Hacyon days of Horror

Skim-viewing a couple of old horror films from the ‘video nasties’ era recently, it made me realise how much censorship and film-viewing has changed in this modern age. The films in question were Zombie Flesh Eaters from cult Italian filmmaker Lucio Fulci, and the then notorious Cannibal Ferox. Both, inevitably, have dated somewhat, but are competently made and feature some truly gory scenes (Flesh Eaters also provided an amazing sequence which even managed to make this jaded viewer sit up and take note - a zombie, while underwater, mounts an attack on an actual shark!). It’s hard to believe that a lauded, award-winning studio horror film like The Exorcist was denied a video certification in the same era as these two.

Back in my school days, these were the types of films which kids bragged about seeing, their over-stimulated imaginations embellishing the already horrific content. Even kids who hadn’t seen the films would attempt offer a blow-by-blow account of the narrative, relying on word-of-mouth and Chinese whispers, thus adding to the intrigue at the same time. Without doubt, all this helped to cement the (unjust) bad reputation these films received. In the rare occasion that a grubby horror VHS crossed your path, you would usually assemble your group of similarly minded friends so you could all partake in this illicit and thrilling viewing experience together.

Today, five minutes worth of Takashi Miike’s 2002 gorefest, Ichi the Killer (wildly available on DVD) contains more dismemberment, sexual depravity and outright gore than the entire back catalogue of these earlier films - something that doesn’t seem to bother a knowing, modern audience. While CG effects can be repulsively efficient, we are subconsciously aware that what we are seeing has been created digitally (although the advent of Avatar may change this). Back in the day, in-camera effects definitely added an extra squirm factor and were effective enough to send the censers into a spin.

Cannibal Ferox, a precursor to the likes of the Blair Witch Project, with its pseudo-documentary content, was minus the heavily-marketed campaign that its predecessor relied in an attempt to blur the line between reality and fiction. The eventual media over-saturation of the Blair Witch whittled away any initial mystery about its origins. Niche marketing of titles like ‘Ferox’ was non-existent back then, which helped maintain a welcomed level of mystery. Now, you are always a mouse click away from scenes of real death and violence, thus rendered this idea of ‘found footage’ pretty much redundant. The web has also contributed to the loss of intrigue surrounding films as fan pages and downloads galore ensures that once hard to obtain material is immediately downloadable. Ironically, I even watched the two films above on my friend’s PC. To counteract this, and on a pleasingly retro note, I had the chance recently to watch a ripped, muddy-looking copy of the latest Rambo film on DVD. This added nicely to the overall effect that I was back in 88’, watching an old-school shlocky action-adventure, enhancing my appreciation of an overwise crappy film.

I wonder how the next generation of curious film aficionados would have reacted to modern horror films, particularly those in the ‘torture porn’ sub-genre, if they had been presented to them as a shoddy, several generations-old VHS tape, with little or no knowledge of the content beforehand. Would these films (many of which with the exception of the two Hostel flicks, have now disappeared from the cultural radar completely) have achieved a similar mythical status?

Cinematic sex fix

Film can be a wonderful teacher. Through the medium we can learn all about different aspects of human nature and behaviour. As you can imagine, as a young teenager the sex part of this proved particularly intriguing to me.

There was enough proper porn to educate my friends and I during the school holidays (thanks largely to someone’s dad who possessed a Larry Flynt-esque volume of shoddy, mostly unwatchable Betamax and VHS), but those weren’t the sort of films you could borrow for home use. I watched the mainstream products to educate myself, although there were a few distractions along the way:

I remember my sister, around six at the time, walking in on the scene with Richard Dreyfus banging the maid (rather enthusiastically I may add) in Down and Out in Beverly Hills. Being in my early teens, it was still an awkward age for me to try and explain what was happening on screen, although any worries soon dissipated as my sister quickly deduced that the two were in- fact 'doing exercises' to which I wholeheartedly agreed.

My dad once recorded Rita, Sue & Bob Too for me to watch when I was 13. I don’t know if this was some kind of half-hearted attempt on his behalf to stealthfully introduce me to the old birds and bees, or maybe he just genuinely thought his son would like to see what grubby sex could look like. Whatever his intentions, it was certainly an eye-opener. I’ve actually grown to really appreciate and embrace this film (anyone who says they don’t like it is being snobby) but the disturbing image of Bob’s ass frantically bobbing up and down, mid-coitus in the front seat of his Ford Cortina, has been forever seared into my brain. This was made by the late revered British film-maker Alan Clarke and it’s still the funniest and most realistic depiction of sex I’ve seen in a film.

If there was ever a need for a remote control which could magically rewind or fast-forward events in the actual real world, it would have been particularly useful for one evening in my childhood when I settled down to watch Risky Business with my Mum present. To give you an idea of how young I was, I didn’t think to read the synopsis in the Radio Times and it was probably past my bedtime anyway. I’m not even sure my Mum knew what was on until she peered up from her newspaper about 20 minutes in to witness The Cruiser groping an semi-naked Rebecca De Mornay from behind, and then shluping her in all different positions and areas around his parent’s house, including the oak staircase.

It was one of those moments when any sign of movement on my behalf would have acknowledged the acute and overbearing embarrassment I was feeling. I think I actually held my breath for a couple of minutes before limply excusing myself. Was my Mum unaware of the torture that I was going through at that moment? - probably not. Situations like that are much more heightened when you’re at that age.

I think I was around the age of 14 when my parents (with my Mum's involvement this time) handed me a copy of an old (and very dated) 60’s sex farce called Here We Go Round the Mulberry Bush they’d recorded off telly the night before. It had been a film they had watched as a young couple (shudder) and for some reason, I guess they felt that this was something I might learn from or maybe it was their way of providing some kind of anthropological snapshot of their own teenage years. Whatever they intended, the film wasn’t sexy nor enlightening. It was shit.

Death of the video shop

When I came across this article recently, it confirmed what I had feared for a long time - the humble video shop is finally nearing its end. It’s sad to see, but hardly surprising. Films seem to jump from the Cinema screen to retail DVD and Sky almost instantaneously these days and downloading (legally or otherwise) offers a way of viewing the latest Pixar masterpiece without making a trip outside your house (a topic for a future posting I think). I’ve even been lured into using one of the easy and stress-free on-line rental services available.

When I was growing up, there were three shops in my small town which stocked films. One was exclusively for video hire, another was a general store with a large selection and the other was the local Spar, which is now the only one which still rents films out. Spar’s video section back then was almost another shop in itself, housing hundreds of those huge, bulky VHS cases in every available space. Gradually through the years however, the stock has diminished to a point where the last time I visited, it had been relegated to a flimsy corner space, with literally a handful of DVD’s available, all mainstream studio titles.

Before the advent of digital, the video shop was a veritable treasure trove of cinematic all-sorts. Although I had much love for the big Hollywood titles on offer, I was equally enthralled by the multitude of cheap, straight-to-video genre B-movies available, with their lurid, air-brushed covers and trashy but always fun content. It also brings a smile to my face when I remember Crocodile Dundee being the most sought-after title back in the late-eighties. Seriously, that film was like gold-dust. I can still see my Dad, more than once, coming back from the video shops empty-handed, having been unable to procure a copy, much to the intense disappointment of his family. It was like he’d failed to provide for us that week or something. It was hilarious really. I mean, does anyone still remember that film now, let alone consider it a classic, worthy of a place in their all-time favourites list? My memories probably seem very quaint and whimsical now, but the local video shops really did possess a weird power over our community.

I think companies like Lovefilm offer a fantastic, alternative rental service for both the modern cineaste and any discerning film fan but they lack the unique experience that the video shop once offered. The opportunity to seek out or chance upon an unknown film, in both an intimate and tangible way, is a major loss to the young film-buffs of today - a similar grievance, I imagine, that lovers of vinyl have in the digital i-tunes age.

Look at me being all overly-nostalgic and wistful. You’d think these were the ramblings of an old man, not a sad thirty-something film geek. Perhaps I’ll console myself by watching Be Kind, Rewind again or Clerks for the 100th time.