genie who’d been isolated for most of her 13 years. She was pretty much still in an infant stage of development when they found her. I always thought that Genie’s story had some influence on “The Baby.”

This movie does go out of its way to be sensitive, but it winds up making some really fucked up stuff more accessible. Usually, movies of this nature are poorly made, either by virtue of incompetence or because someone is rushing to complete the project. "The Baby" is probably one of the most technically sound fucked up movies I have seen. The film also features strong performances from its cast, most notably from Ruth Roman, who absolutely slays in the role of Baby's mother, Mrs. Wadsworth.

Check out this bizarre clip:

Truly an odd batch of films to find tucked away in some obscure part of my home, and also strangely relevant to me. I can almost forgive the previous tenant for leaving a giant turd in the toilet when they moved out.