Ubaldo Terzani Horror Show (2010)

At once a tribute to Italian horror of the 1980s — “the times of Lamberto Bava, when monsters and dolls squirted blood” — and a modern-day attempt to reinvent it, Ubaldo Terzani Horror Show is more successful at the first point than the second. Regardless, it’s both comforting and disturbing that wardrobes of fright-film geeks in both hemispheres consist almost entirely of black horror tees.

Likely an onscreen substitute for sophomore Italian writer/director Gabriele Albanesi, the 25-year-old Alessio (Giuseppe Soleri) is a horror-flick nut and a wannabe filmmaker who’s too tied up in the splatter on which he’s been suckled for so long. His producer insists he try something more psychological, and sends him to Turin to collaborate on a script with the famous horror novelist Terzani Ubaldo (Paolo Sassanelli).

The author’s books prove mighty intense to Alessio, so much that they provoke explicit nightmares. Ubaldo delights in the madness that pours from his pen; in working with this young man, the mentor hides the degree of his nefarious intentions as he gradually becomes a corrupting influence — especially when Alessio’s girlfriend (Laura Gigante) comes to spend the weekend at the host’s insistence.

By and large, this little Horror Show is a twisted love triangle that delights in digging in to the gut-strewn genre that inspired it. Those sequences of pain and death are undeniably grotesque, in the unflinching manner of Lucio Fulci. Those who knows that man’s wet works are most likely to appreciate this flawed but admirably fucked-up valentine. That its final shot fades to a blur is no accident, as Albanesi smudges the line between fantasy and reality throughout. —Rod Lott

Buy it at Amazon.

The Deathless Devil (1973)

Mere minutes after learning his long-dead father was the celebrated superhero Copperhead — a secret, despite the costume being left in the top of his adopted dad’s desk drawer — Tekin carries on the family tradition of fistfighting, leaping onto moving trains, and dressing in a sparkly silver mask and flowing red neckerchief. He leaves a novelty snake figurine at the scene of each skirmish, like a parting gift for kicking your ass.

Under the guise of Coppherhead, Tekin seeks to avenge the murder of his two dads by Dr. Satan, because that’s just the kind of thing people with monikers like Dr. Satan are born to do. The Borgnine-ian buffoon Bitik gets assigned to assist Tekin in his mission — a move akin to appointing Jerry Lewis to the G8 summit — so he dons a Sherlock Holmes outfit.

Sporting a mustache that suggests a raccoon tail protruding from within each nostril, Dr. Satan gets others to do his bidding of theft and murder via remote-control devices that he can detonate. (He calls them “explosions,” but if farts were visual, they’d look like this.) Unbeknownst to authorities, the doc has assembled a bowlegged killer robot. It’s so primitive-looking, I wouldn’t be surprised if director Yilmaz Atadeniz ordered it filched from a local first-grade class art room.

Logic figures nowhere in The Deathless Devil, but makes up for it with open-to-close action (intended) and lunacy (some intended). Comic-book colorful and charming in its pure ineptness, the Turkish picture has lots to offer, from Dr. Satan’s booby-trapped lair to an out-of-nowhere love scene. And I want it for all time. —Rod Lott

Buy it at Amazon.

Will Success Spoil Rock Hunter? (1957)

With cinema attendance then taking a licking at the antennas of free TV, director Frank Tashlin literally stopped the story of his 1957 comedy, Will Success Spoil Rock Hunter?, to take a swipe at his competition’s inferior nature to the magnificence of the movies. Delivered by star Tony Randall, the pointed jabs include mentions of a tiny picture, constant commercial interruptions and the nagging menace of horizontal hold.

Not mentioned is the main advantage movies had over TV: Jayne Mansfield. A year after they hit it big with The Girl Can’t Help It, Tashlin again called upon the bleached-blonde bombshell to infuse his sex comedy will all the sex it needed. She rose to the challenge with resolute effervescence and her trademark ditzy noises, which will either endear or enrage. The result, while subordinate to Girl, is one big ball of fluffy fun.

Although her character is named Rita Marlowe, Mansfield more or less plays herself — or her Hollywood public persona, at least — an actress whose “oh-so-kissable lips” mild-mannered ad exec Rock Hunter (Randall) wishes to exploit in a job-saving campaign for a cosmetics client. She agrees, but also uses him to get even with her high-profile boyfriend, a Tarzan-esque actor (real-life hubby Mickey Hargitay). Whereas most straight males would be unable to resist Mansfield’s advances, Hunter’s heart aches for his secretary (one-time Cary Grant spouse Betsy Drake), whose curves can’t compete because they’re practically nonexistent.

Forever underappreciated, Randall excelled at these kind of underdog, cog-in-the-system roles, and he provides Success with the majority of its laughs, both verbal or physical. Mansfield excelled at dumb, too, which unfortunately got her typecast, but this is one of her very best showcases. As satire, the film is lightweight — just like the Madison Avenue world it spoofs with kid gloves, and never more memorably than in the commercial parodies that wreak havoc with the opening credits. As with Help It, Hunter holds no “real” ending, yet it made me smile so wide, this guy can’t fault it. —Rod Lott

Buy it at Amazon.

Arachnoquake (2012)

As if New Orleans didn’t have enough problems already, what with the occasional hurricane, frat-boy vomit in the streets and the constant smell of hobo urine, the city has to deal with an arachnoquake — that is, an earthquake that unleashes giant spiders, doy! — in … wait for it … Arachnoquake. It’s one of those made-for-Syfy movies, but you probably knew that.

These eight-legged freaks mostly harass a tour group on a trolley driven by Bug Hall (Alfalfa of 1994’s The Little Rascals). His passengers include a grumpy old man, an airhead woman, her Not LL Cool J hubby, two smirking teens and their asthmatic mom (Tracey Gold of TV’s Growing Pains), whose job as an eighth-grade biology teacher comes in handy to provide exposition during the requisite dissection scene. Elsewhere, her husband (Edward Furlong, Terminator 2) drives a bus of high schoolers that also is menaced.

Spiders are so creepy that the concept doesn’t require a big budget to exploit audiences’ readymade fear. (Take, for instance, 1977’s Kingdom of the Spiders, the greatest depiction of the arac war yet, which sends chills up the spine.) They need only look real, if not be real; Arachnoquake‘s only could look more fake if they were cutouts on sticks. They’re completely computer-animated, with rounded edges and as white as a KKK costume. They breathe fire and dog-paddle in water. They look like cartoons.

On that note, director G.E. Furst (Lake Placid 3) colors his crap with touches befitting a ‘toon, despite Arachnoquake‘s relatively serious tone. Just one example: When one spider traverses a crosswalk, the street sign makes a cuckoo-clock sound for no good reason. It’s as senseless as Furlong’s big wisecrack after taking a baseball bat to a dead spider on the road: “Now that is how you make jambalaya! Yeaaaaahhhhh!”

Nooooo. —Rod Lott

4 Movies I Saw in a Theater in 1996 and Only Barely Remember

1. Tales from the Crypt Presents: Bordello of Blood — Exhibit #32 in “Reasons Why I Had No Friends When I Was 21”: “Hey, Dennis Miller is starring in a movie! I totally got to see that!”

2. 2 Days in the Valley — For some strange reason, I only remember this featuring an attractive blond newcomer named Charlize Theron, who looked very fetching without her clothes on. It’s weird what your mind clings to, isn’t it?

3. Larger Than Life — I recall that in this Bill Murray vehicle about an elephant, Linda Fiorentino played a sadistic animal trainer with the demeanor of a dominatrix, which aroused me in such a way that I worried about it for a week afterward.

4. A Very Brady Sequel — I’m pretty sure I enjoyed this at the time, but now I can’t get past the fact that I once spent 90 minutes sitting in a theater watching a fucking sequel to a fucking movie based on The fucking Brady Bunch. —Allan Mott

Buy them at Amazon.

Random Genre & Cult Movie Reviews