House (1986)

HOUSE

(R, New World Pictures, 92 mins., release date: February 28, 1986)

"Believe it or not, he's crawling the walls

He never thought he could feel so free-eee-eeeaked..."

Overburdened author Roger Cobb is having trouble getting both his career and his personal affairs in order. He's trying to make the transition from cheesy if popular horror titles to something more autobiographical, but too many inner demons have stalled his momentum. Cobb has recently been willed the house he grew up in after the suicide of his Aunt Elizabeth. Could her mysterious death have dampened his drive? Or is it something else, be it the dissolution of his marriage to a working actress, the unsolved disappearance of his son or the palpable grief over the death of a comrade during the Vietnam war?

Roger moves into his abandoned former home to find peace and solitude, but stranger things are about to happen. Something in this house knows his every weakness and unless he can conquer his fears, Roger's troubled mind might just be foreclosed permanently.

From the creators of Friday the 13th comes House, a deadpan, lightweight riff on the possessed house genre which borrows liberally from both the supernatural Amityville saga and the phantasmagoric A Nightmare on Elm Street. William Katt, The Greatest American Hero himself, suffers a fate worse than prom night with Carrie White as the beleaguered hero. The house preys on his subconscious gradually, beginning with the ghost of his aunt (Susan French) warning him to get out of the house for the sake of his own free will, all the while fashioning the noose around her neck. Recurring visits from grotesque creatures turn personal once they assume the form of Sandy (Kay Lenz), the soap star from whom he's currently divorced.

And his slipping grasp on reality is tested by levitating garden tools, a mounted marlin flapping loudly against the walls and the insistent snooping of his new neighbors, corpulent busybody Harold (George Wendt, TV's Norm) and vivacious knockout Tanya (Swedish pageant queen Mary Stavin).

The tone as adopted by director Steve Miner and screenwriter Ethan Wiley (based on a story by Fred Dekker, author of Night of the Creeps and The Monster Squad) is one of somnambulant, stoic surrealism. Roger cracks early when he mounts a line of cameras to capture a gross poltergeist whilst dressed in his aged camouflage and runs out of the house, gliding down the front porch in premature victory only to find Harold standing startled. The awkward if well-meaning Samaritan tips off Sandy to Roger's madness and calls the cops after hearing a shotgun blast he assumes to be Roger attempting suicide. Alas, it's just Roger's mind, and the machinations of his Victorian digs, playing tricks on him.

House is very reminiscent of the concept for Stephen King's 1408, which became a movie in which John Cusack himself played a disillusioned writer spending time in an eerie isolated environment which plays practical jokes at the expense of his psychology. That Mikael Håfström film was a more earnest, roller coaster-style thrill ride that Steve Miner, who had directed the same year's Soul Man with C. Thomas Howell in blackface, doesn't quite predict. Instead, the movie jumps from one comical commotion to the next. Roger has to dispose a dead body whose dismembered hand crops up at the worst possible moments, namely when Tanya arrives asking him to babysit her son Robert. Alas, it's not so extreme he needs to call Bruce Campbell for back-up, instead buttressed with covers of R&B staples "You're No Good" and "Dedicated to the One I Love."

Roger's scattered memories of the Vietnamese tour of duty which he's trying to translate to literature finally make sense by the final act, when the bony zombie of a captured grunt named Big Ben (Richard Moll, TV's Bull) is revealed to the source of Roger's deepest anxiety. The reckless, overeager soldier is still stewed that his brother-in-arms didn't kill him before the enemies put him in torture camp. The stakes suddenly become too high for Miner to deal with, as the previous events have all been tinged with sardonic, sitcom-style inconsequence. Never mind the rubber-bodied Ben looks like a wimp compared to Kane Hodder's hulking Jason from Friday the 13th Part VII, to whom he bears an uncanny resemblance (the legendary stuntman himself worked on this project).

House is the diametric opposite of the portentous family dramas found in any of the three Amityville adventures from prior. The heroically V-necked William Katt doesn't quite give the impression of someone gone completely unhinged, even when he frets over possibly killing his demure if caring ex-wife. Like Wendt and Moll's supporting characters, the handsome small-screen Superman plays the King-style lead with enough reserve to keep the film's comedic tone afloat. And House is primarily a farce when you get right down to it, not particularly nightmarish but genial and ghoulish enough to have become enough of an item that it spawned three sequels, the most extreme of which was the unofficially-titled third entry The Horror Show from 1989.

Watching it now, I confess that I find House less charming than fellow Class of ‘86 horror-comedies Night of the Creeps, TerrorVision, April Fool's Day, or The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2. Luckily, there is a modicum of slight if smirking gallows humor and many subtle touches of insanity to entertain. And Steve Miner seems proud enough of it to have made a rare appearance in world of DVD bonus features, recording a group commentary with Katt, Sean Cunningham, and Ethan Wiley. Alas, you need to seek out the OOP Anchor Bay edition for this addition, as Image Entertainment's "Midnight Madness Series" reissue drops every single extra from the older release, even the Percy Rodrigues-narrated theatrical trailer.

Basket Case 3: The Progeny

 

BASKET CASE 3: THE PROGENY

(R, Shapiro Glickenhaus Entertainment, 90 mins., release date: February 14, 1992)

 

If you're looking for a proper evaluation of how Frank Henenlotter's three Basket Case films evolved, it would be best to invoke the kind of directorial kindred spirits one could glean from each particular outing.

The 1982 original was a seedy, sensationalist splatter classic that established the 42nd Street urchin as heir to the damp, sticky grindhouse throne once lorded over by Herschell Gordon Lewis and Andy Milligan. Filmed on the lowest of low budgets, it was advertised with canny precision (elliptical trailers and free surgical masks for theater patrons) and eventually became one of the defining cult movies of its decade thanks to VHS.

After lucking into a three-picture deal with Shapiro Glickenhaus Entertainment, one of which is the legendary Frankenhooker, Henenlotter was persuaded into making a pair of proper sequels to his beloved debut. For the first of them, 1990's Basket Case 2, the director broadened the universe of deformed "others" and made them the heroes against an exploitative, greedy society of "normals." Henenlotter drew upon the spirit of Tod Browning moreso than Clive Barker did in the same year's thematically-similar Nightbreed.

Basket Case 3: The Progeny wasted no time coming to fruition, released a mere couple of years after the last film and eventually proving to be a disappointment for Henenlotter, who never made another feature until after more than a decade with Bad Biology (2008) and instead focused more on his boutique video label Something Weird. What's surprising about this third entry is that the depraved imagination of Henenlotter, who once pitched a project called "Insect City" that was deemed too outrageous for any studio to fund or any moviegoer to pay to see, felt less feverish than ever before. The result was something which could've easily been filmed by the likes of Lloyd Kaufman, thus answering a question only the most brain-damaged of horror geeks have ever asked themselves:

"What if Frank Henenlotter had directed a Troma movie?"

Picking up after the previous film's events in a manner similar to the way Basket Case 2 launched itself from the window of the Hotel Broslin, Part 3 recaps how Duane Bradley's (Kevin Van Hentenryck) panic attack drove him to steal away his deformed, surgically-removed Siamese twin brother Belial post-coitus(!) and heal old wounds with a needle and thread. This was clearly not a good idea, as Duane has spent months in solitary confinement, replete with padded cell and straitjacket, at the house of monster matron Granny Ruth (Annie Ross). Belial has cut off all telepathic communication with Duane, but they may be forced to make some grasps at peace once the news breaks that Belial has impregnated Eve (Denise Coop), his lumpen love interest from the second film.

Ruth resolves to break out the old school bus and gather all of her colorful charges for a road trip to Peachtree Valley, Georgia, so that Dr. Hal Rockwell (Dan Biggers) can safely deliver Eve's brood. In the interim, Duane thinks of escaping and befriends Opal (Tina Louise Hilbert), the petite daughter of the town sheriff. Eve's water breaks upon arriving at Uncle Hal's, where Granny Ruth reunites with her long-lost son, Little Hal (Jim O'Doherty), a mountainous man-blob with multiple arms who films Eve's miraculous birth of twelve junior Belials. It's at this point where Duane finally gets free and runs to the police office to confide to Opal, only to get arrested and inadvertently lead a pair of dopey deputies to Hal's doorstep hoping to capture Belial for a million-dollar reward. Instead, they murder Eve and make off with the newborn mutant children.

Basket Case 3 proceeds to rehash the revenge story of its predecessor, as Sheriff Andrew (Gil Roper) threatens the safety of the freak community and Granny Ruth, Belial and the rest of the clan form a militant revolt against their oppressors. Plot-wise, there's nothing different going on compared to the previous movie, only the villains have changed, even if there are still leftover potshots to be taken at yellow journalists (in this case, a Geraldo Rivera doppelganger introduced at the very last moment). The sheriff is introduced as a close friend of the Hals, but turns disloyal and dastardly without any real reason. He's just another boring casualty in Granny Ruth's campaign for abnormal rights.

The long-tested fraternal bond between the infamous Times Square Freak Twins is equally squandered. The first film, a fish-out-of-water in which the fish was a piranha, established a convincing jealousy between Duane and Belial as the former tried to find happiness with an office receptionist. Part 2 introduced darkly-funny psycho therapy and ended with the promising bout with madness seen at the start of Part 3. Henenlotter doesn't find a novel way to progress their relationship, reducing Duane into a kooky nuisance and retaining Belial's stunted, perpetual anger to the point where all of Granny Ruth's "breakthroughs" prove useless once Belial attacks Uncle Hal simply because there needed to be a flashback to the separation scene from the original.

Basket Case 3 hints at some good ideas in its own wild way, including the bizarre fantasy sequence involving Belial having a threesome with twin sisters (Carla and Carmen Morrell) that suggests Belial dreams of bachelorhood and freedom from familial responsibilities both brotherly and paternally. But they just don't go anywhere at all. Brain Damage and Frankenhooker showed more courage of conviction on Henenlotter's part, using their tasteless set pieces to follow through on their own twisted views of morality.

Henenlotter forsakes all promising elements and instead becomes afflicted with a fatal case of the wackies. This is the most emptily madcap of anything he's made, and the increased emphasis on broad comedy becomes stifling. Little Hal is allowed to riff during Eve's childbirth like a bad Rip Taylor impersonator. Opal is revealed to be a leather-clad dominatrix who bullwhips Duane into non-submission. Granny Ruth scat-sings her way through a group sing-along of Lloyd Price's "Personality," which, to be fair, is really fun. And Belial is presented with a mechanical body clearly stolen from the Power Loader seen in Aliens, although with Belial operating it, it brings to mind Krang from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles cartoon.

The gore effects suffer from this gear change, too, as one victim is strangled to the point where his eyes and mouth bulge out like it were some live-action recreation of a Tex Avery short. Granted, the "parasite pants" scene from Brain Damage and the Super Crack massacre of Frankenhooker were just as chintzy, but they still managed to evoke chuckles and cringes. The most gruesome scene here involves the accidental flattening of one of the terrible tots, but that comes across like an afterthought and has no genuine set-up.

Fittingly, the performances become even more campy. Kevin Van Hentenryck and Annie Ross are as enthusiastic and game as before, but by having to reprise their roles to no greater good, their pleasures are more isolated. Duane eating a bowl of Corn Flakes as Belial kills one of the offending deputies (affording another instance of insufferable improv involving an Elvis drawl) offers mere chuckles when it could've been truly hilarious. And watching Granny Ruth go shopping for condoms at a drugstore or ordering fast food from counter girl Beverly Bonner (whom you may remember was kindly prostitute Casey from the original) are needless diversions compared to her gleeful, nationally-broadcast send-off speech. The rest of the cast strain way too hard with very little charisma for cheap laughs.

Frank Henenlotter felt cheated by the movie's producers, whose demands apparently resulted in causing eleven pages of possibly interesting material to fall by the wayside. Not only that, but the need for an R-rated feature which could be easily picked up by major video distributors (MCA/Universal initially handled the videocassette release) showed noticeable fallout from the ratings board struggles which plagued Frankenhooker. Basket Case 3 suggests the dangers of compromise in breeding more of a natural abomination than anything Gabe Bartalos could ever concoct in an FX lab.

This is what happens when a Maverick goes on autopilot.

(Synapse have released single disc editions of both sequels, but Part 3 gets no bonus features to speak of excepting a trailer. If you're as much of a fan as I of Frank Henenlotter, skip directly to Second Sight's region-free UK release of the entire Basket Case series on Blu-Ray, which includes an honest retrospective featuring interviews with Henenlotter, Kevin Van Hentenryck and Annie Ross among others).

The Pack (1977)

THE PACK
(R, Warner Bros. Pictures, 99 mins., theatrical release date: November 20, 1977)

In the last official Dirty Harry vehicle from 1988, The Dead Pool, the prime suspect in a series of celebrity killings is a pompous schlock film director named Peter Swan. To get a better idea of his disreputable resume, the SFPD glance at a sizzle reel consisting of lurid clips from three of Swan's movies, including a scene of demon seed childbirth as well as one of a woman in a car being attacked by a bunch of mad dogs. It turns out that these moments were actually lifted from a triptych of past titles distributed by Warner Bros. and newly contextualized as a joke against Swan's Limey pretentiousness.

Even better from an ironic standpoint, the UK censor board removed both of those aforementioned instances of stock footage, the first being from Larry Cohen's It's Alive III: Island of the Alive (1987) and the latter rooted in 1977's The Pack.

As used in The Dead Pool, it could be inferred that Swan had merely ripped off Cujo for a cheap buck, as the scene bears an uncanny resemblance to Lewis Teague's popular Stephen King adaptation from 1983. In reality, The Pack not only preceded King's novel by several years, but also boasted the same veteran animal wrangler from the film version, Karl Lewis Miller, to prod the dogs into action (Miller also directed the furry stars of Stand by Me, Beethoven and Babe). Also, it was not a scene-stealing Liam Neeson who was responsible for helming The Pack, but instead Yankee journeyman filmmaker Robert Clouse, who worked steadily for the Warners, reaching his zenith with the Bruce Lee classic Enter the Dragon (1973) and his nadir with the Kurt Thomas turkey Gymkata (1985).

The Pack is also part of the big boom in "Nature's Revenge" movies which began in earnest at the start of the 1970s but was deathless upon the mid-decade success of Jaws. Adapted from a novel by David Fisher by Clouse himself (Clouse also turned an early James Herbert novel into a feature with Deadly Eyes from 1981, which also involved dogs albeit dressed up as rats, Killer Shrews-style), it was initially titled The Long, Dark Night and was also a reunion of Clouse with star Joe Don Baker, who previously had the lead role in the 1974 Hong Kong caper Golden Needles. Baker was perennially cast as rogues and vigilantes in the wake of his breakout in Walking Tall, but this is one of the rare exceptions in which his character is as affable as he is commanding.

Widowed marine biologist Jerry Preston (Baker) is wrapping up a two-year expedition studying shrimp on Seal Island, a popular tourist destination, with intentions to live there full-time after falling in love with teacher/fellow single parent Millie (Hope Alexander-Willis) over the past couple of summers. With the fall approaching, the ferry arrives to take the last vacationing families away, although without their pet dogs as they are set loose to fend for themselves in the grimy, barren woods. A collective of abandoned canines take shelter in a desolate barn and group together to gather whatever food they can get their paws on. They begin by feasting upon a horse belonging to storekeeper Clyde Hardiman (Richard B. Shull), then by tearing apart the guide dog of blind recluse McMinnimee (Delos V. Smith, Jr.). It isn't too long until they learn the taste of human blood, and with a whole cabin full of kibble arriving via a quintet of weekend visitors, it's up to Jerry to unite the survivors and barricade themselves as they await rescue from the mangy, marauding mongrels.

A popular theme amongst these tales of bad animals (one best detailed in Melbourne cinephile Lee Gambin's comprehensive Massacred by Mother Nature) is man's inhumanity to mammals as well as his indifference to the environment. Lines are drawn between the people who have a pure connection to the critters of the world, namely Jerry, with his loyal bond to his German Shepherd companion Rye, and those who do not, which is generalized to include all city folk. "Most of these dogs were just tourist pets until a couple of weeks ago," Jerry asserts when pressed by his frightened, insolent charges. Indeed, the variety of breeds on display, which include collies (one Lassie look-a-like in particular is spared for thematic purposes), spaniels, Dobermans and even Dalmatians, allow for a wider canvas of once-docile companions gone primal in their need for survival, thus eventually they will target the human race who left them behind with anger in their eyes and froth on their fangs.

The Pack excels in the scenes of brutal violence committed by or against the dogs based on this empathetically visceral realization that these former pets have crossed into feral territory. We're not dealing with wild wolves, but relatable specimens of Man's Best Friend. There is a leader amongst them, a mixed-breed mutt whom Jerry first encounters after he bites Rye on the leg and whom he alerts the rest of the population as a potential danger due to its irreversible madness. This particular dog stands out amongst the others because it is made up to look particularly battered and vicious, his coat seeming to have been skinned in many a scuffle. In dialogue and throughout the final confrontation with Jerry in the attic of Hardiman's shack, the creature is elevated to head vampire status. This headlining horror hound proves a very memorable emblem of fright.

If only Clouse had been a bit more generous towards his supporting cast of two-legged performers, who are a disparately clichéd bunch at best. The newest guests on Seal Island are a blowhard banker named Jim Dodge (Richard O'Brien) and his entourage, including craven vice president Walker (Ned Wertimer), secretary Marge (Bibi Besch), supposed cook Lois (Sherry Miles), and Dodge's obese, resentful son Tommy (Paul Wilson). If these characters seem like innocent people caught in the crossfire of a suddenly hostile situation, their behaviors and attitudes negate such an easy route to sympathy. The most foolish drama involves Dodge trying to force blonde bimbo Lois, introduced chiefly by her bun-hugging blue jeans, onto the droopy, diffident Tommy, who resists every potential pass ("He just sat and talked. He didn't even try to grab a tit!").

Lois follows Tommy into the forest after an argument with his dad, and the kid bares his soul for a brief moment. But that's immediately rendered moot since they both end up receiving chase from The Pack, and it's embarrassing for both Miles, whose Lois helplessly fails to catch up with the overweight Tommy and klutzily tumbles into a brook, and Wilson, who is shown running for his life in protracted slow-motion which emphasizes his flop sweat and flapping flab.

Seal Island even has its own designated Quint clone in the form of cantankerous Cobb, played with admitted relish by R.G. Armstrong. After Dodge grievously tries to mow down the dogs in his truck and then gets mauled to near-death for his troubles, Cobb fires off a bitter riposte at Walker and summates his own hostile attitude toward mankind ("Far from me to get upset when a fool dies"). Alas, he volunteers to row the 18-mile path towards civilization, and it turns out as well as you'd hope.

Thankfully, Joe Don Baker offers up a surprising warmth and provides more unfettered charisma than one would expect given his propensity for ignoble anti-heroes. Rarely does one comment on the man who played Mitchell as being "the heart and soul" of a 1970s exploitation effort, but boy does he prove himself such. Hope Alexander-Willis is also solid as his romantic interest, quite beautiful in her relationship to Jerry and convincingly perturbed in the show-stopping car assault scene. Ralph Woolsey provides atmospheric, natural cinematography that turns the remote island locale into a gusty, shadowy death trap, and composer Lee Holdridge offers a tense, terse accompaniment to the action which works hard to smooth over the crudeness in Clouse's direction.

I'm pretty positive that however Peter Swan's "Hotel Satan" had turned out, it wouldn't be worthy of running with The Pack. Warner never officially released the film on DVD, either by itself or in a pack of its own, but the company's manufactured-on-demand Archive vault has this available in a sturdy anamorphic 1.85:1 transfer, though is strictly no bones in the bonuses department. The theatrical trailer for this has been preserved in all its 35mm glory on Synapse Films' 42nd Street Forever, Volume 3 DVD compilation.

Anguish (1987)

ANGUISH
(R, International Spectrafilm, 88 mins., U.S. release date: January 8, 1988)

In the wake of the concurrent deaths of Roger Ebert and Jess Franco, somehow the passing of Spanish director Bigas Luna passed me by. This is quite a shame for me, as I had a youthful familiarity of the man based on his 1987 horror flick Anguish, which was lucky enough to have caught my eye first in a VHS reference book showcasing recommended genre titles and then by seeing the actual physical version of its videocassette box at a Video Update in Mesa. The Key Video catalog release showed the memorably creepy face of diminutive actor Zelda Rubinstein superimposed over a spiral, and I was savvy enough to know that the suggestion was that of hypnotism without having to read any cautious preambles. I picked it off the shelf the exact moment I saw it and made it my mission to actively experience it.

Luna is perhaps best known for affording breaks to young homeland actors Javier Bardem and Penelope Cruz with his surrealistic, sex-crazed soap opera Jamón Jamón in 1992, years before the great Pedro Almodovar later helped make them bigger stars via Live Flesh and All About My Mother. No current household names are to be found in Anguish, although American stars Michael Lerner (Hill Street Blues) and Zelda Rubinstein (Poltergeist) are well-known and have vigorous enough personalities to help sell this film's twisty indictment of spectatorship. Luna also seems to set his anarchic sights on William Castle-style gimmickry, the Oedipal complexes of many popular horror touchstones, and the notion of the vicarious release which constitutes the reason people consume horror movies, for better or for worse.

I feel like a certain sense of tact is needed in handling the developments of Anguish, a movie that pulls the rug from under its own artificiality only to engage in quirky juxtapositions and parallel situations that give it the heady allure of solving a puzzle box. Most horror films involving methodical slashers aren't as intentionally mind-contorting as this. So I'll try to keep spoilers to a minimum whilst doing my best to deliver my impression of this very odd, surprisingly complex story.

Anguish begins with a loudspeaker announcement warning of free-by-ticket-purchase medical service available in the theater lobby for those who may need it. At the same time, there is onscreen text which rehashes what the film's advertisement touted up as that there are certain "subliminal messages and mild hypnosis" which may be of no permanent consequence but, once again, advice is given that you "leave the auditorium immediately" should you become upset.

The proper movie stars Lerner as John Pressman, a hospital orderly and optometrist's assistant rendered nearsighted from diabetes and living under the care of his elderly Mother (Rubinstein). Henpecked at work after a haughty patient named Caroline (Isabel Garcia Lorca) complains about her contact lenses cutting into her eyes, John gets bloody revenge after his clairvoyant Mother puts her son under a deep trance. No longer the "hiding, happy" snail the world has reduced him to, the vindictive Ms. Pressman mind-melds with John, and she guides him towards murdering Caroline and her lover at their penthouse and then slicing out their eyeballs for souvenirs.

And then a whole new perspective is introduced, meaning that what we've just seen is indeed a fictional construct being observed by the audience of a Los Angeles cineplex. To put it plainer, it was "only a movie," a film called "The Mommy" currently being screened for a matinee auditorium at the Rex. One member of the crowd, teenage Patty (Talia Paul), is exhibiting signs of serious distress and begging her friend Linda (Clara Pastor) to take her home. The disturbing images continue to take an unhealthy toll on Patty to the point where John's dramatized carnage, which soon extends to a revival screening of The Lost World, becomes all too real for her to handle.

The second act of the film, therefore, has the Anguish audience (re: us) watching the watchers of "The Mommy," as Patty and several others experience disorientation from the reverberating, repetitive mantras of Mother as well as the graphic violence more akin to Italian giallos than MPAA-submitted U.S. slashers. This part of the film eventually proves more fascinating than the fictional film onscreen, especially since "The Mommy" is just a programmatic piece of lurid bloodletting with laughably prolonged, deliberately old-fashioned "surrealism" (you try not to chuckle when John is framed against a spiral and the camera frenetically swoops in and circles around). A teen boy in a circle of friends clutches his heart due to the psychology-warping intensity of the sound mix when Mother hypnotizes John, whilst another lonely man (Angel Jove) with a shocked, stretched face seems to check his watch in anticipating the film's end, although his motivations turn out to be not quite so simple.

Eventually, Linda, who has spent the better part of act on berating her frightened friend whilst staring at the screen and snacking on popcorn, comes to realize Patty's paranoia and feverish imagination is wholly justified. Finally, the movie develops a decent amount of suspense in time for a grand finale that turns the Rex theatre into a crime scene and finally sends poor Patty into full-on hysteria.

Bigas Luna has given us the ultimate in voyeuristic fascination: a movie where we become spellbound at the sight of others being spellbound because of a movie. The third act is not as fluid at juggling both of the unfolding films, as "The Mommy" peters out at the moment where John fatefully reunites with Mother, but it is captivating to see the way in which life imitates art for the poor people at the Rex. And Luna's canny compositions both on-camera and through sound design keep the illusion strong like blood rushing from the heart to the head and back down again. Luna is also fond of his recurring motifs: snails, caged pigeons and, of course, lots and lots of eyes. It's almost as if Luna is reclaiming the violence toward sight away from Lucio Fulci and replacing it in the surrealist Spaniard tradition of Un Chien Andalou. Certainly, Luna's golden hues, controlled if copious use of cross-cut edits and engrossing Scope framing put a lot of lesser schlock cinema to shame.

When describing Anguish, I do feel the closest comparison piece is Lamberto Bava's outlandish if more entertaining shocker Demons (1985), which unspooled supernaturally when spilling out the slaughter from the projected image to the communal setting. It also was a lot more exaggerated, as the people in the theatre were colorful and diverse in their personalities. Anguish is a noticeable inverse, as the Rex audience is more typical of a nondescript weekend afternoon crowd and has no punks or perverts in sight.

Anguish, though, loses momentum to a certain degree since Luna's academic fascination with the conflicting behaviors in which people who binge on bloody B-movies exhibit reveals a filmmaker more heady in his intentions than heartfelt. Remember the advice from the theatre owner at the start of the film? This falls on deaf ears for Patty and some of the more squeamish, impressionable cinemagoers, and for all his boasts of medical service and oxygen masks, the lobby is entirely barren save for a few staffers who duly get murdered. The resonance of Luna's experimental approach lies in the way in which the viewer is forced to examine his own objective relationship with the lurid power of celluloid, especially since it's easy to lose patience with the thinly-sketched roster of characters in either film.

Luna is nowhere near the soulful provocations of Pedro Almodovar or the brutal self-reflexivity of Dario Argento in dealing with the meta-textual, nor does he transcend the sum of his influences like those two international icons. But if he inspires a gorehound to some degree of thought, at least such an intention is noble, and when the closing credits crawl in yet another amusing bit of surveillance, it seems reasonable that we can finally trust our own eyes again...maybe.

(The film's copyright date is 1986, but Anguish made its theatrical debut in native Spain in 1987 as Angustia, getting picked up for American release the following year. The movie was released on U.S. digital video in its intended 2.35:1 aspect ratio, and with a properly enveloping 5.1 surround remix to boot, through Anchor Bay/Blue Underground.)

Dr. Giggles

 

DR. GIGGLES

(R, Universal Studios/Largo Entertainment, 95 mins., theatrical release date: October 23, 1992)

"Get ready to take your medicine, Moorehigh. The doctor is in!"

At the beginning of the 1990s, the slasher film was truly on life support. The defining horror subgenre of the previous decade, and the source of much profits and pontification, had already run its course and started to drill itself into a shallow grave. Such was plain to see in the development of many of the era's biggest franchises. Freddy died, Jason went to Hell, Michael took a vacation to Planet Druidia, and Chucky was experiencing the kind of diminishing returns brought on by a hasty venture to military school. But there was still a market, and undaunted producers attempted to fill the void by any means necessary.

So along came sadistic leprechauns, cuckolded dentists and, for the purposes of this review, the serial malpractitioner known as Dr. Giggles.

His real name is Evan Rendell, Jr., the son of a once-respected surgeon who was lynched by his fellow small town residents of Moorehigh after his wife's heart disease brought about a psychotic new M.O. He was orphaned at the tender age of seven and recently lived as an inmate of the Tarawood State Mental Hospital. But this psychotic prodigy finally pulled off a bloody breakout and is coming home with a vengeance.

He's a depraved homicidal killer, and he makes house calls!

Dr. Giggles, the movie, directed by Manny Coto and co-written with Sonny Boy scribe Graeme Whifler, gathers together all the classic tropes of its forebears like a Now! hits compilation. "The night HE came back" from Halloween? Check. Hedonistic horn dog teenagers too late for Friday the 13th? No matter, as they're all right on time for their appointment with death. Ominous spooky house and nursery rhyme mythology from straight outta Springwood? One, two, Freddy's going to sue. The methodical murders and post-mortem zingers of Krueger's later years also surface. And the mad doctor's loony chuckle is as distinct as that of Charles Lee Ray.

Akin to Robert Englund and Brad Dourif's iconic work as Freddy and Chucky, maverick character actor Larry Drake brings the right kind of aplomb to the role of Dr. Giggles. Fresh off his rogue supporting performance in Sam Raimi's Darkman and in the midst of his televised L.A. Law fame, Drake resembled a modern day Peter Lorre and is exquisitely sarcastic in handling his over-the-top penchant for medically-themed wisecracks. Coto frames Drake with enough cock-eyed angles and plenty of imposing ground-up P.O.V. shots to preserve the illusion of menace. But there's also a refreshing humor in seeing his grotesque funhouse mirror reflection as well as the oddball camera placement from within a victim's mouth as Rendell inspects her tonsils. The combined playfulness of director and star proves irresistible and is certainly a step above the likes of Child's Play 3 or Freddy's Dead: The Final Nightmare.

But Drake was also known for two separate appearances on HBO's Tales from the Crypt, particularly the Robert Zemeckis-directed pilot "And All Through the House," wherein Drake took on the axe-wielding Santa suit. Coto was responsible for an episode as well in 1991's "Mournin' Mess," about a killer of hobos. Dr. Giggles feels like its ideal home would be on paid cable television, even if it was originally filmed in 2.35:1 Panavision (currently only available on a 1993 LaserDisc release). Given the plot's lightweight sense of pulpiness and reliance on familiar scenarios involving make-out spots (Breeder's Hill), isolated houses from which Rendell springs from out of nowhere and, of course, the use of a crowded fairground in a chase sequence (this time it plays as a direct homage to Orson Welles' The Lady from Shanghai), this has the distinct appearance of a late-blooming if then-modern shocker.

The titular maniac's canny, campy perversion of Hippocratic Oath is exploited to its fullest potential. Armed with a handbag full of makeshift instruments and familiar hospital paraphernalia, Rendell systematically makes his rounds butchering the locals with syringes, scalpels, otoscopes, and thermometers. His most novel method of dispatch involves a de facto wicked stepmother played by 1980s starlet Michelle Johnson (Blame it on Rio, Waxworks) and a hydraulic portable liposuction machine with lethal blades inside the tubes. Regurgitated ice cream and blood flows with grisly glee.

Future Charmed coven member Holly Marie Combs, predating Sidney Prescott in her Plain Jane pluckiness, is the sullen survivalist/female teen lead, Jennifer Campbell, who is given parallels to Rendell by virtue of a dead mother's specter and hereditary cardiac woes. Trying to adjust with the help of an attentive if wayward boyfriend, Max (Glenn Quinn), her frail heart is in danger of breaking thanks to the machinations of sardonic siren Coreen (Sara Melson), who flirts with Max over saxophone lessons. Jennifer's concerned father (Cliff De Young) blows off his trophy squeeze Tamara (Johnson) when his daughter disposes of her EKG tracker and ventures off into the cruel world at her most vulnerable. When Rendell discovers Jennifer's illness, he sets his twisted mind on capturing the girl and finishing what his daddy started.

Plenty of shameful secrets are exposed, the origins of Rendell's madness are recounted via flashbacks and a final confrontation ensues in which Max and young policeman Officer Reitz (Keith Diamond) attempt to rescue Jennifer before she goes under Rendell's knife. Coto and Whifler adhere to formula slavishly, complete with a waiting room full of Rendell's rotting victims, but the gallows humor is consistent and more clever than expected. In one of the film's queasiest scenes, one of Jennifer's oversexed friends forgoes putting a condom on before making out and crawls into bed to find not his lingerie-clad girlfriend, but 42-year-old Rendell awaiting with a pithy one-liner and a circumcising scalpel. Even better and sicker is the sight of Rendell ailing a gunshot wound in a manner which brings twisted élan to the old adage "Physician, heal thyself," which is sure enough written into the script.

Dr. Giggles does manage to believably entertain better than a lot of the films of its ilk. It's not cutting-edge by a long shot, but it certainly is a cut-up. By all rights, this film should've signaled the death knell for the mainstream slasher film until Wes Craven defined irony amidst all the dicing. And its paltry gross of $8 million demonstrates just how unassuming Coto's film really is. Larry Drake went on to reprise Robert Durant in the DTV world, but his Dr. Giggles was perceived as a one-joke routine. That's such a shame considering how committed Drake is to his performance and that it helps turn an also-ran into an admittedly minor cult favorite. It's a minor blessing that Drake, playing a loon in scrubs more hazardous to your health than Drs. Howard, Fine & Howard combined, manages to incise a path into your heart only to tear it out and leave you with enough of a spasm to jolt your funny bone.

 



Downloaded (2013)

DOWNLOADED
(Unrated, but contains some profanity; distributor: VH1 Networks; run time: 106 minutes; release date: July 1, 2013)

In May of 1999, an introverted college dropout and his chat room comrades developed version 2.0 of a software called Napster. Designed seemingly to mirror its chief creator’s habit of listening to the radio whilst programming his computer, its architects also idealized the app as a way of connecting with peers through music. The file format known as the .mp3 had already existed, but Fanning’s decentralized, multi-server invention put the rhythm in the algorithm, and the exposed hard drives of millions of users lead to easy access to virtually every song one could ever dream of hearing. College students across the nation freely turned their PCs into jukeboxes, and a new model for consuming licensed recordings was clear to see. All it ended up costing was $500 million in investment loans and one of the most heated litigations ever in regards to copyright infringement.

An actor whose previous career highlight was being the first at stake in 1987's The Lost Boys, provided you discount his later encounters with magical payphones and big-bootied Martians, Alex Winter's inaugural attempt at a feature documentary arrives courtesy of VH1's "Rock Docs" boutique label. Downloaded: The Movie was developed by Winter initially as a dramatized narrative film in 2002, but now comes to fruition after a decade as something which can be easily slotted between reality show reruns and repeats of "40 Awesomely Epic Fails." It also arrives in the wake of Napster co-pres Sean Parker’s unflattering supporting role in David Fincher's The Social Network as memorialized by Justin Timberlake’s predatory, power-crazed Faust of a Facebook founder.

The real Sean Parker testifies about his involvement in the digitalized downfall of the recording industry, opulently seated next to exotic plates of naked women, but it’s the company’s principal brain trust who emerges as the main and most fascinating personality on display. That would be Shawn Fanning, born in Brockton, MA but raised quite rocky to the point where he developed a highly-advanced technological expertise in his late teens. Winter frames the movie as Fanning’s eulogy, first by having Fanning recount his turbulent upbringing and then later freezing upon his solemn face as his former employees bust his chops about the collapse of his controversial passion project.

Winter is keenly aware of the youthful revolution that drastically altered the dependence on era-specific physical mediums like vinyl LPs and electronically-manufactured CDs. But even with chronology and context on Winter's side, a peculiar sense of romanticizing becomes the dominant attitude in the perspective of the key participants. Whether it’s Napster employees pondering the error of the recording industry’s ways in stifling any attempt at a legit paid-subscription service or a brief scene of Noel Gallagher championing the record shop experience, there’s more pining than pontification being expressed throughout. Even Lars Ulrich, the Metallica drummer whose vehement opposition to the unauthorized, unpaid distribution of his band’s songs (even when they weren’t complete) lowered him to level of a baby-kicking villain, confides his faith in the “American dream” of democratic, civil conversation whilst protesting the hundreds of thousands of anonymous users in supposedly unlawful possession of Metallica songs.

Whether seen as slack-jawed juveniles or graven thirty-somethings, Fanning and Parker tread around the notion that they were fostering a community that was "stealing" as well as "sharing." Although the fiercely outspoken likes of Henry Rollins and Chuck D. are on hand for the sake of credibility, the only noted evidence of Napster's potential for breaking new music was some seemingly nondescript jam band out of Vermont called Dispatch, who better prospered in the YouTube generation when a 2012 album debuted in the Top 40. Truth be told, Napster was chiefly the support system for fiscally-strapped collegiates in need of instant gratification, as evidenced when Indiana University students prompted a ban on Napster after overflowing their network.

In Winter's hands, the history of Napster proffers another fable of youthful upstarts causing a paradigm shift against the old world order, namely the archaic Recording Industry Association of America and various artistic enemies in the major labels (see: Roger McGuinn of The Byrds calling out Columbia for stiffing him in royalties during Napster’s Senate hearing). Fanning and Parker’s then-naiveté is preserved in their adult incarnations, which only makes them more aloof and conspicuously cagey. For the considerably earnest and frail Fanning, it’s hard to escape the feeling that Napster’s gradual crash-and-burn did a number on his self-confidence. But Parker, who would go on to launch the now-controversial Spotify, still can’t get over the bogus blow to metal and gangsta rap “integrity” via Metallica and Dr. Dre's lawsuits. The latter figure barely makes an impression during the film, whereas the former band's betrayal of its fans is reduced to moronic grievances via Parker and some imbecilic interviewee from outside the Napster offices.

The lone revelation I gleaned from this movie was Parker's damning admission, in an e-mail that the RIAA discovered and milked for their prosecution, that the downloading community's anonymity be protected since they were essentially pirating. This continued protection hinders the movie since there is a gaping lack of testimony from people who actually used the service back in the day, thus depriving any further credence to Fanning and Parker's claims of legitimacy. Instead, this karmic leak drove a wedge between their partnership and left Fanning on his own to make unattainable amends.

Downloaded: The Movie comes across more like a comfortable assemblage of sound bites than a thorough, thoughtful time capsule. Alex Winter does put a "human face" on the subject of Napster with a genuine if not judicious fairness and certainly more sincerity than Lars Ulrich claims, but there's a considerable lack of focus and too many frivolous tangents in the montage suite, namely a potshot taken at two of the Spice Girls that embarrasses them more than the Metallica caricatures excerpted from a Joe Cartoon sketch. But you can’t expect an abundance of depth from a project funded and distributed by a cable channel which now effectively cares less for music than the Napster boys themselves did. This one’s worth watching once you can finally download it yourself for 99 cents or less. In fact, you can even stream it on AOL for free.

Enchantéd, Pt. V: Second Time Lucky

Enchantéd: A Retrospective Tribute to Diane Franklin

V. Second Time Lucky (1984)

(R, United International Pictures)

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[ED: The following article has literally been ghostwritten by the spirit of John Bishop, who dictated this article to a close friend in the wake of an unanticipated heart attack after repeated viewings of both Summer Girl and Second Time Lucky. Until he has ailed enough to type the next article in this series, which is devoted to the movie that introduced him to Diane Franklin in the first place, all we have for now is this piece regarding the 1984 movie Second Time Lucky. Our best wishes go out to John and his closest friends and family...]

The overwhelming temptation with this review is to write about what every other person who has seen Second Time Lucky can only focus on, which is the slack-jawed, goo goo-eyed glory of watching Diane Franklin frolic about a New Zealand wilderness in the buff (and still managing to star in a PG-rated movie, at least in some territories). In all honesty, I can't deny the allure of such fanservice, myself, particularly because unlike the last two movies which displayed Diane's fantastic flesh, herein I can find only guiltless pleasure in the sight of a very beautiful, barenaked woman, the same one who stole my heart whilst keeping her clothes on (in Better Off Dead, natch), without the context fouling up my natural arousal.

Remember that in The Last American Virgin, Karen is twice stripped down in moments that are particularly unpleasant to watch. The first, of course, is her inevitable sexual encounter with the boorish Rick, which poor, lovesick Gary cannot effectively delay. The postmodern reading behind Gary's pursuit of Karen is that of a "stalker with a crush," and in this scene in particular, that description feels dangerously true. Although the viewer who actually believes in love would wish Gary had the fortitude to stand up for himself and for his feelings toward Karen, what if he did happen upon Karen and Rick making it in the press box? Very little he has done prior to that suggests a comfortable self-reliance in making his intentions clear. Chances are that if he caught them, he'd only be acting in the manner of a sad, teenage voyeur. The use of The Commodores' "Oh No" is another clue to the tragic futility of Gary’s adoration for Karen.

The second is Karen's stay at the abortion clinic, which the less said about it, the better. In both cases, Diane's nudity is deployed with proper context towards the downbeat story so that any deliberate ogling carries with it the sense of shame and sorrow.

Amityville II: The Possession, meanwhile, didn't linger as much on Diane's R-rated parts, framed primarily to showcase her body from the shoulders up and thus emphasizing natural facial expressions, a particularly poignant power Diane has as a performer, over gratuitous fanservice. The moments of more explicit nudity are fleeting and handled with more taste, which is surprising since Patricia Montelli doffs her nightgown to appease her evil-spirited brother Sonny and ends up getting violated in a particularly queasy fashion.

It took the network-aired MOW Summer Girl from 1983 to show some form of progress. This is the first movie in which Diane Franklin demonstrates sex appeal in a truly playful manner, rich with glamour, conviction and class. There are still a few notable implications, mainly in the first instances of calculated titillation used to ensnare Gavin/the viewer, first by having Cinni take her shirt off near an open window and then at the beach via her application of both water and lotion in a teasing manner. And that Cinni is the villain of the film does invite a correlation between her comfortable acceptance of her femininity and her impure schemes against the Shelburne household. Diane talks about this double-standard in her autobiography, but nevertheless she projects a mature attitude of seduction and is allowed a greater chance to become charismatic in her sensuality, not just merely desirable.

In Summer Girl, Cinni was a schizoid bombshell who slipped in and out of personalities to both give her an advantage and to demonstrate her instability. The Australian production Second Time Lucky is more generous towards Diane's character-oriented performance preferences, as she plays era-hopping variations on the Biblical persona of Eve all the way from the Book of Genesis to the New Wave, No Nukes modern world. Temptation is posited in several different period settings as Adam tries his best to resist in the name of both God and true love.

Yes, this is essentially a romantic farce which mines the classic Judeo-Christian fable of mankind’s fall from grace for erotic jokes and japes. The premise is that God in Heaven (Robert Morley) gets a collect call from his downstairs neighbor in Hades (Sir Robert Helpmann) challenging him to a "double or nothing" wager to see if man still has what it takes to uphold the saintliness and virtue of His image. Their pawns are two bespectacled college kids sitting aloof at a hedonistic frat party, conveniently named Adam and Evelyn and played with clear concessions towards the American teen market by Roger Wilson from Porky's and Diane Franklin from The Last American Virgin. It’s a typical meet-cute marathon session wherein hapless valedictorian Adam takes a tumble down the stairs and bumps into Evelyn, known by her friends as Eve, leading to a succession of toothy grins, wide eyes, and serendipitous sentence fragments. Of course, Adam accidentally stains Eve’s party dress and she unwittingly picks his room in which to change. And it’s expected that an elderly neighbor calls the police complaining of a disturbance of peace.

Adam doesn't predict the archangel Gabriel (John Gadsby), aka Gabby, to show up incognito as a motorbike cop and whisk him away to the Garden of Eden. Decreed as "the chosen one," the naïve Adam fails to catch on quickly in regards to what the setting dictates, and reluctant Gabby's vague instructions do him little service once Eve appears in a very familiar body, namely that of Evelyn. Adam plays along with the scenario as does Eve, who dutifully gets paid a visit by the snake, or merely Satan with a sock puppet, once she happens upon the Tree of Knowledge. The Devil dupes her into eating the apple, persuades her to offer one to Adam and, naturally, the first test is a smashing failure.

But God need not fear, as there's always a second time...and three more after that.

Gabby frequently reminds Adam of a certain "danger signal" involving a particular impulse that, if Adam had any cognizance (or the slightest history of arousal, despite protesting at one point that he feels like he’s been swindled into a skin flick), would immediately recognize. His second go takes place in ancient Rome during the Gallic war, wherein “Adameus” returns from battle to the cheers of Caesar (Lucifer) and his voluptuous vestal virgin fiancée Devia (Eve). She beckons Adameus to her nuptial bed and promptly seduces him into a stupor, allowing for Caesar to catch Adameus and sentence him to ignoble death in the Coliseum.

Round three is where the turnaround finally occurs, as Adam’s now an English soldier in WWI wounded by a bomb (a candle dropped down from on high by the frustrated Lord) and taken under the care of a comely French nurse (Eve). But she’s still the Devil's plaything, as Old Scratch resurfaces now as Wilhelm II and Eva is his top spy. They still get found out by the British army and Eva is placed on the firing line, where Adam realizes in the midst of a potential tryst that he's not supposed to give in to lust. But will his newfound freewill carry him through the rest of the tests, as he attempts to sway Eve into rediscovering her own immortal soul whilst the Devil thickly lays on the deceit?

Let's get this out of the way right now: Diane Franklin is really splendid in this movie. I mentioned that in Summer Girl, you could sense Diane’s growth as a creative, confident screen presence, building upon the promise of her first two film roles (I will leave Deadly Lessons alone, because that's the last movie I'd recommend to anyone who hasn't watched a single DF vehicle). With Second Time Lucky, Diane continues to prove herself an enchanting, relaxed actor of both boundless range and splendor. Seeing her as Devia in the Roman passage and as a gum-chewing blonde gangster moll named Evie in another Chicago-set vignette invites sincere comparisons to Liz Taylor and Jean Harlow, but Diane finds her own groove in every unique character and works wonderfully through vocal inflections and multiple body languages to make each personality dazzle.

Better Off Dead diehards (myself, included) should thrill to the revelation of watching Diane act with her first use of a French accent. The character of Eva is more than just a precursor to Monique Junet, though, especially in the direct sexiness Diane brings to this duplicitous nurse. Watching Eva come on to Adam in her cell provides the film its best moment of genuine steamy bliss, and when she taunts her executioners with a brazen flash of her breasts, accompanied by a snippet from "La Marseillaise," my own heart could do nothing except explode on the spot...just my luck.

The whole principal cast is encouraged to handle multiple personalities, including Franklin, Wilson, Gadsby, Helpmann, and John-Michael Howson as Satan's overeager emissary. Although not all of them rise to level of a Peter Sellers or Alec Guinness or Mel Brooks, they are occasionally fun to watch and do allow for some better appreciation of the performers. Wilson doesn't quite nail each Adam variant with the same finesse as Franklin (although he shares with her a sense of plucky humor: "Would you settle for demigod?" he concedes to a pompous Caesar), but gets better as he goes along. Although his injured English soldier looks very similar to Cary Elwes from The Princess Bride (he even says "As you wish" at one instance), Wilson's highlight remains his untouchable Prohibition copper Adam Smit in the film's funniest ("Is that what the chef recommends?"), most dramatic segment. Helpmann and Howson provide the movie more than its fair share of ham, camping it up recklessly in an attempt to make the film’s innuendo-laced dialogue sound more droll than it is on paper (Howson’s swishy Mark Antony surrogate communicates only in comically gay comebacks). The amiable Gadsby, meanwhile, is the brunt of some of the script’s most embarrassing dialogue (the "jolly roger" speech is a low) as Adam's hesitant celestial guide.

Would you believe this one-time Bo Derek vanity project was directed by Michael Anderson if I told you? Michael Anderson, Sr., the English journeyman who once scored the mother of all triple crowns in the 1950s with The Dam Busters and adaptations of both 1984 & Around the World in 80 Days, who later found cult esteem among genre fans for Logan's Run and Orca: The Killer Whale in the late 1970s? Anderson has an impeccable sense of scope and is one of the most generous directors any actress would seem fortunate to collaborate with. Even in a pan-and-scan DVD transfer that is regrettably murky and noisy at times, Second Time Lucky has production values of immense grandeur and a perky female lead who never stops brightening up the scenery. This is a pair of aces that desperately cries out for a full house of some serendipity that doesn't quite get dealt.

I will not chide the film for its predictability, as the opening makes it clear that Adam and Evelyn are preordained lovebirds meant for a duet, but the inconsistencies of the screenplay are tough to ignore. Begin with Adam, a real-life braniac whose commencement address hints at avoiding temptation but whose intelligence wavers between an understanding of God's will and a staggering density. He gets fooled close to three times until he knows exactly what the "danger signal" entails, which is kind of pathetic for a romantic lead let alone a young man of his age. Evelyn, too, betrays her own apparent smarts without explanation, which has the unwelcome hint of objectification despite the instinctive nuances Diane brings to the characters, who progressively develop a little more heart and soul with each passing reincarnation. Did Evelyn blindly agree to let the Devil possess her before she appears in Eden? I dunno, but at least there is no incest involved. Setting aside all manner of theological paradoxes, I'd rather just say that the love story element itself is rather contrived if ultimately cute and graced with some sweet chemistry.

Although it's not a trying experience if taken wholly as a lark, Second Time Lucky is scatterbrained and often too sophomoric for its own good, threatening to extinguish the honest sparks developing between Adam and Evelyn. Despite the best efforts of Roger Wilson and Diane Franklin, both of whom eclipse their prior libidinous glories as Mickey and Karen, one could easily forget there is supposed to be a love story by the time things wrap up with a sacrificial show of devotion spurned on by a cheater in the game. The greatest reward of watching this at least once (I don't suggest multiple times unless you're asking for an RSVP to '80s babe heaven the same way I did) is that Diane acquits herself very gracefully in preparation for the next entry in this series, one that offers up her most warming, lovable "babe" persona in the midst of a madcap suburban wonderland.

The Scorpion Releasing DVD release recycles the old 1.33:1 master from the antiquated Academy disc without much restoration, but Diane Franklin and veteran producer Tony Ginnane, a familiar voice from Scorpion's previous releases of The Day After Halloween and The Survivor, do allow for this edition to be truly special. They team up for an audio commentary and provide individual interviews, and Diane raids her photo book for some typically adorable behind-the-scenes stills. Ginnane continues to charm and inform in his native Australian brogue, but this is Diane's maiden voyage on bonus feature territory, and her hyperactive, super-enthusiastic personality is in full flight. Aside from referring to Evie as a "sexy dingbat" and continually marveling at the freedom of her performances repeatedly with a disarming sigh or cry of "oh my gosh," Diane also points out something not mentioned in her book: that Roger Wilson wrote and performed the song ("Radioactive Tears") which he uses to spit in the face of the Devil for the final segment.

Because of Franklin and Ginnane's participation, Second Time Lucky seems an apt description for this film’s American DVD release history.