Who remembers when a tiny little horror film called The Wretched ruled the box office for six weeks straight? It happened! Right after the COVID-19 pandemic sent everyone in America indoors, in fact, leaving drive-in theaters to be the one safe way to see a movie. It led to an attendance boost the drive-in hadn’t seen since in decades — as fine a reason as any for April Wright to follow up her previous documentary on the drive-in, 2013’s Going Attractions.

For Back to the Drive-In, her camera visits nearly a dozen drive-ins across the U.S. Although attendance has dropped since the vaccine re-opened the nation, Wright finds them hanging in there, some by including live bands and livelier alcohol. One is also home to a flea market and mini-golf course.

No matter the locale, the owners face daily repair and upkeep, threats of weather, staffing challenges, supply issues, razor-thin profit margins, constant worry, constant hope and an unwavering belief in the magic of the movies. Says Rod Saunders of Ohio’s Field of Dreams Drive-In, “You can’t put a price on that.” I’m inclined to agree, seeing as how he built his theater literally in his own backyard. Not for nothing are many of the featured places family businesses.

No-frills yet full of heart, Back to the Drive-In doesn’t have a lot to say, but what it does say means a lot to those who will watch. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.

Watching Hollywood movies for 50 years has left me with many probing questions, like:
1. How do actresses fake fellatio?
2. How does one make a merkin?
3. How did Jane Fonda handle floating naked in the credit sequence to Barbarella?

The answers can be found in Kristy Guevara-Flanagan’s documentary Body Parts. I’ll only reveal the secret behind No. 3: “I just got drunk, basically.”

Definitely not to be confused to with the same-named Jeff Fahey horror film, Body Parts is a moles-and-all look behind the scenes of depicting sex onscreen … and how one gender has a much tougher go of it than another. Through no apparent order, we’re taken to a training for intimacy coordinators, shown the process for digital de-aging and allowed a peek at the body-doubling biz.

That’s about 50% of the mix; the other half explores the political side, full of coercion and exploitation in a town more comfortable with violence. As Rosanna Arquette says, not without firsthand experience, women “have to fight for ownership of their own body.” As if her words weren’t enough, Sarah Scott (Soaked in Bleach) gives a chilling, enraging account of alleged sexual harassment by The Rules of Attraction actor Kip Pardue.

By design more interesting than entertaining, Body Parts also features Emily Meade, Sheryl Lee and Rose McGowan among the interviewees. One of its indisputable takeaways involves America’s double standard surrounding nudity: “Penises are pornography; tits are art.” —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.

To enjoy the documentary about Rochester-based moviemaker Chris Seaver, you don’t have to be a fan, assuming you’ve even heard of the guy. You need not have seen Anal Paprika or Scrotal Vengeance or even Anal Paprika 2.

Just know he’s made upward of 75 flicks now, and, as one of his regular cast members notes, “most of them have come out.” My sole exposure to his work was a tasteless segment he contributed to the Hi-8 shot-on-video horror anthology. His backyard epics may be hard to like for the average viewer, but Zero Budget Heroes: The Legend of Chris Seaver & Low Budget Pictures is easy to love.

For this introspective retrospective, first-time director Zach Olivares captures the shooting days (all three of ’em!) of the ska-obsessed, rarely not ball-capped Seaver’s then-latest crass comedic opus, A Stoinkmare on Halloween Street. His titles — and penchant for terminology like “clam flaps” — suggest a juvenile approach to cinema. Proud yet humble, Seaver doubles down on this risk-free theory, telling Olivares’ camera, “I am a very immature human being.”

And he doesn’t apologize for it. (Well, except for playing the role of Bonejack in blackface. But hey, when an actor doesn’t show, it’s the director’s job to make lemonade.)

A modern-day Andy Hardy, Seaver enjoys a loyal band of repertory players eager to debase and deride themselves in the likes of Filthy McNasty, Moist Fury and Taintlight — barely scripted vehicles for “boobs and cum and poop jokes” — for no monetary reward.

And you know what? Now I kinda get it.

The more Seaver and company revisit his relative hits, affectionate misses and never-weres, the more you see the appeal — foremost for them; the audience, second. That’s by design, as no one is more surprised than Seaver at the level of success he’s enjoyed in the DIY realm. He and his friends make the movies to amuse themselves; that anyone devotes attention or time after that is pure bonus. One would think the enemy of this real-life story would be monetary deficiencies, but the Low Budget Pictures gang has turned that into an asset. (Also, the true enemy is Troma.)

I didn’t expect this doc to move me. But, like Seaver responding to the magnetic pull of making movies, I couldn’t help it. By the end, Olivares has does an excellent job of getting to the heart of the man’s work and why he and his comrades even bother. You’ll be glad they do, even if Sexquatch and Terror at Blood Fart Lake never, ever land in your queue. —Rod Lott

Often, changing the world takes a big idea and a bit of bravado. Nowhere on that path does a sign state narcissism as a toll to be paid, yet it happens. Money corrupts, kids! 99 Homes director Ramin Bahrani illustrates that never-truer concept with the first-rate documentary 2nd Chance, an American excess story about the valiant rise and ignoble fall of Richard Davis.

After a pizza delivery turned gunfight in ’69 Detroit, Davis developed and patented the modern bulletproof vest in the early 1970s. Calling his company Second Chance, his goal was to save the lives of 100 police officers; before long, he cracked 1,000. And wouldn’t you know it, a God complex was born.

To tell this riveting tale of greed and guns, Bahrani interviews family members, ex-wives, ex-employees, ex-friends and, yes, Davis himself. Now nearly an octogenarian, the willing subject is one colorful, ornery character. You’d expect that from a guy who’s shot himself 192 times on camera to demonstrate his product’s effectiveness. Then its efficacy … um, let’s say “is significantly lowered.”

As fascinating as Davis is, it’s infuriating to watch the man live in complete and utter denial of provable facts, show no remorse, fail to accept responsibility, refuse to apologize and, even with evidence literally in front of his face, flat out lie.

At its conclusion, 2nd Chance introduces someone who played an indirect role in the success of Second Chance the business. Unlike Davis, this person does penance and, before our eyes, achieves peace decades in the making. Davis, meanwhile, does not appear to have learned his lesson — any lesson — no matter how many opportunities Bahrani kindly provides: more than are deserved. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.

Mondo movies are known — and in some circles, beloved — for their aggressive exaggeration of (and/or full disregard for) the truth. Journey into the Beyond, however, is dead-on in one instance: when narrator John Carradine promises in the preface that the following “journey will test your sanity.” Amen.

Its negligible thesis is this: Science and technology, phooey; the paranormal, groovy. Before the film jets around the globe to (attempt to) prove it, Carradine warns the squeamish to listen for an alarm before the gory parts, if they wish to hide their eyes. The contrasting sound is pleasant and near-identical to the Tinkerbell notes on the Walt Disney “Read-Along” records of my childhood, prompting tots when it was time to turn the page.

Beyond features footage of gum surgery (under hypnosis instead of anesthetia), an exorcism (kinda), a tribal fertility ritual (with Nat Geo boobs a-floppin’), psychic surgery (memorably debunked in Arthur Penn’s Penn & Teller Get Killed), telekinesis (magnets, how do they work?) and spiritual healers (Ernest Angley-type bullshit). It says a lot about our changing world that the grossest segment — pus emerging from a cyst like an endless piece of slightly liquified linguini — is now the rationale for the long-running cable show Dr. Pimple Popper.  

Six years later, German director Rolf Olsen would make a bigger splash in mondo’s mixed-up, muddled-up, shook-up world with Shocking Asia. I haven’t seen it, but Journey into the Beyond is such a trying bore, I don’t feel the need to take another trip with Olsen at the helm. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.