Exploitation TV: Volume Two
For cinephiles, the definition of home video label Vinegar Syndrome’s name is something like a secret handshake. The disease it references consumes celluloid. When film stock starts to degrade, it releases acetic acid, the key ingredient in (you guessed it) vinegar. This phenomenon became a plague during the 80s, chewing up prints of pictures improperly stored in hot, humid conditions. In many cases, where reels of smaller films were scarce due to budgetary restrictions, one bad case of vinegar syndrome could rob the planet of an artist’s work.
According to a ‘12 study conducted by the Library of Congress, only 14% of nearly 11,000 movies made between 1912 and 1930 exist in their original format. Around 70% were lost completely. Coming in at a close second in terms of casualties is the Exploitation Era. This really shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone, as many of the weirder, more obscure movies made during these decades of disrepute are pictures we’ve probably never heard of in the first place. Thankfully, the Bridgeport, Connecticut boys at VS own a private archive, from which they’ve been pulling and scanning prints of overlooked horror, exploitation and smut cinema from all eras. To make it easier on all us degenerates, they’ve even established a streaming service, where you can log in and watch all the back alley oddities they’ve been uncovering and preserving, so that true vinegar syndrome doesn’t rob us of any more great trash art.
In this second edition of Exploitation TV, we highlight three female driven thrillers, that throw in X-rated material, murderous lead actresses, and footage from other films (just for fun)…
Diamond Head (a/k/a Honolulu Hustle) [1974] (d. & w. Jason Williams [under the alias Lee Betts])
Jason Williams had a pretty solid career as a C-Grade exploitation actor, co-starring in the scummy cocaine shoot out, Cop Killer (’73), the silly sci-fi porn parody Flesh Gordon (’74), and even appeared in a legit production with Paul Mazursky’s Nick Nolte/Richard Dreyfus “there’s a bum drowning in our swimming pool” opus, Down and Out in Beverly Hills (’86). During this time, he also directed some smutty soft/hardcore on the side. Outside of this particularly diseased bit of ineptitude, Williams also helmed Wild Malibu Weekend (’95) and Nude Bowling Party (’95) under the aliases Kelly Gordon and J.L. Williams. For Diamond Head (’74), he adopted the nom de dirt Lee Betts, bringing a filthy, 16mm Hawaiian slice of scumbag nastiness to life in all of its cum-sprayed depravity. Diamond Head is a work of staggering filmic incompetence, as one actor (who has no front teeth, mind you) actually runs into a wall (face first), and then receives a blowjob from a woman who finishes and says, “Thanks, this helps keep my weight down. If I wasn’t eating this, it’d be candy all night.”
If your squint hard enough, there’s kind of a plot to Diamond Head, as a duo of porn theater burglars kidnap the sister of a policewoman (Debbi Brooks), who then goes on the hunt for said sibling. But just because she’s being held captive doesn’t mean there isn’t a healthy dose of consensual sex, as the movie stops (in typical hardcore fashion) for some languid fucking on the beach, with another hostage getting plowed while wearing a girl scout uniform. Possibly the most interesting aspect of this mostly unremarkable production comes in the first ten minutes, as the same instrumental of the Moody Blues’ “Knights in White Satin” Craig Denney used without the band’s permission in his accidental avant garde masterwork The Astrologer (’75) is laid over a scene where Brooks washes and then double dildos her vagina in the bathtub. A nice piece of 42nd Street trivia for those fascinated by every category of depraved celluloid its famed houses of disrepute would grind out all night.
Red Heat [1975] (d. & w. Ray Dennis Steckler [under the alias Cindy Lou Sutters])
Ray Dennis Steckler navigated the complete spectrum of trash cinema, directing everything from '60s stalker whodunits (The Thrill Killers [‘64]) to $500 budgeted murder operettas (Blood Shack [‘71]), plus an entirely separate filmography of unique pornography like Red Heat, which was helmed under his favorite pseudonym, Cindy Lou Sutters. There’s an odd metatextual element injected into Red Heat’s sucking and fucking, as “Sutters” actually narrates the entire picture, telling the tale of a scorned ginger performer who goes on a killing spree after her boyfriend wrongs her. In-between murders, “Cindy Lou” covers the various intricacies of X-rated craft in old school Las Vegas. We learn how much time is allotted for location shooting, where the crew obtains actresses when their budget is running out (spoiler: hire cheap hookers), and how not getting laid can inhibit the creative drive of those behind the camera. It’s a veritable crash course in smut creation, all packaged inside an otherwise routine fuck film.
The stylistic tics employed in Red Heat are fascinating, as every hardcore scene is shot with leering, handheld camera, sometimes switching to “subjective” shots (which “Sutters” won’t hesitate to gleefully point out). It’s the type of movie that reminds you how different pornos made today are (an artless run through of various positions captured on digital cameras) from the oft-experimental bent the form adopted during the golden age. These movies had to come up with several different ways to get their finished product into theaters, as the famed “boom” that occurred post-Deep Throat (’72) created a flooded market on both coasts of the United States. Red Heat’s shouting cameramen and “director/star” approach to delivering a weird sense of faux realism is rather remarkable, the gimmick calling attention to itself to the point that you barely recognize Steckler’s film simply ends in the same anti-climactic fashion most of its peers did. The camera just stops rolling when the money ran out.
Run Coyote Run [1987] (d. James Bryan, w. Renee Harmon)
Run Coyote Run is James Bryan (Don’t Go in the Woods [‘80]) and Renee Harmon’s (Night of Terror [‘86]) beautiful trash quilt, made up of footage and short ends from their other works (such as Lady Street Fighter [‘81], The Executioner, Part II [‘84] and Hell Riders [‘84]) to comprise a sequel to/remake of LSF. The connective thread is “new” SOV footage featuring a psychic policewoman working for Interpol (Harmon), searching for her missing sister (also Harmon), who is still stuck in the past picture (namely recycled scenes from LSF), swatting off thugs at every turn. Three different movies are sometimes spliced together in order to construct a single scene, folding reality and the space-time continuum onto itself, but never honestly making a lick of logical sense. Nevertheless, the effort is what’s to be admired here, as Bryan and Harmon are desperately attempting to manufacture a continuity with their previous work that almost becomes a low rent moment of home movie self-mythologizing, complete with a synth whistle Morricone rip off theme.
Reportedly discovered in the trunk of a used car and mailed to distributor Bleeding Skull, the end game of this lost alien transmission is never really clear, but it’s also not certain if a viewing audience was ever kept in mind during the creation of Run Coyote Run. This is very much a labor of love for the two primary creatives involved, as they curate a lifetime of pulp into an odd editing experiment, flashing back to “memories” we’ve already witnessed, and steamrolling through the film’s Frankenstein narrative with bone crushing relentlessness. The final product is arguably anti-cinema, but for anyone who’s consumed entire catalogues of this type of monstrous filmic atrocity, the jagged manipulation of Bryan and Harmon’s driving instincts will be wholly thrilling. This is unlike anything you’ve ever seen or ever will see during the rest of your lifetime.
Tune in next week for three more picks from your new favorite channel. In the meantime, log in to Vinegar Syndrome’s streaming service to embark upon your own filthy adventures.
