From time to time, we at HORROR-WOOD attempt to provide a public service, such as helping our readers adroitly end less-than-devoted relationships. In that case, all you need is a VCR and a few of these...
Okay, guys, I know you’ve had this problem: You met a girl, started dating, and next thing you know she lives at your apartment (she hasn’t officially "moved in," of course) and is thoroughly annoying you. She tells you she wishes you were more "romantic, loving and considerate." She reads your limited edition Arkham House hardbacks with the pressed rice paper pages and leaves the corners folded down to mark her place. She eats the last of your spicy chicken curry and leaves you with three-day-old macaroni and cheese. She drinks your beer. She’s got to go. Thing is, she’s kind of sensitive. You met her at the library, she thinks it’s cool that you’re a writer or filmmaker or collector of desiccated tarantula corpses or whatever. You figure if you just give her the if you dropped off the face of the earth, it really wouldn’t bother me too much spiel, she’ll probably pull a fatal attraction on your ass and start cooking up your pets for breakfast.
My friends, there is a better way. The solution’s so simple, it’s right in front of your face. She wants romantic, loving, considerate? Fine. Treat her to a pampered evening, topping things off with a few select late-night theater visits or video releases. Just make sure you pick the releases. Filmmakers over the years have made it their business to turn out forty pounds of drivel capable of offending anyone and everyone for every one decent film made. Are there films out there that will offend the woman of your choice? Are they easy to find? Is Roger Corman an opportunist? So. Here are some flicks that will do the trick, some groovy movies sure to remove the Mary Kay cosmetics counter from your bachelor bathroom once and for all, leaving room for you to put your Pinhead shaving cream dispenser back where it belongs. And we’re off to a rollicking start with:
And of course, like most Italian horror flicks, there are enough maggots squirming around in every other shot to keep the stomach-gurgling factor high. Scene guaranteed to make her leave the theater early: A guy and his girl, making out on a deserted road, fall under the powers of the evil undead priest, whose demonic influence makes the girl vomit up her own intestinal tract. You have to see this one to believe it. It’s rumored that this effect was achieved by having the actress actually swallow a sheep’s gizzard and puke it up. If it ain’t true, it oughta be. Make sure you tell Queenie about it when you drive her home. And feed her snails before the movie. Or oysters. Here’s one Renfield and I agree on: David Lynch’s Wild At Heart. This may not be considered a horror film by every viewer’s standards, but most Lynch films dish out more than their share of darkness and monstrosity. There’s a pretty broad spectrum of squishiness on display in this flick. Prime examples: a very realistic and graphic brains-bashed-out sequence (this is in the first ten minutes of the film); the death of a car accident victim; a shotgun blast in the face at point blank range. All this plus an assortment of utterly bizarre character set-pieces will send Queenie off the deep end long before the last reel is threaded.
Scene guaranteed to make sure she never returns your phone calls: A nice, long, lingering close-up of a big puddle of puke, complete with flies buzzing around it. Hey, Queenie, you wanna go to the roller derby next week? Wanna come over and check out this week’s WWF recap Friday night? I’ll pop some popcorn, we can hang out, watch some bloodshed … Next up is the non-classic Humanoids From The Deep, and I can’t even remember who directed it, but I know it’s a Roger Corman schlocker so there’s a good chance he himself was the guilty party. This movie’s just plain crap, really, but wonderful stuff if Queenie happens to be a women’s rights activist. All she needs to do is hear a plot summary to piss her off: Half-human half-fish creatures from the briny deep are seeking to raise the standard of their gene pool by mating with human women.
Well, you know Roger—he just takes off with the concept from there, providing a lucid, thought provoking and profound philosophical study of the dangers of genetic experiments. Not. This is a Corman film, remember. What you get is a lot of women with really big boobs being raped by fish-men! There is no way to extract even the minutest quantity of taste from the proceedings. Queenie will be insulted, if not by the story, then by the unstated but visually obvious premise: the bigger the boobs, the dumber the girl. You can help things along substantially by whistling at the screen and shouting, "Whoa, nice hooters!" at every opportunity. Scene guaranteed to earn you an elbow in the ghoulies: To tell you the truth, I can’t think of one in particular. If she makes it through the first five minutes without doing you bodily harm, marry her. And, to round things off: Anything directed by Herschell Gordon Lewis. His horror films are the absolute best for disgusting (or at least annoying) Queenie. I recommend 2,000 Maniacs for the chick-gets-her-thumb-whittled-off scene, but any of them will do.
Blood Feast features a little impromptu open heart surgery that’s pretty tasty. Most, but not all, of the victims in H.G. Lewis movies are women, which helps. And if these won’t do it, he also made a bunch of quickie girlie flicks that make Russ Meyer films look like The Seventh Seal. And these are just a few examples. Pigs that we men are, we have the advantage in choosing horrendously offensive fare, since the majority of these films are made by men. Still, who knows? Maybe next month, Renfield and I will do Queenie’s Revenge: Fright Flicks To Grab Your Favorite Fella By The Short and Curlies. Ol’ Renfield seems like an equal opportunity kind of guy to me… Thanks, Dave! You know, perhaps that's why old Renfield never gets a second date...I'll just have to stop showing Ilsa, She-Wolf Of The SS on first dates, I guess... Article copyright Dave Duggins |
Lucio Fulci’s Gates of Hell. Oh, it just don’t
get any nastier than this, folks. Take the prom queen’s hand, wine and dine her in a
fine French restaurant (preferably one that serves escargot), and then take her
to this nauseating little gross-terpiece at a midnight revival or dollar theater
near you. This one’s chock full of the kind of visual effrontery that makes those
little queenies squirm, including a demonic undead priest who gets a large hole punched
through his abdomen. The hole drips, things squirm out of it, he keeps walking, etc. etc.
All old hat to us freak-out freaks, but will Queenie will choke on her jujubes? Is Roger
Corman an…oh, never mind. Already covered that.
