Let’s take a break from movies for a second and talk about a record that not nearly enough of you are listening to: David Werner’s Whizz Kid. I started to write up a whole entry when I discovered that someone else already did a pretty good one, so I’m just going to link you there (there’s some interesting stuff in the comments too, so read those while you’re there). If you like music at all, you’ll love this guy. If you don’t like music, you should go get yourself checked out. You might be coming down with something. Here’s the link where you can find it so go there and come back when you’re done. I’ll wait.
See? It’s fantastic. As with most people, my first thoughts when listening to the album were “how have I never heard of this guy before?” and “where can I get more?” A quick Google search later left me floored that not only has he not released an album since ’79, the ones he did release have never even come close to a CD. What the hell? I can’t think of a single reason why his albums are still out of print. Someone needs to give them the attention they deserve because they’re too good to be relegated to $2.00 bins at the used record store. Maybe some re-mastered editions and bonus tracks? I’d buy those in a heartbeat.
Like the other blog said, if this was released today the hipster kids would be ruining their tight pants by shitting themselves over it. On the bright side you can count yourself lucky that you got a copy, which totally makes you cooler than them.
Back in March a fewfriends and I made our way to the Indiana HorrorHound convention for a gore-filled weekend of movies, drinking, Clive Barker, drinking, old and new friends, and more drinking. If any of you were there you most likely remember what a clusterfuck it was. At one point on Saturday there was a two-hour wait just to get in the dealer room, with shoulder-to-shoulder crowds waiting for you once you managed to force your way inside. It may have been poorly organized, but it was still a blast.
On Saturday afternoon, after finally making my way back inside the chaotic dealer room, I was helplessly swept along with the crowd. Picture a slow, nerdy running of the bulls and you’ll be close. I’m not claustrophobic but I’m also not overly fond of teeming masses, so this was a little much. I saw an opening as we approached a turn at the back of the room and I went for it. I managed to disentangle from the horde but now I was stranded in a distant corner with a solid wall of people between me and the front doors. I stood there for a second eyeing the emergency exit, weighing the pros and cons of setting off a fire alarm, when a poster caught my eye. The image was of a shirtless, flexing body builder’s upper back, with a banner reading “Beef.” It’s not often that you see some male skin at these conventions so I was officially curious. With nothing else to do while I waited for the crowd to die down, I pulled up IMDB on my phone and discovered Beef was a low budget slasher where bodybuilders are cannibalized in a young man’s quest to get buff. Wow. Sold. Do I like low budget slashers? Yes. Do I like low budget slashers with a cannibal twist? Uh-huh. Do I like buff, nearly naked men? Oh yeah. Do I like all of these things put together? You bet I do. At least in theory, but we’ll get to that.
Once the crowd cleared out I made my way over to the booth and asked about the poster. The guy working didn’t know anything about it but told me to come back in a few minutes when “Marv” would be back. I’d just fought through a sea of people and now I was waiting for a guy named Marv. This was turning in to an adventure. It turns out the Marv in question was Marv Blauvelt, who was actually in the movie. He was a nice guy but he seemed surprised and slightly embarrassed that I was asking about Beef, which only increased my curiosity. Marv sheepishly described the film as “campy” and quickly changed the subject to Sculpture, an upcoming film he was promoting. He didn’t have any copies of Beef with him, but he gave me a Sculpture poster and directed me to the Screamkings website. Foiled in my quest, I met up with my friends and forgot about it until I got back to the hotel room.
When I followed up on the Screamkings website I was torn. I really like the idea behind the company. Screamkings makes and markets low budget horror films that turn one of horror’s major conventions on its head by featuring lots of (nearly) naked men as opposed to women. Thumbs up for that - it’s about time someone other than David DeCoteau played that card. Where I ran in to problems was the price. $29.99 for a single movie? Really? Look, I understand that this is a niche market within a niche market, but that’s asking a lot. Fortunately for me, it turns out I was with someone who appreciates naked muscle men nearly as much as I do. With a borrowed copy secured, I was ready to sit down and watch some sexy, man-eat-man action.
Describing this movie as “campy” may not be entirely accurate. It’s certainly ultra low budget (think subterranean, then go lower), and the premise is entirely ridiculous, but it feels more cheap than campy. I don’t mean that as an insult. I like cheap. But with its lackluster settings and uninspired gore, Beef is missing that extra something that would’ve pushed it over the camp edge. The story is a pretty original twist on the classic “eat your enemy and gain their strength” idea, and the acting is what you’d expect from a low budget cannibal skin flick. Not that the acting or story are all that important anyway. The centerpiece of this film is definitely the, um, beef. Our skinny, picked on protagonist works his way through a parade of bodybuilders who he lures to his apartment to “photograph.” “Photograph” in this case means the guys come over, strip down to their underwear and pose for a few minutes before being murdered and eaten. Did you catch that? If not it’s okay because it, and nothing else, happens over and over and over again until the end of the movie. I mentioned the lackluster settings earlier, and by the end I felt like I was trapped in the bland apartment where we spent most of the film. Maybe that’s what they were going for, but I doubt it. It didn’t feel like atmosphere, it just felt lazy. If you want to film a movie in an apartment, let me direct you to Vegas in Space for inspiration. Those ladies turned an apartment in to an alien planet. I think the Screamkings could stand to do better.
Don’t get the wrong impression. I didn’t dislike the film and I wouldn’t regret spending $10 bucks on it, but I’d have been pissed if I’d dropped $30 on it. They obviously didn’t spend ANY money making this thing, so the price tag just feels like a total rip off. Which makes me question if they’re actually behind what they’re doing, or if they’re just pandering to make a buck. I’d like to throw my support behind them but cautious optimism is the best I can manage at the moment. If I can come across some cheap copies somewhere I’d gladly check out more of their collection, but seeing as how they didn’t even have any at a sizeable horror convention I’m not holding my breath for that.
If you're curious about Screamkings, you can catch trailers for their other films here.
Not long ago I took my first dip into the glorious, wallet-killing world of iOffer. I was after something specific (Mutant Hunt by Tim Kincaid of Breeders fame, which is another post entirely) but I made the mistake of browsing. Two things were evident right off the bat: 1) I have a problem when it comes to buying horrible 80s movies, and 2) someone needs to get off their ass and start giving some of these films an official release.
One of the gems I stumbled on was a double feature of Death Spa (1988) and Aerobicide (1986). I was immediately intrigued by the notion of slashers that take place in high-end health clubs because I’ve seen people murdered just about everywhere in the course of my movie watching, but I can honestly say that I’ve never seen an entirely gym-oriented horror film. Plus, a double feature of 1980’s exercise-based mayhem? Sign me up!
First in was Death Spa, and before we even begin to talk about the actual story I feel it’s important to note that this film is alternately titled Witch Bitch. Seriously. If that fact alone doesn’t sell you on this movie…you might be spending time at the wrong website. If you still need convinced, how about this: the plot is a detective-slasher-romance-supernatural-revenge hybrid with a gender bending twist. All set in a gym. All set in the 80s. If you STILL need convinced, there’s also this:
Could that possibly be the BEST INSULT EVER? I’m leaning towards the yes category. You also get the obligatory 80's odd-couple detective duo, death by frozen fish, and Ken Foree as a guy named Marvin. Awesome.
I’m not going to give you every detail, but cheesiness aside, the movie was much more original than I expected. The pace sags a bit in the middle while they try and build the back-story, but the story they’re building is actually interesting so it’s forgivable. There’s not a ton of gore, so if you come into the film expecting that you’ll probably be disappointed. However, if you come into the film expecting lots and lots of spandex you’ll be thrilled.
If spandex is your thing, you might want to hold off on Death Spa and jazzercise your way straight into Aerobicide. Bust out your pocket mirrors and roll up some bills, ‘cause what you’re about to witness is pure, uncut, 80’s goodness:
If you’re still coherent after that, then congratulations, you’ll probably make it through the rest of this film. Aside from the fact that it’s focused on a gym this movie is nothing like Death Spa. Even its alternate title, Killer Workout, is more mundane. This is a straight-up slasher (or poker…watch it and you’ll find out why) without any of the supernatural or science-gone-crazy elements of its higher budgeted cousin. Which isn’t meant to discredit Aerobicide in any way. What the film lacks in demonic possession and super computers it makes up for with fight scenes that leave both parties unscathed, people with mysterious clotting disorders that allow them to be stabbed several times but not bleed, a former Playgirl model, and amazing acting. The film also boasts an impressive body count. People get murdered like it’s their job in this film. See that person doing crunches? Murdered. See that person doing lat-pulls? Murdered. See that other nondescript character you know nothing about? Murdered. The filmmakers don’t come anywhere close to generating sympathy for any of the characters so it doesn’t really mean anything when you see them shuffled off one after the other, but it’s fun to count.
I don’t know if two movies make a genre, but Gymsploitation is something I’d love to see more of. These movies are way too much fun to leave stuck in the limbo of forgotten 80s films. Death Spa apparently saw a DVD release in Germany, and Aerobicide was released on DVD in the UK, but the likelihood of either film seeing a DVD release in the states is about the same as my ass suddenly becoming a particle accelerator. Fortunately, until the day my rear end starts spewing strangelets, both films are pretty easily obtainable online. Death Spa can be watched in its entirety on YouTube, but Aerobicide might take some more searching.
Just remember to break out the leg warmers and copious amounts of your favorite booze, ‘cause you’re going to need both. But be warned: a beer belly won’t look good in all that spandex.
I’m sure by now everyone’s aware of the unfortunate news regarding Mr. Ronnie James Dio, and I’m sure you’ve all listened to “Holy Diver” or “Rainbow in the Dark” at least once (if not…are you serious? What’s wrong with you?). As sad as his passing is, what really bums me out is the thought that the “Old Guard” in music – the Iggy Pops, the David Bowies, the Siouxsie Siouxs – aren’t getting any younger. It’s only a matter of time before news like this becomes more commonplace. If that thought didn’t make you at least a little sad, then think about what we’ll have left. Who’ll take over? Sure, you’ve got some artists who can work the look and drive everyone Gaga, but musically they just regurgitate the status quo, while on the flipside you’ve got artists who push every musical boundary, but have the presence of an autistic possum playing dead on stage. Now, before we start arguing, the point of this post isn’t to bum anyone out or start a discussion about whether or not any of the previously mentioned artists still maintains any cultural relevance. The point is to stress that we all need to enjoy and appreciate the “Founders” we have left while there’s still time.
I had the pleasure of seeing one of rock’s founding mothers last week when Wanda Jackson graced the Beachland Ballroom in Cleveland. For those of you unfamiliar with it, the Beachland is a former Croatian social club turned music venue, and possibly one of the best places in the world to see a rockabilly show. The inside of the Ballroom, with its hardwood floors and dated architecture, feels like it never left the 1950s.
I’m out of touch with Ms. Jackson’s (Wanda if you’re nasty. [Oh come on, you all just thought that same terrible joke. Don’t lie to me.]) popularity level, but I was a little disappointed with the turnout. The show was on a Thursday night so I wasn’t expecting a shoulder-to-shoulder crowd, but the room was pretty empty. They had chairs set up in the middle of the ballroom, and while I didn’t count the exact number, there were still plenty available after she took the stage.
For those of you that didn’t attend, now would be an appropriate time to start regretting a good chunk of your existence.
The show got right down to business with the Lustre Kings opening. I’d never heard of these guys but they were fan-tas-tic. Hailing from Albany, New York, they played old-school, rabble-rousing rockabilly in the best way possible: Fast and loud. They even had a standup bass and a table steel, so you know they’re authentic. The Kings plowed through their set and it was all too soon before I was sad to see them go. With the post-Kings glow fading, I was getting antsy. I’ve been a Wanda Jackson fan since I was young but this was my first time seeing her live. I got a Schlitz from the bar (what would you drink at a rockabilly show?) and waited, taking the opportunity to scope the crowd and verifying that I was one of the youngest people there. A few hipster kids and young rockabilly throwbacks had wandered in during the Lustre Kings set, but the number of people our parents’ age still outnumbered us by a large margin. I’d barely dented the Schlitz when, to my delight, the Lustre Kings took the stage again. It turns out they’re not only the opening act, but also Wanda’s backing band, and I can officially say that a more perfect pairing could not be made. Once they had the crowd sufficiently riled up Wanda took the stage, complete with a shirt covered in fringe, big poofy black hair and a sassy attitude.
In case you’ve read this far about a person you know nothing about, let me give you a brief history lesson. Wanda Jackson dated and toured with Elvis from ’55-’57. That’s Elvis Presley. The King. Elvis “Velvet-Painting-Graceland-Pink Cadillac” Presley. I’m not actually a huge Elvis fan; I’m just mentioning that to give you some insight into Wanda’s street cred. He’s the King. She’s the Queen. You can look the rest up on wikipedia.
The other point behind that lesson is to give you some idea bout her age. She turns 73 this year. She’s been singing since she was a teenager, and her voice, while slightly rougher around the edges, has barely changed from when she began her career. This was evident in her set list, which consisted mostly of her classics. An unexpected bonus was that between songs, she would tell stories about her past, giving the show more of “An Evening With Wanda Jackson” vibe than a typical concert. She also sang the two songs from her collaboration with Jack White, “You Know That I’m No Good,” an Amy Winehouse cover, and “Shakin’ All Over,” a Johnny Kid & the Pirates cover. Both of which were a huge hit with the crowd.
It’s also probably worth mentioning that Wanda had a pretty significant gospel career. She became a born again back in the 70s and only released gospel albums for a while before getting back to her roots in the 80s. This really isn’t a big deal as far as I’m concerned. As long as you’re not a dick about it you can believe in whatever you feel like. The problem was that I’d forgotten to warn my friends about it and I could hear their mental tires screeching when Wanda paused to express her love for Jesus before breaking into a gospel tune. The non-religious in the audience didn’t have to wait long though as this side of the show was short lived. She just did the one churchy song before charging full on into her finale and encore.
She’s still touring, so for those of you who haven’t seen Wanda Jackson live I can’t recommend it enough. I didn’t even mention the double entendre, the pink guitar, her suggestive banter, or her dance moves. She’s just as tough, raunchy and talented as she’s always been, but now she has the added Betty White benefit of being a cool old lady who says dirty things.
The previously mentioned collaboration with Jack White is available on iTunes, as are many of her early albums. They’re also pretty cheap on iTunes. If videos are more your thing, here you go:
This isn't the best video, but it'll give you a then-and-now comparison:
First post! Congratulations on stumbling into my little corner of the internet. There’s beer in the fridge and booze in the basement. Won't you make yourself at home? Feel free to put on a movie, or we can listen to some records, whichever you prefer. I’m not going to lie and say I’ve got anything groundbreaking to offer, but I never get tired of forcing my love of cultural garbage on others, so tag - you’re it. If we take an occasional detour through current events (and we will) just bear with me and we’ll get back to the good stuff before you know it. So kick back and settle in...but leave the heels on.
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