Far-Out Festival,
Leicester Phoenix Arts

(http://www.faroutfilms.co.uk)

Compressed into a single weekend, this year’s Far-Out festival nevertheless packs a hefty psychotronic punch, especially to brave fools such as myself, clutching tickets for eight catastrophically freaky films in three days...

Things get going on Friday with Arrebato (Ivan Zulueta, Spain 1979), a rarely-screened work of sleazy arthouse dementia concerning a heroin addict director of hack horror movies who runs into a seriously disturbed young man who develops a philosophy of no-mind oblivion and literal escape from the world via obsessive filming of everything around him and.. well let’s face it, trawling through the skewed logic of a film like this in search of a quick plot synopsis isn’t going to do anyone any favours. Arrebato is a one-off masterpiece of cerebal punk rock film-making packed with junkie chic, decadent squalor, blazing pop art imagery and queasy, fluid, hypnotic editing and beautiful mise en scene, with a jarring, schizo soundtrack that veers between punk, early electronica, stolen chunks of film music and repetitive industrial noise. If we’re talking film-about-film and examination of cameras, identity and dsyfunction, Arrebato could be the equal of ‘Peeping Tom’, and as a reality-shattering post-modern new wave nightmare, it easily matches up to ‘Videodrome’. But the truly wild technique and a lo-fi gutter-punk quality renders it cooler than either. Astonishing.

A ten minute break to get our heads together, and it’s hard to imagine a bigger contrast than the annual screening of Jesus Christ Vampire Hunter (Lee Damarbe, Canada 2001). Newcomers collapse in hysterics and veterans cackle proudly as the greatest DIY trash movie of the modern era flickers once more across the screen… punk rock cinema genius of a very different order to the previous movie, but on my fourth viewing it’s still truly inspired. Do your bit to spread the word, and get your own DVD copy imported post-haste! (http://www.odessafilmworks.com/jcvh/index.html)

Saturday’s programme of events first treats us to a solid hour of women who look a bit like Bridgette Neilson firing AK-47s at nothing in particular, captured for posterity with a single fixed-position camera, courtesy of Rock n’ Roll #3: Sexy Girls, Sexy Guns, which I can only imagine was bought via a small ad in the back of Guns & Ammo circa 1988. The strange sociological processes that have led to a small and baffled arts cinema audience being subjected to it circa 2006 could probably fill a book. If I was on my own, I’d probably have been tempted to bugger off to be honest, but felt a duty to my friends to share the experience with them. There was some bad hair metal to enjoy, and some of the voiceovers were pretty funny. Following on from that, we get Bikini Bandits (Steven Grasse, USA 2002), a rather more sophisticated production along similar lines, consisting of an hour of mind-melting, jump-cutting post-MTV uber-trash ; bad taste comedy skits, jackass gooning, endless OTT title graphics and acres and acres of we-ain’t-no-PC-lovin’-fags-dude ironic hipster girl/gun/car/beer porn garbage... all flying by faster than the educated mind can comprehend. Things are briefly enlivened by some cool animation, a kick-ass theme song and the appearance of a terminally confused looking DeeDee Ramone, playing the Pope. I don’t even want to think about the number of brain-cells watching this goddamn thing on the big screen killed. I guess it was an experience of sorts.

An experience of a rather more startling sort was provided by the notorious Thundercrack! (Curt McDowell, USA 1975). A singularly demented and legendary underground film which, rather like Jodorowsky’s ‘El Topo’, fully justifies the belief-stretching rumours you may or may not have heard about it, Thundercrack’s killer rep is only increased by the announcement before the screening that we’re watching a 16mm copy specially imported from Denmark, which has reluctantly been granted a one-off 18 certificate by Leicester City Council, on the understanding that half an hour of footage has been cut, reducing things to a lean two hours (!). Basically, Thundercrack! is a cheaply made, black & white (thank god!) hardcore porn epic, raised to undreamed of levels of polymorphous perversity and comedic subversion thanks to the genius script and warped imagination of trash cinema auteur George Kucher. The sex scenes are obsessively gooey, gynaecological and nasty to the extent that it’s difficult to imagine any sane person really being turned on; possibly this is a case of Kucher and McDowell deliberately upturning the usual purposes of porn as part of their quest to make the freakiest fucking gross-out film in history, possibly not, but either way they’re extremely uncomfortable to sit through. The non-sex scenes on the other hand are utterly bizarre and consistently hilarious, creating a kind of carnival grotesque bizarro world equivalent of a Howard Hawks screwball comedy (in fact, certain elements of the plot and setting make me suspect the whole project was conceived after watching ‘Bringing up Baby’ during an all-night cocaine session). One character is heir to House of Philips Unlimited girdle fortune. Flashbacks illustrate how his mother died at a dinner party after a rubberised girdle melted on her face. Ever since, his sex life has been ruined, as every woman he’s undressed has been wearing a House of Philips Unlimited girdle, forcing him to relive the tragedy. He has since found comfort in the arms of other men, and is on his way to Texas to destroy his father’s girdle factory once and for all! The fiery monologues that convey this story are absolutely priceless. The insane widow who owns the house in which all this madness transpires keeps pickled pieces of her dead husband on the kitchen table. What does she keep behind the locked door, and what was the fate of her son, a notorious pervert who disappeared whilst researching tropical diseases in Borneo? Half-way through, Kucher himself turns up, giving an unforgettable performance as a shell-shocked circus animal handler, traumatised ever since he accidentally fucked Medusa, a delinquent female gorilla who is now on the loose outside the house in search of human mates. How far will one man go for possession of the crate of bananas that could prove the only means of escape?

And that’s not the half of it. So, Thundercrack! ladies and gentlemen. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll hurl, but you’ll never see another motion picture quite like this again. I feel veterans of this screening may need to start a support group to help each other get over it... laugh all you like, but you don’t understand - you weren’t THERE, man.

A few hours of troubled sleep later, and I’m in what may be termed a thoroughly psychotronic headspace by Sunday morning, so it’s a mercy to be able to retreat from interaction with the real world when proceedings recommence in the afternoon with Evil Aliens (Jake West, UK 2005), a thoroughly enjoyable slap-stick gorefest which sees a cable TV film crew and a gang of redneck farmers taking on an army of Predator-esque alien warriors on an isolated Welsh island. Unfairly dismissed by critics unable to appreciate the simple joys of a powerdrill-up-the-arse scene, Evil Aliens is sure to be received like manna from heaven by any audience of true horror fans, with it’s combination of ludicrously excessive violence, goofy but compelling character dynamics, surprisingly lively and high quality film-making and a constant stream of bad taste sight gags and geeky in-jokes (“that’s just fucking Day of the Dead without the helicopter!” comments one character on his mate’s survival plan). True, it’s utterly lame-brained, rough around the edges and over-reliant on dodgy CGI graphics, but like a lot of low-budget British movies over the years it more than makes up for it with good-hearted self-mockery, knowing humour and infectious enthusiasm, making for a film that’s impossible not to enjoy on some level (assuming you’re not too snobbish or squeamish). To put it in the same league as all-time classics of this-sort-of-thing like ‘Braindead’ and ‘Reanimator’ would be overstating things slightly, but Evil Aliens is definitely in the same ballpark, and guaranteed to pick up steam as a post-pub fixture on video & late-night TV (not that I suppose they’d ever let it on TV..). The most unashamedly FUN horror movie I’ve seen in a while – check it out. Oh, and if for some reason the words ‘combine harvester’ don’t already fill you with joy, they certainly will after this.

Sunday evening finishes things off with a couple of eccentric European horrors, starting off with Andy Warhol’s Blood for Dracula (Paul Morrissey, Italy/USA 1974). Disappointingly, the Warhol connection is practically non-existent, and rather than the New York art-trash tone I was hoping for, the aesthetic is closer to that of a stately European costume drama. The pace is slow and lugubrious, and things concentrate more on stagey dialogue and bad soft-core sex than any freaky pop-art bloodshed. Udo Kier plays Count Dracula as a sickly invalid travelling to Italy in search of some virgin brides to revive his ailing lifeforce, and conveniently finds his way into the household of a destitute noble family with four beautiful daughters. But as the Count swiftly discovers when he gets around to the neck-biting, the girls aren’t virgins – they’ve been getting frisky with the handsome, rebellious gardener, who represents the ultimate enemy of the aristocratic vampire – not religion or garlic, but SOCIALISM! It’s certainly an interesting film, with some inventive ideas and memorable moments and a slightly more intelligent take on classic vampirism than we usually get to see, but visually things are fairly sluggish and uninspired, and the acting, with a few notable exceptions, is pretty wooden, sadly giving the overall impression of a lacklustre and dull production that oddly mirrors the entropy afflicting the poor Count.

And finally, The Night Evelyn Came Out of the Grave (Emilio Miraglia, Italy, 1971) is a particularly odd and insensible take on ‘70s Italian gothic. It starts out being about this insane aristocrat who lures prostitutes back to his torture dungeon because he can’t come to terms with his dead wife’s infidelity. Any old excuse with these guys isn’t it? Then just when you think the film’s settled on a sadistic proto-slasher tip, it changes course completely as he cheers up, gets married and the whole thing turns into some kind of convoluted gothic melodrama involving family feuds, double-crossing and nefarious schemes, ghosts, empty graves, murder, wolves and the like. There are a few amusing moments, a pleasantly kitsch atmosphere and a few fragments of cool freakbeat gear on the soundtrack, but basically it ain't really all that and is chiefly notable for the fact that, in the grand tradition of Italian horror, it makes no sense whatsoever. How come this guy who begins the film as a murderous maniac suddenly becomes the persecuted good guy? Why does that prostitute he does away with at the start come back to life, and what’s with those amulets she keeps dropping? Are they earrings or what? Why does aunt so-and-so pretend to be wheelchair bound, and why is she having an affair with that shady character in the woods, if they’re not actually up to any nefarious scheming? Why do they get killed? And what’s with the snake? Why are the schemers concocting all these elaborate schemes – and killing a load of people in the process – in order to drive the guy insane and claim his money when he’s already an insane murderer and surely all they have to do is report his crimes and get him taken away? If his wife is in on all the scheming, why does she go to all the trouble of having the crypt opened, and then get terribly upset when it’s empty? – if these the kind of questions which are liable to play on your mind in the dark hours of the night, best avoid.

So there we have it – many thanks to the people behind the Far-Out festival. It’s always a blast to have something like this taking place right on my doorstep, and the chance to see films of such rarity and genuine weirdness as ‘Arrebato’ and ‘Thundercrack!’ is a true privilege that I’m sure we wouldn’t get out of the majority of bigger and more high profile film festivals/seasons. Nice work folks.