Don't Answer the Phone! (Robert Hammer, 1980)

The seediness of Hollywood circa 1980 is yet again explored with a graceless morass in the inappropriately titled Don't Answer the Phone! Inappropriate because the act of picking up a ringing telephone will not endanger your life in this film (the original title The Hollywood Strangler is much more apt). Anyway, it seems like every other movie I watch nowadays is either set in Hollywood or involves some sort of sordid underworld. And why not? I mean, the city has much to offer in terms of fostering the sleazy and the deranged, and it also serves as a magnet for all kinds of wide-eyed folks in search of the American Dream. It's when these two distinct forces collide with one another that the potential for exploitative drama really comes to the forefront. A slasher/stalker/irregular pantyhose usage film, writer-director Robert Hammer has made an unpleasant and deeply disturbing work of trashy cinematic art. Boasting elements that were genuinely gripping and others that were straight up awful, the extremely gritty endeavour is repeatedly rendered tolerable thanks to the outlandish and wonderfully insane performance of one Nicholas Worth (Swamp Thing), the excellent synthesizer score by Bryon Allred (Night of the Comet), and a bevy of alluring victims who all screamed and thrashed about in a realistic and convincing manner.

On the other hand, making things difficult for those of us who like their movies not to suck was everyone involved in the police procedural section of the film. Oozing a banal haze at every turn, the detectives played by James Westmoreland and Ben Frank left much to be desired in the not being total asswipes department, and almost singlehandedly managed to make one root for the serial killer. Even though I'm sure that some of the sicker twists in the audience were already down with his confused Modus operandi.

Oh, and I didn't like the way they mocked pornography, pimps, prostitution and psychology.

Similar to the plot of Angel, except without the occasional brushes with my old pal whimsy (no wisecracking drag queens or gruff yet lovable lesbians, either), a serial rapist/murderer is strangling his way through Hollywood's female workforce. Using a pair of pantyhose–with a large coin inside for choking leverage–the killer sneaks up on nurses in their homes and lures unsophisticated models to his photography studio.

In-between stalking, the killer calls in to a radio show hosted by Dr. Lindsay Gale (Flo Gerrish) to chat about his headaches.

The aforementioned detectives are the ones in charge of catching this lunatic, but like I said, their stance against the four P's (pornography, pimps, prostitution and psychology) and overall asshole aura really cramped my desire to see the strangling enthusiast get his comeuppance.

Attacking the role of Kirk Smith: pornographer by day, lady strangler by night, with the sweet tang of a demented tollbooth attendant with daddy issues, the late great Nicholas Worth chews up the scenery as the unbalanced war veteran. The scenes where Worth is alone in his studio lifting weights, talking to himself in the mirror and practicing his choking technique were definitely the highlight of Don't Answer the Phone! in terms of acting and overall creepiness.

Creating a terrifying portrait of a man who has lost touch with reality, the rotund actor gives it his all. Whether sweating profusely during his pimp beating tirade (a very Travis Bickle-esque moment), or getting ready to strangle yet another unsuspecting victim, Nicholas has to commended for elevating the lurid material. Seriously, the thought of watching this film without Nicholas Worth makes me shudder ever so slightly.

As it happens with the majority of films of this nature, the ability to enjoy the sexiness of its many attractive actresses was severely hampered by the fact they were constantly being murdered under chaotic circumstances. However, that doesn't mean I failed to relish their performances from a technical point-of-view. You know, like, who writhed the best or who twitched with the most conviction.

In terms of being gorgeous while having their breathing suppressed without their written consent, I'd have to go with Pamela Jean Bryant (Playboy Playmate April 1978).

Nevertheless, as far as being choked the best, the duo of Gail Jensen (ex-Mrs. David Carradine) and Joyce Ann Jodan were the most compelling when it came to dying at the hands of a serial killer.

The stunning turn by Denise Galik, a shy patient of Dr. Lindsay's, should not go unmentioned, as her demise was painful to watch. Also, the strong kitchen table work of Dale Kalberg as a nurse, and the post-mortal twitching of Susanne Severeid (Van Nuys Blvd.) as a strung-out hooker were both first-rate.

I know all this talk of being murdered in an appealing manner smacks of tastelessness, but I can only judge what I see on-screen. I will say that the whole business at the massage parlour did add a bit of goofiness to the proceedings. Mostly because I spotted Don Lake (Bizarre, SCTV, Littlest Hobo) as "Man in Plastic" and a woman who looks exactly like the luminous Susan Saiger (Doris the Dominatrix from Eating Raoul).

A blog entry dedicated to Dale Kalberg's character in "No Contestes al Teléfono" can be found at Vivir en Tucson.

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Van Nuys Blvd. (William Sachs, 1979)

On the surface, it looked like just another strip of nondescript asphalt baking in the midday sun. Yet to the sexy residents of Southern California circa 1979 (the last days of disco), it was the road to paradise. Piercing the darkness like an iridescent dashboard, the titular roadway in the righteous masterwork Van Nuys Blvd. (a.k.a. Kadun kulkurit), the crowning achievement in the cinematic realm of hot chicks and cool vans, represented a shining beacon to the countess number of disaffected and apathetic citizens that populated the tight-panted morass that was the known universe. Skillfully depicting the aimlessness of youth with an understated panache, writer-director William Sachs (Galaxina) has created not only an extremely playful film, but also a surprisingly insightful one. Letting us tag along with a casually assembled group of leggy van enthusiasts, over the hill hot rod junkies, svelte car-hops, and lustful half-Italians, the rambunctious film perfectly captures the flighty tone and attitude of the era. Teeming with a life affirming message and sporting a spontaneous outlook when it came to affairs of the heart, I couldn't help but be transfixed by these dopey characters and their staunchly anti-fascist views when it came to personal freedom.

The lure of the infamous boulevard literally pulls Bobby (Bill Adler from The Van and The Pom Pom Girls) off the glistening body of his perennially naked trailer park girlfriend (Susanne Severeid) and into warm embrace of the street that doesn't know the meaning of the expression "fuel efficient." A van lover, who dreams of souped-up engines and consensual intercourse, the wide-eyed Bobby arrives on Van Nuys with his head full of metaphysical vinegar (a pseudo substance that nourishes adolescent woolgathering).

After a food-based sexual encounter with Wanda (Tara Strohmeier), a lithesome waitress, Bobby meets Moon (Cynthia Wood from Apocalypse Now) and Camille (Melissa Prophet), a couple of fellow van drivers (sexy female van drivers) and challenges them to a drag race. (Every conversation, by the way, usually ends with a drag race challenge.)

Thrown in the slammer by the power-tripping Officer Zass (Dana Gladstone), Bobby and the girls meet the moustache-adorned Chooch (David Hayward), an aging rebel in a hot rod, and Dennis Bowen's adventurous Greg, a character who had already tried hitting on Camille earlier in the evening, so he sees this co-ed jail cell reunion as fate.

Anyway, Bobby and Moon start to make goo goo eyes with one another in-between their van-centric posturing; Greg's flirting with Camille intensifies; and the easy-going Chooch is, for now, just content with being Chooch. The unlikely fivesome eventually become a mirthful force of nature and embark on a freewheeling adventure that will change their lives forever.

The moment this freewheeling adventure is implemented is the moment when Van Nuys Blvd. really comes alive and breaks out of its shell. That's not to say that the film was tedious beforehand. I mean, I wouldn't call Greg's guileless sexual encounter with "Motorcycle Girl" (Di Anne Monaco) tedious, or the car smash up scene, for that matter. It's just that when we see these people riding roller coasters, merry-go-rounds, and winning stuffed animals, it brings a fair amount of perspective to the proceedings.

Amusement park rides as a metaphor for life's ups and downs are terrific, but it's when the foursome (Chooch is done for the day) enter the discotheque and we see The Kansas City Kings Glitter Girls hit the floor, that whimsy level goes through the roof. The film as a whole depicts disco music in a positive light, but once in the nightclub, the positivity is downright groovy, baby.

This sequence is brilliantly directed, as simple camera angles capture all the disco action. The fact that the strobe lights were allowed to blink unfettered was also a deft move on Mr. Sach's part. I'd definitely rank this as one of the finest portrayals of disco music and culture in a modern motion picture.

The rivalry between Bobby and Moon dominates the film, and rightly so, it's the film's emotional centrepiece. Coming in second in terms of importance is Camille's desire to fuck Greg in her parents' house (with them home of course). These story-based nuggets are well acted and contain enough romance and humour to fill up a smallish jar.

However, the character I enjoyed the most was Wanda. Played by the insanely gorgeous Tara Strohmeier (the angel in the gold lamé jacket from Malibu Beach), the character of Wanda may not have been in the original quintette that met in prison, but she is integral to the lives of the main participants during their night of fun.

Using her striking beauty and propensity for deviant sex, Wanda manipulates Bobby and Officer Zass to get what she wants. Yet, in the process, she causes them to evolve, to grow. Which, when you think about it, is what the film is all about.

Oh, and the relationship Wanda develops with Chooch was freaking adorable. I could watch them play air hockey and Super Bug together until the end of time.

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