It's black. It's devilish. It's a doll from hell, and it's spectacular

Chester Novell Turner, I’m sure you get this a lot, but just for the record: 

You. So. Crazay.

Black Devil Doll From Hell is a film that’s been calling my name ever since I first heard the words “black devil doll from hell” used in one continuous sentence. Long out of print, I fetched a copy from Cinema De Bizarre about a year ago and somehow--my willpower is Herculean--held off until just the right time.

For no specific reason, that time is now.

Quick Plot: An uptight church-going woman named Helen (Shirley L. Jones, an enigma) devotes her life and body to God. One day, she stops by a local thrift shop where she is unable to resist the odd calling of a dreaded (meaning braids, not evil...though he is evil, but nevermind) ventriloquist dummy. The storekeeper--vaguely reminiscent of a black, deeper voiced Zelda Rubinstein--is eager to tell Helen about the doll’s odd habit of returning to the store on his own. Somehow that has our heroine opening her wallet and dragging the mysterious antique home.

Question for my dear readers: what do you generally do after purchasing a random decoration? Is it reasonable that I find Helen’s choice--plopping it atop her toilet and showering just behind the curtain--a tad odd?

Anyway, it’s about this moment that the black devil doll (from Hell) animates, and yes my friends, it’s glorious. His eyes roll. Head kind of bobs. Some time later, he leaps on her back and successfully strips Helen to tie her down on her bed.

I don’t know quite how to say this. I’m blushing at the very thought, but here goes: the Black Devil Doll (from Hell) has rape-sex with Helen, and it is absolutely terrifying. It goes in steps:

1-BDD(fH) sprays really fowl breath into Helen’s face. I don’t know what a doll eats that gives him such horrible breath--

2-Oh my word. Step two happens, and I now know just what it is that a doll eats to give him such horrible breath

3-I pray my mother stops reading this post now

4-BDD(fH) extends his tongue, which appears to be an elongated slice of bacon, and rubs it over Helen’s chest. Slowly her protests turn to moans of pleasure

5-BDD(fH) climbs atop Helen and makes her a woman. 

6-BDD(fH) stops

7-Helen demands he resume

8-BDD(fH) explains that he’ll only continue if she begs for me

9-She does

Thus begins one of the most intense love stories of any film ever made.

Poor Helen. Once she gives in to BDD(fH)’s advances, he up and leaves her like those terrible boys your mother warned you about. Helen responds by seeking out other male comfort which fortunately for us, gives us a 10 minute dance sequence that makes me wonder if I can actually dance. Unfortunately for Helen, none of her suitors can satisfy that newly awakened craving like the 3 1/2’ tall wooden hunk that walked away.

(even this guy)

Thankfully Helen remembers (in a rainbow color, as we all do) the words of the shopkeeper. She returns to the store to reclaim her love, Turner’s own terrible score blasting away. To tell you the ending would...well, not make that much of a difference, but I’ll leave things there anyway.

What can I really say about Black Devil Doll From Hell? To go into high and low points seems foolish: this is the kind of movie that for most viewers, will either be all high point or all low point. It’s a dreadful, dreadful piece of work, which of course means I fall into the first category of enjoying the heck out of it.

Lessons Learned

It’s wrong to steal (it’s in the Bible and it’s one of the 10 commandments)

Black devil dolls from hell attack with the same sounds made by angry elephants and honking clown cars

It’s probably not the best idea to blast your high-pitched score during a key moment of exposition in the film

Rent/Bury/Buy

I will rewatch this film. I will show it to select friends and family. I will giggle at it drunkenly or just fold laundry to it soberly. It is bizarrely magnificent, which will, for about 97% of the world’s sane population, mean something that should never ever be sought out. It’s currently circulating the gray market (which is where my foggy DVD came from) but an official fully featured release is on its way, more information of which can be found at its website, http://blackdevildollfromhell.com. 

I don't know what else to say, but I do know that my life will never be the same.

Film Club + Reader Recommendation x Jumpsuits = The Sweetest Hill of All

“See, in Canada we don't get Netflix. And because of that, I don't have access to all these movies. And I'd LOVE to be able to finally see it. The radio ad for it is one of my favourites. "Roses are red. Voodoo is blue. Sugar is sweet. Revenge is sweeter".I mean, foxy mamas, voodoo and zombies? Come ON! So you have to watch it for me. Do it for me. Do it for the Canadian who can't watch it.”--Ghoul Friday

1974’s Sugar Hill has been on my radar for several years now yet somehow, I never felt quite hip enough to watch it. Putting aside my pasty whiteness and general nerditude, the film’s cult status genuinely intimidated me. But as a fortune cookie once told me, fear is just excitement in need of an attitude adjustment and when Stacie Ponder announced Sugar Hill as December’s Final Girl Film Club pic, my fate was sealed.

I would walk the funk.

As would others.

Quick Plot: Diana “Sugar” Hill is enjoying a glittering night at her fella Langston’s nightclub, partially because her beau is wearing a suit that actually glitters. Note that he’s the most sedately dressed man in the room.

The evening gets a whole lot less starry when evil real estate tycoon Morgan and his racist crew (plus a Fabulous henchman named Fabulous) beat Langston to death. It’s a bummer, but Sugar has the luck of having a voodoo priestess in the family who knows a thing or two about summoning a vengeance smart demon. With a few pieces of jewelry and an IOU soul, Sugar has the gloriously tophatted Baron Samedi and his pinball eyed minions hunting down each of Langston’s murderers with innovative homicide on their zombie minds.

The story, you see, is quite simple. Sugar wants revenge. Sugar gets revenge.

The beauty of Sugar Hill, however, is that how she gets it is simply a joy to behold. A rundown:

-bait ‘n switch at Le Whores Massage Parlor

-eaten alive by fasting hogs

-knocked down by a hopping disembodied chicken leg

Dig it?

Sugar Hill is a fairly infamous gem of the blaxsploitation era and having FINALLY watched it, it’s easy to see why. While the racist dialogue that rings out of every white character’s mouth is squirm-inducing, the film itself never feels racist or uncomfortable to watch. We WANT these bigoted jerks to lose, and an audience of any color can appreciate a smokin’ hot, well dressed and groomed chick directing scenes of carnage like Tyra Banks at an ANTM photo shoot.

This being horror, I suppose it’s worth asking and answering whether Sugar Hill is actually a scary film. At times, sure. Though Samedi is closer to Sweet the dancing demon from Once More With Feeling than anything terrifying, actor Don Pedro Colley brings an interesting (and, am I strange, sexy) creepiness that we can’t be sure will spare our spunky heroine. With their spider web wrapped bodies, his zombies have a memorable strangeness that works despite (or perhaps, because of) the film’s overall lack of gore. Some pretty rough violence is suggested, and even though we’re pretty much all for it due to the sliminess of the villain/victims, director Paul Maslansky (who sadly directed nothing else) is wise to not beat us over the afros with blood and guts.

High Notes

In her early scenes, Marki Bey feels way too classy and sweet to possibly turn into the hell-breathing vengeance madam she becomes. After a surprisingly disturbing suicide induction, however, Bey makes a subtle but perfect transformation into a woman in full control of all her tools, from her bargaining business abilities to the easy chemistry she sparks up with virtually every one of her male costars. It's not necessarily as fun a performance as you'd expect from this era, but it's still enigmatic enough to keep your eyes glued to the screen.

Lessons Learned

Always be sure to wear a nude nylon stocking over your face when planning on killing a high profile businessman. Sure, your flashy one of a kind zoot suit might be a giveaway, but it never hurts to add a tad of discretion

White people suck

If there’s one sad fact I’ll humbly accept from this movie, it’s this: in no way do I possess a mere pinkyful of the coolness it would have taken to flourish in the 1970s. Sigh. Perhaps I should be thankful that I grew up in an age where role models were ET and Jem.

I must use dynamite as a synonym for great way more often than I do now

Rent/Bury/Buy

For whatever crime of mankind, Sugar Hill isn’t officially available on DVD in the US, though you can enjoy it through the wonders of Instant Watch and Midnite Movies. It’s certainly a treat worth tracking down and/or calling upon your favorite sharply dressed voodoo  demon for a wide release. In the meantime, bulk up your sugarcation with a trip to Final Girl for a roundup of other reviews.

Love Bites

For all my complaints about Twilight--and I have many--the fact that the series plays with the vampire mythology doesn’t bug me in the least. Sure, vampires aren’t supposed to sparkle, but if artists didn’t experiment with canon, we wouldn’t have Buffy, Lestat, Martin or Near Dark.

But perhaps I’m getting ahead, as Ganja and Hess is barely a film about bloodsuckers. Commissioned in 1971 as a blaxsploitation horror, filmmaker Bill Gunn instead delivered something that defies easy classification, a pseudo art-house love story that uses the bare bones of vampire lore to explore addiction, faith, and in part, the African American upper middle class.


Quick Plot: 38 year old Dr. Hess, a handsome but single anthropologist (as played by Night of the Living Dead’s Duane Jones) hosts a visit from his troubled colleague George Meda (director Bill Gunn). Meda flirts with suicide, much to the chagrin of Hess (who knows that a black corpse will raise eyebrows on his all-white block). Ultimately, Dr. Meda takes his life five minutes after rudely stabbing Hess with an infected knife.

Hess’s wounds heal in record time, but one lasting scar is a newfound taste for human blood. Before you can summon images of Blacula in doctor’s coat, it’s vital to know that Ganja and Hess never utters the V word. Hess can walk in daylight and pray in church. He just has an adjusted diet and newfound resistance to common methods of death.

Rather than relax at his estate with a wine collection, Hess is soon called upon to welcome a new guest--Ganja, wife of this mysteriously missing partner. A beautiful, beastly woman, Ganja doesn’t take long--about 3 hours by my estimation--to seduce the man who probably killed her husband. The sex seems great, but how long can love last when only one lover has an expiration date?

I can’t imagine my synopsis has whetted your appetite for Ganja and Hess, but dang it if this ain’t one tough movie to sell. That’s old news to director Gunn, who sadly saw his 110 minute enigma sliced and diced for the most likely bewildered drive-in crowd.


Sold as a vampire tale, Ganja and Hess is a little pretentious, a little quiet, and extremely slow. It’s also weirdly haunting and somewhat extraordinary. While there are tokens to be found summoning the ‘70s--pimps, smoking during a doctor’s checkup--this is far less cheesy fun than its genre would suggest. It’s not a party movie, but it sure has some merit.


High Points
Marlene Clark and Duane Jones give more than outstanding performances, charismatic yet not necessarily likable, sexy yet smart, and always simply interesting people you want to learn more about

Out of context, it may hurt your ears but overall, the odd score--mixed with chanting, laughter, gospel and tribal screams--adds a great deal to the unusual feel of the film


Low Points
It’s a little wrong to pick on the DVD production values of a film that due to its troubled history, is lucky enough to finally exist in its feature length...but when the audio is so rough, couldn’t we at least have subtitles?


Lessons Learned
The only questions worth asking are the ones that are impolite


When starring in a low budget movie and filming an outdoor scene, it’s very courteous to the audience to pause your dialogue and wait for planes to pass overhead

Sneaking mysteriously poisoned knives through customs was fairly simple in the ‘70s


Rent/Bury/Buy
I’ve used this statement before, but it’s never been truer: this movie is not for everyone. In fact, I’ll even confess that sleep became my enemy as the film neared its two hour length. It wasn’t until watching the extras--lovingly put together in a commentary and several featurettes--that I really started to appreciate Ganja and Hess. On that front, anybody with an interest in 1970s cinema, new twists on the vampire mythology, or unusual African American-centric films should definitely give the film a try.

Throw Out the Manipulating Night Trains From Harlem! aka The Return of Mill Creek Madness

It's that time again...

For the uninitiated, Mill Creek Madness marks the not at all monthly post wherein I review an entire DVD from the magnanimously cheap Mill Creek 50 Packs. Up today: Disc 9 from Drive-In Movie Classics.

1. Night Train To Terror, aka Shiver

Year: 1985...extremely 1985

Warp Speed Plot: The most enthusiastic ‘80s dance party ever tells us that Everybody’s Got Something to Do (Everybody But You) and engages in all sorts of crimes of Reagan Era fashion, including, but not limited to the following:

Head bands

Acid washed jeans

Puffy pants

Pastels

Primary colors

Half shirts

Half shirts over whole shirts

Gloves

Fingerless gloves

Leg warmers

One earring

Off the shoulder sweaters

Streaks

And they’re just the framing device of a framing device as Mr. God (a man with a dangerous resemblance to Colonel Sanders, proving where the filmmakers’ sympathies lie) and Mr. Satan (think Christopher Lee’s Hammer Dracula put through dry cleaning) discuss three short stories in order to decide who gets to claim whose soul. This may very well be the best anthology setup of all time. Anyway, the stories are as follows:

1- A man gets in a car accident and ends up in a hospital that specializes in lobotomizing male patients, raping the females (I think; ‘rape’ may be a subjective word better defined as pawing and shaking back and forth) and dismembering the remains to sell to medical schools. I think other stuff happens but it’s incredibly not clear. Still rather awesome though, plus heads in a jar!

2- A very active narrator tells the story of Greta, a struggling musician with an aversion to pants, who leaves her job selling popcorn in a carnival to star in porn films under the patronage of a millionaire. When a frat boy falls in love with her, Greta’s life gets complicated, leading her and her two paramours to start attending game night at the Death Club, where a random assortment of folks engage in Russian Roulette, Saw style. People die in hilarious ways. The story ends.  It involved this:

which is fine by me.

3-A lot of stuff happens, some of which involves Nazis, Satan, doctors, and the best stop motion animation since Pee Wee’s Playhouse. An extended scene is scored to Holst’s classical piece Mars, the Bringer of War, which just brings me back to high school band. I actually have no idea what this segment was about, but it happened and I think I watched it.

Celebrity Cred: At this point, seeing Cameron Mitchell in a Mill Creek film is hardly noteworthy, but Night Train to Terror redeems itself with TWO appearances by Richard Moll (who can also be found on the hilarious Mormon propaganda epic Savage Journey) as a rapey orderly in the first story and a doctor (I think) in the third.

The Winning Line: 

“The electrocution death was the turning point for Greta.”

Now if that’s not a dealbreaker, I don’t know what is

Verdict: An abominable movie, a fantastic time. Apparently the three stories were culled from half-finished unreleased films, which is appropriate and wonderful. The effects are about on par with a second grade art class project and the acting, a smidgen better than  the film on the disc that follows it. Satan is played by Lu Sifer, God is played by Himself. My conclusion, therefore, is as follows: If you don’t see this movie, you will go to purgatory.

2. The Guy From Harlem

Year: 1977

Warp Speed Plot: I temporarily wonder if I was accidentally fast-forwarding through the entire film when it opens with a credit reel. All of it. I can’t tell you how happy I am to know the names of the actors that played Man #1 and Man #2 before I even know what the movie is going to be about. Talk about innovation. 

Anyway, back to the *story.* Loye Hawkins plays Al Connors, the guy from Harlem who I assume spent his Harlem days as a banker. Now, however, he spends his days protecting attractive women (sometimes ones married to powerful African politicians) from kidnapping and murder schemes, then shagging them, much to the chagrin of his wife/roommate who has a constant overnight bag for those typical sleepovers. The oddest thing about this marshmallow textured blacksploitation is that the film seems divided into two complete plots, almost as if The Guy From Harlem was a failed television pilot. 

Celebrity Cred: Skimming through the credits on IMDB, I can't seem to find one actor with more than two other film credits to their name. It's quite shocking.

The Winning Line: “Okay. Let’s get this over with.”

...says the man about to sexually assault a kidnapped woman. Has there ever been a more reluctant rapist? As his would-be victim, how does your self-esteem recover?

Verdict: When the actors are lucky, the best they do is step on each others lines. At other moments, entire scenes are just looped so that we literally watch a conversation happen three times, cut at different points in the discussion to make us think we are indeed watching an actual scene (was this THAT much easier than just reshooting two minutes of dialogue?). The movie is awful, but...you know...kind of great. Great in the way that our hero rumbles with a shirtless bad guy--whose sole character trait was that he lifted weights in every single scene--as his friends/coworkers/enemies stand behind, look at the camera, and alternate cheering based on cues. With liquor, this movie becomes Citizen Kane. Without...a damn good time.

3. The Manipulator, aka B.J. Lang Presents

Year: 1971

Warp Speed Plot: Mickey Rooney is B.J. Lang, a Hollywood makeup artist on the edge. As he prances around a soundstage with stuffed animals and mannequins (don’t judge, that’s what I call a typical Friday night), we soon learn that he has kidnapped a young actress named Carlotta in order to make her reenact scenes from Cyrano De Bergerac. What follows is essentially 90 minutes of Rooney trying every single trick in a book about insanity to act insane, with the cameraman following suit by speeding up the reels, slowing down the reels, filtering the color, reusing the same shot in a quickly edited montage, and eventually, just flashing back to what he’d already done. 

Celebrity Cred: Rooney, naturally, making us forget his horrendously offensive performance in Breakfast At Tiffany’s by donning blue eye shadow and being scary.

The Winning Line(s): ”Please don’t die. I hate you, just die! Please don’t die.”

Sweetheart, I know being kidnapped and starved is stressful, but realize that your manic pleas are only confusing your manipulator.

Verdict: As experimental avant garde cinema goes, The Manipulator isn’t without merit. At the same time, when you’re actually watching 90 minutes of aggressive electronic music that makes the soundtrack of Irreversible sound like Beethoven, the effect is just kind of annoying.

4. Throw Out the Anchor!

Year: 1974

Warp Speed Plot: A single dad PR fella heads to a swampy community where he quickly falls for a resident and decides to save the town by protesting the crooked local government and their polluting happy ways. I think. 

Celebrity Cred: A classy Dina Merrill and an aight (is that how the kids spell it?) Richard Egan

The Winning Line: “You’re quite virile looking when you’re asleep.”

Use it. It will never fail to get you into someone’s pajama pants.

Verdict: I have to blame myself more than the movie in this case, as it took me three days to get through this 80 minute family-friendly film. Part of it was a subject matter that just couldn’t keep my eyes opened, while another part comes from the simple fact that Throw Out the Anchor is just a dull tale. Unless you’re incredibly environmentally conscious or have an attraction to stereotypical sea captains, there’s really no need to give this one a try. Watch Summer Rental instead.

Cumulative Lessons Learned

Just cause a gal’s bored doesn’t mean she’s hot to trot

Always keep a supply of bloody marys on hand when city folk stop by

Harlem is the experience playground of all people interested in becoming detectives

Being a great actress with a Brooklyn accent is a huge turn-on for short little psychotics

Women who don’t wear bras are very into women’s lib

Everybody’s got something to do, everybody... but you