All posts by Rod Lott

Sorority Babes in the Slimeball Bowl-O-Rama (1988)

Like Fred Olen Ray’s Hollywood Chainsaw Hookers, David DeCoteau’s Sorority Babes at the Slimeball Bowl-O-Rama is one of those titles that told a potential VHS renter everything he (or she, but let’s be real) needed to know: Will there be blood? Will there be boobs? Although both concerns were legitimate, answers were not needed, thanks to an unspoken contract of trust.

Tri Delta pledges Lisa (Michelle Bauer, The Erotic Misadventures of the Invisible Man) and Taffy (Brinke Stevens, the Mommy movies) are in the midst of hazing rituals dealt by the paddle-clutching hands of Babs (Robin Stille, The Slumber Party Massacre). The final piece of their initiation puzzle is to break into the bowling alley at the local mall to steal a trophy. Three Peeping Tom frat guys accompany Lisa and Taffy, who happen to arrive at the alley as a punky thief named Spider (Linnea Quigley, Witchtrap) performs a little B&E on the premises herself.

As luck would have it, the six knock over the one trophy containing an imp (played by a rubber monster voiced in an urban patois by — ahem — Dukey Flyswatter, aka Michael Sonye of Surf Nazis Must Die). Uncle Impie, as he’s called, grants each a wish for letting him loose — the most obvious placing Bauer in (and then out of) incredibly sexy lingerie for the movie’s remainder — but his acts of kindness are merely a cover for plans of flagitious intent.

The premise of DeCoteau’s Sorority Babes in the Slimeball Bowl-O-Rama is no smarter than DeCoteau’s A Talking Cat?! — in fact, it may be more stupid — yet the difference between the two is significant, and I don’t mean the 25-year gulf between them. It’s effort and spirit — both of which the 1988 cult classic possesses, to be clear. Today, it’s as if he doesn’t even try, because the free element of fun has disappeared.

For all the production’s limitations, Sorority Babes does so many things right. In typical Charles Band style, most of the movie takes place in a single location, but a bowling alley is engaging. The imp barely moves beyond his mouth, but Flyswatter gives him a personality. Scripter Sergei Hasenecz’s human characters are one-note, but the actors’ performances have gumption. By embracing its trashiness, this early work of DeCoteau radiates a silliness and sexiness that tickle all the buttons video-store exploitation should. —Rod Lott

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Abrakadabra (2018)

Thirty years ago, Lorenzo Mancini’s magician father was killed onstage during a bullet stunt gone awry. Today, now a magician himself, Mancini (German Baudino, 2009’s Lucky Luke) returns to that very stage with his new show. However, the night before his debut, a woman is found murdered — her head poked into a box pierced by several swords; later, another is decapitated by a guillotine. In the authorities’ eyes, these and other acts of malicious magic implicate Mancini, the self-proclaimed “Master Mind of Mental Mystery.”

Abrakadabra marks the third Italian-language feature for Luciano and Nicolás Onetti, the Argentinian brothers who clearly love the giallo. As with 2013’s Sonno Profondo and 2015’s Francesca, they again aim not for a mere homage, but total authenticity; thus, Abrakadabra has been crafted as if it came from the early 1980s. While the illusion is about 85% there, the checklist of tropes ticks to nearly 100%: disorienting angles, colors oversaturated to an unrealistic hue, ugly furnishings, creepy puppets and propulsive musical cues that sting of novocaine.

The Onettis’ adherence to appearance is impressive enough; that they can this story with a minimal amount of dialogue, even more so. A few seconds shy of 70 minutes, the film is cut mighty lean — perhaps out of necessity, since the identity of the killer is startlingly obvious.

Well, kinda. The ending is coated too thickly with ambiguity to offer full closure. Still, neat trick. —Rod Lott

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The Strange Vice of Mrs. Wardh (1971)

None other than Sigmund Freud kicks off The Strange Vice of Mrs. Wardh via a quote that seems to chastise the audience for its bloodlust — a potentially hypocrtical move for a giallo, if shame were the intended response. Regardless, no record exists of Freud’s thoughts on Edwige Fenech (The Case of the Bloody Iris), but I’d like to think he would have altered his famous line about the cigar.

In the title role, Fenech’s Julie and her tapioca husband (Alberto de Mendoza, A Lizard in Woman’s Skin) return home to Austria from time abroad. No sooner do they step foot in Vienna than the bra-neglecting Julie has an unpleasant encounter with a shit-grinning ex (Ivan Rassimov, The Eerie Midnight Horror Show), followed by a pleasant meet-cute with her pal’s handsome cousin (George Hilton, My Dear Killer). A full-blown affair ensues.

All the while, this being a giallo, beautiful women are killed all over the city by a man whose black-gloved hands clutch — what else? — a sharp, shiny straight razor. Julie becomes his next intended victim, so suspicion falls on each of these three men in her mixed-up, sexed-up life.

And it is just that, whether Julie dreams of having intercourse atop broken glass (if only in dreams) or attending parties in which the female guests rip one another’s paper dresses off. Such swinging shenanigans and their settings contribute to the overall hallucinatory effect of the visuals, as intoxicating as Fenech’s beauty is flawless. This being the first giallo for Sergio Martino (Torso), it’s rather remarkable how right he got it, right out of the gate. Suspense is high, notably in a near-silent sequence of searching by candlelight, and audiences are left guessing and second-guessing, right up to the denouement. By then, The Strange Vice of Mrs. Wardh has done more than enough work to earn its reputation. —Rod Lott

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Relic (2020)

Grandma’s gone missing. She lives alone, and the neighbors report not having seen her in days. So her granddaughter (Bella Heathcote, The Neon Demon) and daughter (Emily Mortimer, Shutter Island) make the drive to her home, find it empty and wait. Because all they can do is wait.

When the elderly woman (Robyn Nevin of the Matrix sequels) finally does return, she’s safe, but definitely not sound. In fact, she’s not like herself at all. She’s … different.

One wishes Relic were as well, especially since all three actresses are superb. In her first feature as director, Natalie Erika James demonstrates an assured eye for composition, but I’m afraid the slow-burn story, which she co-wrote with Christian White, is a little too fatigued for suspense to build.

As much as I like the metaphorical use of the matriarch’s moldy and decaying house to parallel her dementia-ravaged brain, the obvious isn’t left alone, so viewers are hammered over the head with it to ensure we get it. We do. —Rod Lott

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Dead Dicks (2019)

Dead Dicks does itself no favor with that title, suggesting a farce the dark-humored film never quite becomes, or a piece of juvenilia the speculative sci-fi picture is clearly too mature to be. It may attract the wrong kind of audience. It may set the curious up to be profoundly disappointed. It deserves better.

Said title refers to Richie (Heston Horwin, Rock Steady Row) and the three carbon-copy corpses of himself littered about his pigsty apartment. A starving artist with debilitating mental health issues, he has successfully killed himself thrice, even if each demise immediately results in a reborn Richie emerging buck-naked (and explicitly uncircumcised) through the giant vagina that is his bedroom wall.

Wait, what?

His ever-supportive, long-suffering sister, Becca (Jillian Harris), shares your reaction when she arrives Richie’s place to check on him. Processing the unprocessable, she is torn between helping him and getting him help, which don’t always overlap.

Every mention I’ve seen of Dead Dicks thus far name-checks Groundhog Day, but with several versions of Richie sharing the cramped quarters, I would argue the Canadian indie shares more thematically with another Harold Ramis film: Multiplicity starring Michael Keaton, Michael Keaton and Michael Keaton. But again, I stress that despite parts that may be funny, Dead Dicks is no comedy … unless comedies have started carrying suicide-prevention PSAs before minute one.

In their feature directorial debut, scribes Chris Bavota and Lee Paula Springer make a loud splash with a high-concept mindfuck operating on little more than two brave, believable performances and the hard-charging assault of Tusk & Bruiser’s melodic post-rock to chart their arc. Although the second half can’t match the energy of the first, ingenuity reigns throughout. —Rod Lott

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