In 1978, one of the most shocking and controversial exploitation films of all time was unleashed on an unsuspecting world, one that is still hotly debated even today, several decades after the film's initial release. A sleazy spectacle of violation and vengeance, I SPIT ON YOUR GRAVE remains as divisive for modern audiences as it was for those of the 1970's grindhouses. Is it misogynistic hate-porn hiding beneath a veneer of backwoods survival horror? Or is it a chillingly, chargingly aggressive, uncompromising feminist statement? A little of both, perhaps? Neither?
Whether you end up loving it or loathing it, it's unlikely that a screening of I SPIT ON YOUR GRAVE will leave any viewer unaffected in some way. For those among us who are indeed fans of the film, however, there is no doubt a single actress' name which, when spoken, causes goosebumps to rise all over one's body. That actress is Camille Keaton, and this is my tribute to her.
Camille Keaton, the Bearded Weirdo salutes you!
As her surname implies, the lovely Ms. Keaton is the kin of Hollywood royalty, being in fact the grand-niece of silent film legend Buster Keaton. Though the world of moving pictures would beckon them both, Camille would find notoriety in genres more harsh and lurid than classical comedy. In 1972, Camille debuted in WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO SOLANGE? (a.k.a. THE SCHOOL THAT COULDN'T SCREAM, TERROR IN THE WOODS, THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN PIN, SAVAGE, WHO'S NEXT?, YOUNG GIRL GETS STABBED, and TERROR IN THE SCHOOLYARD) a standout giallo thriller directed by Massimo Dallamano. Though Ms. Keaton's role was very small, the movie was one of the strongest giallo titles to come out of Italy, and the picture would go on to leave quite an impression within future cult film circles. Likewise, Camille's appearance, though brief, also left an unshakeable mark. Offering a subdued, subtle, sad-eyed performance, bolstered by her naturally ethereal, porcelain physique, Camille Keaton's appearance in SOLANGE was no less than haunting, and stayed with viewers long after her character’s face faded from the screen.
That same year, Camille posed nude as a centerfold for Italy's Playmen magazine. Two years later, she would make a second appearance in the magazine, this time with the cover itself being dedicated to her striking form. With her full lips, seductive eyes, earthy brown hair, milky white skin, and slender, delicate body, Camille Keaton was, physically, a mixture of a smiling, tranquil 70's era flower-child mixed with the elegance of a high society lady with fine taste and a playfully salacious dark side lurking beneath a staid demeanor. For the record, I'm not normally so taken with "skinny chicks," but for Camille here I make an exception. Her's is a beauty almost mystical in nature. Like a fair-haired nymph in a folk tale, Camille Keaton is no less than enchanting.
Remarkably, she is just as sexy, gorgeous, and hypnotic today as she was back then. The passing years have been kind to Ms. Keaton where they have not to some of her cult cinema contemporaries. She has aged like a fine wine, becoming only more beautiful over time. Call her a cougar, call her a M.I.L.F. However you say, it adds up to one word: hawt.
Following her sojourn through SOLANGE and her presence in Playmen, Camille added three more Italian features (TRAGIC CEREMONY, THE EVIL EYE, and STUDY OF A NIGHTMARE) to her ever-growing list of film credits, before finally hooking up with infamous filmmaker Meir Zarchi for an expedition into exploitation eternity. I'm speaking, of course, about the role that made Ms. Keaton a name to never be forgotten. I'm talking about the movie that would go down in history and make wretched royalty of its unsuspecting star. Naturally, I'm referring to I SPIT ON YOUR GRAVE.
However you feel about the film, its lasting impact cannot be understated. It's even had its own big budget modern-day remake, which came and went like a fart on the wind. It was always doomed to the delete bin, y'see, for its common knowledge seemingly to everyone but said remake's creators that no picture could ever duplicate the raw intensity and critic-enraging edginess of the original. Nor could any contemporary Megan Fox wanna-be deliver the kind of powerful, moving, soul-crushing performance that Camille Keaton conjured up way back when.
In many ways, it is Ms. Keaton's performance that gives I SPIT ON YOUR GRAVE its strength and its validity (I'm speaking now of my own personal opinion, mind you... as I'm well aware that there are many movie buffs out there who refuse to admit that I SPIT ON YOUR GRAVE has any kind of strength or validity whatsoever). It is she who also makes the movie's most harrowing sequences that much more harrowing, and their aftermath that much more heartbreaking. Camille Keaton gives her character both vulnerability and independence, the same vulnerability and independence that comes through everytime she's ever been on-screen or in a magazine.
Rarely does I SPIT ON YOUR GRAVE receive the credit it is due, oft-times being simply shrugged off as degrading filth with no redeeming value. Likewise, rarely does Camille Keaton get the recognition she deserves for the incredible performance she contributed to the picture, as critics are too busy spitting venom at the movie's content to ever stop and consider such things as acting. It's a dreadful case of throwing the baby out with the bathwater, as Camille's performance in I SPIT ON YOUR GRAVE is easily one of the finest performances of any exploitation film released in the 1970's. Hell, I'd go so far as to say it rivals performances by many of the big-name actors in films of that era, exploitation or otherwise. In the decade in which I SPIT ON YOUR GRAVE was released, I can think of only a handful of other performances that could equal Camille Keaton's for sheer genius, and one of those performances is that of Robert DeNiro in TAXI DRIVER, so that should give you an idea of the kind of good company she's in.
Alas, the mainstream has mostly ignored this talented actress and flat-out smokin' babe (sorry, I don't mean to get lewd, but there's just no better way to put it than the bluntest way possible, I feel), leaving only cult movie connoisseurs and exploitation addicts like myself to sing her praises. My only comfort is that the Cult Of Camille Keaton is growing, as new generations are exposed to films like I SPIT ON YOUR GRAVE or TRAGIC CEREMONY or WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO SOLANGE? (or even 1982's chaotic kung-fu clusterfuck RAW FORCE, in which Ms. Keaton appeared briefly as the reverently dubbed character "Girl In Toilet") and are showering this marvelous muse with all the accolades she deserves. Even the sharpened prison shiv stab of I SPIT ON YOUR GRAVE has been dulled a bit over time, and, though it continues to be a heavily argued point of contention for genre fans, its army of supporters seems to add more members to its base every year. More and more, I find, people are finally "getting it" and recognizing Camille Keaton for being a profound performer, a tawdry temptress, and, best of all, a genuine feminist icon. Jolly good!
On a personal note, I had the opportunity to share words with Ms. Keaton at a convention last year, and I found her to be charming, intelligent, and kind. She also seemed authentically flattered when I told her how amazing I felt her performance in I SPIT ON YOUR GRAVE was. Of course, I left out the part about how I've rubbed one out to her Playmen spread from time to time. But that's beside the point. The point is, I'm glad to see Camille out there, interacting with her fans, hearing praise on a regular basis from the people who understand and appreciate her work. Because, despite the caustic nature of the films she's made her career with, it couldn't happen to a nicer person.
Nor a hotter one.
Camille Keaton, once again, the Bearded Weirdo salutes you!
The video release poster for CAST A DEADLY SPELL came with a "crowd pleaser" seal of approval which guaranteed that if you didn't enjoy the movie you'd get a refund of the cash it cost you to make the rental. Such a thing may be little more than a nostalgic novelty now, but it might as well have been an amendment to the U.S. Constitution. That's right, CAST A DEADLY SPELL lives up to its promises. Yes indeed, it really is a crowd pleaser. At least in my book.
Picture CHINATOWN by way of Stuart Gordon. The story takes place in 1948. But it sure as shit ain't the 1948 you and I are familiar with. This is a version of 1948 from an alternate timeline, a parallel dimension similar to our own but different in some very important ways. Chief among these changes is the fact that, in this incarnation of Earth, magick, and I'm talkin' magick-with-a-k here, is not only real, but commonplace. Here, the criminal underworld is literally from the underworld. Ghosts, ghouls, and gremlins are everyday annoyances. Voodoo doll homicides, zombified construction workers, and diabolical deals with the devil are all par for the course. Everybody uses magick, man. Everybody.
Everybody, that is, except for our all-important main character. Natch.
Fred Ward (TREMORS, HENRY & JUNE, etc.) plays private investigator H.P. Lovecraft (call him Harry), a gruff, grizzled, hardboiled outsider with a jaded worldview, a penchant for acerbic wisecracking, a solid right hook, a face full of stubble, and a crooked fedora sittin' lopsided atop his unkempt hair. Harry doesn't use any o' that fancy-shmancy hocus pocus mumbo jumbo. Doesn't even like the stuff. Instead, he pines for the salad days when men were men, personal honor actually meant something to people, and things in life were accomplished the old-fashioned way: through hard work n' honest labor.
Harry may sound a tad Amish in his ideals, but he doesn't give a fig. Nowadays, you can pull almost anything you want out of a handful of fairy dust and a puff of smoke, which means that pretty much everyone in the world has turned into a corner-cutting con artist. After all, when esoteric secrets conjured up by ancient forces offer shortcuts to everybody's hopes n' dreams, every last ounce of arcana is closely guarded and fiercely coveted. Illusions and glamour spells hide the truth from prying eyes. Paranoia and backstabbing opportunism reign supreme. No one can be trusted, and no one is necessarily who they say they are.
Of course, the ubiquitous presence of magick in society means that, if any P.I. is gonna have a chance in hell of makin' a name for himself, he's gotta be both quick on his feet and quick on the draw, not to mention hardy, observant, intelligent, and just plain goddamn good at his job. The fact that Harry refuses to use magick to aid in his investigations, and that he's still around, only shows how just plain goddamn good he really is (even if he does nest in a seedy run-down apartment/office in the same building as a mambo priestess/tap dance instructor).
That's why ol' Harry's been hired by Mr. Amos Hackshaw, a wealthy wizard played by the freakishly prolific and ever-reliable David Warner (STRAW DOGS, TIME BANDITS, etc.). Ardent cult film fartknockers will note, by the way, that Warner's chalked himself up a genuine freakin' threesie here, what I like to call "The David Warner Lovecraft Trilogy." Flanking CAST A DEADLY SPELL, the guy's got both NECRONOMICON and IN THE MOUTH OF MADNESS coolin' their heels in his filmography. Now, izzat good shiznit or izzat good shiznit?
That is not dead which can eternal lie, and with strange aeons, David Warner's career will never die. Word.
Anyway, it seems a priceless mystical tome (I think it was called The Necronomicon or somethin' ...hmmm, I wonder what that could be a reference to) has been stolen from Amos' extensive, and exotic, collection and the sumptuous sorcerer wants it back. Amos hires Harry to hunt the book down, choosing the weathered detective not only for his skillful expertise and respectable reputation, but also because he believes that Harry's distaste for magick will keep him from seeking to obtain The Necronomicon for himself. Wouldn't be a good idea to pay somebody to retrieve your stolen goodies if that self-same person then turned around and stole said goodies for themselves, now would it?
As Harry begins looking into the mystery of the taken text, he runs afoul of his one-time friend and current nightclub owner/crime lord/supernatural sleazeball, Harry Bordon (geez, is everyone named Harry?). Bordon is brought to life by professional Hollywood heavy Clancy Brown (HIGHLANDER, BUCKAROO BANZAI ACROSS THE 8TH DIMENSION, etc.), so you know, even before he opens his mouth, that Bordon's gonna be a bad motherfucker. Getting off-topic for a second here, I've always said that, if they ever make that long-promised Preacher comic adaptation movie or T.V. series, then I think Clancy Brown should definitely play Herr Starr.
Okay, shimmying back on-topic, Harry (Lovecraft, not Bordon) also runs into another face from his past, this time in the form of Connie Stone, a lascivious lounge singin' strumpet played by Julianne Moore (BOOGIE NIGHTS, CHILDREN OF MEN, etc.) back before she was an A-list celebrity. Before you can say "Raymond Chandler goes to hell," Harry finds himself caught up in a twisty-turny, mighty murky, Machiavellian conspiracy in which some very nasty people have some very nasty plans for The Necronomicon. Plans which involve human sacrifice and the apocalyptic unleashing of a slumbering Old One. I tell ya, it just don't get any nastier than that (unless you count Glenn Beck... ::shudder::).
Man, this movie has all sorts of tasty sweetness. We got gigantic tentacle-whipping demonic gods, stone-skinned gargoyles, unicorn hunting trips, cooler-than-cool classic cars, Clancy Brown, and a tranny drag queen, just for the hell of it. The portrayal of old-school L.A. is equal parts sleaze and glitz, a perfect synthesis of that trashy/classy noir aesthetic. Then there's the dialogue, which is sharp as a tack. Wait. Sharper. It's as sharp as a Cthulhu-worshipper's unholy dagger of death. Not only is the jibber-jabber perfectly suited for a neo-retro 1940's detective story throwback, full of gritty one-liners and sassy, sparky, sarcastic back-and-forth banter, but the movie as a whole is littered with nods to the real world Lovecraft's tremendous (both in quantity and quality) body of work. If you're a fan of the man's creepy cosmic mythos then you'll probably get a kick out of the zillion and one Lovecraftian in-jokes worked into the mix here (did I mention there's a police officer named Bradbury? ...or how about the fact that Bordon's nightclub is called The Dunwich Room). Mind you, if you're one of those stuffy, stick-in-the-mud purists who take the man and his mythos way, wayyy too seriously, then you'll probably hate CAST A DEADLY SPELL. And, if that's the case, you can go fuck a dead duck for all I give a shit.
Anyone looking for an authentic Lovecraftian experience will have their hopes soundly squashed with this flick. Sorry, buttmunches and buttmunchettes, this isn't that kind o' movie. It's not a "Lovecraft movie" in the truest sense at all, really. It's more along the lines of IN THE MOUTH OF MADNESS in that it's an eclectic homage and an affectionate pastiche. Unlike IN THE MOUTH OF MADNESS, though, CAST A DEADLY SPELL never makes any attempts to achieve a similarly Lovecraftian feel. Like I said, this isn't that kind o' movie. And, to be perfectly blunt, coming from H.B.O. during a time when Tales From The Crypt was one of their heaviest hitters, the fact of the matter is that CAST A DEADLY SPELL was never going to be "that kind o' movie." It knows exactly what it is, and it has fun being that. It's a quirky, campy, comic book-esque b-movie that uses a handful of ideas lifted from Lovecraft as a springboard to create something unique unto itself.
To use "Lovecraft movie" terms here for a minute (despite my unhesitating admission that this is "not that kind o' movie"), if you want to compare CAST A DEADLY SPELL to some similar flicks, I'd say that this picture has a good deal in common with FROM BEYOND and NECRONOMICON, with a pulpier, dime novel-like, Dashiell Hammett clone sense of style. This is definitely not a "serious" movie by any stretch of the imagination. On the contrary, it's more or less an Elseworlds-inspired horror-comedy, though the comedy is less of the slapstick splatstick variety, and more of the semi-spoofy/semi-satirical, character/dialogue/concept-driven, and self-aware absurdity sort. The climax, for instance, is just one big, cheeky, playfully mischievous wink toward both the unlikelihood of finding a virgin in Los Angeles and the way parents are oft-times out-of-touch with their offspring (a gag that my fellow Whedonites might notice would one day resurface, seemingly torn directly out of CAST A DEADLY SPELL, as the punchline for one exceptionally memorable second season episode of Angel). If you have no idea what I'm babbling about here, I'll give you a hint: statutory rape saves the day! Betcha didn't see that coming.
On top o' all that good shit, CAST A DEADLY SPELL also features F.X. work by (amongst others) Gore Shriek artist Bruce Spaulding Fuller (DEAD DUDES IN THE HOUSE, TANK GIRL, etc.), who I make special mention of simply because I'm a huge Gore Shriek fan, aaaaand because I had the chance to hang out with him a while back, and found him to be an eminently cool dude.
Serving as a charming chunk of disarmingly droll mid-budget schlock, CAST A DEADLY SPELL is an imaginative, extremely well-written, extremely well-acted, colorfully and moodily directed, slime-drizzled, rubbery monster-laden, kitschy creepshow overflowing with noirish archetypes (fiery femme fatales, dolled-up debutante dames, n' cynical two-fisted private eyes, oh my!) and creature feature marquee beasties (werewolves n' vampires are just the beginning), all that craziness carefully carried on the backs of a stellar cast (Kevin Bacon can eat a dick, Fred Ward is the man). Those with an appetite for horror/fantasy tales that blend the paranormal and arcane with urban settings and more modern-ish tropes n' technologies on a widespread scale are likely to find CAST A DEADLY SPELL much to their liking, especially if you have a sense of humor and whimsy.
There's a U.S.A. Today quote on the V.H.S. box cover for CAST A DEADLY SPELL that describes it as "WHO FRAMED ROGER RABBIT? with witches and zombies instead of toons." While that may seem like an overgeneralization, it's actually not that far off the mark. The genrebending is done in a similar manner, especially in the matter-of-fact way that the supernatural elements are woven into the thread of humdrum daily life. Much humor is derived from contrasting blue collar routine n' regimen with black hood myth n' mysticism. Admittedly, this isn't as finely crafted a movie as WHO FRAMED ROGER RABBIT? (and, as redheaded molls go, Julianne Moore can't hold a dead man's hand candle to Jessica Rabbit, which is kind of sad considering Rabbit's not real whereas Moore is flesh n' blood), but it doesn't have to be. It is what it is: rental shelf material, all the way. Think of it as a more cartoonish, kooky Kolchak, if you like.
Later, H.B.O. would attempt a sequel/reimagining/whatever, taking detective Harry Lovecraft into the 1950's and introducing an obligatory McCarthyism metaphor into the bubblin' soup for flavor. Unfortunately, this second shot, titled WITCH HUNT and replacing Fred Ward with Dennis Hopper, was largely a bust, having gotten way too hung up on its social commentary and not offering up enough actual entertainment value. Even the critics who didn't like CAST A DEADLY SPELL to start with agreed that WITCH HUNT was inferior.
Regardless if you, sir (or ma'am), are the type of person who'd like this particular motion picture or not, one thing's for sure: I am. Very, very much so, in fact. Everyone's entitled to their opinion, dagnabbit, so I don't really give half a crap whether you agree or disagree when I say that CAST A DEADLY SPELL is an enormously entertaining dark ride of a flick with a clever shtick that should be able to send any open-minded junk food film junkie back into an easily awed pre-adolescent mindset hungry for badass beasties, ready-to-rumble tough guys, scheming bad guys with pencil mustaches, darling damsels, and antique automobiles. Despite some adult content, a little saucy splatter, and plenty o' scarrrrry critters, CAST A DEADLY SPELL has a decidedly kid-friendly feel to it, while still retaining an air of sly, sardonic smarts that'll satisfy macabre-minded adults as well.
Earlier, I referred to this here slice o' postmodern b-movie brain candy as being akin to a comic book and as having a pulpy style. Those are probably the two most key defining aspects of the film. "Pulp" and "comic book" are a pair o' phrases which sum up CAST A DEADLY SPELL admirably, I think. The film reminds me of the Tokyopop manga The Dark Goodbye (a book which, if you've seen and enjoyed CAST A DEADLY SPELL, I highly recommend). It also has shades of old "monster rally" pictures, as funneled through the same artistic sensibilities that likewise gave birth to GHOSTBUSTERS, LABYRINTH, BLOODSUCKING PHARAOHS IN PITTSBURGH, THE MONSTER SQUAD, EVIL DEAD 2, and GREMLINS. The whole thing also has a very Empire Pictures type vibe to it, which is, in my humble opinion, a good thing, no doubt about it.
So, what then? You say you've got a craving for an occult detective movie, but you don't really want to watch ANGEL HEART for the hundredth time this month? Slip CAST A DEADLY SPELL in the V.C.R. instead.
Then again, if you're one of those people whose more likely to groan than chuckle at things like Harry's surname or gags about policemen hating the full moon because o' the whole lycanthrope problem, then you should probably put this bad boy back on the shelf and keep lookin' for somethin' else to keep your cathode ray tube warm on this dreary weekday night.
The real H.P. Lovecraft would probably have balked at the idea of his malevolently misanthropic mythology, not to mention his own noble name n' persona, being riffed on in such a psychotronic, jazzy, jovial, tongue-in-cheek manner, but, hey, it takes all kinds, right? Different strokes for different folks. The man's been my tippy-top number one favorite author since I first discovered him (by way of a chance encounter with "Pickman's Model" ...still my favorite of his stories) in the eighth grade, but even I've got to admit that it would've served him well to lighten up a bit. Maybe drop all those racist overtones, too.
Life's too short to be so po-faced all the time, y'know? Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah’nagl fhtagn.
That's all I have to say 'bout that.
Until next slime... Stay sick! Your pickled pal, William Weird.
Rating: 3.5 out of 5 shoggoths Recommendation: rent it Best moment: Harry Lovecraft almost ends up as food for the food when he picks the wrong greasy spoon diner to have breakfast at
"She's Cupid with a poison arrow, and she's got it aimed at you. She'll find your heart no matter what you do. Cover yourself. Don't go out alone at night. 'Cause she's dressed to kill and she's got you in her sights. She's a killer! And she's got her on eye on you! She's a killer! And there's nothing you can do! If you get too close to her, she'll cut you like a knife. She's a killer! She just might take your liiiiiiife!" - Michael Bradley, "Killer"
Whenever the time comes for the movie buff community to argue over just which fright flick is the single scariest horror movie of all time, inevitably the same batch of titles will get burped up. Stanley Kubrick's adaptation of THE SHINING is a popular choice, as are the original versions of NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD and THE TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE. Classically minded cineastes tend to lean more in the direction of films like the Universal FRANKENSTEIN or DRACULA, or silent shockers such as NOSFERATU or THE CABINET OF DR. CALIGARI. On rare occasions, someone will bring up a few entries from Hammer Studios' extensive catalog. And brainier motion picture enthusiasts will undoubtedly herald Alfred Hitchcock's PSYCHO. But it seems like the movie that usually comes out on top, the one that gets that coveted number one spot more often than any other film, ...is William Friedkin's THE EXORCIST.
There's a lot you could say about THE EXORCIST, about what made it so terrifying and what made it so important, as well as why it still holds up so well today. But, for me, the thing I like to talk about most when chattin' 'bout THE EXORCIST is a cute girl who loved to ride horses named Linda Blair.
Truth be told, I'm not a huge fan of THE EXORCIST. I love and respect it just as much as any horror fan worth his salt, but, god help me, I've always been more partial to John Boorman's underrated, misunderstood, ahead-of-its-time sequel THE EXORCIST 2: THE HERETIC. Which also starred Linda Blair, albeit an older, wiser, and sexier Linda Blair. Who still loved, and continues to love, horses (as well as animals in general... Bearded Weirdo Factoid: Blair has grown up to be an outspoken animal rights activist and vegan, and she started her own non-profit organization, The Linda Blair WorldHeart Foundation, which rescues abused and neglected animals... all together now: awwwwwww).
I first saw the original EXORCIST as an elementary school whippersnapper, and, as you'd expect, it scared me shitless. Literally. There were Hershey stains on my underoos, no kidding. Actually, I can't back that up for sure. But I'm gonna assume I pooped myself. Because THE EXORCIST will do that to a youngster, and I've no illusions about being a battle-hardened Vietnam vet before the age of ten. But goosebumps weren't the only thing I got out of this bona fide filmic laxative. I also found looooove. Cue the Barry White music, baby.
See, the age at which I was first exposed to THE EXORCIST was also the age at which I first discovered the myriad joys of the fairer sex. Yes sir, I was at that point in my life where girls were becoming more than just irritants for whom the best cure was a handful of worms tossed in their hair-do's. I was starting to develop my first puppydog crushes, and, though I was still several years younger than she was in when she made the movie, as soon as I laid eyes on Ms. Blair in THE EXORCIST (before all the crotch-stabbing and pea soup-spewing, mind you) it was all over. I was totally, irreversibly, irrevocably smitten.
Of course, the majority of my heart will forever belong to Cassandra Peterson, and the first crush I ever had on any girl ever was on Elvira, that busty, black satin-wrapped Mistress Of The Dark. However, the second crush I ever had was undoubtedly on Linda Blair. Unless you count that one girl who lived down the street from me, and who kissed me under the slide at the Quality Hill Playground and then promptly broke my heart in two when she told me she didn't want to go back to my house with me and watch my Adam West Batman video tapes. But I don't want to count her... because of the pain involved in her remembrance. ::sniffle::
So, yeah, I totally fell for Linda Blair. Hard. She was just so damned cute! How could you resist her? Even today, she has the kind of smile that would melt the heart of the hardiest extraterrestrial ice giant who ever walked the frozen tundra of Pluto. Obviously, my wide-eyed puppy-love for Ms. Blair immediately put me into conflict with the traumatized part of myself that never, ever wanted to watch THE EXORCIST again. Luckily, the local video store had a number of items from the woman's oeuvre available on V.H.S., just waitin' to get rented, and none of them would prove as harsh and downright chilling as THE EXORCIST.
Over the years, as my hunger for sleazy sinema and b-movie schlock grew more and more insatiable, I discovered the rest of Ms. Blair's outstanding filmography. To this day, my favorite film of her's remains SAVAGE STREETS. On the Bearded Weirdo patented five-point rating scale, it never fails to rank a solid five out of five. It's an A+ all the way. A perfect film in each n' every way. Honestly, if you haven't seen it... you must. You have no fucking idea what you're missing out on. Don't wait one second longer! Go out and buy yourself a copy on the double! I command thee!
I didn't actually see SAVAGE STREETS until much much later, though. In truth, the first movie I remember seeing of Linda's after THE EXORCIST was the spoofy parody of that same film, in which she acted opposite Leslie Nielsen, called REPOSSESSED. Y'see, before I really, really started getting into the horror genre with a vengeance, my favorite movie genre, aside from the superhero genre, was that goofy, off-the-wall, joke-a-minute type of comedy that movies like AIRPLANE, U.H.F., and ATTACK OF THE KILLER TOMATOES did so well. So, naturally, when I saw REPOSSESSED, I loved it. Nowadays, in retrospect, I see that it's not really the best of those NAKED GUN-style knee-slappers, but it's still quite good, and it holds a soft spot in my heart because, one, it melds humor with horror, which I always have a weakness for (as far as I'm concerned, the horror-comedy is the most ingenious genre ever devised), and, two, because it stars Linda Blair. And I looooove my dear sweet Linda.
She was born in 1959, and got into acting, initially, through commercials. Before her breakout performance in THE EXORCIST, she appeared in many commercials, one movie (of little interest), and a soap opera. Following THE EXORCIST, she was a frequent visitor to the weird and wonderful world of cult cinema psychosis, but was also no stranger to Hollywood blockbusters (such as AIRPORT '75, which had a role in). In 1982 she decided to pose topless in Oui Magazine, much to the drooling delight of Blair-addicted perverts the world over, including yours cruelly. To get decidedly crass for a moment (not that I've ever been criticized of being too high-brow... nope, not ever), let me just say that Ms. Blair is responsible for many, many... (hmmm, what's the right word?) ...boners, in my life, and many, many moments of self-pleasure. I've spent many a long night combing the internet for as many pictures from the aforementioned Oui photo shoot as I can find, and then several hours afterward wanking myself into a daze. I know Linda's a big animal-lover, but, I don't care; if I had the chance I would do all kinds of devious things to her pussy. Ba-zing!
To this day, I'm putty in Ms. Blair's hands (just as much as my Johnson is putty in mine). I tell ya, I'd walk across hot coals for this woman. Her beauty and charm hypnotizes me, and I think her talent as an actress is both undeniable and, sadly, underestimated. Furthermore, her resume' is full of kick-ass classicks that, though they may not be for everyone, are certainly top-shelf legends in my book. In addition to the first two EXORCIST movies, SAVAGE STREETS, and REPOSSESSED, this chick has got a multitude of crazy-cool cult flicks floating under her belt. There's the moody 1981 slasher film HELL NIGHT, the funky-fresh disco-on-wheels camp juggernaut ROLLER BOOGIE (it always reminds me of XANADU, only way better!), the awesome punks vs. mega monster whacked-out wonder GROTESQUE, the caustic made-for-television juvenile detention drama BORN INNOCENT (in which the lovely Linda is raped with a plunger!!!), the frozen flesheater flick THE CHILLING, Wes Craven's trendy post-modern masked madman movie SCREAM, and, well, about eight thousand women-in-prison movies. Alright, maybe not that many, but there sure were a lot of 'em. The best of her W.I.P. adventures would probably have to be 1983's CHAINED HEAT, a sleazy little scum number which sees Blair sharing some sudsy shower scene sexiness with fellow cult cinema mainstay Sybil Danning.
Ms. Blair also has the distinction of co-starring not once, but twice (!), with David Hasselhoff, once in the must-see supernatural shocker WITCHERY, and again in the less-than-essential bargain basement actioner BAIL-OUT. Furthermore, she's also one of the few scream queens in horror history to earn deserved recognition for her acting accomplishments by both the underground and mainstream alike, as evidenced by the fact that, unlike kindred b-movie luminaries a la' Linnea Quigley, Brinke Stevens, and Michelle Bauer, Linda Blair has actually got a genuine Academy Award nomination glowing in her background. Julie Strain was never up for an Oscar, boyo! What's more, Blair has actually gone on to win two (count 'em: two!) Golden Globes, which is appropriate, considering the aforementioned Oui photo spread showed off to the world the fact that she's got two rather impressive "golden globes" of her own.
Throughout her career, she's proven time and time again that she can play just about any role you could throw at her with charisma, finesse, and skill. She's pulled off shit-talkin' busty babe badasses, virginal college students, jailed convicts, and sweet n' innocent holy warriors of virtue. She's done horror, action, drama, comedy, and everything in between. Rape-revenge, supernatural satanism, zombie violence, feel-good music-and-dance operettas, and, yeah, W.I.P. garbage cans. And she's done it all with equal levels of professionalism, grace, and that one certain quality that's hard to quantify but easy to detect, that certain innate magic that makes a performer, for lack of a better word, cool. Coooooool. Linda Blair's got cult coolness emanating from every pore of her being. Coooooool.
Over the years, us videophiles have had the pleasure of watching her blossom, going from an adorable cutie-pie to gorgeous young lady to full-blown woman and, now, a sultry, smoking hot cougar with curves in all the right places. Interestingly enough, she's never lost some of that "innocent cuteness" that she had in her childhood, and retains an aura of sinless sweetness even today. You can see it everytime she smiles that legendary smile of her's. Also, will you get a load of them knockers? Holy Toledo! No joke, if I had my way, I'd build myself a cozy little log cabin right between those pendulating gazongas and live the rest of my life nestled euphorically between her breasts. 'Nuff said.
Linda Blair, the Bearded Weirdo salutes you!
Until next slime... Stay sick! Your pickled pal, William Weird.
as divisive for modern audiences as it was for those of the 1970's grindhouses. Is it misogynistic hate-porn hiding beneath a veneer of backwoods survival horror? Or is it a chillingly, chargingly aggressive, uncompromising feminist statement? A little of both, perhaps? Neither?
Camille Keaton, the Bearded Weirdo salutes you!
Following her sojourn through SOLANGE and her presence in Playmen, Camille added three more Italian features (TRAGIC CEREMONY, THE EVIL EYE, and STUDY OF A NIGHTMARE) to her ever-growing list of film credits, before finally hooking up with infamous filmmaker Meir Zarchi for an expedition into exploitation eternity. I'm speaking, of course, about the role that made Ms. Keaton a name to never be forgotten. I'm talking about the movie that would go down in history and make wretched royalty of its unsuspecting star. Naturally, I'm referring to I SPIT ON YOUR GRAVE.
However you feel about the film, its lasting impact cannot be understated. It's even had its own big budget modern-day remake, which came and went like a fart on the wind. It was always doomed to the delete bin, y'see, for its common knowledge seemingly to everyone but said remake's creators that no picture could ever duplicate the raw intensity and critic-enraging edginess of the original. Nor could any contemporary Megan Fox wanna-be deliver the kind of powerful, moving, soul-crushing performance that Camille Keaton conjured up way back when.
magazine.
of good company she's in.
its base every year. More and more, I find, people are finally "getting it" and recognizing Camille Keaton for being a profound performer, a tawdry temptress, and, best of all, a genuine feminist icon. Jolly good!
part about how I've rubbed one out to her Playmen spread from time to time. But that's beside the point. The point is, I'm glad to see Camille out there, interacting with her fans, hearing praise on a regular basis from the people who understand and appreciate her work. Because, despite the caustic nature of the films she's made her career with, it couldn't happen to a nicer person.
