A friend asked me a question some time ago, "What ISN'T a Walter Paisley Movie House movie?" An interesting way to ask, which makes it that much harder to provide a succinct answer. I have been asked many times, "what is a good-bad-movie," and, "Are you going to show 'Sharknado?'" Those are easy to answer. A good-bad-movie is one that is made with utter sincerity and intent, but fails on most levels of what we would consider quality film making. Usually, providing that answer precludes any follow-ups about films like "Sharknado" which are products that are cynically made as hopefuls for a midnight movie house. Those movies do nothing for me, and are not at all fun to watch. So that's not a WPMH movie.
Some movies, however, are made to be deliberately over-the-top, and are the better for it. Next month, we will be doing a screening of "Flash Gordon" (1980), a movie noted for its lack of subtlety, for our family film. The director wanted to make a film that captured the tone of the old serials, and it works. Every actor is giving 100%, and then some. Whereas many deliberately campy films are marred by the actors winking at the camera, and the director telling the audience, "Yep, this is cheesy. Aren't we clever for doing it?" With FG, Mike Hodges went all in, and hired a cast that was on-board for every second of it. No one in that film at any point tries to make the audience feel like they are aware of what they are doing, and they know that they are too cool for it. Instead, they chew the scenery like hyper-sexual termites, and the audience gets the ride that they deserve. So that is a WPMH movie.
This is the only time I have understood the appeal of football.
My obsession with these types of films began in 1987 with the movie "Street Trash," directed by Jim Muro and written by Roy Frumkes. Frumkes said of it, "I wrote [Street Trash] to democratically offend every group on the planet," and he really did give it his best effort on that front. Offensive stereo-types of the homeless, race baiting characters, sexual assault, alcoholism, PTSD, and, of course, people melting in toilets. I first became aware of the movie via my subscription to Fangoria Magazine. The pictorial spread of this latest entry into the "melt movie" genre was a thing of beauty. The vivid blues and greens made what could have been a gruesome slog into a technicolor laugh-fest.
That last shot... it's like Basket Case banged a Smurf.
When I was finally able to get a copy on VHS, not an easy feat in a small southern Indiana town, I forced all of my friends to watch it with me several times. While the F/X were some of the best produced in that time-period, everything else about the production was messier than a melted bum on a fire escape. Bad acting? No, far, far worse than bad. Weird camera choices, like the literally out-of-focus shots that stayed in the film. Plots upon plots upon plots, none of which seem to be resolved. Horribly choreographed fight scenes that I am certain resulted in injury. It was the first time that I realized that a bad film could be good. It is also the reason this was the first movie I screened when the WPMH nights began.
What made a movie like "Street Trash" resonate with me was that it was made by a group of like-minded people who wanted to create something unique. They made the movie on their own terms, with a modest budget, and with complete creative control. The compromises that are made to accomplish something like that are things like hiring friends with zero acting experience in the lead roles, and maybe using the Key Grip's moms house for a set piece. The end result is a movie that is singular, and inimitable. Something that absolutely can not be said about a Marvel movie. Try this experiment, go watch "Troll 2," then watch any of the recent blockbusters that have come out from the studio system. Then tell me which one you remember the most of. I would bet that George Hardy's performance, and the overall insane plot of the former will be far more memorable than any McGuffin plot contrivance in which Batman has found himself embroiled.
Neil Breen, Lloyd Kaufman, Drake Floyd, aka, Claudio Fragasso, Stewart Gordon, Menahem Golan, Suzanne de Passe, James Nguyen, Harold P. Warren, and, until recently, Tommy Wiseau... these are names that are not known to many, but who are among the top tier of truly independent film makers of all time. Their work will never appear at Sundance, and why would we want it to? (That corporate circle-jerk, dressed up as outsider art might as well be the Golden Globes.) When I see their movies, sure, I laugh at the acting, and production value, but I also revere the work that they have done. It takes a lot of time and effort to make a movie, even a bad one, but to give the audiences something that they have never seen before takes vision. The names above each made enduring pieces of art that will never be equaled. They made them with heart, and good intent. They wanted to tell a story, and whether or not they succeeded is secondary to the fact that they completed something pure. In the end, that is what art is all about.
How can you not LOVE this?
So, what ISN'T a WPMH movie? Something utterly indefinable, but you know it when you see it.
Don't Piss on Hospitality,
Dylan Donnie-Duke, DL
