Posts Tagged ‘drive-in movies’

"Not Quite Hollywood" Movie Poster

"Not Quite Hollywood" Movie Poster

“Stone.” “The Man From Hong Kong.” “Stork.” “Fantasm.” “Long Weekend.” “Mad Max.” “Turkey Shoot.” “Razorback.” “Dead-End Drive-In.” ” Mad Dog Morgan.” “BMX Bandits.” “Patrick.”

If the names of these movies don’t ring a bell—or even if they do—you’d be well-served by checking out director Mark Hartley’s respectful-yet-irreverent new indie documentary “Not Quite Hollywood,” a fascinating look at the history of “Ozploitation,” the bizarrely unique brand of low-budget exploitation filmmaking from Down Under.

In a very real sense, the history of the Ozplotation and the history of Australian filmmaking are one and the same, as no other country on earth has a movie industry whose roots lie in low-budget, drive-in pictures, and while more serious and scholarly arthouse fare like “Picnic at Hanging Rock” and “The Last Wave” were the types of films Australia wanted to be known for producing in the 1970s, in truth these high-brow pictures were few and far between, and the bedrock of this nascent industry was the low-budget genre picture designed to draw people into the drive-ins (Australia is the only country besides the US with a distinct drive-in movie culture) and deliver the same types of cheap thrills, cheap shocks, cheap sex, and cheap gimmicks as their more-well-known American counterparts—all, of course, delivered on a cheap budget.

In truth, there was no Australian film industry to speak of until “Stork,” an ultra-low-budget screwball sex comedy, came along in 1971 and proved to the Australian filmgoing public—and prospective producers/investors—that Australia could produce its own fare for its cinemas and even, eventually, worldwide distribution markets. A veritable flood of Aussie sex comedies followed, such as the highly-popular “Alvin Purple” and “Fantasm” films, and the nudity-filled romps rules the day for several years until the small cadre of Australian filmmakers started to branch out into genres such as horror, action, and biker (or “bikie” as they’d say down there) movies, as well—there were even a few Australian kung fu flicks!

“Not Quite Hollywood” covers it all, with candid interviews from the directors, producers, stars,  and cinematographers behind many of the most notable Ozploitation efforts. Special attention is paid to the gonzo, balls-to-the-walls stuntmen who did so much to make this bizarre brand of filmmaking what it is, as well. American and British stars who made the trek Down Under  to either revive sagging careers or just plain keep working such as Dennis Hopper, Jamie Lee Curtis, Stacy Keach, and George Lazenby are on hand to share their recollections, as well.

Plenty of folks who went on to have fairly successful careers in Hollywood like George Miller, Fred Schepisi, and  Russell Mulcahy got their start directing Ozploitation pictures, and while names like Brian Trenchard-Smith are not as well-known stateside, their names are well-known to the Australian filmgoing public and their contributions to the growth and development of Aussie film cannot be overstated. Future mega-stars like Nicole Kidman and Mel Gibson got their start in the world of Ozploitation, as well.

Oh, and there’s plenty of Quentin Tarantino, too, if you’re interested—as a human treasure-trove of knowledge of all things exploitation, he knows many of these movies well and his thoughts and reminiscences on them are insightful, interesting, and delivered with a lot less self-involved self-importance than we’ve grown accustomed to from him over the years.

I’m a little biased toward the subject matter here because I absolutely love Australia, having spent six months there, and I absolutely love low-budget exploitation filmmaking, so pairing the two is a match made in heaven for your humble host. But I have to admit that my own exposure to the world of Ozploitation has been minimal at best, since most of these films are unavailable on DVD here in the States. Sure, I’ve seen most of the well-regarded “classics” of  the filed like “Stone,” (my personal favorite of those I’ve seen and one of the absolute best biker movies ever, period) “Mad Max,” “Roadgames,” Razorback,” and what have you, but this movie has got me wanting to hunt more down—a lot more. There’s a plethora of delights for the low-budget coniosseur to be found in the wild world of Ozploitation, and I can’t wait to discover some of them for myself.

Original Movie Poster For "Satan's Children"

Original Movie Poster For "Satan's Children"

Back in 1968,  a Tampa Bay-area TV news cameraman named Joe Wiezycki hit on an idea : borrow a thousand bucks each from some friends at work, crank out a movie, and maybe even make a few bucks. Surprisingly, every part of his plan worked : he was able to convince about ten of his co-workers to front him a grand apiece, and the end result was a long-forgotten-by-now blaxploitation quickie called “Willy’s Gone” . It didn’t exactly set the world on fire, but it did well enough on the regional drive-in circuit for Wiezycki to pay back his investors, and when it was re-released a few years later nationally on a double-bill with “Ghetto Freaks” under the new title of “Ghetto Rat” (guess it was a ghetto two-fer) they even ended up making a small but tidy profit, which was enough to convince Wiezycki that hey, maybe he had a future in this business and he should try his hand at it again. It proved to be a terrible idea.

Fast-forward to 1974 and Joe has moved up the ladder to becoming a news director and producer at his Tampa TV station, and even dabbles in a bit of local variety-type programming. Things are looking pretty good for him, but he never really fully scratched his movie itch. So he decides to hit up a bunch of co-workers for $1000 each all over again and eventually gets 10  of them, again,  to go along with his venture. I have no idea whether or not it was an easier sell for Joe the second time around, but since they did okay on the initial go-round, I’m thinking it probably was. Whether or not he got his money from the exact same folks or had to hit up new ones is also something I’m clueless about, but  I have to assume that none of them, whoever they were,  had read the script. At least I’m hoping they didn’t.

For his second cinematic effort, Joe thought he’d do a horror flick, and throw in a little T&A to bring in the crowds. It was a reasonable enough idea, of course, since horror flicks with a little bit of T&A were pretty big at the time, and didn’t cost a whole lot to make.  Joe again stuck with local acting “talent,” most of whom he found at a casting call or two at a local college,  and got down to business on making “Satan’s Children,” a movie that Frank Henenlotter absolutely pinned in four words when he called it a “deeply deranged regional rarity.”  Your humble host can’t really improve on that succinct, and absolutely apt,  description, so my mission here is not so much to convince you that it sums  things up perfectly, but rather to explain why.

Almost from the get-go, this flick has a  deeply anti-homosexual vibe going—indeed, it’s anti-anything-that-can-be-perceived-as-“sissy”-in-any-way. Our protagonist, a young(I’m thinking high school junior or senior) somewhat effeminate lad named Bobby Douglas (played by Stephen White), is leading a life that can best be described as a 1970s male version of the first part of “Cinderella.” He slaves away on yardwork and house chores all day for his wicked father while his lazy stepsister, Janis (Joyce Malloy) spends most of her time lounging around by the pool or swimming. It’s not a great living arrangement by anyone’s standards and White sulks obviously enough to make sure we know Bobby’s not too thrilled with the whole situation. His stepsis likes to torment him sexually, too, barging in on him changing clothes so she can mock the size of his pecker one minute, then playing footsie with him under the dinner table the next.

Who wears the pants in this house? Evidently no one.

Who wears the pants in this house? Evidently no one.

It’s during the taunting scene shown above that you first notice the really odd dichotomy that runs throughout this film, that being that for a movie that absolutely oozes anti-gay resentment, they never waste a chance to show Bobby parading around in his tightie-whities.  But more on that later.

At the footsie-dinner just mentioned, Bobby finally gets the upper hand (err—foot, I guess) for a second by grabbing stepsis’s wayward toes and nearly sticking a fork in them (if you’re wondering what their dad is doing while all this under-the-table horseplay is going on, the answer is simple : he’s too busy lecturing them in between mouthfuls of food to notice anything’s amiss). She quickly regains the advantage, though, by snitching out Bobby for a “little baggie filled with some kind of tobacco” she found in his room. Rather than hand over his pot stash, though, our guy Bobby finally decides he’s had enough, tells his dad to “go to Jesus H. Christ Hell!!!!!!!,” and runs away from home.

The streets of 1974 Tampa are looking pretty dull and empty as Bobby wanders around with no real destination in mind, and with nothing to do and (I’m assuming) very little money, Bobby stops in a bar for a cold one. Enter our first overtly-lecherous gay dude, an older fella who sits down across from Bobby at his booth, touches his knee, and asks if he’s having trouble at home.  The red-headed runaway recoils at his advances and is about to ask the aging queen to take a hike when our second lecherous homosexual enters the picture, a tough-talking Fonzie-type who tells the old-timer “I thought I said I never wanted to see you in here anymore” and proceeds to tell him to leave the kid alone. Needless to say, Bobby thinks he’s been rescued and has found a super-cool new friend. Soon he’s getting a lift on the back of his knight-in-shining-leather’s motorcycle and heading to his cool beachfront bachelor pad to crash for the night.  His apparent “rescuer,” though, has other ideas.

After luring Bobby to his spread with promises of beer and grass, “Prince Charming” proves he’s anything but when he puts a switchblade to the boy’s  throat and tells him to stay still while he undoes his pants.  Next thing you know Bobby is naked and hogtied and his new “friend” is calling his buddies to come over for a “party.”

That's gotta hurt.

That's gotta hurt.

When the three other “partygoers” arrive, they proceed to take Bobby out to one of their cars and take turns raping him in the backseat while they cruise around town. And just to add insult to injury, when they’re finished with him they don’t even give him his clothes back, just toss him in a rural roadside ditch in nothing but—again—his white briefs.

At this point, our friendly neighborhood Satanic coven enters the picture, and this is where we learn that even the Dark Lord himself apparently has a beef with queers. The first two we meet are Sherry (Kathleen Marie Archer), the group’s second-in-command,  and Monica (Rosemary Orlando), and the first thign we find out about this Mansonesque outfit is that “the love that dare not speak its name” had really better keep its mouth shut around these parts .  They’re arguing while the rest of the devil-worshipers play volleyball or something, and what are they arguing about? Here’s all you need to know —

Monica : I can’t help how I feel.

Sherry : If you don’t want me to tell Simon (the group’s leader), you’d better start trying to like guys.

Then Sherry proceeds to throw her into some shallow water and storms off towards some sort of barbed-wire fence, which is where she finds Bobby out cold on the ground. If our “hero” (for lack of a better word) thought he had problems before, he hasn’t seen anything yet. Sherry quickly takes a shine to the young mystery man, and since Simon’s away on undisclosed “business” of some sort or another, she’s in charge, so she decides they’re going to take him in while he regains consciousness and recovers from his ordeal.

The others aren’t so sure about their new houseguest, though.  Joshua, a Satanic hard-liner who’s apparently a constant thorn in Sherry’s side, says “I think he’s queer,”(in the warped worldview of this film, contact with homosexuals in any way, whether being flirted with by one or being raped by a gang of them, immediately puts you under suspicion of being gay yourself, like it’s some sort of transmittable “disease”) and tells her that he doesn’t think Simon—or, for that matter, Lucifer himself, would approve of taking Bobby in. When Sherry points out that it’s obvious Bobby’s been raped, Joshua says that makes him even worse, since “the Master doesn’t like victims.” This what-passes-for-conflict only intensifies when Joshua goes into their ritual chamber and prays to their lord and master Satan for Simon to return and take command of the coven back from Sherry. For her own part, while all this is going on, Sherry is busy tying Monica and suspending her from the ceiling for her “crime” and then showing Bobby the joys of God—and Satan, apparently, too (guess they agree on one thing)— -approved man-woman lovemaking.

Later in the evening, Sherry decides she’s had enough of Joshua and a few of his like-minded friends and has them hung. I figure she must be pretty pissed  off because given that she tells Bobby their group has 15 members, getting rid of three or four of them seems like a pretty drastic step. Then it’s back into bed with Bobby and sweet dreams for our loving Satanic couple.

Come the morning, though, things take a decided turn for the worse for our young lovers. Evidently Joshua’s prayer to the devil worked, because Simon (Robert C. Ray, in what comes closest to a passable acting performance in this film) returns and quietly goes about cleaning up the mess that Sherry’s made of things while he’s been away. His first order or business is to cut Monica down from her bindings and wake Sherry up so he can find out exactly what the hell (no pun intended, I guess) has been going on around here. Sherry tells him that she’s fallen in love, that Monica is “guilty” of lesbianism, and that Joshua and the others were undermining her authority and she was only doing what she had to do when she hung them.

Simon is curious to meet the object of Sherry’s newfound affections, but Bobby still can’t move his legs to get out of bed.  He’ll be making his introductions to the newcomer soon enough, but first Simon has to take care of the business about Monica, so it’s time for a little Satanic trial. He brings her into his—well, “office,” I guess,  asks her whether or not the “charges” of lesbianism are true, and then makes her swear an oath to Satan that her “testimony” is accurate.

Evidently, these Satanic trials really work, because when Monica is lying, her nose starts bleeding uncontrollably and soon she’s passed out. If only George Bush and Dick Cheney had known about this method of “questioning,” maybe we could have avoided “enhanced interrogation,” secret military tribunals, and all that other Constitution-busting nonsense. Meanwhile, Sherry, for her part, in under a “trial” of sorts of her own while Simon hears Monica’s testimony and determines who’s telling the truth. The other members of the coven have buried her up to her head in quicksand (in reality $150 worth of oatmeal—yes, really), covered her face in honey, and turned an army of ants loose on her.

She’s still under ant-attack when Simon finally gets around to going into the bedroom and meeting Bobby, and to say he’s not too terribly impressed with the lad would be an understatement. “Poor little boy got raped by some queers,” Simon tells him after Bobby pleads with the cult leader and swears that he’s ready to pledge his soul to the devil.

When Simon heads outside to deal with Sherry, Bobby, evidently now mobile again, decides to make a break for it. Only he still hasn’t got any clothes, making him a fugitive from Satanic “justice” in his underpants. What follows is an extended chase scene through the woods as Bobby and his soiled briefs try to stay one step ahead of the devil’s minions. How does our underwear-clad (but not gay, don’t even think it!)  teen dynamo finally get the better of his pursuers? By luring them into another pit of “quicksand” (this time the oatmeal only looks to be about three or four feet deep, but whatever)  and laughing at their cries for help as they sink to their deaths, thereby proving what a badass (and not queer!) Satanist he’s become.  Here’s what death by oatmeal looks like—


Newly-super-confident (and definitely more not-gay-than-ever) Bobby is then ready to head back and take command of what’s left of the coven with his lady-love at his side. There’s just one order of business to take care of—

Bobby's stepsister Janis meets her demise. Who's got a little dick now?

Bobby's stepsister Janis meets her demise. Who's got a little dick now?

Bobby proves his virulent heterosexual manhood by crucifying his taunting stepsister Janis  in front of his new Luciferian followers, and now nobody, and I mean nobody, thinks he’s queer anymore.

What to make of all this? Well, I’m no psychiatrist, but anyone can see that “Satan’s Children” exhibits the kind of deep-seated homophobia that can only be found in the most violently repressed and angry closet-cases,  and  having a somewhat  effeminate young pretty-boy spend 3/4 of the movie running around in his underwear certainly does nothing to dispel this notion. For all it’s anti-queer chest-thumping, then, my best guess is that somebody behind the making of this movie was, in fact, queer.  Strangely, though, while director Joe Wiezycki would be the obvious choice for repressed-homosexual-in-charge, I don’t think it was him. Why, you ask? Well, here’s my thinking, such as it is—

Wiezycki is about the most straight-ahead, point-and-shoot type of director you can imagine. Apart from the ending crucifixion shot that he lingers on as if he thinks it has any actual dramatic impact, this flick shows about as much directorial flourish as a floor wax commercial. A lot of it looks like it was done in one take. The camera is merely there to record events, the end result being that  the film is literally a stylistic black hole. My best guess — and it’s only a guess — is that Wiezycki just got himself a scipt and decided to film it. The ugly subtexts were inherent in the material he was filming from their inception on the printed page, and he just either didn’t notice, or didn’t care.

With that in mind, TFG is fairly confident in making an educated supposition that the uber-repressed homosexuals here are screenwriters Gary Garrett and Ron Levitt (or at least one of them). Neither went on to have much of a career to speak of (this was it for Wiezycki’s dreams of becoming a Florida movie mogul, as well, since the film played a few drive-ins around the area in 1975 and quickly disappeared—I don’t think his friends at work got their $1000 investments back on this one),  with Levitt disappearing completely from the entertainment industry and Garrett having one other credit to his name, a 1988 made-for-TV movie called “Run Till You Fall” that I know—and care–nothing about.   If I had to pinpoint the self-loathing culprit(s) here, it would be one or both of these men.

To sum things up, then, while not an especially violent or bloody entry into the pantheon of drive-in cinema, “Satan’s Children” is definitely a mean one. This is a nasty piece of work borne from a very troubled mind, the kind that needs help and is crying out for it in a very public way (not that too many people saw this thing).  It achieves something very notable, yet also not at all distinguished—being one of  the most homophobic films you’ll ever see, while also being quite obviously gay as all get-out.  I can’t recommend this film to everyone—heck, it would be a reach to say that I “recommend” it for anyone at all—but if you want to see the inner-workings and emotional turmoil of insanely, dangerously repressed homosexuality writ large, it at least makes for some interesting viewing, if only in a clinical sense. Any shrink worth his or her salt will have a field day with this one, folks. I just hope that whoever the the closeted-to-the-point-of-near-flat-out-insanity person who dreamed all this up was — whether it be Wiezycki, Garrett, Levitt, or any combination thereof — that they’ve gotten over their hang-ups before being eaten alive by them, found themselves a nice boyfriend, and settled down to live happily ever after.

Cover For The "Asyllum Of Satan/Satan's Children" Double-Bill DVD from Something Weird Video
Cover For The “Asylum Of Satan/Satan’s Children” Double-Bill DVD from Something Weird Video

“Satan’s Children” is available on a double-feature DVD from Something Weird Video along with “Asylum Of Satan,” an early effort by the late William Girdler of “Grizzly” and “Sheba,  Baby” fame. It’s out of print and often sells  for upwards of $200 on eBay. Much more reasonable, if you’re determined to see this thing, is to get the stand-alone DVD-R release from Something Weird that can be had for $10. I can’t in good consicence recommend spending any more than that for this movie, anyway.