Celluloid Bloodbath: More Prevues from Hell (2012)

From 1987, Mad Ron’s Prevues from Hell was one of those dime-a-dozen trailer collections from the VHS heyday I never expected to hit DVD, but in 2010, it finally did, and evidently was successful enough to merit a sequel in Celluloid Bloodbath: More Prevues from Hell. Once again, it’s hosted in part by Happy Goldsplatt, a Cryptkeeper-esque puppet who notes that, in the grindhouse age, the trailers often were more entertaining than the flicks they promoted.

Celluloid Bloodbath offers 62 examples, broken up into themed groups that range from your obvious vampires, psychos and cannibals to more clever categories like carnival horrors, promotional gimmicks and killer animals. Italian maestro Dario Argento gets his own short showcase to close out the collection.

Among the madness are the “weird, winged wonders” and “hideous, horned horrors” of the Philippines-lensed The Twilight People, the pantyhosed thrill-killers of Meat Cleaver Massacre, and the misbegotten Monster a-Go Go “with a genuine, 10-foot-tall monster to give you the whim-whams.” Sales lines like that often prove the highlights; the circus-set Berserk! offers a yes-or-no quiz to potential viewers, i.e. “I get stabbing pains when I see a victim fall on naked bayonets!”

While not as deep-digging as Synapse’s 42nd Street Forever series, Celluloid Bloodbath does sport a couple of real obscurities in its lineup, including Alabama’s Ghost. Yet what infuriates is that, unlike the original, “interview” segments break the flow after every pair or so. Some are relevant, such as Linnea Quigley introducing her film debut in Psycho from Texas (“Now, bitch, let’s dance!”), but most have nothing to do with anything, are shot at some dreary convention, and feature non-names who have nothing of value to contribute. —Rod Lott

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Hell House (2001)

Director George Ratliff’s Hell House is a documentary that follows the parish of an Assembly of God church just outside of Austin, Texas, as it prepares for its 10th annual haunted house.

But the show they put on is not your average haunted house with Leatherface lookalikes and heads of cauliflower subbing for brains — the “Hell House” seeks to scare guests into fearing the Lord by depicting sinners at their worst: an AIDS patient rejecting Christ as he withers away on his deathbed; a girl about to commit suicide and blaming God after being roofied and raped at a rave; and a picked-upon student taking revenge on his classmates by killing them, as Satan has instructed.

In all cases, they are shown heading toward eternal damnation. The goal of the attraction is to have as many as of its tens of thousands of visitors converted to Christianity by the time they enter the final room.

At turns hilarious and sad, entertaining and disturbing, Hell House is a terrific, fly-on-the-wall look at this regional phenomenon, yet takes neither side. The characters may come off as sympathetic or zealots — that depends upon your own interpretation of their behavior. My favorite shot notes a pentagram the event volunteers have painted for a devil-worship scene, but mistakenly (?) made the Star of David instead. —Rod Lott

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Raiders!: The Story of the Greatest Fan Film Ever Made

I can’t remember the first time I heard of the boys who made a shot-for-shot remake of Raiders of the Lost Ark. I do remember thinking, “Cute, but what’s the point? Perhaps there’s more to the story.”

Turns out, there is … but only technically. With writer Alan Eisenstock, the once-juvenile filmmakers Chris Strompolos and Eric Zala tell their seven-year tale of production in Raiders!: The Story of the Greatest Fan Film Ever Made. While certainly rife with details, it offers little in terms of meaty stuff that inquiring minds outta know.

For example, you’ll learn that Chris was a class clown, that Eric met him over the Marvel Comics adaptation, that Chris liked to lip-sync to Frank Zappa’s “Valley Girl,” that Eric’s home eventually was destroyed by Hurricane Katrina, and so on. You may think otherwise, but I don’t think they add up to a compelling behind-the-scenes story. That they made a movie in and of itself was not enough for me.

At the end of each chapter — and even sections within those chapters — Eisenstock tries his hardest to squeeze drama out of mundane situations, or create drama where there is none. Dialogue here in particular rings false, with lines carrying the same clichéd cinematic weight of “You ain’t seen nothing yet” or “Now that’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout!”

Telling it from the kids’ viewpoint is what sinks it. Overall, the book has the feel of being the literary equivalent of re-enactments on America’s Most Wanted. —Rod Lott

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Hard Hunted (1992)

Hard Hunted — emphasis on the Hard — never strays from writer/director Andy Sidaris’ formula that made all his previous entries so successful. After all, had Sidaris done otherwise, the series never would have made it past No. 2. This would have dealt a blow to mankind.

A slimy, foreign rich guy who lives on a boat is trying to get back this glowing green paperweight-type thing that was stolen from him. Trying to stop him are spies played by former Playboy centerfolds Dona Spier, Roberta Vasquez and Cynthia Brimhall, and for some dumb reason, a couple of guys, too.

They communicate with one another via not-so-thinly-veiled messages on the local radio station, Hawaii’s KSXY, manned by a melon-heavy DJ (Ava Cadell) who likes to do her show from the comfortable confines of the hot tub. We wholeheartedly support this decision.

The gals are pursued by a Japanese guy in a stealth helicopter, Dona falls from a chopper and gets amnesia (in a subplot that brilliantly predates Christopher Nolan’s Memento — nah, just kidding), Brimhall sings three whole terrible songs, comic relief is supplied by two guys named “Wiley” and “Coyote,” and Tony Peck (son of Gregory) gets laid. As with the entire Sidaris oeuvre, Hard Hunted comes highly recommended to heterosexual males who subscribe to the theory of “the bigger, the better.” —Rod Lott

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