4/2/14: Man Behaving Very Badly

Tags

Andy Sidaris, Antonia Dorian, auteur theory, B-movies, bad movies, Chopping Mall, cinema, Clay Westervelt, Deathstalker II, documentaries, exploitation films, Film auteurs, film reviews, filmmaking basics, films, Glori-Anne Gilbert, Jim Wynorski, Julie K. Smith, Julie Strain, Lloyd Kaufman, Louis Jourdan, misanthropic, misogyny, Monique Parent, Movies, Popatopolis, Roger Corman, scream queens, soft-core, The Bare Wench Project, The Haunting of Morella, The Witches of Breastwick, writer-director-producer

When I was a young’un, I received my cinematic education from the same sorts of places from whence this humble blog is named: the video stores (both corporate and mom-n-pop) which once used to dot this great land of ours. In those bygone days before the internet, movie blogs or Netflix, anyone interested in trashy, exploitational or out-there films had one good option: hit up your local video store and browse the stacks. How did you know if you’d found a good one? Well, in the days before identical box/poster art swept through film-land like a wildfire (standing figure, semi-profile pose, back to the camera, red and yellow color scheme, floating faces on the horizon, yadda yadda yadda), you usually knew you had someone worth watching because the box-art would make your young brain explode with possibilities.

I can’t count the number of times that I walked up and down those endless, identical rows of endless, identical little rectangular cases, picking up one after the other until I finally found an image that sent my reptilian senses soaring. Taking my treasure home, I would often be confronted with one of my first real lessons as a kid: never judge a VHS tape by its cover. Just as often, however, I would be presented with something that actually lived up to the promise of its cover. One of these early discoveries was a brilliant little film called Chopping Mall, which bears the distinction of having one of my favorite “old school” covers (as well as one of my favorite taglines): a robotic hand holds a brown-paper shopping sack full of various body-parts, while the tagline reminds us that “Shopping costs an arm and a leg.” Indeed!

 

This little gem ended up being full of all the things that a growing young boy needs: copious T & A, lots of gratuitous gore, killer robots and tons of dumb action. Who was the genius behind this inspirational little film? Why, none other than one of the undisputed masters of trash/exploitation cinema: Jim Wynorski. Over the years, I’ve seen many, many Wynorski films, some without even realizing they were his, thanks to his various pseudonyms (one of my favorites being “HR Blueberry”). I’d never seen any behind-the-scenes or documentary footage of Wynorski, however, until I viewed Clay Westervelt’s Popatopolis. This look into how Wynorski makes one of his old-fashioned exploitationers in this modern-day and age is a warts-and-all look at a filmmaker that I’ve enjoyed quite a bit over the years. The unfortunate takeaway, however? Sometimes, it’s better not to peek at the wizard behind the curtain.

Westervelt’s documentary, which takes its name from Wynorski’s frequent request of actresses that they “pop those tops,” follows the no-budget auteur as he sets out to do something he’s never done before: shoot a complete film in only three days with just a couple of crew members. The film in question is The Witches of Breastwick, however, so the deck already seems pretty stacked in his favor. Wynorski’s films since the 2000s have tended to favor porn actors/actresses over actual actors/actresses, which is a good thing since his directorial style has tended towards “point-and-shoot.” Combined with his tendency to shoot one-take of everything, Wynorski tends to put quite a bit of film in the can (metaphorically speaking), so finishing a no-budget, crappy film parody in three days doesn’t seem particularly impossible. And it’s not, as we see over the course of the film. From what we can see, however, it’s also not particularly pleasant, least of all for the poor performers stuck with Wynorksi for those three days.

The film is composed of two separate but intrinsically linked parts: talking head interviews with Wynorski peers like Andy Sidaris, Roger Corman and Lloyd Kaufman and the actual behind-the-scenes footage of the Witches of Breaswick shoot. The talking head portions are definitely the highlight of the film (at least for me) since they give an interesting perspective into where Wynorski started (as a Production Assistant for Corman) and where he’s (presumably) going. Kaufman’s bit is hilarious and way too short, but Corman’s parts are pure gold: there’s something really neat about seeing Corman sit there, the grand poobah of low-budget cinema, waxing philosophically like someone’s ultra-hip granddad. You can tell that he’s got genuine affection for Wynorski and pays him the film’s best, most sincere compliment when he says that Wynorski could do bigger and better projects if he would only take more time and care.

And that, in essence, becomes the depressing rub of the film: modern-day Wynorski just doesn’t seem to give two shits about anything. He’s been making films since the mid-’80s and many of his ’80s-’90s output are considered to be minor exploitation classics: Chopping Mall (1986), Deathstalker II (1987), Not of This Earth (1988), The Return of Swamp Thing (1989), The Haunting of Morella (1990). None of his films are what one could reasonably call “good” and none are what anyone would consider to be particularly well-crafted but, up until the 2000s, Wynorski’s movies were still essentially good ol’ fashioned B-movies. Since the 2000s, however, Wynorski seems to have found a new calling making soft-core, “Skinmax”-esque “films,” including such…product…as The Bare Wench Project (2000), Busty Cops (2004), The Witches of Breastwick (2005), The Breastford Wives (2007), The Devil Wears Nada (2009) and what one can only assume is complete truth in advertising: Busty Coeds vs Lusty Cheerleaders (2011). Whereas Wynorski used to work with the likes of Louis Jourdan, he now works almost exclusively with porn stars, the vast majority of which aren’t necessarily known for their skills as thespians. Breast size, not acting ability, are key indicators to Wynorski’s filmmaking mindset.

Once we dive into the actual shooting of The Witches of Breastwick, Wynorski is revealed to be a short-tempered, highly irritable, crude and decidedly sexist individual. His script includes the written descriptor “cow” to describe several female characters; he doesn’t say “action,” “roll camera” or any other filmmaking commands, leading to continual confusion between him and his cameraman and sound-guy; his catch-phrase appears to be “I hate it” and Wynorski makes his actors repeat their lines endlessly until they say it exactly as he wants: there’s no sense of “directing” or “coaching,” merely brute force repetition. In one of the most telling moments of the entire film, Julie K. Smith, one of Wynorski’s longtime actresses and a bit of a dramatic foil for him, says that the “Jim W” of the old days would always work extensively with his actors, pulling them aside and working them through the emotional beats of a scene. The current “Jim W” just has them repeat lines until he likes what he hears: there’s no attempt to actually get into a character, since he clearly doesn’t care about that anymore. It’s particularly illuminating to hear this from one of Wynorski’s longtime collaborators, no more so than when she states, “Good Jim is amazing…you love him. Bad Jim…I don’t use the term ‘hate’ often but…you don’t like him.”

As a look into indie filmmaking, Popatopolis is fun and quick, if more than a little depressing ala American Movie. Wynorski, however, really comes across as a repressed man-child and the rampant sexism and misogyny becomes tiring very quickly. I’ve always had a soft-spot for B-movies and exploitation cinema but there should always be basic levels of decency maintained between filmmaker and cast/crew. Too often, Wynorski comes across as a sexist bully and I just can’t get behind that, no matter how much I love Chopping Mall or Dinosaur Island. While his older films may be crude, Wynorski’s last 15 years of product has been pretty much soft-core garbage: at this point, I’m beginning to feel like the goodwill he’s earned may be used up. At the very least, the scene involving Wynorski and his elderly mother is quite charming and very cute. Mother Wynorski goes on and on about her love for Chopping Mall, with one major complaint: she hates the gratuitous nude scene, feeling it unnecessary and detrimental to the film. Maybe it’s time to start listening to your mom, Jim: after 96 films in 29 years, I’d sure love to get another Chopping Mall before you finally hang up the ol’ megaphone.

 

1/12/14: Toggling Your Brain – Off

Tags

bad movies, Bone Boys, Butcher Boys, cannibals, cinema, filmmaking basics, films, horror films, horror franchises, Jonathan Swift, Judgment Night, Kim Henkel, Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2, Tobe Hooper

Journey with us to a land and time far away…or, as I like to call it, last Sunday. On this particular day, definitely lighter than the usual Sunday, I screened the polar opposites of the cinematic spectrum: a horror film so fundamentally stupid that I actually lost IQ points watching it and a historical drama that’s much deeper than I initially thought. Just another day at the theater, as it were. Since I’ve got several things to say about both films, I figured that I would split this particular day into two separate posts. First up: the cinematic marvel known as Butcher Boys.

Living up to past accomplishments can wear anyone down but it must be especially difficult for those entertainers who make a big splash upon entry only to be completely forgotten down the road. As with anything else, however, filmmakers have no more right to rest on their laurels than do the 9-5ers. If you’re only known for something 40 years in the rear-view mirror, you should probably do something else.

Kim Henkel had a bit more of an auspicious debut than many: he was, after all, the guy who wrote the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Together, Henkel and director Tobe Hooper crafted one of the most influential, legendary and flat-out terrifying films in the history of cinema. Unfortunately for Henkel, this happened back in 1974. Fast forward 20 years and we witness Henkel’s first (and last, thankfully) directing credit: The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 4: The New Generation. Yes, boys and girls, that’s the one that starred Matthew McConaughey and Renee Zellweger and no, it is not worth watching, even if you’re curious. At that point, it really did seem as if Henkel would disappear into the mystical land inhabited by all former filmmakers that no longer make films: academia.

Apparently, however, this particular story would have an additional chapter. A pair of budding filmmakers in Henkel’s scriptwriting class struck up a friendship with him, got him to produce one of their films and, in the ultimate coup de grace, had him write the script for another film. This script, a slightly revised one that Henkel had been shopping around as a TCM sequel for decades, would become Butcher Boys (aka Bone Boys). It would also become one of the single worst films I’ve seen in years.

Opening your crappy Z-grade cannibal film with a quote from Jonathan Swift’s A Modest Proposal is a dangerous proposition. By doing so, you are making the inherent claim that your film bears some slight resemblance to one of the single greatest pieces of satire in the history of literature. As such, I began my viewing experience by looking for deeper meaning in this meaningless drivel than was necessary (or expected, I’m sure): suffice to say that I realized how completely I’d been duped about twenty minutes in, by which time the film was pretty much unsalvageable.

The plot is actually pretty basic and should be familiar to anyone who’s seen Judgment Night: a group of stuck-up, obnoxious young people journey into the bad part of town for a birthday celebration in a restaurant (because the good part of town was booked solid, obviously), only to spend the rest of the film running from “the other,” in this case, a bunch of generic gang members with cannibal tendencies and vein-popping acting styles. The entire film consists of the group running away, getting caught and beaten up, escaping and running away again. Lather, rinse, repeat. The formula lasts all the way to the last 20 minutes or so when the movie goes ape-shit insane and becomes Hooper’s Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2 crossbred with a truly awful Troma film. No shit: play any Troma fan the final 10 minutes of the film and see what they say.

At first, I found myself drawn in by the things in the film that kind of worked. Note that I didn’t say “worked”: nothing in this film really works, if I’m to be honest. Certain aspects, however, aren’t as initially obnoxious as the later become. The opening manages to capture a tiny bit of the eerie atmosphere from the beginning of the original TCM, thanks to some odd sound work. There’s a car chase towards the beginning that reminds of the similar chase in TCM 2, although it’s somewhat ruined by the absolutely ridiculous behavior of one of the shrieking idiots on the “good guy” team. The urban setting is interesting, for a time, and the film has no shortage of energy. There are also tons of cameos by original TCM cast members, which definitely serves to up the gimmick factor, although most of these cameos are of the “blink-and-you’ll-miss-it” variety. Nonetheless, it’s briefly fun to play a game of “Oh Hey: That Guy!,” but this could also be because it momentarily distracts one from the elephant in the room: Butcher Boys is completely, unrepentantly, stupid.

Some films, like Big Trouble in Little China, feel stupid on the outside but are actually quite intelligent. Butcher Boys, on the other hand, is just stupid. Not only are the kids stupid (they do everything from falling loudly while hiding to staying in the same place while stalked) but the bad guys are equally stupid. They fight with each other for no reason, speak as if delivering thirty separate monologues and overact to the point that, as mentioned above, the film becomes a Troma production. Worse yet, none of the bad guys even approach the realm of frightening, much less nightmare-inducing. Most of them look like gang member extras from Hobo with a Shotgun (a feeling I got more than once, which really made me wish I was actually watching Hobo…sigh…). Once one reaches the end, it’s become painfully obvious that the two directors (did it really take two people to direct this mess?) have little grasp on anything, including such things as decent shot selection and filmmaking basics. The script, obviously, does no one any favors: I’d love to know whether Henkel or the directing duo was responsible for the half-naked guy covered in Crisco (you know, so he slides down tunnels easier…duh!) that pops up at the end but does it really matter? I’m pretty sure that all three of them thought it was one of the coolest things they’ve ever seen and who the hell am I to ruin their party?

Ultimately, I can find very little to recommend in this and I watch (and enjoy) a lot of bad films. Butcher Boys biggest offense, larger even than all of the filmmaking deficiencies, is that it is a deeply lazy film. Henkel has, essentially, assembled a TCM Greatest Hits compilation, as it were, but with none of the atmosphere or finesse of the first two films (like Hellraiser, TCM is a franchise that is only as good as its first two films). We get a large, mute, man-monster, just like Leatherface. We get a dinner table scene, just like TCMs 1 and 2. We get a bug-eyed crazy guy breaking into the bad guys’ compound, just like TCM 2. We get a car chase and radio station interludes, just like TCM 2. In short, the only thing that we don’t get is a wholly original, interesting film.

I’ll always have a place in my heart for TCM and TCM 2: I don’t think anything could replace the enjoyment that I still receive from these movies. There’s a reason, however, why I’ve only seen the other films in the series once, the same reason that I will never watch Butcher Boys again:

They are flat-out terrible films.