Humanoids from the Deep (Barbara Peeters, 1980)

As we open in the murky depths of the waters just off the coast of Noyo, California, we can't help but notice a scaly, webbed hand pawing at a fishermen's net. Don't worry, I'm going to get into a heated debate with myself over who has the nicer set of thighs, Denise Galik or Lynn Theel, it's just that I would like to make this point. [Ten minutes pass] And that is? Oh, I'm sorry, I was just thinking about the prospect being sandwiched between Miss Galik and Miss Theel's luscious thighs. The point, man, make the bloody point! As I saw the scaly, webbed hand pawing at the net, I thought to myself: Great, not another cheesy monster movie where the creature rarely ever appears onscreen. And I didn't think this because I thought the filmmakers were trying to create an air of mystery around the creature, but because their monster–to put it bluntly–probably sucks a ton of ass. Even though we have to wait quite some time to see the "humanoids" in Humanoids from the Deep (a.k.a. Das Grauen aus der Tiefe), when do finally show up I was shocked by the level of craftmenship that went into their creation. Then, as the end credits were rolling, I saw name Rob Bottin listed as the creator and designer of the "humanoids." The name seemed familiar, so I did a little digging. And guess what? He designed the gooey monstrosities in The Thing! In other words, he's responsible for what I consider to be the gold standard when it comes to creature effects. This didn't change my opinion of the "humanoids" in this film, as I already thought they were awesome, it just added an extra layer of goodwill. Aww, what a cute story. Big deal, you like slimy monsters. Can we talk about you know what? You mean the Galik-Theel thigh-off? In a minute.

I'd like to mention director Barbara Peeters. Hey, wait, ain't "Barbara" a ladies name? It is (nothing gets past you). While it's not typical for a woman to direct a film about a bunch of upright sea monsters who terrorize a small fishing village, you can totally tell that Humanoids from the Deep was directed by a woman. How? I have two words for you: Hand holding. I don't get it. Lot's of movies have characters that hold hands. Yeah, romantic comedies. The amount of hand holding in this film, which features multiple scenes that involve sea monster rape, is off the charts. So, what you're saying is, because Barbara Peeters is a woman, there's more hand holding than usual? That's exactly what I'm saying. Chicks dig hand holding. It's a bonding thing.

While we're on the subject of women, the character of Johnny Eagle (Anthony Pena) seemed to have a strange feminine energy about him. But the film was written by a couple of men. Hear me out. Playing a First Nations resident of Noyo, California, Mr. Eagle opposes the building of the canning factory (fishing is the town's life blood) on so-called "Indian land." Of course, all the white folks in Noyo approve of the canning factory, as they think it will create jobs for the locals. Anyway, the stoic manner in which Johnny Eagle carried himself reminded me of one of those burly Harlequin cover models. Okay, now you're just being silly. Am I? Actually, you're right, it is kind of silly. But I got to admit, if I was a straight woman, I'd be swooning over Johnny Eagle left and right.

The scene where Johny Eagle, oozing righteous indignation from every single pore, carries his dead dog into the gymnasium where the locals are dancing to pseudo polka music made my p-p-p-pussy wet.

Remember that bit about how great it was that a woman directed Humanoids from the Deep? Yeah, well, I'd like to backtrack from that statement. Don't get me wrong, I still think Barbara Peeters did a terrific job. It's just that it has recently come to my attention that she had nothing to do with the scenes that I liked so much.  Which scenes are those, you ask? Well, I'll tell which. Any scene that involves an attractive woman being attacked by a "humanoid" was apparently shot by second unit director James Sbardellati.

Okay, now that I cleared that up. Who is killing all the dogs in the fishing village of Noyo, California? Baron, the dog belonging to a no-nonsense fishermen named Jim Hill (Doug McClure - you might know him from such films as Tapeheads and Shenandoah) and his tough as nails wife Carol Hill (Cindy Weintraub), is torn apart by a slimy creature. How do they know it's slimy? For starters, there's a trail of slime leading to the beach where they found Baron's mutilated body. That's not the important part. What is, however, is the fact that Carol says, "let's follow it," when she sees the slime trail. I have to say, Jim picked a real winner with Carol. I mean, she wants to follow a trail of slime.

Getting ready to attend a party that is in conjunction with the 75th Annual Salmon Festival, Peggy Larson (Lynn Theel) and her luscious thighs are about to be unleashed on an unsuspecting populace. So proud of the upper portion of her shapely legs, Peggy can be seen hiking up her skirt while making out with her boyfriend Jerry (Meegan King) in the parking lot.  Judging by the way they're pawing at one another, I don't think they're going to make it to the party. They didn't miss anything. The president of a canning company gave a speech and we're introduced to Dr. Susan Drake (Ann Turkel), a lady scientist hired by the canning company to assure the locals that the salmon population will not decrease as a result of the canneries opening.

Most of the excitement, in fact, takes place out in the parking lot, where Johnny Eagle gets in a fight with Hank (Vic Morrow), a racist reactionary, and his goons, over the death of his dog (Johnny's dog was the only dog not killed under mysterious circumstances). Since one vs. six isn't exactly a fair fight, Jim and his brother Tommy (Breck Costin) jump in to help Johnny even the odds a little bit.

Speaking of fair fights, are you ready for the battle between Denise Galik, who plays Linda Beale, a leggy artist, and Lynn Theel, who, like I already said, plays Peggy Larson, over who has nicer thighs? You are? That's wonderful. It's too bad the battle wasn't more spirited, as Lynn Theel's thighs blew Denise Galik's out of the water. Seriously. It was no contest, as Lynn is packing a pair of Ann-Margret-quality thighs.

I have to say, though, Denise Galik does look amazing while sitting cross-legged on a rocky beach. But this contest is all about thighs, and Lynn Theel is the clear winner in that regard.

Is she, though? Is she what? The clear winner? I don't know what you mean? After kicking Linda's ass in the thigh contest, Peggy decides to splash around in the water. Can you blame her? She wanted to cool her thighs, because... yeah, yeah, they're smoking hot. While frolicking with Jerry, who is wearing a skimpy pair of jean shorts (you're welcome ladies), in the water, Peggy is on top of the world. Winning made-up contests and looking good in a bikini has its advantages, it also has disadvantages. Really?!? Horny humanoids from the deep will want to mate with you.

Bursting out of the water, a humanoid rips a chunk of Jerry's face off (great gore effect) and proceeds to drag an unamused Peggy ashore so that he may rape her on dry land.

Soon afterward, a tent-dwelling bosomy brunette in a red headband (Lisa Glaser) is the next to be raped; I like how her boyfriend's ventriloquist dummy continues to move its eyes long after her boyfriend's hand has been removed from his wooden tuckus.

It would seem that the men of Noyo are being killed, while the women of Noyo are being raped; there's a scientific explanation for this. Anyway, putting their differences aside, the town decides to band together to find out who's responsible for these brutal attacks.

If you thought you had seen the last of Peggy's substantial thighs, think again. Stumbling across a human leg sticking out from a pile of seaweed, Dr. Susan is shocked to discover that it's Peggy's leg, and that she is still alive. Don't get too excited, Dr. Susan, who is teamed with Jim and Johnny, has to fight off wave after wave of pissed off humanoids.

When they realize that tonight's the big salmon festival, and that there are literally hundreds of humanoids roaming around out there, they hurry back to warn the others. Who's bright idea was it to carry on with the salmon festival? Who do you think? The mayor; all he cares about is money. To the surprise of no one...well, that's actually not true, Miss Salmon (Linda Shayne) looked genuinely surprised, as did Mad Mike Michaels (Greg Travis) of K-FISH. Okay, let me rephrase that. To the surprise of some, the humanoids lay waste to the salmon festival the only way they know how. And that is, of course, by employing their number one skill: Flesh tearing.

Oh, look. Miss Salmon is about to be raped by an humanoid. Yawn. Wait a minute, what's this? She's fighting back?!? Go, Miss Salmon! Go! Yeah, bash its head in with a rock, you plucky sex object. That will teach them not to mess with Miss Salmon. I'm afraid the same, however, can't be said for everyone else, as the humanoids are killing and raping Noyo residents left, right and centre.

If you're wondering what happened to Carol Hill, and why I described her earlier as "tough as nails"? Well, wonder no more. Left alone with her infant son (her husband is busy shooting humanoids near the town's ferris wheel), Carol Hill must battle a long-armed humanoid using whatever she can find lying around the house. And I must say, even though Peggy and the bosomy brunette in the red headband don't put up much of a fight, I liked how the female characters, like, Carol Hill and Miss Salmon, stood their ground in this film. I've read that it's traditional for female characters to be tough in Roger Corman produced horror movies, but I like to think Barbara Peeters had something to do with the moxie the women display when faced with mortal danger in this film. I guess I'll end on that note. No, wait. I'll end like this: Do you like films that feature female empowerment interspersed with sea monster rape? You do?Well, what are you waiting for? Watch this movie!

Stripped to Kill II: Live Girls (Katt Shea, 1989)

What do my eyes see gyrating in front of me? Are those healthy gams encased in the finest fishnet stockings fourteen dollars can buy? Why, yes. That's exactly what they are. And on top of getting the price right, you weren't kidding when you said they were healthy. In fact, they're so healthy, they should be featured in Leg Show magazine (which, get this, is a real publication). Anyway, it would seem that writer-director Katt Shea has somehow convinced producer Roger Corman to allow her to make a sequel to Stripped to Kill, because it totally looks like I just watched Stripped to Kill II: Live Girls, the absolutely necessary sequel to the strip club set slasher flick starring Kay Lenz and Norman Fell, and featuring a shitload of lingerie. Well, I'm afraid to say that Miss Lenz and Mr. Fell are nowhere to be found in the second chapter (their existence isn't even acknowledged), but the lingerie, my god, the lingerie, it's more prevalent than ever. Actually, the same could be said about the film's overall temperament, as Katt Shea seems extra determined to create something spectacular. And you know what? That determination pays off quite handsomely, as the sequel is not only superior in every way to the original, but it manages to out dream Rinse Dream on several occasions. If you're in anyway familiar how I feel about the Rinse Dream aesthetic, then you know I don't say that lightly. A vast improvement in terms of acting, choreography, costuming, music, production design, and, of course, direction, part two takes no prisoners when it comes to delivering a weird mix of surrealism and erotic horror with a steamy dose of noirish cool.

Even though there's no way I can confirm this, but I feel the success of the first film must have enabled Katt Shea to take more risks artistically this time around. Just as long as every dance number ends with a woman topless. And you can see this art proceeded by toplessness in almost every scene. Your average perverted mind simply wants to see naked breasts, so it doesn't really matter what takes place before they're exposed for all to see. (Really? You mean they'll sit through interpretive dance just to see boobs?) Are you kidding? They'll watch an old man change his colostomy bag if it means they'll be rewarded with unclothed titties.      
 

 

Freeing up their ability to satisfy their own artistic endeavours, while, at the same, delivering the sleazy goods the marketplace expects, Katt Shea uses this technique to her advantage, as every scene practically oozes this dichotomic construct.  
 

 

Wasting little time establishing this new-found freedom, Stripped to Kill II: Live Girls opens with an erotic dance routine featuring zombie-esque women in rags menacing a lone stripper in white. You can tell almost immediately that this isn't your average strip club. For starters, there's this wind, and not just any wind, a howling wind, that seems to be creating an air of extreme disquietude. Wind aside, the blonde swinging on the poll is Victoria (Lisa Glaser), and she's wearing white hold up stockings and being harassed by her stripper peers, who are, of course, dressed like dishevelled devil worshipers.

Suddenly, a panic stricken Shady (Maria Ford) enters the frame. A shock-haired, or maybe that was just her normal hair? Whatever. A clearly frazzled Shady is being harassed not only by her peers (who are, like I said, in desperate need of a makeover), but by mysterious figure in a mask wielding a razor-blade between their teeth. 
 

 

Just as she's about to learn the identity of the masked individual, Shady wakes up on her friend's couch with a bloody mouth (the skylight above the couch is covered with mannequins). Concerned for her well-being, Shady's friend, an English woman named Cassandra (Karen Mayo-Chandler), offers her some tea (yep, she's an English woman, all right). There's no time to dilly-dally, the neon and zebra print adorned walls of the Paragon need strippers to tie the room together, so Shady and Cassandra head down to fulfill their contractual obligation.

As they enter the club, I was quite taken with its stylish decor. The aforementioned neon and zebra print give it that new wave flavour everyone with a pulse savours, but the addition of chain link fence material and sharp angles gave the club an almost industrial feel.
 

 

While Shady and Cassandra are making their way backstage, we meet a dancer named Something Else (Marjean Holden), who is explaining the genesis of her unique stage name. Since Shady dreamed about Victoria in distress, she asks Ike (Tom Ruben), the Paragon DJ, where she is. Pointing the spotlight on her just as she was about to receive a generous tip (fifty bucks), a sense relief washes over Shady when she sees that Victoria is alive and well. Though, if you were to judge by Shady's body language, relief is something she's got in short supply, as she constantly looks like a delicate flower that's got the weight of stripping world resting uncomfortably on her lightly freckled shoulders. Her flowery state of mind isn't helped by the fact that her fellow dancers can't stand each other.

We get a taste of this stripper-on-stripper animosity when Victoria tells Something Else to go fuck herself in the dancer's dressing room.
 

 

Stressed out by the negative atmosphere in the club's dressing room, Something Else scolds Dazzle (the E.G. Daily-esque Birke Tan) for using her tweezers, Shady retreats to the alleyway behind the club for solace.

Oh, alleyway behind the Paragon club, why are you so awesome?

Seriously, the alleyway in Stripped to Kill II: Live Girls has got a personality of its own. After making a dinner date with Victoria, Shady and her super short skirt go home to change. Unfortunately, she falls asleep on the couch, and dreams that she is running toward the Paragon in a diaphanous dress made of  imitation silk. When she arrives, she finds Victoria hanging from one of the club's many chain link fence motifs with her throat cut.
 

 

Now, this is the time when we're usually introduced to my least favourite character in these type of movies: the gruff homicide detective in charge of solving the case. And don't get me wrong, he's gruff as fuck, but there was something off-kilter about Sergeant Decker (Eb Lottimer) that made me inexplicably like him the moment he appears on-screen. At the Paragon to ask Victoria's living co-workers about the crime, Decker sizes up the situation pretty quickly. While I'm sure he picked up some important clues, all I noticed is that Dazzle loves leopard print and that Something Else has a habit of correcting Dazzle's grammar. More importantly...wait a minute, what can be more important than leopard print?!? Trust me, this is more important than leopard print. We get to witness the first meeting of Shady and Decker, one of the most fascinating on-screen pairings in film history.
 

 

The backstage bickering and grammar correcting continues in the next scene when a stripper named Mantra (Debra Lamb) tells Something Else to suck her dick (as you know, I soft spot for women who refer to their non-existent male genitalia), and Something Else tells Dazzle the word is "geek" not "greek" when she attempts to mock Ike's ill-timed romantic gesture towards Shady (he tries to give her a rose). While all this drama is taking place, Decker is out sleuthing his ass off in the club's alleyway; kudos, by the way, to cinematographer Phedon Papamichael for creating one of the most stunning alleyways I have ever seen depicted in a motion picture.
 

 

While I was admiring the way the neon light twinkled in the puddles of water that litter the alleyway behind the Paragon, a Mr. Pocket-esque (Mr. Pocket was the lead creep in the first Stripped to Kill) patron inside the club is admiring Karen Mayo-Chandler's English thighs up close.           

 

 

The second meeting between Shady and Decker does not go well at all, as he gets an awkward lap dance from a woman who should be the prime suspect in a murder investigation. The reason she's not a suspect is because, well, Decker has got the hots for her. And can you blame him? At any rate, after the lap dance debacle, Decker tries to make things right by inviting Shady to get a bite to eat at his favourite Hawaiian taco stand; the fake–though, I'm sure they were real–palm trees over looking the joint added to the film's dream-like temperament. On top of seeing Maria Ford's bewildered kewpie doll schtick in a non-strip club environment, we learn that Decker is wearing woman's coat.
 

 

The sound of a harmonica gently being blown on the soundtrack (composer Gary Stockdale's music does a masterful job of creating the right mood), and Shady's knee-high hooker boots dominate the proceeding as they kiss for the first time. And just like the lap dance, it's pretty awkward. Mostly because Decker retreats mid-smooch, which upsets Shady. To be fair, a stiff breeze is enough to unhinge Shady, she's the world's most fragile and complicated exotic dancer. But his make out withdrawal was totally uncool. Sure, he's trying to act professional by not getting involved with a suspect in the murder case he's currently investigating, but you don't take a woman, especially one wearing a super-tight gold skirt (the kind that needs adjusting every five minutes) to a Hawaiian taco stand at 3 A.M., and then suddenly decide that you don't feel like pressing your tongue against their tongue; it's not the way a civil society works.     
 

 

Giving one the most oddly compelling performances I've seen in a long time, Maria Ford (Slumber Party Massacre III) is beguiling Shady, a.k.a. Margaret Albright, a stripper whose peers wind up dead after she dreams about them. Every gesture, every nuance, is filtered through the actresses' stainless steal bear trap of a brain. This filtering process is best observed when she's walking home from her "date" with Decker. If you pay close attention, you'll notice that she tilts her head to one side, which, to me, signified that the plethora of deep and disturbing thoughts rattling around inside her head were weighing her down.
 

 

Upon further reflection, her performance reminded me a lot of Isabella Adjani in Possession, in that, she was absolutely fearless when it came to putting herself in psychological jeopardy. Take the scene where wakes up in an alleyway behind her friend's apartment (a loft on the outskirts of a broken dream), she's dirty, she's covered in blood, and her stockings are torn, which, as most people know, are the hallmarks of a great performance. The way Maria Ford went from being a glamorous vixen (fingerless opera gloves paired with a vampy red dress) to a bloodied mess was mind-blowing.
 

 

Oh, the duality between Maria's two looks (glamorous and bloodied) and the alleyways she spent most of her time was not lost on me. The alleyway for the glam look, for example, had a neon sheen to it, whereas the narrow passage for the bloodied motif looked like an apocalyptic nightmare (the abandoned railway tracks were a nice touch).
 

 

Upping the ante when it came to just about everything, Stripped to Kill II: Live Girls manages to inject itself into the pores of everyone who watches it. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if they were completely unclogged by the time the film had finished. The state of my pores, aside, the dance numbers (choreographed, like in the first film, by Ted Lin), the costumes (Ellen Gross), and the production design (Virginia Lee) were all first-rate in terms of creativity. If you want to see all three working in perfect harmony, check out Shady and Cassandra's lion tamer routine, or Shady's naughty school girl number (white thigh-high hold up stockings paired with lacy white ankle socks), as both seem to capture the essence of this film's appeal in a nutshell.

Actually, if you want to see the greatness of Ellen Gross's costume design, look no further than the alleyway scenes that feature Maria Ford and Eb Lottimer, as the chromatic cinematography and Shady's classic 1940s attire mixed with 1980s whore chic really seem to come alive when bathed in the neon shadows. 

 

 

A masterpiece of erotic horror, writer-director Katt Shea, her talented crew (kudos to Greg Maher for his amazing art direction), and the film's bevy of actors (Maria Ford is electrifying presence) and non-actors (Jeannine Bisignano, who plays a surly stripper named "Sonny" probably never acted before), have all come together to fashion a unique cinematic statement.

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