A HELL OF A DAME (Short Story)

Everyone else in her life called her Marie, but to me she will always be known as Fifi.

Why am I telling you about her? Doesn't everybody have the urge to confess at some point, to revisit those seminal stops on your life's map before they become diluted and distorted by age and cynical romanticism? What the hell, you can just put this down to a pure emotional catharsis.

The rain hammered down its staccato beat on the roof and the haunting strains of the Ink Spots' Whispering Grass filled the smoky air when she first walked into the small, dimly lit bar with the tacky bamboo decor. Yeah, I know what you're thinking, I thought exactly the same thing – "Of all the gin joints in all the world…".

She pulled up a barstool and sat herself down not more than five feet from me, crossing her lithe, black stockinged legs as she signalled for the bartender to bring her a sweet white wine – Bordeaux I believe, from the banks of the Garonne River. A classy drop for a fine lady.

I watched her as she lit up a cigarette, just like I had seen her do countless times during her shift breaks at work, pressing the filter between her seductive lips and squinting her eyes slightly as she exhaled the first plume of smoke through her perfectly rounded nostrils.

Those eyes. Little pools of cobalt that you just wanted to dive into and get lost within. You looked at them and you got damn jealous of the lucky son of a bitch who got to gaze into those eyes when they were inflamed with passion.

I love ya Fifi.

Yeah, I knew her alright. Sitting there at the bar, she had no recognition of me save for the short polite smile that you usually shoot a stranger when they are drinking next to you. If she knew who I was, she didn't bother letting on.

It was a relief to this fool's heart. I felt stupid but I wanted to tell her….I wanted to tell her how every day for the past twelve months I had watched her from behind my desk at the office block we shared, wallowing in her serpentine grace as she busied herself about the floor, a corporate vixen who probably had little to no idea of the kind of lust she was stirring up in sad little men like me. I called her Fifi in the fertile playground of my mind because her mannerisms reminded me of that cute little feline sexbomb that was always getting pawed at and accosted by the randy skunk in those Warner Brothers cartoon shorts. In my dreams, I was going skunk on her every night.

She was pushing forty but sure knew how to keep it together well. That European complexion worked wonders for her it seemed, she had the kind of olive skin that radiated heat at twenty paces, and a man could whip himself into a frenzy at the mere thought of his body melting into hers. Her mouth looked like it could eat you alive and have a helluva good time doing it, and her deep chestnut hair always shimmered and looked so damned perfect. Her body curved in all the right places and at all the right angles. She was the kind of dangerously gorgeous dame that even the most rational man would gladly flush his life down the toilet for if it meant spending just a single night in a cheap roadside motel alone with her. If she didn't have a man and three kids waiting for her at home, I would have taken her to Vegas in a second. Hell, I'd have taken her anyway…..

What she was doing in this part of town and at this time of night was a curious question that I didn't try to ask. The string of pearls that hung around her supple neck and the quality of the rocks that adorned the rings on her slender fingers spoke volumes. No way a woman on her salary – or her old man's - would be buying gems like that the good old fashioned legal way. The rash of cat burglaries that had plagued the neighbourhood in recent times, and the outline of the .45 automatic pistol that I spied when she opened her leather bag to pay for her drink, told me I may have just solved a riddle that had had the cops scratching their impotent heads for months. I wasn't gonna be making their jobs any easier by ratting her out. I just wanted her even more now.

Closing time came. She stubbed out her last cigarette and we made for the exit. I heard the barman locking the door behind us. She gave me a quick smile that set fire to my heart then turned and left. I took a last look at her exquisite caboose as it shimmied its way down the wet street, and I nodded to myself in admiration before my eyes began hunting for a taxi-cab to take me screaming away in the opposite direction.

I love ya Fifi….Forever and Never.

Copyright John Harrison 2008

(Note: the above story was originally published in issue 2 of the US magazine Bachelor Pad. Visit them via their website at
http://www.bachelorpadmagazineonline.com/index.html)

A MURDER MOST SAVAGE (Short Story)

As if being violently murdered wasn’t bad enough, the girl’s death seemedall the more indignant when you consider that her last meal consisted of adouble cheeseburger and large fries, washed down with one of thosedisgusting cups of Coke that were more water and ice than cola.

I wasn’t anybody special, just a two-bit reporter from a local suburban ragthat had grown up with aspirations of being a bodacious fucking crimewriter, but had gotten sidetracked and bogged down with cutsie-pie storiesabout child beauty queens and heroic dogs who woke up their owner while the house burned down around them. I tried to rationalise it by telling myselfthat at least I was paying the bills with words, but deep down I knew I had sold out.

The scene inside unit nine at the Esquire Motel was a grisly mess. Not thatthe place was a stranger to violence. Since the early 1970s it had been ahaven for junkies, hookers, pushers, pimps and crims on the run, allsearching for a cheap room to either hide in or operate out of, and being amere stone’s throw from the sleazy neon of Fitzroy Street made the Esquirethe perfect refuge of choice.

But it’s doubtful the maid had ever thought she’d open a room to be met bythe degree of carnage which assaulted her eyes when she entered to change the sheets on this particular morning. The body was lying face down on the floor near the foot of the bed, and it obviously wasn’t a natural orvery peaceful death. Whatever this girl had done, she didn’t deserve toexit her miserable existence like this. Hell, maybe she didn’t do anythingat all – some people find a whole world of hurt coming down on them justfor being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

My lungs ached for the sting and taste of a cigarette, anything to take away the dizzying nausea that overcame me as I looked at the gaudy shower of crimson that lined the bedroom wall. Cast-off splatter, the forensic boys and girls called it….when a blunt weapon, often a simple lead pipe or baseball bat, is brought down repeatedly onto someone’s head, the blood flying off the implement and hitting the wall with each successive swing.

“Jesus, what a scene”, the homicide detective muttered under his breath as he brushed passed me, surreptitiously helping himself to the fifty dollar note I had waiting under my yellow legal pad and palming it into the pocket of his charcoal coat jacket. I’d first met him nearly a decade ago, when he was fresh-faced and new to force and would frequent the small video store at the tail end of Acland Street which I worked at part-time. He’d do what he could to track down the customers who had run off with the new releases and in return for the favour I’d slip him a couple of hardcore xxx tapes from under the counter, something for him and his partners in crime-busting to help while away the down time at the local cop shop. Since those days, the grungy video store lost its business to the big chains and mutated into a trendy coffee shop and the detective had worked himself up into a prime position in the homicide department, with the ulcer and hardening of his facial features to go along with the eighteen hour days and inflated pay packet.

Why the guy kept in touch with me I was never really sure. Maybe he took pity on me. He knew what my dreams were – I’d bored him with them over countless shop counter conversations – and he no doubt knew that I’d failed to make good on them. Then again, maybe he just had fond memories of jacking off to all those videos I’d handed over to him all those years ago, and was just trying to pay me back for the pleasure. Truth is, he was probably just another cop on the take who knew I was good for a quick fifty whenever a crime came to light that might pique my morbid writer’s curiosity. Whatever the reason was, he never stopped long enough for me to ask. It was always just a quick phone call telling me what had gone down and where to be at what time, have the fifty ready and keep his name out of the papers.

Not that the paper I was working for would even consider publishing a story about something so morbid and real as a young woman getting her brains spilled out onto a motel’s ugly grey carpeted floor, which made the motive for my being there even more questionable and dubious.

I didn’t try to fool myself, I knew exactly why I was there – I was drawn to violent crime and corruption and the underbelly of society the same way a moth is driven to a flame. When it took place in the backyard of the suburb I spent my younger days growing up in, the attraction was as intoxicating as a junkie feeling that early morning rush of heroin as it coursed and surged through his veins and transported his brain and synapses into a temporary state of blissful nirvana.

The detective knelt down as the forensic investigator, finished with examining the body and taking a seemingly endless succession of photographs of the victim as she was discovered, rolled the girl onto her back to examine her from the other side. There was a silent gasp that emitted from everyone in the room, so strong it seemed to suck the air out of your lungs for the briefest of moments.

Her bangs of shoulder length blonde hair were tainted red, and stuck to her face like bad wallpaper. Her eyes, which in life would have radiated with a deep crystal blue, stared wide open in death, their dilated pupils carrying an unmistakable emotional imprint of the horror they were witness to in their last moments, before their lights were extinguished forever…..before some sociopath unleashed all of his hatred and fury on the girl’s head.

She must have been very beautiful, once.

No one in the room had any idea who the girl might have been. No tattoos, nothing in her ratty leopard skin shoulder bag save for a long expired tram ticket and the usual flotsam and jetsam that one would expect to find in the possession of a girl this age. A few measly bucks sat on the top of the old dressing table, which probably helped rule out robbery as a factor. The lack of any ID hinted that the killer didn’t want the girl being identified in any hurry. It would be up to fingerprints and dental records to try a figure out who the girl was, assuming they could put all of her teeth back together. I wondered if the whole thing was likely to wind up in yet another white cardboard box marked ‘Cold Case’.

The mainstream press had gotten wind of the incident and began to make themselves heard at the apartment door. I’d gotten everything I needed so I decided to head down to the hotel lobby and back out into the reassuring, less-real world. The fresh air hit me like a good swift kick to the guts. I staggered across to the footpath and hunched myself over, releasing everything I had seen in that stifling room into the gutter.

I straightened myself up and lit a cigarette to try and get rid of the lingering taste and smell of vomit. I started staggering back to my car. I hated myself because I couldn’t wait to get home and start typing it all up.

Copyright John Harrison 2008

NOT QUITE HOLLYWOOD

Had the chance to check out this new documentary by Melbourne filmmaker Mark Hartley during the week. It's an informative, entertaining, and above all celebatory, look back at Australian exploitation films of the 1970s and early-80s, when local films like Alvin Purple, The Man from Hong Kong, Patrick, Fantasm, Mad Max and Turkey Shoot were packing the drive-ins.

Featuring interviews with many of the performers and filmmakers involved (who recount some great anecdotes about the often renegade production methods utilised in these films), as well as high profile fan Quentin Tarantino (whose interest helped get the film financed), Not Quite Hollywood is a great document of it subject.

While it's made primarly for DVD, it is still worth trying to catch it on its limited current cinema run if you can, just so you can enjoy seeing the great clips and remembering just how cool a lot of these movies actually looked on the big screen.

KINGS CROSS - 1970/71

As a kid I was always intrigued by stories of Kings Cross and what an unsavoury place it was - the hub of Sydney's drug and prostitution rackets, with grimy neon streets filled with strip clubs, seedy bars and illegal gambling dens.

Needless to say the place is no longer what it used to be (much like Melbourne's Fitzroy Street), but these photos, taken by Rennie Ellis in 1970 and 1971, capture the Cross and it's characters at its best.



























http://www.rennieellis.com.au/

DREAM DECEIVERS

DREAM DECEIVERS:
The Judas Priest Suicide Case

Thought I would post the Google Video link where you can watch this interesting and rare documentary, directed by David Van Taylor and produced for American public access TV in 1992.

On the night of December 23, 1985, after a heavy session of drinking and marijuana smoking as they sat in their tract house and continualy listened to the LP Stained Class by English heavy rock group Judas Priest, two young men in Reno, Nevada walked to a nearby playground and put shotguns to their own heads.

Raymond Belknap shot himself fatally, while the other, James Vance, was grossly disfigured. Their parents, claiming that subliminal messages in Judas Priest's songs mesmerized the boys into their bizarre suicide pact, filed suit against CBS Records. The mens' parents and their legal team alleged that a subliminal message of "do it" had been included in the Judas Priest song Better By You, Better Than Me from the Stained Class album (the track was actually a cover of a Spooky Tooth song). It was alleged the command in the song triggered the suicide attempt.

Centered around this non jurored trial, Dream Deceivers looks at this tragedy through interviews with Vance, his and Belknap's parents, other Reno "metalheads", and members of Judas Priest themselves. Plastic surgeons tried all they could to restore what was left of Jay's face, but were only able to restore his ability to eat and breathe - the disfigurement was too severe. Jay returned home to live with his parents between hospital visits and would ride his bicycle around town shocking the locals with his grotesque disfigurement. He would eventually die from a deliberate overdose of painkillers.

Writer Harmony Korine: "I used to sneak into the NYU library and they had a copy of it and I would watch it. It gave me the strangest feeling. Just the images of those two kids listening to Stormtroopers of Death, driving around Reno deserts drinking Miller-Lite. Fucking blowing their brains out, listening to Judas Priest backwards. And that guy being interviewed with this face that's completely blown off... It was so eerie."

http://video.google.ca/videoplay?docid=-5636910946432086857

DVD HOLOCAUST

I have recently started contributing DVD reviews to the DVD Holocaust website, which specialises in covering genre, cult and off-beat releases from around the world, with particular emphasis on titles put out by Australian distributors (the website operators are based in New Zealand).

Some of the films I've reviewed for the site so far include To Hell and Back (Audie Murphy's glorified World War II biopic), the Errol Flynn doco Tasmanian Devil and the Hammer productions The Evil of Frankenstein and The Abominable Snowman.

Check the website out at: http://dvdholocaust.com/

KISS LOVES YOU

2007/Directed by Jim Heneghan Reviewed by John Harrison

The early 1990s were a strange time to be a Kiss fan. Eric Carr, the band's drummer since 1980, had died in 1991 after a painful battle with cancer of the heart (thought to have been brought on by ingesting fumes from the near full can of lacquer he sprayed on his hair on a daily basis for over ten yeras). Revenge, the band's 1992 album with new drummer Eric Singer, was a strong return to their heaviest roots which wowed their die-hard fans and garnered some of the most positive critical reception of their career, but despite debuting high on the charts thanks to a big promotional push, the album quickly sunk without leaving much of a trace (it would eventually stumble to Gold status in the US), while Kiss' subsequent American tour in support of Revenge would be cut short due to disappointing attendances (again, despite great reviews and positive reception from the fans). It became clear that Kiss, one of the giants of 70s American stadium rock, who had even managed to find a degree of success in the 80s without their trademark kabuki make-up and studded leather costumes, were going to find the musical climate of the 1990s a difficult one to survive and thrive in.

Yet at the same time, the Kiss fan movement was probably at its most visible. Dozens of different Kiss fanzines were being self-published (in varying degrees of quality), and vintage merchandise and other memorabilia associated with the band was being sold at ever increasing prices. There were also the Kiss conventions, where fans (many in make-up and their own home made costumes) would gather and celebrate the band, watch vintage video clips on a big screen, see a tribute band perform, and shop at the dozens of dealers tables. Some of the bigger conventions would have former members and associates of the band as special guests, and have original costumes and artifacts on display.

The popularity of the Kiss Conventions showed the band (or at least co-founders Gene Simmons and Paul Stanley) that the past seemed to be where any future money was likely to be made. Kiss put together their own official traveling convention, which led to their MTV Unplugged appearance and eventual reunion in make-up and costumes with the four original members for a huge worldwide jaunt that would prove to be the most wildly successful tour in Kiss' history.

Produced on a fairly small budget, and shot over a ten-year period, Kiss Loves You is an entertaining and at times fascinating and engrossing look into the world of Kiss fandom during this period, putting the bulk of its focus on an assortment of fans who attend the conventions, as well as several of the more popular Kiss tribute bands who flourished in the early-90s. A couple of contemporaries, such as Dick Manitoba from the Dictators and Twisted Sister's Dee Snider also offer up their (not always flattering) observations on Kiss. Many non-fans will likely get the most enjoyment from seeing the parade of obsessive Kiss fans that are put before us – often decked out in visual emulation of their idols, they have been dubbed the 'Heavy Metal Trekkies' by the media and detractors, but while the moniker is not entirely inappropriate, Kiss fans differ in that they project a very infectious sense of enthusiasm and fun, and a very basic love and devotion towards something that – for good or bad - clearly means a lot to them.

However, it's actually the moments that involve the various Kiss tribute bands (who bear names like Strutter, Dressed to Kill, and Hotter Than Hell) that provide some of the more entertaining and interesting scenes in Kiss Loves You. Director Jim Heneghan (a Swedish filmmaker who helmed the acclaimed 2002 Hellacopters documentary Goodnight, Cleveland) captures a genuine sense of bitterness, jealousy and backstabbing between the various bands – in a moment of art imitating life, the Gene Simmons and Ace Frehley impersonators in Strutter have a huge ego clash that ends when 'Frehley' leaves to form his own tribute band. Another member of Strutter refers to Kiss fans as "goons" who often get lost in the blurred line between reality and fantasy, with some treating the impersonators with the same degree of reverence as the real thing. To Heneghan's credit, Kiss Loves You manages to celebrate the Kiss mythology even as it is simultaneously punching holes in it. Footage of Gene Simmons and Paul Stanley steamrolling unannounced into a Kiss convention and taking a collector's exhibition apart to retrieve items they claim had been stolen from them while fans look on open-jawed, will not endear the pair to everybody, and the 100+ dollars which a dad spends to make a plaque for his ten-year-old son to present to Paul Stanley at a Kiss Convention would have been better spent on beer and pizza as Paul simply takes the plaque, waves it around for about a second, before carelessly tossing it onto the floor behind him, where it is later found dumped.

But it's Bill Baker who comes off looking the most disillusioned in the film. A lifelong Kiss fan who idolised Ace Frehley growing up, formed his own Frehley tribute show, and finally became sometime friend of the Space Ace himself, Baker gushes in the early segments about his admiration for Frehley, he plays us some telephone messages Ace has left him, his mom tells us about the anniversary card Ace kindly sent to her, and Bill relates stories of helping Frehley move house, and how he couldn't have picked a better person to emulate. Cut to the footage filmed several years later and Baker seems genuinely hurt that he has not heard a peep out of Ace since he re-united with Kiss, and he also lets slip that he frequently lent Frehley money, hinting at some ulterior motives for the friendship (Frehley filed for bankruptcy just nine months before the reunion tour). Baker enjoys something of a last laugh however, when he adopts Elvis as his new hero, proposes to his girlfriend at Graceland, then sells his massive collection of Ace Frehley memorabilia (including original costume pieces and jewellery) and purchases a house with the proceeds. At only 72 minutes in length, Kiss Loves You never gets a chance to bog itself down or outsay its welcome, although the DVD release has a great selection of bonus material, including more than an hour of interview outtakes (including Dick Manitoba telling a great story about how the Dictators got kicked off a Kiss tour when he went on and took the piss out of Paul Stanley's cheesy stage raps). The DVD also features a few minutes of silent Super 8 footage of Kiss performing is Sweden in 1976, an episode of a strangle cable access television show that features some of the fans and tribute band members featured in the film, footage from the 1996 press conference on the USS Intrepid at which the re-united Kiss announced their world tour, and more. From a personal perspective, watching Kiss Loves You hit me in a strange way. I have never been to a Kiss convention, never worn Kiss make-up or costume, and think most of what Kiss has done in the past ten years is complete rubbish that has irreparably cheapened what it once was. Luckily, I am able to separate what it is to what it once had been, and as a kid Kiss were the first band I ever got into in a big way, as well as being the first concert I ever attended (VFL Park in Melbourne, 1980) – so I can see where the enthusiasm and joy displayed by the die-hard Kiss fans is coming from, even if I struggle to understand the length and depth of their often blind devotion.

IRON MAN

2008/USA/Directed by John Favreau

Debuting in March 1963 in the pages of Marvel Comics' Tales of Suspense No. 39, Iron Man has been a perennial second-tier character for that company over the past four decades – popular enough to never really be threatened with cancellation due to low sales, but never quite capable of breaking into broader pop culture to rub shoulders with the likes of Superman, Batman, Spider-Man, The X-Men and The Incredible Hulk (the last three of which were all spawned around the same time as Iron Man, during a period of intensely creative productivity at Marvel).

Since Iron Man had never undergone a live action adaptation (some Baby Boomers may recall the cheesy but great low-budget animated cartoon from the late-1960s), Marvel's newly formed motion picture studio somewhat riskily chose the character as the feature of their debut, self-financed production. It's a move that's likely to pay off handsomely for the studio, and ensure the development of future productions – for Iron Man is a winning combination of action and comic book heroics, held together by a fine performance by Robert Downey Jnr. – that is bound to be a worldwide crowd pleaser.



Directed by John Favreau (the writer of Swingers and sometime actor also has a role in the film as a security guard), Iron Man updates the original comic's Vietnam setting for the deserts of Afghanistan, where brilliant billionaire industrialist Anthony Stark (Downey Jnr.) is kidnapped by a Taliban like terrorist group and forced to build a destructive new weapon which his Stark Industries company has been selling to the allies. Instead, he uses his resources and intelligence to build a crude but powerful suit of armour with built-in flamethrower and jet pack, which he uses to escape from captivity (how he manages to construct the suit under the noses of the terrorist group is probably not something we are meant to think too hard about – or maybe it's the filmmaker's way of telling us that these Taliban operatives aren't very bright).

Returning home to his Malibu mansion, Stark's ordeal causes him to have a complete change of character. He cuts back on his hedonistic lifestyle, announces to his stunned shareholders that his company will no longer be involved in the building of weapons (something which particularly upsets his right hand man Obadiah Stane – played by a deliciously evil, shaven headed Jeff Bridges in pure Lex Luthor mode), and gets to work on improving his metallic suit design into a sleek, near-impregnable defence unit, which in true superhero fashion he uses to combat the forces of evil (or at least the un-American ones). Helping him in his quest are his loyal (and in love) assistant Pepper Potts (Gwyneth Paltrow in one of her few bearable performances) and Terrance Howard as his Air Force buddy Jim Rhodes (whom, based on a witty remark her makes while looking at one of Stark's Iron Man proto suits, is bound to be helping out in greater ways in the inevitable sequel). Samuel L Jackson also pops up in a neat little cameo after the end credits have run.

While Iron Man follows the standard format for a superhero film, it does it with a real sense of panache and excitement, and Robert Downey Jnr. imbues Tony Stark with humour and humanity, and a real sense of vulnerability (his kidnapping at the beginning of the film results in pieces of irretrievable shrapnel being lodged in his chest, necessitating the implantation of a powerful electromagnetic chest plate which stops the shrapnel from entering his heart, but also provides the source which powers his Iron Man suit). The story never allows itself to get too dark, with the suicidal alcoholism displayed by Stark in some of the more highly regarded Iron Man story arcs of the 1980s not being touched upon.

The only areas in which Iron Man disappoints is in its use of a somewhat generic soundtrack, which comes across as very gung-ho and Top Gun, and in its rather predictable climatic stand-off between Iron Man and the enormous Iron Monger (Jeff Bridges in his own metallic suit design), which is too reminiscent of the climax of Paul Verhoven's Robocop (1988). An action sequence earlier in the film, where Iron Man engages and outruns a couple of US fighter jets, is much more exciting and exhilarating.

As expected in a film of this stature, the CGI effects are very photo realistic and almost faultless, although it seems to be getting harder and harder for to wow audiences in the same way that Terminator 2 and Jurassic Park did in their day.

Reminiscent at times of the cliffhanger adventure serials of the 1940s (in particular, 1949s King of the Rocketmen), Iron Man should satisfy the kids and the adults alike, and makes for a welcome afternoon of old-fashioned, escapist entertainment of the highest order.

Review Copyright 2008 John Harrison

FOOD OF THE GODS

1976/Directed by Bert I Gordon

I first caught Food of the Gods as a teen back in 1977, when a schoolmate and I snuck into the city (my parents thought I was at the library doing homework) on a Sunday afternoon to the dodgy Dendy cinema off Collins Street, where the film was screening with Jeff Lieberman’s brilliant low-budget horror classic Squirm.

While Squirm gave me nightmares and scared the bejesus out of me (I couldn’t open a cupboard or bathroom door for months without thinking that a million ravenous worms would come spilling out over me), Food of the Gods certainly provided its share of trashy, enjoyable thrills, and was my introduction to two great genre names that I would come to appreciate more and more in the years ahead: filmmaker Bert I Gordon and child evangelist turned exploitation actor Marjoe Gortner.

Known to his fans as ‘Mr. B.I.G.’, both for his initials and his penchant for making movies with oversized monsters, Bert I Gordon had spent over twenty years helming such B-grade wonders as The Amazing Colossal Man, The Spider, Attack of the Puppet People and Village of the Giants before Food of the Gods came along, proving that he has lost none of his enthusiasm for gigantism (he followed it up with the Joan Collins starer Empire of the Ants before his career wound down in the early 1980s, although he did come out of retirement briefly in 1990 to direct the obscure demonic thriller Satan’s Princess).

Based on the same H. G. Wells short story which inspired 1965s Village of the Giants (a brilliant giant teens on the rampage thriller with a killer soundtrack), Food of the Gods stars the muscular, curly-haired Marjoe as a star football quarterback who heads out to remote Canadian island for some relaxation before the big game, only to be caught up in a deadly struggle against giant wasps, roosters, worms and a horde of rats, all of whom have grown to oversize thanks to them digesting a mysterious substance which has leaked out of the ground (the ‘Food of the Gods’ of the title). Helping Marjoe in his battle against this rampage against nature are a combination of one-time Hollywood heavyweights (Ida Lupino, Ralph Meeker) and some younger familiar faces such as Pamela Franklin (a regular on 1970s cop shows) and Belinda Balaski (an exploitation stalwart with roles in Werewolf of Woodstock, Bobbie Joe and the Outlaw and Piranha to her credit).

Like most films from Mr. B.I.G., Food of the Gods remains a hell of a lot of fun to watch, and you’ve got to admire the fact that Bert not only wrote and directed the film, but also orchestrated its special effects (as he did with most of his movies), which utilized a combination of miniatures, giant props and rear-screen projection. Sure the effects may not be up to the standard of a multi-million dollar Hollywood production, but they are more than adequate given the film’s budget, and only add to the charm of this slice of nostalgic seventies horror.

Food of the Gods has been released on DVD in the USA by MGM, as part of their great Midnight Movies collection, although disappointingly it is a very bare bones release, with not even a trailer thrown in for an appetizer.

Copyright John Harrison 2008

NEW WORKS PUBLISHED

Some recent publishings featuring my writing include issue 2 of Bachelor Pad (which contains my short pulp fiction noir story A Hell of A Dame) and the first issue of Matthew Dunn's comic book Lonely Monsters (for which I contributed an essay on zombie cinema - see blog entry below).

Also, issue 68 of the great US digest magazine Paperback Parade contains an interview I conducted with legendary exploitation filmmaker Herschell Gordon Lewis, discussing the paperback novelizations he authored of some of his early classics, including Blood Feast and 2,000 Maniacs.

And issue 15 of the Australian tattoo magazine Downunder Tattoo Art features a page of my tattoo art designs.

KISS 1980 AUSTRALIAN TOUR

I am currently preparing a proposal for a book which will look at the Australian KISS Tour of 1980. More than just a history of the tour, I plan for the book to be a reflection of Australia's youth culture of the period, and the social and cultural atmosphere which pervaded while the tour (and it's lead-up) took place.

With the 30th anniversary of the tour just a few years away, the time seems right for this book, and I am looking to hear from people who may be willing to help out in the following areas:

PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS: I am planning for one chapter of the book to consist of first-person accounts, written by people who not only went to the concerts, but those who wanted to go but weren't allowed, and even those who simply lived through the period.

PHOTOS: I would love to hear from anyone who has photos that they took during the concerts, public appearances, etc. Pics of you (or family/friends) in KISS make-up/t-shirts from the era (esp posing with members of the band or collections of KISS memorabilia) would also be great.

MEMORABILIA: If you have a collection of Australian KISS memorabilia from 1979-1981 I would love to use it for illustrative purposes in the book. If you live in Melbourne I can arrange a photographer to take photos of your collection, otherwise hi-res scans would be acceptable and most appreciated.

Please let me know if you are interested in helping out with this project, and I will keep your name on an email list and keep you up to date with developments. And please feel free to repost or forward on to anyone whom you feel may be able to help out...

LONELY MONSTERS

Illustrated and written by Melbourne artist Matthew Dunn, Lonely Monsters is a new, and much welcome, independant Australian horror comic.

The premise of Lonely Monsters is simple enough: zombies have taken over the city of Melbourne (and, we presume, the world). Most of the survivors have scattered, but a few brave souls have remained city bound, trying to scrounge out a living while simultaneously avoiding becoming a main course. Lonely Monsters follows the plight of this sorry band of survivors (not all of whom are the most desirable of characters).

The dialogue in Lonely Monsters is minimal, with Dunn using his artwork to generate most of the plot and atmosphere. With heavy black and grey overtones, the art is sombre and surrealistic, and effectively sparse in places. It's clear that the inspiration for Lonely Monsters comes from Dunn's love of both horror comics and zombie cinema, both classic and new (the comic reflects elements of George Romero's Night of the Living Dead, in that there is no explanation given for why the dead are rising, while the overall ambience of the book recalls the recent 28 Days Later and its sequel).

With a planned quarterly release schedule, the debut issue of Lonely Monsters features a beautifully lurid, color saturated cover, as well as some pages of preliminary sketch work, and a five page essay on zombie cinema (written by yours truly, who will hopefully be contributing a written piece to each issue - in Volume 2 I will be looking at the controversial subject of true crime memorabilia and serial killer artwork).

Lonely Monsters can be purchased from the book's official Cafe Press store (http://www.cafepress.com/lonelymonsters.197323224), and will also be available from select comic book and pop culture stores. You can also contact Matthew Dunn at his My Space page ( http://www.myspace.com/lonelymonsters) and keep up with developments at the Lonely Monsters Blogspot (http://www.lonelymonsters.blogspot.com/).

Copyright John Harrison 2008

HALLOWEEN

2007/Written & Directed by Rob Zombie

Rob Zombie's remake of John Carpenter's seminal classic Halloween (1978) is the latest in a seemingly endless parade of 're-imaginings' of some of the best horror cinema of the 1970s (Dawn of the Dead, Texas Chainsaw Massacre and The Amityville Horror have all undergone similar treatment in recent years). While this remake trend points to a certain lack of originality and a dearth of ideas within Hollywood (along with a desire to play it safe by producing films that have a built-in audience), Zombie has thankfully managed to bring a semblance of freshness to his film, while at the same time staying faithful to the overall plot and themes of the original (a balance achieved no doubt thanks largely to his genuine love and respect for the genre).

As was the original, Halloween is essentially the story of a bogeyman, a black soul born bad (in the shape of young Michael Myers) and predestined for evil, who commits terrible things as a child and returns to the scene of his atrocities when he breaks out of an asylum some fifteen years later on Halloween night, where he focuses his grisly intentions on innocent teen Laurie Strode and her two (much more promiscuous) friends, Annie and Linda.

Of course, Zombie's film was never likely to break the ground that the original Halloween did nearly thirty years ago. After all, Carpenter's film virtually invented the stalk & slash/teens in peril horror genre that in the ensuing years has been used time and time again, in everything from the Friday the 13th and Nightmare on Elm Street series to the more recent Scream and I Know What You Did Last Summer films. The ground that seemed so fresh when Halloween first opened has now become thoroughly trod on, and it's hard to see anyone bringing any real freshness to the now overly predictable genre (Wes Craven probably came closest with his original Scream).

Fortunately, Zombie seems to realise this and doesn't try to re-invent the wheel. Instead, what he chooses to do is flesh out Michael Myers' back story; the hellish home life with an abusive step-father, the school bullies who torment him with sexual stories about his mother (who works as a stripper at a seedy bar) and – after he commits his original series of killings – the relationship he forms with his psychologist, Dr. Sam Loomis (the only person who seems to understand what a true embodiment of evil that Myers is). We also get to see the reasons why Michael Myers focused his deadly intentions on Laurie (something that wasn't revealed until the second film in the original series) and the origin of his famous mask (which for trivia buffs, was an unpainted William Shatner/Captain Kirk mask produced by the famous Don Post studios).

As a result, Zombie's Halloween is almost a film of two halves, the first half being a prequel of sorts, with the second half being a remake of Carpenter's original. And it's actually the first half of the film that is the most effective, even though it also demystifies Michael Myers to a certain extent (Carpenter never delved too deeply into Myers' background or family life, which made him a bit more mysterious and wraith-like). Brutal, extremely violent, sleazy and loud, the first half of Halloween sees Zombie clearly in his element, while by comparison the second half sees him struggling to bring anything new to the genre (it doesn't help if you have seen the original many times and have become overly familiar with the way the plot pans out). Nevertheless, the film as a whole works extremely well as a commercial horror film that has a bit of real dirt under its fingernails.

Naturally, given Rob Zombie's background as a musician (both as a solo artist and with his band White Zombie), Halloween has a strong aural landscape, with music composed by Tyler Bates and a soundtrack that booms with some classic 70s arena rock tracks such as Blue Oyster Cult's Don't Fear the Reaper, Alice Cooper's Only Women Bleed, Rush's Tom Sawyer and God of Thunder by KISS (which opens the film).

Top lining the cast of Halloween is Malcolm McDowell as Loomis and Scout Taylor-Compton as Laurie. While McDowell makes an adequate if unexciting replacement for Donald Pleasance (who played Loomis in five of the original Halloween movies), Taylor-Compton is unfortunately rather bland, coming off as just another damsel in distress, with little of the resourcefulness and tenacity or spunk which Jamie Lee Curtis brought to the role. And scruffy, long haired Canadian actor Daeg Faerch is truly creepy as the 14 year-old Michael Myers. Just as he did with his first two films (House of 1,000 Corpses and it's sequel The Devil's Rejects), Zombie fills out the minor roles with faces that are recognisable to die-hard fans of the genre, including Ken Foree (from the original Dawn of the Dead), Dee Wallace (The Howling, Cujo), Udo Kier (Blood for Dracula, Flesh for Frankenstein), 80s scream queen Sybil Danning, Brad Dourif and more. As expected, Zombie's wife Sheri Moon also takes a role (as Myers' stripper mother), as does Zombie regular Bill Moselely.

The best film in the series since the 1978 original (which is admittedly not saying a lot considering some of the truly dire sequels), Halloween is also Rob Zombie's most accomplished film to date from a technical and dramatic viewpoint, although some of his die-hard fans may miss the sheer craziness and truly psychotic characters which populated his first two films. An unrated two-disc Director's Cut of the film is due out on DVD in the US mid-December.

Copyright John Harrison 2007

THE MIND IS A PLACE OF ITS OWN

DAVID JACOBSON ON BRINGING LIFE TO JEFFREY DAHMER

Released in 2002, David Jacobson's Dahmer is a haunting, harrowing and endlessly fascinating journey into the psyche of a truly twisted and irreparably disturbed mind.Anchored by a restrained, impressive performance by Jeremy Renner in the title role (who unnervingly nails the character, despite the lack of physical similarities), Jacobson tells his story by intercutting the present (just prior to Dahmer's crimes being revealed) with select scenes from his teenage years and early adulthood, which helps gives the film an appropriate sense of duality, and although it doesn't go as far as to try and explain or pinpoint the roots of Dahmer's psychosis, Jacobson does achieve the seemingly unimaginable, by eliciting a degree of sympathy for this most reviled of true-life monsters.

While we in no way excuse Dahmer for his actions, these flashback sequences powerfully demonstrate that the young Dahmer was a boy clearly in need of help, yet too scared to call out for it, and stuck in a world of parents too self-absorbed with their own problems to notice (or care) until it's far too late.

Although Renner dominates the film, Dahmer also benefits from strong performances by Artel Kayaru as Rodney (a potential victim whom Dahmer picks-up while buying a hunting knife) and Bruce Davison (best known as Senator Kelly in the X-Men films) as Jeffrey's father Lionel. Renner and Kayaru work wonderfully off each other, making good use of Jacobson's intelligent screenplay. Jacobson also uses music and lighting to great advantage, creating a strange but effective ambiance, and manages to piece together some highly effective sequences which range from the unbearably tense (Lionel demanding that Dahmer unlock an old chemistry box in front of him, which we know contains something grisly) to the almost poignant (Dahmer sitting alone in a chair at a party in his own home, while his 'friends' dance and laugh, oblivious to his presence).

Somewhat overlooked during it's initial release (heading direct to the video store shelves in many countries), Dahmer is certainly not a film for everyone, but hopefully the passage of time will place it alongside such other landmark serial killer films as Silence of the Lambs and Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer (yes, I believe it's THAT good).

DAVID JACOBSON: DAHMER INTERVIEW

Can you start by giving us a little bit of background on yourself? Where did your interest in film and filmmaking stem from?

I have always loved movies and come from a movie-loving family. For me it was a great escape when I was growing up. I didn't like to talk to people. It was a great way to be alone. I also loved stories of anti-heroes, which there were a lot of in the seventies. It made me feel less alone to know there were other people who hated their lives.

When did the idea of doing a film on Jeffrey Dahmer first occur to you? What do you think sparked your initial interest in the project?

My initial interest in Dahmer came from reading a book about him written by his father. It was a very interesting book to me, because it told the story not from a sensationalistic, journalistic point of view, but from an emotional point of view, the point of view of a father.

I like movies that don't conform to conventional genres, that come at subjects from an unexpected angle. I also felt in the story of Dahmer some emotional themes that I have experienced in my own life. This made it very personal. I think the things he did, cannibalising, mutilation, etc. came from emotional places that exist in all of us.

I also felt that the horrifying secrets he had to bear made him utterly alone and that is also something I think we all feel to a degree.I think we all bear secrets and those secrets cut us off from others.

What did you use as the basis for your research when writing Dahmer? Was there any particular books or documentaries that you relied upon more than others for insight?

After reading the book written by Dahmer's father, I went to Milwaukee, Wisconsin where his trial took place.There I read through a 160 page police confession by Dahmer and read through hundreds of pages of psychiatric analysis by the forensic psychologists who interviewed Dahmer for his trial. This gave me most of the material in the screenplay.

I believe that you wrote the first draft of the screenplay within two weeks. Do you normally write in a frenzy like this, or was Dahmer an exception?

I rarely write that fast and even that was just a draft. I went through many more drafts after that, and thinking and discussing. The writing process for me is pretty excruciating, but I do it because it makes the project so personal to me.

How did you go about raising the finance for the film? Was their much opposition to the project, given its subject matter?

I sent the script to numerous independent producers, none of whom showed any interest. Many people were just appalled that I would want to do a film on Dahmer, especially the ones who didn't read the script. I wondered myself if it was the right thing to do. He did atrocious things to people. He treated people like objects, which to me is the worst sin you can commit.
But somehow I kept being compelled to make the film. I knew that there was something that would affect people and perhaps make them see the world a little differently that it gets presented on TV or in big budget films.

After the many rejections, I finally committed my own money to make the film and that got the ball rolling. Eventually my producer Larry Rattner found the rest of the money and we made it through production. But we did it for around 200,000 USD. One of the aspects of Dahmer that I find really works is its structure, the balance between flashbacks and the present. To me it really balances out the horror and even in some scenes a twinge of sympathy which you feel towards this character. Did you always feel during the planning and writing stages that this was the most effective method of telling the story, rather than opting for a straightforward chronological plot?

The structure was always under question from the first draft through the editing. I always had the flashbacks, but through the writing process I made them less and less expository and more narrative.

I don't like when films use flashbacks just to give some expository information to help you rationally understand the character. I always feel like that is a cheap shortcut. I also dont like films that answer all the questions for you.

The best films are like poems and allow for just as much connotation as denotation. In a sense I was just trying to weave together different parts of his life that related on an emotional level, not a rational biographical level. And I did want the audience to see him as a complicated, sick individual, not just a two-dimensional monster, or symbol of evil. The film to me has a very sparse ambiance, and makes great use of sound (something which really comes to the fore when watching the film with headphones on). Are you an admirer of David Lynch? The atmosphere of Dahmer reminds me at times of some of Lynch's early works.

I am a very big fan of David Lynch. So much so I have to constantly struggle to keep my own voice. I think most artists are inspired by other artists, in part because they articulate a similar world view, but at the same time they form your world view. So it is hard sometimes to not just mimic them.

It is so hard to find your own voice.It doesn't come naturally to me. I'm still trying to find it. I also am inspired by David Lynch's willingness to still take risks even though he has been very successful. How much room did you give the two leads to improvise? They seem to work very well together, and their on-screen chemistry certainly helps propel the film along....

We didn't do much improv in the production because there wasn't enough time, but in rehearsal we did do some.They are just both such incredible actors that they could open themselves to each other and the moment and make my writing come alive.

Critically Dahmer seems to have done quite well, and received a number of prizes at the 2003 IFP Independent Spirit Awards. How did the film fare commercially in America?

The film was self-released theatrically and therefore didn't do well at all financially, but the video was very promoted by Blockbuster video and did spectacularly for an independent film with no known celebrities in the cast.

I think the film's acceptance, after being so roundly rejected before production, will inspire me to listen to my heart and take risks.

(Note: Dahmer was released on DVD in the US by First Look Entertainment in a Special Edition that contains Director/Actor Commentary, Theatrical Trailer and a Making-Of Featurette).

FURTHER VIEWING:

JEFFREY DAHMER - THE SECRET LIFE
1992/Directed by David R. BowenLow-budget independent film put together not long after the Jeffrey Dahmer case first broke. Carl Crew not only portrays Dahmer on screen, but also wrote the screenplay (taking great liberties with the facts) and produced the project. Perhaps he should have focused on his roles behind the camera and cast someone else in the lead, as his lacklustre performance is one of the film's biggest drawbacks. Still, the film does have a certain sleazy appeal, being as it dwells more on the brutal killings than Dahmer's motivation. Released as a no-frills DVD in the US by Spectrum Entertainment in 2002. (Running Time: 100 mins. approx.)

DOCUMENTARIES

Although the definitive documentary on the subject has yet to be produced, there have been a number of television specials devoted to Jeffrey Dahmer, most of them produced by American cable TV networks like A&E to fill a one-hour time slot (restricting the actual content to a mere 45-50 minutes).

Among the best of these specials are Dahmer - Mystery of the Serial Killer (1993), Jeffrey Dahmer - The Monster Within (1996) and Born to Kill: Jeffrey Dahmer and Ted Bundy (part of the 20th Century with Mike Wallace). Many of these programmes are available to purchase direct from the A&E website at: www.store.aetv.com. Dahmer - Mystery of the Serial Killer was also included on the video release Serial Killers: Profiling the Criminal mind - Volume 1.

RECOMMENDED READING:

THE JEFFREY DAHMER STORY: AN AMERICAN NIGHTMARE
by Donald A Davis
1991/St. Martin's Press/USA/Paperback/ISBN 0312928408The first Dahmer book was this quicky paperback that reads better than most, thanks to the flair of writer Davis and the sheer horror of the details of the case. Illustrated.

PSYCHO KILLERS No.5
July 1992/Comic Zone/USA/Comic BookControversial comic book series that gained notoriety and achieved respectable sales (it lasted 16 issues, not counting a number of one-shot specials), but the writing and artwork was usually more miss than hit, with minimum plot and characterisation, and often bland, uninspired layouts. Still worth picking up for its curio value.

THE SHRINE OF JEFFREY DAHMER
by Brian Masters
1993/Coronet/UK/Paperback/ISBN 034059194The best and most insightful of the Dahmer paperbacks, from the author of the Dennis Nilson study Killing for Company. Illustrated.

MURDER IN MIND No.3
1996/Marshall Cavendish/UK/MagazineWeekly serial publication with each issue (usually) devoted to a specific murder case (both famous and obscure). Originally published in 1990 as Murder Casebook, the breaking of the Dahmer and Fred & Rosemary West cases in the early-1990s no doubt spurred Marshall Cavendish on to repackage the series. This 38 page issue features a pretty good overview of Dahmer and his crimes, heavily illustrated with some rare colour and B&W photos.

MY FRIEND DAHMER: A TRUE STORY BY DERF
March 2002/Derfcity Comics/USA/Comic BookDisturbing and at times even poignant one-shot underground comic book, written and illustrated by John Backderf, who recounts his experiences as a high school classmate (and superficial friend) of Dahmer's during the late-1970s. (My interview with Backderf which appeared inHeadpress 25 will be posted here soon).

REAL-LIFE CRIMES....AND HOW THEY WERE SOLVED No.3
2003/Eaglemoss Publications/UK/MagazineAnother limited weekly publication, in a similiar vein to Murder In Mind but not as thorough, with each issue given over to covering several different crimes.

Interview & Article Copyright John Harrison

(This article originally appeared in a slightly different form in Volume 2 of the UK Headpress publication Creeping Flesh)

CH-CH-CH-CH-CHERRY BOMBS!

Like most great rock & roll bands, the Runaways were simply too good for the era in which they lived and breathed. They chose to exist in that murky, grey twilight zone which separated punk and hard rock, and weren't fully appreciated by followers of either genre until it was far too late.



The Runaways were formed in 1975, helped along in no small part by legendary Hollywood rock sleazemeister Kim Fowley. Aspiring rock goddess Joan Jett and her pal, bassist Kari Krome, responded to Fowley's ad in an LA music mag - the duo wanted him to help them form a band. Fowley was impressed with their raw energy and enthusiasm, and no doubt sensing dollars quickly agreed to help them out, provided a suitable line-up could be built around them.

Jett soon met drummer Sandy West in the parking lot of the infamous Rainbow Bar, while Fowley hooked up with lead guitarist Lita Ford and raunchy vocalist Cherie Curry (who was working at a teen club in the San Fernando Valley called the Sugar Sack). Unfortunately for her, Kari Krome missed out on a spot in the band's eventual line-up (Fowley felt her bass skills were insufficient), although she did stay on as a co-songwriter.



With the statuesque Jackie Fox coming into the fold on bass, the line-up was ready to begin work on their debut LP, The Runaways, which featured the classic teen rock anthem Cherry Bomb. The film clip which accompanied the song, featuring Currie strutting around in corset, fishnet stockings and stilettos, no doubt shocked a lot of middle-class parents, particularly those who were trying to raise a teenage daughter! Other standout tracks on the LP include You Drive Me Wild, American Nights, a cover of Lou Reed's Rock And Roll and the epic Dead End Justice (which plays like the soundtrack for a teenage Women-In-Prison film).

The Runaways' follow-up LP, Queens of Noise, was released in 1977, and it emphasised the increasing influence which Joan Jett was having on the band - she not only co-wrote most of the songs on the recording, but sang many of them as well, something which caused a lot of obvious friction between Jett and the band's designated lead singer, Currie. Although it lacked a standout single in the vein of Cherry Bomb, Queens Of Noise is arguably the band's strongest release, highlighted by tracks such as I Love Playing With Fire, Neon Angels On The Road To Ruin, Take It Or Leave It, California Paradise and Heartbeat.

Although they were gaining a lot of coverage in the rock press, and were building up a solid (though small) base of hardcore followers, the Runaways were never able to crack the big time record sales wise. Their biggest market was Japan, where they toured in 1977, and released a subsequent concert LP, Live In Japan. A fantastic document of the band's raw and energetic live sound, Live In Japan is an essential purchase for Runaways fans, particularly the original Mercury vinyl pressing, which features a luxurious gatefold sleeve, with the band looking resplendent in skin-tight leather and spandex.



Soon after the Japanese tour, Currie walked out on the band, allowing Jett the opportunity to take full creative control (particularly since Fowley had also by this time left the fold).

The Runaways 1979 recording, And Now....The Runaways, was a more slick and polished production, with bubblegum flavoured pop/rock tunes like Right Now and Little Lost Girls sitting alongside more traditional punk/glam tracks such as Saturday Night Special and Black Leather (the UK punk scene had created a huge impact on Jett, and that influence is clearly evident on this release).



Vicky Blue had by now replaced Jackie Fox on bass, but like their previous LP, 1978's Waiting For The Night, And Now....The Runaways performed miserably and in fact wasnt even released in the USA until 1981, when Rhino Records put it out as Little Lost Girls. The Runaways split soon after, with Joan Jett having the most successful solo career of all the band members, thanks to her worldwide 1982 hit I Love Rock & Roll. Lita Ford also found a degree of fame in the mid-1980s, when she joined the fledgling US heavy metal brigade, performing in skimpy outfits and big hair, and recording a number of moderately successful LPs, the best of which was 1983's Dancing On The Edge.

In 2004, Vicki Blue wrote and directed Edgeplay, an outstanding documentary on the Runaways which, despite not being able to use any of the band's original music, and the absence of Joan Jett (who refused to co-operate with the making of the film) provides an insightful, though-provoking and occasionally heartbreaking look into the history of the band (particularly the final moments featuring Sandy West, who tragically died of cancer in 2006).

Although I would have loved to have seen them live, I'm glad that the Runaways have managed to resist the temptation (so far at least) to do a reunion tour....something that I feel just wouldnt work. In many ways, however, the Runaways are still very much with us....not just in their recorded legacy, but in bands like the Donnas, and in the hearts of every teenage girl who dreams of picking up an electric guitar and rocking out.

Copyright John Harrison 2007