Guest Review by Jessica Ritchey
Sadly, I am of the generation in which, if you didn't have a mom and pop video store nearby (and sometimes even if you did), you had to find your own way to the b-movie vault. We often look with misplaced nostalgia at our own childhoods, and thankfully I will bore you with none of that nonsense. I hated my peers, and our culture was shiny, empty, and disposable. The afternoon Creature Features and late night movies had been replaced by "Friends" reruns and infomercials for hair removal products. Drive-ins had retreated to a few broken-down marquees we passed on the way to visit family in Georgia; and with the homogenization of video chains, finding anything weird (let alone old) was well-nigh impossible.
But one day my stupidity actually paid off: I was in a Barnes and Noble, and had picked up a tape of something called Mystery Science Theater 3000. I had been wary of trying cult favorites... an experience with The Princess Bride, a film that had been sold to me as one of the best things in the whole wide world, had left me shifting uncomfortably and trying to say something complementary. I figured I would probably wander the store with the tape and then put it down on a shelf and leave without it. Well, I hadn't noticed the video section of the store had alarms at the entrance, and as my face turned beet red I hastily paid for it and scurried to the safety of the magazine rack. At home, with some trepidation, I popped the tape in... and 90 minutes later I pressed eject, nearly aching from laughter. The internet had only recently come to my house, and searching for more info on the show I stumbled across Jabootu, Stomp Tokyo, and And You Call Yourself a Scientist... and the rest, as they say, is history.
And that brings us to today's subject: the target of my first MST3K episode and a film dear to me. As it is to thank (or blame) for my current tastes, I thought it only fitting to finally review it. Now here is where nostalgia is inescapable: the film is little more than a tawdry, grim little feature but that does not dampen my love for it. It takes itself dead seriously and thinks itself far more important than it is, and in an age were no pop culture product would dare appear to not be in on the joke, such an attitude is admirable. Secondly, building on what Video Watchdog has promoted tirelessly, it shows how Art and Trash cinema are sometimes only separated by a few degrees of talent. In more capable hands, a mad doctor intent on restoring the looks of a loved one, with the person only able to observe in increasing horror at their situation, becomes the hauntingly lovely Eyes Without a Face. But the poison pen is irresistible, so let us come not to bury but roast this delightful turkey.
We open in an operating room. Things don't look so good for the patient, and the older doctor is ready to admit defeat. The younger insists now is the time to try his new procedure, and with some reluctance the elder agrees. It seems to involve touching roach clips to an exposed part of the brain, which in turn causes a wild fluctuation on a volt-ammeter — this is a Good Thing. The elder warns to keep away from the motor area, lest the younger risk paralyzing the patient... which causes the younger to snap, "Which would you rather be? Paralyzed or dead?"
The operation is declared a success. Two extras, one holding the IV drip, awkwardly try to push the patient out of the room. The two doctors remove their masks: they are father, never named, and son, Bill. The father is proud of the operation's outcome, but warns Bill that it was too risky, and that his methods need to be grounded in experimentation before they can be applied to practical use. This causes Bill to go into a snit-fit: if he is not allowed to try, how can he "hope to perform operations like the one you almost messed up?" Dad changes his tactic, and tells him that the superintendent had it out with him again over missing limbs and organs taken from the morgue, and how he can't cover for him anymore. Dad seems more mildly irritated than horrified by this development; and Bill snorts that if daddy wants him to test and experiment so much, he needs material to test and experiment on.
They're interrupted by Bill's fiancée Jan, who shares an awkward kiss with Bill. Dad inquires about their weekend plans and sours again when Bill intimates he might be going to the "country place". Dad rues not selling it, causing Bill to fly into a panic about how he can't sell that place... cementing Dad's view that no good is coming of Bill's frequent visits there. Jan is sent from the room to confirm Dad's travel plans for a medical convention. Dad gives one final warning to Bill, then exits the picture.
Jan tells Bill how proud she is of him and simperingly asks if they are getting any closer to a wedding date. Bill smarms "a few more weeks," promising that nothing will keep them apart. As they leave the hospital a nurse stops to give Bill an urgent message — and here is a remarkable feat of economizing: the actress hails Bill as though he is about to come down the hallway; but when instead he exits the door behind her, she simply turns and continues to deliver her lines. A man called Kurt called, she says; it seems trouble is a brewing at the old country place. Bill seems less interested in this news than he is in finishing his cigarette. He tells Jan she's about to find out what's kept him busy so many weekends and asks if she has her car keys. Naturally when we see them next he's the one driving. Jan pesters him with questions, but he tells her to cool it and hits the gas.
Quick cuts to road signs, and a close up of Bill screaming, are the not-unreasonable substitutes for an actual car crash.
Bill is tossed from the car with nary a scratch on him. Jan doesn't fare so well. Bill staggers to the broken, bloody car windows and throws his jacket in; next he's off and running with a mysterious (yet strangely bloodless) bundle until he collapses outside the country place. I'd have to say Dad's a fool for not selling the joint; it's the size of — and looks suspiciously like — a major university building. Inside the considerably starker interior, a man with a crippled hand (the aforementioned Kurt) rushes to answer the incessant pounding on the door. Kurt tries to explain why he called, but Bill snaps that he has more important things to do and rushes to the lab. You knew there would be a basement lab in this picture, didn't you? Bill intently tears strips of gauze and hooks up various tubes; all the while Kurt watches with a mixture of horror and fascination. The music builds as we pan down the rather absurd HabitrailTM of tubes and cords to the star attraction: the living severed head of Jan.
It wasn't just the critics who panned her performance.
Displaying the uncanny ability to speak which all severed heads in movies have, Jan can only weakly mutter "let me die" before sinking into unconsciousness. Bill is set to go body hunting, but Kurt insists he take a gander into the closet. Bill opens a small hatch on the door of the basement closet, and plenty of "grrr rugh ugh, huh I bet you wish you hadn't tampered in God's domain now eh sonny?, glurk urgh" noises are dubbed in. Bill slams the hatch shut and tells Kurt to keep it locked up, but Kurt tells him it's getting so violent it nearly broke out. Bill insists nothing is beyond his control and leaves in pursuit of a body donor. When Kurt asks how he plans to do so, Bill slips into full mad doctor mode and cackles, "There are ways... there are ways..."
A rather abrupt cut to a club called the Moulin Rogue leads me to a moment of genuine horror, as I fear I might be subjected to that abominable Nicole Kidman musical again. It seems the decision to make the Moulin Rouge a strip joint must have been a recent one, as inside on a cramped corner bar a single dancer in an elaborate costume wanders around, occasionally remembering to shake what her mama gave her. Bill eyes her with interest while a frightening pseudo-female eyes him. While the first woman changes her clothes, he wanders over to talk to the second, who for all purposes looks like a slimmer version of Tim Curry circa Rocky Horror. He seems to be hitting it off when the first woman reappears; she says a few choice words and disappears into her dressing room. He follows, and in a supposedly sultry seduction he seems close to trapping his prey — when Miss Mann re-enters. He quickly makes his goodbyes, and Blondie and She-Ra go into one of the most unappealing catfights ever.
Meanwhile (displaying the second characteristic of severed heads, telepathy), Jan has formed a warm bond with the Whatsit in the closest, much to Kurt's terror. Kurt asks Bill expectantly if he found a body. Bill snarls he can't afford to be seen as the last person with a girl before she disappears, and stomps off to bed.
The next day, after cruising slowly in his automobile ogling and creeping out the majority of the female population, Bill seems to catch a break when he runs into a former associate. Just as he's about to whisk her off to his place, her friend appears. Not wanting to call it a day, Bill takes their suggestion to attend a "Body Beautiful" contest, which not only pads the film out but offers some choice contestants. During the course of the show, one mentions how the winner can only compare to Doris, a girl from their class who lives in semi-seclusion after an accident. Apparently she makes rent by posing for shutterbugs. Bill can't contain his grin, and his interior narration just confirms what we heard 3 seconds ago. Pulling up to Doris's apartment, he pauses briefly on the long staircase — it's several decades before he would realize his carton-of-Luckies-a-day habit would put a damper on his physical dexterity.
Inside, various sweaty middle-aged men are shooting photos of an unremarkable, thirtyish woman. She sees Bill sitting silent on the couch and ends the session. Toweling off, she tells Bill to buy a ticket next time... and bring a camera, as she's "not running a charity". Bill turns on the oily charm as he explains who he is; and Doris warms up, remembering that he had defended her after a classmate had made a cruel remark about her accident. Bill tries to get her to leave; but she turns on him, yelling never again shall she trust any man because of what one did to her. Cue music sting, and revelation of an unfortunate caked-on scar on the side of her face... (which raises the question of why she would be such hot property to photograph with such a noticeable gouge on her face). Bill tells her that he sees only beauty in her, and since his father is a leading plastic surgeon, he can help her. She sinks to the couch, lost in thought.
At the good doctor's place Jan is encouraging the Whatsit to repeatedly strike the door. She tells him to stop as Kurt enters. He sneers that he has brought some food for her friend. But Jan is none too impressed by his false bravado. Kurt reads his own last rites of hubris, and then Jan hisses, "Get Him". Then, my friends, this movie firmly ensconces my love for it: an arm bursts through the hatch and grabs Kurt's good arm. Kurt fights feebly with his useless other limb, but it's for naught. He slumps back from the door with stage blood all over his jacket, while trying to keep his real arm hidden behind his back. And he dies slowly. No, s-l-o-w-l-y; I'm not kidding. If you would like to make a sandwich — hell if you would like to make the bread from scratch — you won't miss the end of his death throes. He goes up the stairs, down the stairs, collapses in a chair (in front of which is a table with a marble bust on it), and finally traipses downstairs to make a feeble lunge at Jan before arching his back and expiring.
In the meantime Bill has convinced Doris to accompany him home. They both fail to notice the copious amounts of blood that must be decorating the place. Bill goes to get drinks and is greeted with Ex Kurt. Looking more peeved by the cleanup job ahead of him than by the murder, he casts a wondering look at Jan; then goes to get the liquor bottles he keeps in the room (kind of an all-purpose room, that). Adding a little something special to Doris's drink, he heads upstairs and toasts: "To your future, whatever it may be..." Her accident has apparently knocked the sense out of Doris; rather than throw her drink at him and run like hell at his comment, she drains her glass and passes out... slowly. No, really, s-l-o-w-l-y: she has time to shuck her jacket off, lob a few wobbly worlds of accusation at Bill, and faint.
Bill catches her and carries her down to the lab. Jan begs him not to do this, and Bill (never one to be able to take constructive criticism) tapes her mouth shut. But Jan wriggles her lips to get the tape loose, and kicks that telepathic command into overdrive. Just as Bill's about to make the first incision, the Whatsit starts banging with fervor at the door. Bill examines the unlocked hatch, then stands in front of it... allowing (and you're probably way ahead of me here) the hatch to open slowly and a large arm to reach out and grab him around the mouth. The door bursts off its hinges, and we get a good look at the Whatsit: a gruesome entity marred only slightly by his grandpa pajamas and mask that ties in the back:
The many faces of the Whatsit
He takes a chomp out of Bill, and somehow sets the lab on fire — as if by instinct, he knows one of these pictures can't end without the lab going up in flames. The Whatsit carries Doris to safety...
"Yay! I get the girl! Yay!"
...while Jan, triumphant in death, hoarsely whispers: "I told you to let me die!"
Braise at 450° until juices run clear.
End credits, where we learn that the film has being going through some issues and has decided to call itself The Head That Wouldn't Die.
Others before me have argued far more lucidly that reading subtext into B-Films has gone from a genuine intellectual exercise to absurd defensive posturing, as if one can't enjoy these films without pretending they have deeper meanings. Which isn't to say some B's aren't made with a tremendous amount of intelligence... but, to butcher Freud, sometimes a conical flask filled with mysterious fluid ™ is just a conical flask filled with mysterious fluid ™. And while I have no doubt the filmmakers were interested in making a quick buck and showing as much skin as the period would allow, I think the reason this film sticks with me is the fascinating proto-feminist hero in Jan. It's just when she is at her most powerless that she truly gains control over the situation and her own destiny. Am I reading too much into it? No kidding... but if there is anything that keeps us one of Them, it's our bizarre and complicated relationships with the films we love so much.