Before the marathon of Syfy original movies kicks off and I become welded to the couch for 12 hours, I want to take a few minutes to share a couple of thoughts about that undead creature of the night we all know, love and can’t live with or without. Yes, I’m speaking of the vampire.
Call it what you like—nosferatu, vampyr, upir,wąpierz, strigoi or plain ol’ blood-sucking ghoul—the vampire has always been my favorite of the classic monsters. I mean, what’s not to like? They’re sexy, seductive, polite, powerful, menacing, monstrous, dapper, dangerous and, hey, a lot of fun to watch and fantasize about. Thanks to Hollywood, we’ve been given a vampire for every season, though the current favored incarnations are either young and sparkly (Twilight) or Southern and sexy (True Blood). Vampires have been portrayed by actors such as Bela Lugosi, Kirsten Dunst, Christopher Lee, Tom Cruise, Leslie Nielsen, Catherine Deneuve, Max Schrek, Willem Dafoe, Klaus Kinski, Jack Palance, Louis Jourdan, Brad Pitt, John Carradine, George Hamilton, Kate Beckinsale, Gary Oldman and Lon Chaney Jr. And that’s just a partial list.
So, because I enjoy farting around doing research, and for your viewing pleasure, I present a collection of pictures of vampires. Because why the hell not!
Today at Slammed & Damned, we hearken back to an earlier, more innocent period; a time of big hair, bare bosoms, bad impressions and worse puns. That’s right, it’s the era of the nudie cutie. And thanks to the depraved folks at Something Weird Video, fine purveyors of retro kitsch, we have a double feature made up of prime examples of the genre—both with a horror theme! Now, no one is ever going to confuse Kiss Me Quick (1964) and House on Bare Mountain (1962) with good movies but, admittedly, these flicks are excellent examples of a couple of variations on a theme: the gratuitous display of naked women.
Nudie cuties were a genre of film born in the late 1950s, begat of the nudist (or “nature”) films. While the nudist films were exactly what you’d think—movies of women at nudist colonies, engaged in activities guaranteed to provide maximum jiggle—and had a pretense of being educational, nudie cuties stepped things up a bit. These flicks were patently voyeuristic. There was no façade of enlightenment at all. Their only purpose was to reveal as many topless women as possible. Nudie cuties were in vogue until around the time America lost its innocence with the assassination of President Kennedy. It’s no coincidence that with JFK’s murder, the nudie cutie evolved (or devolved) into the “roughie,” a more extreme exploitation film filled with violence and rape. And though the nudie cutie is more naive than the roughie, the tacit misogyny of the times typically permeates the proceedings. Looking back now, what some may find quaint in a “look how far we’ve come” way, others will find still offensive.
Of the two films, Kiss Me Quick is the most blatant, which makes sense considering it was made near the end of the nudie cutie cycle. Let’s face it, the main concern of both flicks is the naked female form. Kiss Me Quick knows it and doesn’t muck things up with a lot of plot. There’s some silliness involving a pudgy Stan Laurel-esque alien named Sterilox, from the Buttless galaxy, who’s been sent to Earth in search of the perfect female specimen to be used as breeding stock in the creation of a race of servants (just a taste of the above-mentioned misogyny). Sterilox is transported to the castle of a mad scientist named Dr. Breedlove, who speaks with a bad Bela Lugosi accent (with a Peter Lorre garnish) and, coincidentally, has been working on developing the perfect female specimen. Dr. Breedlove promises to help Sterilox with his quest, but doing so means they will have to observe all of the doctor’s experiments. And observe they do. All the rest of Kiss Me Quick is made up of scenes of topless women exercising, go-go dancing, frolicking in wading pools, etc., while Dr. Breedlove makes smarmy jokes—for example: “This redhead is a personnel specialist. She’s great at finding new positions.” Truth be told, although I truly love this sort of thing, it all gets a bit tedious before it ends. There is one point of interest here: the presence of master cinematographer László Kovács. When Kovács came to the U.S. from Hungary in the late ‘50s, he was already a seasoned filmmaker, but he had trouble finding work. So, he took any job he could get, as evidenced by his appearance here. After Kiss Me Quick, he made lesser movies like Mondo Mod and The Notorious Daughter of Fannie Hill before going on to make cinematic history with films such as Easy Rider, Paper Moon and Shampoo.
House on Bare Mountain is more of “real” movie than Kiss Me Quick. The story of Granny Good, a sweet little old lady who runs a finishing school for girls who apparently major in nudity, House on Bare Mountain is filled with scenes of women with big hair showering and participating in nude calisthenics, nude jump rope and, of course, nude sunbathing. The plot involves an undercover female detective, obviously a good sport, who’s posing as a student to infiltrate Granny Good’s school and find evidence on her bootlegging operation, which is run by, of course, a werewolf (!!!). The movie’s centerpiece is a swinging costume party full of alcohol-fueled debauchery that looks as if it was cast with extras pulled in off the set of a teen dance movie. In fact, House on Bare Mountain feels a lot like a lewd American International flick—picture Frankie and Annette go nudie and you’re not far off. As in later exploitation films such as H.O.T.S., the filmmakers try to integrate the nudity into the movie’s plot, at least when compared to Kiss Me Quick, which basically says, “Look at these naked chicks.” Though smutty humor abounds, my favorite gag involves the werewolf’s union rep. Yes, you read correctly.
Essentially, both of these films are modern updates on the theater of burlesque—blue shtick and naked chicks. Looked at that way, there is some historical relevance here. But there actually is something else I find interesting about Kiss Me Quick and House on Bare Mountain: Both films reflect elements from the popular culture of the time they were made. Kiss Me Quick is bathed in the influence of the Cold War. There are jokes concerning Russia and nuclear bombs, and Dr. Breedlove is obviously based on Kubrick’s Dr. Strangelove—the shadow of The Bomb is never far away. And Granny Good, the main character in House on Bare Mountain, is played by a guy doing what is actually a pretty fair impression of Maudie Frickert, one of the most well-known characters of then-popular comic Jonathan Winters. Also, in accordance with the monster theme, both flicks are sprinkled with appearances from such classic creatures as Dracula, the Mummy, the Wolfman and Frankenstein’s monster, or reasonable facsimiles anyway.
The DVD is rounded out with some hepcat vintage shorts, among which are the awe-inspiring titles The Vampire and the Vixen, The Nudie Watusi and, best of all, Werewolf Bongo Party. All in all, this disc is guaranteed to provide a full evening of politically incorrect retro tastelessness at its highest (or lowest) for those that like that sort of thing…and if you’re still reading, you probably do. Because these movies don’t really work as “film,” I recommend throwing them on the big screen TV during your next swinging Halloween bash and turning the sound down, letting them run as a groovy video background while you and your pals play drinking games, listen to surf music and do the Transylvania Twist. If these flicks are good for anything, it’s setting a rude mood.
(Warning:The following NSFW trailer contains bare breasts, bad jokes, monster abuse and gratuitous topless go-go dancing.)
In honor of Women in Horror Recognition Month, allow me to present the first in a series of pieces honoring, well, women in horror.
I want to kick off by focusing on an actress that meant a lot to me as a kid—a woman who, sadly, doesn’t get much attention these days: Madame Maria Ouspenskaya. Though she’ll always be best known as Maleva, the old Gypsy fortuneteller in the great 1941 Universal horror film The Wolf Man, Ouspenskaya was an amazingly versatile actress who led a fascinating life and, though it’s generally not acknowledged, played a major role in the development of acting in America.
Maria Ouspenskaya (Russian: Мария Успенская) was born on July 29, 1876 (sometimes reported as 1887), in Tula, Russia. She first trained as an opera singer and studied voice at the Warsaw Conservatory before fortuitously switching to Adasheff’s School of Drama in Moscow for dramatic training. After graduation, she paid her dues by touring the hinterlands of Russia as part of a theater troupe. During 1917, in the midst of the Russian Revolution, Ouspenskaya joined the Moscow Art Theatre, where she trained and taught under the legendary Konstantin Stanislavski, founder of the famous “Stanislavski Method.” It was during this period that she began her film career, appearing in several Russian silent movies.
In what can only be described as a lucky break for the world and acting as a whole, in 1923 the Moscow Art Theatre toured Europe and the United States. But when the troupe returned to Russia, Ouspenskaya stayed in New York and started teaching the Method at the American Laboratory Theatre. Her students included Stella Adler and Lee Strasberg, both of whom went on to great acclaim, teaching the Method to actors such as James Dean, Montgomery Clift and Marlon Brando. I shudder to think what would’ve happened if Ouspenskaya hadn’t brought Stanislavski’s method to America. As if she wasn’t busy enough, Ouspenskaya also forged a career on Broadway before opening her own acting school, the Maria Ouspenskaya School of Dramatic Arts.
While on Broadway, in 1936, Ouspenskaya appeared in the stage adaptation of Dodsworth, a novel by Sinclair Lewis published in 1929. When Hollywood decided to make a film version, she was chosen to reprise her role onscreen. And for this, she was nominated for an Academy Award for Best Supporting Actress—quite an achievement for her first American film. Over the course of her career, Ouspenskaya appeared in 19 more films and garnered another Oscar nomination.
Though Ouspenskaya was considered a difficult actress to work with, she was much in demand and highly respected for the range of her talent. As evidence of this, she was tapped to portray several nationalities and was skilled enough to play everything from a sweet old lady to a tyrannical ballet teacher. But in 1941, she took the role that forever made her the answer to the trivia question “Who played the Gypsy woman in The Wolf Man?”
As Maleva, Ouspenskaya’s main purpose is to act mysterious and deliver ominous expository dialogue to let the audience—and Lon Chaney Jr.’s Lawrence Talbot—know what’s going to happen. This she does wonderfully, but she does oh so much more. As the mother of the doomed Bela (played by Bela Lugosi), she’s oddly touching as a loving parent who has somehow accepted the fact that her son is damned. Ouspenskaya treated the character of Maleva as seriously as any other she’d played. From her performance, you’d never know Ouspenskaya was acting in a monster movie. As a child, next to the incredible makeup of Jack P. Pierce, it was Ouspenskaya that I loved most about this flick. Her line delivery is pitch perfect. In my mind, I can still hear her saying: “Whoever is bitten by a werewolf and lives becomes a werewolf himself.” Or, “Go now, and heaven help you!” Embarrassing admission time: I used to run around, a towel draped over my shoulders, imitating her delivery of those classic lines, butchering her accent in Make-Believe Land.
Madame Ouspenskaya played Maleva once more in 1943’s underrated Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man, in which Bela Lugosi also appeared, this time playing Frankenstein’s monster. After this, she went on to play an Amazon queen in Tarzan and the Amazons and even appeared in a Western called Wyoming. Ouspenskaya died on December 3, 1949, from a stroke, a few days after she suffered massive burns as a result of falling asleep while smoking. While Madame Ouspenskaya will always be remembered as a simple Gypsy woman, everyone should know that she was, first and foremost, an artist.
In honor of the recently knighted Christopher Lee, I declare it Hammer time at Slammed & Damned. In my opinion, you can’t touch Sir Christopher’s portrayal of Count Dracula in the films produced by Hammer studios. So today, we’re going to look at what is usually thought of as the last of Lee’s truly great Dracula movies, Taste the Blood of Dracula(filmed in 1969, but released in 1970), though calling this flick “truly great” might be overstating it a bit. Lee played Dracula in seven Hammer films, and Dracula Has Risen From the Grave (1968) is the only one I would call truly great. Horror of Dracula (1958), Dracula: Prince of Darkness (1966) and Taste the Blood of Dracula are all solid films, but the others—Scars of Dracula (1970), Dracula AD 1972 (1972) and The Satanic Rites of Dracula (1973)—are definitely lesser films, each more embarrassing than the one before.
Taste the Blood of Dracula is not at all a bad film. Consumer Alert: If you read the Netflix description of this flick (Count Dracula is back in action when three swingers turn to black magic to boost their sex-drive slump), you will definitely get the wrong impression. That makes this sound like a soft-core porn movie, and nothing could be further from the truth. The setting is Victorian England, and the “three swingers” in question are actually three middle-aged men who are pillars of their community. But on the last Sunday of each month, they gather in a brothel on the wrong side of town to enjoy whatever salacious delights are available—the more bizarre, the better. This being 1869 by way of 1969, “bizarre” equals topless women and a belly dancer wrapped in a boa constrictor. Now, for a Hammer film, this is racy stuff (we actually see a bare breast or two), but these gentlemen are growing bored with it. Enter the arrogant Lord Courtley.
Young Lord Courtley promises the men delights previously unimagined, if only they trust him and pony up 1,000 guineas ($5,250). For this then-kingly sum, they will purchase Dracula’s cape, signet clasp and a vial of his powdered blood. With that, they will supposedly be able to resurrect the Master by performing a satanic rite and, apparently, enjoy pleasures not of this world. Granted, it’s all rather vague but they go along with it, fools that they are. And as any sane person might expect, these fools are soon in fear for their lives as an annoyed Dracula hunts them down to take vengeance for Lord Courtley, who died in the ceremony. Here’s the twist: Dracula uses the men’s teen children to exact his revenge.
I suppose this is Hammer trying to impose a socially relevant metaphor into its flagging Dracula series. I don’t know if it boosted the movie’s commercial potential upon release, but in 2009 it’s fun to watch these hypocrites get their comeuppance from the younger generation. Sure, these guys can hang out in bordellos, but they won’t allow their kids to go to a party? Well, Count Dracula has something to say about that. Hungry freaks, daddy, indeed!
Taste the Blood of Dracula, directed by Peter Sasdy, picks up right where Dracula Has Risen From the Grave (directed by Freddie Francis) ends, and it’s an interesting contrast. Sasdy started directing in the late ‘50s and Taste the Blood of Dracula looks like a film directed by a journeyman trying to adapt to a new era. It moves slowly, but has a few of the “freak-out” camera moves popular at the time. Freddie Francis got his start as a camera assistant in the ‘30s and moved up to cinematographer, working on classic films such as The Innocents before he began directing, and Dracula Has Risen From the Grave is a better film for his extensive experience.
Sir Christopher Lee has had an amazing life and career. Sure, there have been lean times, but how many actors have been able to reinvent themselves and establish a new persona for several new generations? Think about it for a second. Lee has played Count Dracula, Frankenstein’s monster, Fu Manchu and the Mummy. You youngsters out there might know him as Count Dooku (he battled Yoda, fer chrissakes) or Saruman. He was in the original version of The Wicker Man and was a Bond villain in The Man With the Golden Gun—he’s also Ian Fleming’s step-cousin. Directors he’s worked with include Laurence Olivier, Peter Jackson, Tim Burton and Steven Spielberg. He actually knew J.R.R. Tolkein, and he is on the cover of Paul McCartney’s Band on the Run album. He’s in the Guinness Book of World Records as “tallest leading actor.” He has even hosted Saturday Night Live. And, as if that’s not enough, he’s now been knighted by the Queen of England—talk about an overachiever.
But even if he becomes king, Sir Christopher Lee will always be Count Dracula to me. His Dracula wasn’t the suave bloodsucker that Bela Lugosi gave us. Lee’s Dracula was a “love ‘em and leave ‘em” fanged feral animal. He might not have been politically correct, but he knew what he wanted and he got it. Actually, his Dracula really did get it. I believe he died at the end of each of his films but, like Jason Vorhees today, he always managed to come back. Now that I think of it, that’s not a bad description of Christopher Lee himself.