Mr. Waters has a point. While tongue may be firmly planted in pencil-moustachioed upper lip/cheek, screen violence as we know it would not exist without 1963's gobsmacking goretacular Blood Feast.
An uncompromising exercise in schlock-purity, the film's sole purpose is to disembowel, dismember, mutilate, stab, slice, roast, flog and vivisect voluptuous vixens, resulting in a bombastic bio-slurry of blood and viscera the likes of which had never congealed over cinema screens previously. Gimmicky? Oh my yes. But it was new. Herschel Gordon Lewis made no excuses; this was pointless fun, made only because something like it had never been seen before.We, the cinephilic populace, always praise filmmakers for displaying creativity and ingenuity. Werner Herzog claims that society, whether it realizes or not, is in perpetual need of new images. While perhaps a slight variation on the theme Herzog was humming, this film deserves praise for the insanity, inventiveness, and sheer balls it took to bring something so taboo at the time to mass audiences and with a wonderful, self-deprecating feel to it. Lewis and producer David F. Friedman (learn those two names well, they'll pop up incessantly over time) never took this as a serious endeavor, they wanted to make something fun and cheap. On the incredible commentary track on the dvd, they'd often mention cost-cutting measures such as in-camera fades ("saved us a $75 optical") and using friends in place of actors who did not feel the need to show up on a particular day (and boy do they ever stand out). But all of this lends to a charm long gone in our digital age. We no longer worry about opticals and having a two-take-max rule due to film shortages. For all the sheer silliness and camp style, there is still a joy in the craft apparent in each scene. The palpable enjoyment of the blood and bile creations is infectious, making Blood Feast far better than it has any right to be.
I'd rather not stoop to simple plot recitation since it's of little consequence, but the main thrust entails local police tracking a murderer of young women. Basic stock premise. But there are moments strewn about that must be described for their trashy brilliance and low-budget charm:
- One cop (a non actor) is either reading lines off of his hand or finding particular inspiration in the depths of his palm.
- The incredible scenery-devouring Mal Arnold (as Fuad Ramses) uses newspaper ads for a book entitled "Ancient Weird Religious Rites" to choose his victims.
- The cops are consistently baffled since the killer "LEAVES NO CLUES!" (repeated ad-infitum)
- Blatant abuse of day for night photography.
- The mother of our female protagonist appears to be reading her lines off of the script which lies right next to her on a couch.
- Speaking of our naive nymph played by Connie Mason, her background in modeling, not acting, is readily apparent as she cavorts around like a living Barbie doll.
- The ideal campy script: "I'm off to the weekly lecture on ancient history!"
- During a climactic chase on foot, Fuad Ramses' severe limp still keeps him far ahead of his badged-persuers' light jogging.
- RANDOM FACT: Gary Sinise's father Bob served as the film editor.
But to reiterate, none of this matters. Drive-ins country wide were not clogged and forced to turn away potential patrons due to rumors of script strength. These people wanted to see the most vile, disgusting film ever made. And, for the time, it certainly delivers. Fairly tame by today's torture-porn standards, the images presented are gruesome enough to have forced more innocent audiences to shield their eyes lest they too fall prey to Fuad Remses' roaming machete. While not the lofty Herzogian pictures evoking the spirit and heart of man, Blood Feast actually delivers the heart of man, as well as the tongue, intestines, brain, and more. This was brutality on a whole new level.There was a surreal quality about viewing this beast on bluray. I felt like I'd committed a betrayal; an obscenity that I could never recover from. Granted, for a low budget feature it looks exquisite in hi-def, but I just felt dirty. I should have been seated in a massive American car failing to feel up some girl I convinced to come on a date with me out of sheer pity while a battered print missing a reel or two was projected in the distance. I've wronged you, Blood Feast, and for that I am sorry.
Now, I'm not going to mince words: I loved this film. It's camp perfection. And clearly I have an affinity for this kind of schlock otherwise this blog would not exist. But there is a larger societal implication we must ruminate on: The images of Blood Feast have been etched into the minds of all who encounter them, and signaled a turning point for acceptable violence in film and media. They have had a far, far larger impact on our culture than Werner Herzog's visual poetry ever will. Let that sink in. And shed a tear if your eye is still in its socket.
Available on DVD and an insane Blu-ray.
But for the love of cinema buy some Werner Herzog films too.