MALATESTA! I'M COMING AFTER YOU!!!

"Step right in, ladies and gentlemen. Step right in. No, no, no -- don't be afraid to bring the children. We have special treats for children. Just five tickets to see the world's only living two-headed giraffe. He won't be alive much longer. Or see the Siamese twins wiggle and swim in their big blue bottle. Don't be afraid. They can't get out. See Gilda the bearded giantess waltz with Bobo the dwarf! Or simply try your luck at...try your luck at...try your luck at...try your luck at..."
--- Mr. Blood

I admit it. I have a tendency toward hyperbole. I get caught up in the moment, and tend to overstate my enthusiasm. I recognize this as a fault of mine, so it is with this present in my conscious mind telling me that I must avoid blowing things out of proportion that I share this bit of info with you, dear reader...

Malatesta's Carnival of Blood is one of the most brilliant things I've ever seen.

I have no idea where it came from. The film's website doesn't offer much in the way of production history, aside from the fact that it was distributed on the Southern drive-in circuit (MAN, I wish this had played at the Hi-Way and that I could've caught it at some point...then again, I was three at the time, so maybe it wouldn't have worked out) and was considered lost for years until a print was found in an attic and taken to Zoetrope Studios (!!!) where it was mastered for DVD release.

None of what I typed above matters, though. What matters is that the film exists, that it's readily available for viewing, and that it should be seen by anyone with a taste for the surreal.

Its low-budget origins and rough-around-the-edges appearance may give you the impression that this is another "so bad it's good" drive-in offering, but don't be deceived. This is a film that knows what it's doing, and does it with a good deal of panache. I can't imagine what initial audiences made of it -- it's a hell of a lot closer to Eraserhead than Macon County Line, so the drive-in circuit was probably not the best place for this to land. I can tell you what my reaction was, though: this film probably captures the feeling of a nightmare better than any other film I've seen. And I've seen a lot of movies that people consider "nightmarish" or "dreamlike". It's almost as if the film isn't really trying to aim for this effect, either.

Let me give you a rundown of what happens in the first 30 minutes or so...The first shot we see is of a cartoonish display statue of a policeman with his arm extended in the "halt" position, with a whistle blaring. This should be a warning to all involved. We're immediately taken to a gypsy psychic's reading room, which is spinning around on its center axis (and it's not the camera that's moving -- it's either the floor or the walls; our perspective doesn't allow us to see precisely what it is that's moving in relation to the other, but it's clearly not just a perspective trick), as the psychic (played by a man in drag) offers up a doom-filled reading for a new female employee of the carnival. We jump outside to see the girl's parents being escorted around by Mr. Blood, who is an assistant to Malatesta, the carnival's owner. We're introduced to the ubiquitous Mr. Bean, who pops up in different places for no good reason. (LOTS of things happen in this movie for seemingly no good reason.) We're introduced to the Davis family, and given another couple rounds of gender confusion: after the drag queen psychic, we're told that the Davises have a son; the child is instead a daughter. When the daughter demands a "dead chicken" (one of the rubber chickens used as a prize in the Norris' shooting gallery), Vena Norris' new male acquaintance Kit offers the daughter one; the mother replies "look at what the nice lady has for you!" Then, Kit gives the Davis family a complimentary ride on the Tunnel of Love (which he operates), and nobody comes out. He goes inside to find an incredibly bizarre set design which seems to be primarily constructed out of bubble wrap, the father's glasses, and a good amount of blood. BANG, we're in the Norris' trailer, where Mr. Blood explains that he is on a restricted diet and has been cheating death because of it, and after he leaves, we find out that the Norrises are there to...well...find someone. We're not entirely sure why they're there. Are they there to prevent something from happening? To seek revenge because of something that *has* happened? We just don't know. Just as in dreams, motivations are in flux, and adapt as new elements arrive. Just go with the flow. Two drunken revelers appear on the scene (and they just might be the only customers this carnival has ever had, even though it obviously seems to be after business hours), and one loses his head on the roller coaster operated by Mr. Bean. His partner seeks answers from Mr. Blood, and is directed to the gray-faced groundskeeper, "Sticker," who kills him. His body is delivered to a bunch of ghouls via some insane process of transport (more bubble wrap is involved), where they feast upon his flesh while being serenaded by a trio of ghouls singing a lullaby.

Do you see what I'm getting at? I can't really explain what *happens* in the movie any more than I can explain what happens in David Lynch's most abstract works and expect to have my description make linear sense. Just like in dreams, linear storytelling isn't important. Things just happen, details are fixated upon almost arbitrarily. A dream sequence begins but does not end so that you'd notice. People on the run take bizarre detours through carousels or take random roller coaster rides. Sets are constructed out of junked Volkswagen Beetles and hot dog wrappers. Hervé Villechaize appears to offer dire warnings and guidance, but we don't know whom he serves or why. A huge mass of ghouls watches silent movies somewhere in the carnival. Mr. Blood might be a vampire, or he might just think he's a vampire, or he might just be playing the part of a vampire; we're not sure. Characters appear and disappear from the story with no warning. Some scenes are drenched in a milky haze, while others are crisp and clear, so it's impossible to tell via visual clues what might be real or not; it's never clear if what we're seeing happen is real or imagined, or if there's any difference whatsoever.

And what's more is that the film contains some of the most striking and inventive visuals you'd ever expect out of a horror movie with such an obviously low budget. Director Christopher Speeth delivers a remarkably accomplished-looking feature film (as far as I can tell, it's his only feature-length work, which is a crying shame). The set design is incredible, the shots are consistently inventive, and the SOUNDTRACK...Created by Dr. Sheridan Speeth (I have no idea what relation he might be), it successfully creates an aura of foreboding and a sense of creeping dread, while also escalating the sense of disorientation brought about by the bizarre visuals.

I can't recommend this movie higher. I've watched it five times in the past three weeks, and I'm still finding new aspects of it to appreciate. MAN, I wish I had decent computer software that'd allow me to do some screen captures of this thing. This would read so much better with visual accompaniment. You'll just have to buy your own copy. It's available at Amazon, Xploited Cinema, and Diabolik DVD. Get to it!!!

...And on the other hand...

There's The Blood On Satan's Claw.
While Witchfinder General evokes the despair of a left-wing progressive who has had his faith in humanity shattered, The Blood On Satan's Claw is a much more conservative take on the matter of witchcraft in pre-industrial pastoral England.
In a nutshell, TBOSC assumes that the influence of Satan is a real (and very physical!) thing, and reflecting establishment fears in the post-Manson era, assumes that the kids are all wrong. Sexuality, defiance and rebellion, growing your hair out (well, in small patches or one's eyebrows at least) -- these are all sure signs of the guiding hand of el Diablo, and it takes the hard-line Christian activism of a Brave Old White Man to keep these youngsters in tow.
The thing is, though, that the film takes a very wide stance, and in the most Larry Craig-ish way. While condemning the Younger Generation for its excesses, the film simultaneously leers lasciviously at the same things it pretends to protest. It solidifies its conflicted take on things from the beginning: a wholesome young bride-to-be falls under the influence of Satan's power and must be carted away to an asylum. As she is taken from her bedroom, she gazes lustily at her betrothed, who responds in kind after his fear and dread subside a bit. We're supposed to fear her, but her appearance wind up being titillating instead...until she puts her hand on the banister, and we see that it's a (rather poorly-designed) claw. Instead of the surprise shock it's meant to be, it winds up just being a bit confusing (or confused).
This attitude is carried over throughout the film. Lead actress Linda Hayden as chief villainess Angel Blake is consistently and insistently portrayed as being almost impossibly sexy, despite her being cast in the Charles Manson role (as leader of the proto-hippie cult of witches). Again, we're supposed to fear her (and her attractiveness does give credence to the notion that evil can manifest itself in the most appealing of guises), but the film also seems to revel in the exploitative aspects of having this lovely young lass shuck her garment in a church in order to seduce Anthony Ainley, or in images of a buxom redhead dancing nakedly with a knife. You're left with an uneasy feeling of what you're viewing not quite knowing what it wants to be, and as a result exhibiting a kind of hypocrisy almost completely by accident; kind of like walking in on a priest reading a Playboy.
However, I feel that this inner conflict (along with the film's almost fractured narrative; this was originally planned as a 3-part portmanteau film along the lines of Amicus' anthologies, but wound up shoehorning everything into one storyline) works in the film's favor, creating an unresolved tension that gives it a strong sense of momentum. Without this aspect, the film could become bogged down and lethargic, but the unease created by the conflict keeps the audience on its toes even if they don't recognize the movie's inherent contradictions. It's a marvel that it pulls this off, but the movie works like gangbusters.
The movie is available uncut and letterboxed from Anchor Bay UK (and the version packaged in their Tigon Collection set is graced with a bonus commentary by The League of Gentlemen's Reece Shearsmith, Mark Gatiss and Jeremy Dyson alongside the extras offered on the standalone), and the transfer is head-and-shoulders above the murky VHS transfers I've seen in the past, but it is unfortunately non-anamorphic (and zooming in on the image either degrades the image more than I'd like, or there is some awfully distracting edge enhancement going on here that becomes more apparent in the zoom). This deserves a stateside R1 release, and needs desperately to be 16:9 enhanced. Until then, this'll have to do.

"Men sometimes have strange motives for the things they do."

STAHL: If someone’s in custody, as in Abu Ghraib, and they are brutalized by a law enforcement person — if you listen to the expression “cruel and unusual punishment,” doesn’t that apply?

SCALIA: No. To the contrary. You think — Has anybody ever referred to torture as punishment? I don’t think so.

STAHL: Well I think if you’re in custody, and you have a policeman who’s taken you into custody–

SCALIA: And you say he’s punishing you? What’s he punishing you for? … When he’s hurting you in order to get information from you, you wouldn’t say he’s punishing you. What is he punishing you for?

60 Minutes, 4/27/2008

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"I will find out the truth for you, have no fear."

--Matthew Hopkins, Witchfinder General

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Quick notes on a recent viewing:

Michael Reeves' masterpiece, Witchfinder General, is set at a time when the line between church and state has been almost completely blurred. When a political operative stirs up the "average Joes" with fear of The Other hiding among them, using their now-brought-to-the-forefront xenophobia to justify the use of torture, and capitalizing on this to solidify his own power and wealth.

In short, it's a film with absolutely no parallels to modern life whatsoever.

It is one of the most common clichés in writing about movies to claim that this film or that is "as relevant now as when it was released," but it is no less true when said about this film. The movie follows the exploits of Matthew Hopkins, the titular Witchfinder General, and his assistant Stearne as they travel the British countryside cynically locating and punishing "witches" for profit. It's made fairly clear early on that neither actually believe the charges that they're leveling, but are instead charging the innocent without conscience for their own reasons. In a telling early exchange, Hopkins questions his assistant, asking, "you enjoy torture, don't you, Stearne?" Stearne replies "and you...sir?" Hopkins looks coldly forward. It's not a matter of enjoyment on Hopkins' part; it's a matter of power. On the other hand, it's nearly impossible in this day and age to watch Stearne's gleeful participation in their "enhanced interrogation techniques" and not see echoes of the images from Abu Ghraib prison.

If the film had been made today, it would be seen as a heavy-handed comment on the Bush administration's support of torture (under an "it's not torture if we do it" rubric) and its blatant attempts to break down the barrier between church and state. However, its 1968 release date makes it all too easy to make claims of its prophetic nature, ignoring the obvious end-of-the-'60s anti-authoritarianism of the piece. The looming dark autumn following the previous year's Summer of Love weighs heavily on the way the events are depicted in the film, much in the way Peter Watkins' Punishment Park is a direct comment on the Nixonian era. But I feel that both views -- tying its commentary solely to the time in which it was filmed, as well as ignoring its ties to the turbulent year of 1968 in favor of looking at it solely through the prism of the War on Terror -- are approaches that do the movie a serious disservice and ignore the deeper themes of the film, which are both timely and timeless.

There's a certain air of fatalistic inevitability pervading the film, with its matter-of-fact handling of violence as a means to an end, with its period setting and its challenge to the audience (either in 1968 or some 40 years later) to draw comparisons to the present. It seems to be saying "all of this has happened before; all of this will happen again" (to lift from Battlestar Galactica). The propensity toward violence as a way of establishing or reinforcing one's power is a built-in part of our nature, always lurking beneath the surface, and easy to summon and/or exploit, no matter what era you are looking at. This is reinforced in the final moments of the film, when the ostensible hero Richard Marshall finally takes his revenge on Hopkins, punishing him with multiple axe blows. When his soldier compatriots arrive on the scene and put Hopkins out of his misery with a gunshot, Marshall repeatedly cries out "you took him from me!" He has been robbed of his power, the power that seemingly only violence can provide. And when all humanity is stripped -- whether in the tyrannical oppression seen in the character of Hopkins, in the sadistic indulgence of Stearne, or in the theft of Marshall's humanity at the hands of both Hopkins and Stearne -- this motivating force of violence as a means to assert power is all that remains.

It's a bleak view of humanity. It's purely misanthropic. There is no hope for anyone in the film's universe; even Marshall's wife Sarah is driven to the brink of insanity by what she has seen and endured. The townsfolk of the film's population are easily driven by fear and a lust for violence; the soldiers advance and prosper from acts of violence. Violence is simply an inescapable and corruptible aspect of life, and can be manipulated and exploited toward any nefarious ends if we are not careful to keep this aspect of our selves in check, and reject anyone who wishes to capitalize on this part of our natures for their own benefit. Reeves is pessimistic about our ability to pull that off, however; a viewpoint that recent and repeated events have only supported.