Horror

Bloodbeat (1983)

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Fabrice A. Zaphiratos’ directorial debut and swan song, Bloodbeat, is confused, yet unique. Name one other regional horror film in which rednecks encounter a woman possessed by the spirit of an ancient samurai warrior. Why such a setup? “Why the eff not,” Zaphiratos seems to answer.

It’s Christmastime, and at a rural Wisconsin home just good enough for indoor plumbing, the grown children of artist Cathy (Helen Benton) — she of the ever-present rainbow shawl — have come for a visit. Ted (James Fitzgibbons) has brought along his new girlfriend, Sarah (Claudia Peyton), to whom his mother takes an instant dislike. Sarah reciprocates, telling Ted that she feels like Cathy is invading her mind. Later, Cathy confesses she swears she’s met the girl before: “It’s more than déjà vu.”

What it is remains unclear, but an armored, helmeted samurai who glows blue and brandishes a sword starts killing countryfolk, including an overweight man who wears a dirty CAT Trucking cap to bed. As the samurai penetrates flesh, Sarah is wrapped up in the sheets, writhing in such orgasmic bliss that her pelvis would practically touch the ceiling fan, if the family had one. In Cathy’s home, lights flicker, windows open, groceries shake; her live-in hunter beau, Gary (Terry Brown), is nearly killed by flying packages of Lipton Tea and Quik.

Zaphiratos displays some serious bravado by daring to score the film’s climax with “O Fortuna” from Carl Orff’s Carmina Burana, a staple of action-film trailers. Make no mistake, however: Bloodbeat is no work of operatic tragedy. Amateurish on all levels, it has more in common with the deer entrails Gary pulls out with his bare hands: messy, smelly, something you’d rather not see. —Rod Lott

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Reading Material

Sexytime: The Post-Porn Rise of the Pornoisseur

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Hard as it may be for you to believe from a guy who named a book-review site after an orgasm, I don’t watch porno movies. However, this dared not stop me from picking up Sexytime, which rounds up poster art from the X-rated genre’s porn-chic heyday of the 1970s and VHS breakthrough of the early ’80s.

That’s only because it comes (tee-hee) from Jacques Boyreau, whose previous exploitation-art exhibits in book form, Trash and Portable Grindhouse, have earned permanent placement on my shelf. The guy has a knack for picking images; much like Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart and hardcore porn, Boyreau knows it when he sees it.

And luckily, he shares it, this time from the visual-presentation experts of Fantagraphics Books — a match made in poster-art heaven. Whereas FB’s packaging of Portable Grindhouse was appropriately the size and shape of a VHS tape, this hardcover book measures 14 inches tall, and that’s … well, you know.

Writes Boyreau in his balls-out introduction, “The idea of Sexytime is that these posters are more satisfying than the movies they advertise.” And the results suggest that’s for damn sure.

Presented in full-color, naturally, they range from photography to paintings to cartoons; from purposely artful and well thought-out to crude and thrown-together. They carry straightforward titles like New Wave Hookers, Blazing Zippers and Flash Pants; they also boast more eyebrow-raisers like Hugo’s Magic Pump, That’s My Daughter! and Librianna, Bitch of the Black Sea.

Little Orphan Dusty apes Farrah Fawcett’s iconic bikini poster, right down to a lookalike startlet. American Sex Fantasy is a “red, white & BLUE movie” whose cartoon image is meant to be the squeaky-clean teen star of Archie Comics. With its looming dinosaur, One Million AC/DC could be mistaken for an AIP sci-fi cheapie of the ’70s, until you notice the bare-breasted beauties underneath the beast.

Some are really classy; I’d frame the cutout composite image of Scorpion ’70, if not for the explanation I’d have to give to every visitor. While several are gaudy, only a select few are disgusting; in that latter category falls Juice (“It’s Suck-U-Lent!”), whose bloated red title appears to be dripping in spermatozoa.

Arguably the most clever poster of all turns out to be a fake; see if you can spot it. Here’s a hint: It focuses on a woman’s crotch. What, that doesn’t help? —Rod Lott

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Action

The Black Six (1973)

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A nice, young black man is killed by a group of racist white bikers because he’s been dating the sister of one of the gang members. When his older brother, Bubba (Gene Washington), gets the news, he and his roving motorcycle posse of five other burly black guys roll into town for some payback. Together, they are … wait for it … The Black Six!

And they’re really nice, peaceful boys, first shown helping out an old widow on her farm, petting goats and sewing(!), but when pushed too far, they’re more than ready to stick it to The Man. And The Man deserves some sticking, especially when he’s represented by guys with names like Snake, Moose and Thor (yes, he’s the one with the Viking helmet). Moose rouses an army with such warnings as, “These ain’t your normal spooks!”

Indeed, all half-dozen of our heroes were NFL players, with the team association of each spelled out in the opening credits of the film by director Matt Cimber (Butterfly). Among them is “Mean” Joe Greene, who looks like he needed to be downing bottles of diet Coke instead of the straight stuff. Unique insults bandied about in this underrated blaxploitation effort include “mustard ass” and “porkchop lips.”

Sadly, there was no sequel for these African-American Avengers, although the end frame sure threatened one: “Honky … Look Out … Hassle a Brother …. and The Black 6 Will Return!!!” Oh, how one wishes they had! —Rod Lott

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Sci-Fi & Fantasy

Thrill Seekers (1999)

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Also known as The Time Shifters, Thrill Seekers is not thrilling. Despite the presence of JAG hottie Catherine Bell, Thrill Seekers is not something that will give you an erection. Despite having Starship Troopers vet Casper Van Dien in the lead, Thrill Seekers is something I watched anyway.

VD (as I like to call him) portrays (okay, maybe “portrays” is too strong a word for someone of his limited talents) a disgraced broadcast reporter forced to seek employment at a National Enquirer-type weekly. He uncovers the story of a lifetime when he spots the same man in photos of three natural disasters spaced 100 years apart, all in his first 15 minutes on the job. (Whereas in reality, a single page of Where’s Waldo? probably would have VD flummoxed for a good 45.)

Through some crack investigative techniques (i.e. pure dumb luck), VD discovers a travel agency in the future is sending tourists back in time to the sites of these disasters as part of their “Thrill Seekers” package, masterminded in part by a jowly Martin Sheen. Using a brochure swiped from one of the tourists, VD and fellow reporter Bell aim to change history by preventing the tragedies before they can happen. Lucky for them, they all appear to occur in the same city in the span of a couple days.

Thrill Seekers is almost worth sitting through just to see VD’s ham-fisted theatrics. Every time he gets a monologue, it’s like watching the high school quarterback audition for the drama department’s play just for a joke. I think the reason they gave him facial hair in this movie is to remind you you’re not watching something on Nickelodeon. Catherine Oxenberg has a small part as the Thrill Seekers spokesperson. Geez, who’d she have to blow to nail that plum role? Oh, yeah, I forgot: her husband, VD. —Rod Lott

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