reveiws

Sex Demon (1975)

/ swampflix / 1 Comment

These days, rip-offs & retreads of The Exorcist are all the same grim-grey trudges through tired Catholic iconography.  They’re so dutifully routine that I can close my eyes and picture the entirety of titles like The Exorcism, The Last Exorcism, The Pope’s Exorcist, and The Exorcism of Emily Rose without having seen so much as a trailer; the only novelty left in the genre is Russell Crowe occasionally doing an outrageous Italian accent.  That wasn’t always the case.  While William Friedkin’s original Exorcist was a relatively reserved, grounded horror film that tried to make a supernatural phenomenon feel like a genuine real-world threat, a lot of its immediate echoes were bonkers, wildly unpredictable novelties (not least of all its own sequel The Exorcist III).  We used to live in a world where an Exorcist riff could be a Blacksploitation sex romp like Abby, a Turkish copyright violator like Şeytan or, apparently, a hardcore gay porno like 1975’s Sex Demon.  To be clear, Sex Demon is not a porno parody of The Exorcist.  It’s a strangely serious, sinister knockoff of the original – a psychedelic story about a cursed medallion, nightmare-realm Satanic orgies, and a couple who’s normal, milquetoast life together is violently disrupted by demonic possession . . . and ejaculating erections.  It would take a lot of footage of Russell Crowe riding a Vespa to match that kind of novelty.

To celebrate their anniversary, a gay male couple have morning sex and then venture out of the apartment to buy each other gifts.  Some misguiding antiquing leads to the purchase of a cursed medallion (helpfully accompanied by a note that explains “This medallion is cursed”), which the older man buys for his younger lover as an affectionate gesture.  Since there’s less than an hour’s worth of celluloid to fill, the medallion makes quick work of transforming the younger boyfriend from gentle lover to demonic rapist, sending him on a manic quest to fist, piss on, and cum inside as many men as he can before either the spell wears off or his body expires.  The movie skips all of the science vs. religion diagnoses of its source text and gets right to the bed-rattling goods, but it somehow doesn’t lose an ounce of the feel-bad domestic horror in the process.  By mirroring specific objects & moments from the original Exorcist, it invites a parent-child reading on the main couple’s age gap relationship, which is a kind of 40-something/20-something affair.  Having given his younger boyfriend a cursed anniversary present, the older man is worried that he’s psychologically fucked the kid up for life, and a lot of the same helpless exasperation Reagan’s mother feels in the original carries over here.  It’s a feel-bad porno where even the sex scenes are set to a somber, menacing orchestral score, leaving you to wonder exactly what audience this was intended to please. 

Sex Demon‘s specific allusions to moments & totems from The Exorcist are relatively sparse beyond a brief recreation of the Catholic, climactic bedside ritual meant to cast the demon out of its host body.  It might not have clearly been presented as an Exorcist knockoff at all if it weren’t for the final scene’s violent tumble down a flight of apartment stairs or the marketing tagline declaring “Not even an exorcist could help!”  It’s only in retrospect that some moments stand out as allusions to The Exorcist, like Reagan’s masturbation with a crucifix being reworked as the possessed man stabbing a hookup in the anus with a screwdriver.  A lot of Sex Demon‘s horror is of its own making, including a ritualistic Satanic orgy that signals halfway through the runtime that the demonic possession has begun (a move that feels more inspired by Rosemary’s Baby than anything Friedkin directed).  The real creative centerpiece is a concluding montage that chaotically remixes all of the preceding film’s imagery into a violent, dizzying meltdown.  Sex scenes, antiques, dive bar strippers, candles, skulls, kitchen cabinets, and wobbly lamps rapidly flash over a menacing orchestral soundtrack, as if every frame snipped onto the editing room floor was randomly stitched together in lieu of filming something new for the climax.  That nauseating montage feels legitimately evil by the time it reaches its fever pitch, and for the first time you almost forget you’re watching something otherwise dutifully derivative.

Sex Demon was a lost film for nearly four decades, recently rediscovered and restored through the archival diligence of Ask Any Buddy‘s Elizabeth Purchell.  This was a much more substantial preservation of a lost porno parody than the infamous Bat Pussy reels uncovered by Something Weird in the 1990s.  It’s a battered, seemingly incomplete print, but it gets across the film’s artistic significance as an independent queer cinema mutation of a now-canonized horror classic.  Bat Pussy is much too silly of a comparison point, since Sex Demon takes its dramatic, romantic tension seriously enough to match other vintage porno outliers like Both Ways, Equation to an Unknown, and Pandora’s Mirror.  If you’re looking for a goofy parody of The Exorcist, you’re looking for the 1990 Leslie Nielsen comedy Repossessed.  Sex Demon is much more concerned with echoing the evil, supernatural horrors of the original, which is a pretty lofty goal for low-budget pornography.

-Brandon Ledet

Cobweb (2023)

/ swampflix / 2 Comments

I first became aware of Cobweb through a rare positive modern horror review from the boys (well, no longer “boys” I guess) of Red Letter Media. Like them, I am shocked by the distributor’s decision to drop this film into theaters in late July, right at the height of Barb–enheimer madness; we often treat this spooky time of the year as the default season for horror movies, but this is a Halloween movie if ever there was one, taking place in the lead up to and on Halloween Night. It’s the perfect little quiet piece of nasty work to end the season, if you haven’t already decided what the last stop on your horror train will be this year. 

Mark (Antony Starr, of The Boys) and Carol (Lizzy Caplan) are bad parents, the kind of bad parents that you’ve met before. Mark is charming in a way that wears off very quickly, as his facade of joviality is as paper-thin as his rictus grin is reptilian. Carol seems to live in constant fear of the potential for Mark to become violent, but despite that she withers beneath her husband’s cold fury, she is capable of cruelty all on her own, and her constant fretting over the locking of doors implies deeply rooted issues. As a result, elementary-aged Peter (Woody Norman) is a shy, withdrawn, and bullied child, a fact that is accentuated by how much smaller he appears to be in comparison to his classmates. He gets a new substitute teacher in the form of Miss Devine (Cleopatra Coleman) just in time for a series of Halloween related projects, including fear-related drawing projects and decorating pumpkins. She quickly notices Peter’s isolation from his peers and what appear to be other signs of abuse; for one thing, the boy seems to be perpetually tired. What she doesn’t know is that Peter never gets a full night’s sleep because he is awakened every night by tapping coming from within the walls of his bedroom, a knocking that his parents deny the existence of and which is soon accompanied by the soft, whispering voice of a little girl begging for help. 

My viewing companion for the film noted that he had previously seen child actor Norman in the Joaquin Phoenix vehicle C’mon C’mon, and noted that he was a talented performer in that one as well, and he gives a very strong performance here. Caplan has a panicked, nervous energy here that I haven’t seen from her before, as it lacks the sardonic sense of humor of her more customary roles; she manically moves from room to room locking doors behind her like Nicole Kidman in The Others. Carol’s moments of genuine kindness toward her son always have a bitter aftertaste of guilt that will be terribly familiar to anyone who’s ever known a parent who is unable to stand up to their partner regarding the treatment of their child, and it’s potent, given how little other characterization she gets. Putting Starr in this role of Stepfather-adjacent pathological paternalism is the casting equivalent of shorthand that carries over the barely-contained psychopathy of his Homelander character on Amazon’s The Boys. He never commits any acts of physical violence, but his presence alone is menacing, and his hot-and-cold affection for his son is distressing. That Norman is holding his own in these scenes against the performers playing his parents is astonishing; I’ve rarely seen such a talented child actor, and I genuinely can’t remember the last one I saw whose last name wasn’t Fanning. 

The constant danger that poor Peter is in is palpable as the walls close in around him and his lifelines are clipped. His father is clearly dangerous, but he can’t rely on his mother for help as she is Mark’s collaborator as much as she is his prisoner, and Peter loses access to the only sympathetic person in his life, Miss Devine, when he is expelled from school after striking back at his bully at the suggestion of the voice behind the walls. The voice claims that she is Peter’s sister, locked away in the walls for being born “wrong” somehow, and that she has been waiting for Peter to grow strong enough to move the grandfather clock in their parents’ bedroom that hides the door to her prison, so that they can escape together before Mom and Dad decide to lock Peter away, too. Although the audience is naturally distrustful of the voice, we have no reason to think that the parents are innocent either, and Peter has no one else he can turn to anyway, so he commits to the plan to help her escape.

It would be incorrect to say that Cobweb “loses steam” as it enters its third act; if anything, the film picks up the pace from there. It does, however, lose some of its atmosphere and tension once it crosses that threshold. If you’re the kind of person who’s hypervigilant now as a result of growing up with a parent whose hair-trigger temper was like a second language, this will be familiar to you. The film inevitably takes a sharp turn into a different kind of horror once we get more answers about what’s in the walls (if anything) and what the parents know (or don’t). When Coleman re-enters the plot, things pick up a bit, and the film’s final chilling moments make up for some of the more conventional horror turns that occur. Still, this one is a real overlooked gem from this year, especially if you’re looking for something that puts atmosphere first. 

-Mark “Boomer” Redmond

Slaxx (2021)

/ swampflix / 4 Comments

You would think that a low-budget, 70min horror movie about a killer pair of blue jeans would be met with lowered, forgiving expectations, but the truth is that Slaxx has a lot to live up to.  Not only has the early buzz about this satirical, shopping mall-set horror comedy been generally positive, but the bar for movies about killer inanimate objects has been set weirdly high in recent years – especially when it comes to killer fashion.  Between In Fabric (about a killer cocktail dress), Deerskin (about a killer deerskin jacket), and Bad Hair (about a killer hair weave), this once-niche genre has recently ballooned to include plenty of genuinely great, surprisingly thoughtful horror novelties.  Unfortunately, the killer blue jeans movie doesn’t quite clear the hurdle set by those superior works, but if it were just a smidge funnier or politically sharper it might’ve gotten there.

Slaxx joins the much wider, richer genre of Shopping Mall Horror by setting its blue jeans bloodbath in a parody version of stores like American Apparel and H&M.  It smiling, supposedly philanthropic corporation professes to be “Making a better world today” through the sale of trendy green-fashions, but secretly outsources its clothes’ production to subcontractors who employ child-labor facilities in India, often with lethal consequences.  That’s how the roll-out of their new, Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants style one-size-fits-all-blue-jeans becomes sabotaged by the vengeful ghost of a child laborer, who possesses the blue jeans in order to massacre the company’s employees & clientele.  There are some well-observed political targets in that premise, especially in how consumers are in constant hunt of new, affordable clothing but don’t want to pay attention to the human rights violations that make that product possible (or, worse yet, want to be tricked into thinking their purchases are doing a real world good).  Unfortunately, the film’s humor is too broad & too self-amused to be worth much.  Its sketch-comedy level parodies of vapid YouTube Influencers™ or teenage Mean Girls don’t really have a place in what’s essentially a corporate-world satire; or at least they’re not nearly funny enough to earn one.

The frustrating thing is that the film’s actual horror gags are on-point, even if its satirical humor is loose & unfocused.  The blue jeans puppetry is especially cute, smartly opting for practical greenscreen effects over the weightless CGI buffoonery you’d expect.  There are plenty of great jeans-specific gore gags peppered throughout the film, including some gnarly images of the killer pants using their zippers as teeth to gnaw off their victims’ limbs or gathering in circles to gently slurp up the resulting pools of blood.  And when the movie isn’t making fun of the store’s teen employees for being airheaded Zoomers, it occasionally pauses to contrast their mangled body parts to broken-down mannequins, re-aiming the satire back at the proper corporate target.  Obviously, it’s a film with a pronounced sense of humor about itself (often to its own detriment), so not all the killer-pants puppetry is thematically serious or grotesque.  It also makes time for the slacks to enjoy a solo Bollywood dance number (complete with a behind-the-scenes look at that gag’s practical puppetry) just to keep the mood light.  It’s adorable in isolation, but not adorable enough to pave over the more straightforward Jokes that simply just don’t land.

I’m usually not this harsh about films with premises this silly.  Just last year, I (mildly) praised a film called Aquaslash about a killer amusement park waterslide, and that only has one scene where the central gimmick pays off.  I really do think Slaxx is suffering from bad timing.  In any other era, its adorable killer-pants puppetry would’ve been enough to win me over.  There just have been too many excellent, high-profile examples of that exact gag in recent genre films for Slaxx to skate by on novelty alone.  It needed to be just a little funnier or just a little more politically focused to stand out in the growing crowd of Killer Fashion horror comedies.

-Brandon Ledet

Shrunken Heads (1994)

/ swampflix / 1 Comment

EPSON MFP image

threehalfstar

campstamp

Family members collaborate on films all the time, but when the Elfman family gets together for a film, things get really weird. Richard Elfman, the brilliant mind behind the film The Forbidden Zone, directed Shrunken Heads. Richard’s brother, Danny Elfman, composed the main title theme, and his son, Bodhi Elfman, plays the role of street punk Booger Martin. Add the sick mind of Charles Band to the mix, and you’ve got the perfect B movie.

Shrunken Heads is an abnormal superhero movie with elements of horror and dark comedy. A street gang viciously murders three boys from New York City, but it just so happens that the boys’ neighborhood pal, Mr. Sumatra (Julius Harris), is a Haitian witch doctor. He sneaks into the funeral home after the boys’ service comes to an end, saws off their heads & takes them back to his apartment to shrink them with magical powers. Sumatra is able to train the boys’ shrunken heads to use their new powers, and they begin to put an end to the crime in their neighborhood & take revenge on their killers. These three little heads float around the city streets like The Powerpuff Girls, killing all the bad guys & turning their victims into zombies. While doing his best to rid the streets of crime, Tommy (one of the heads), also tries to develop a relationship with his old girlfriend Sally, which is difficult since he’s dead & doesn’t have a body. Mr. Sumatra ends up being a love guru as well as a witch doctor and is responsible for one of my favorite quotes in the film: “Never have I seen or heard of a human head made so small to show affection of this sort.”

Being one of my favorite B movies of all time, I highly recommended Shrunken Heads to everyone because there really is a little something for everybody in this film. There’s action, comedy, drama, magic, love, lots of cool/cheesy special effects, and even a portrayal of the step-by-step process of making shrunken heads.

Shrunken Heads is currently available on Hulu.

-Britnee Lombas