Basket Case 3: The Progeny (Frank Henenlotter, 1992)

Swarming with more unique individuals than you can shake a pockmark-covered albino wet dream at, Basket Case 3: The Progeny is the delightfully inappropriate and hilariously gory final chapter in the harebrained trilogy about a pair of formerly conjoined twins named Duane and Belial. Unlike most horror trilogies, this one has sprung forth from the singular vision of one man: esteemed writer-director Frank Henenlotter (Brain Damage and Frankenhooker). Involved with the making of all three movies (he's not the type to shirk responsibility), you really get the sense that his unique brand of twisted horror isn't being stifled by outside forces. While I'm sure he wanted it to be messier and more disgusting in places, the off-kilter and satirical temperament of the film never fails to shine through. This wacky disposition is best observed when Granny Ruth (Annie Ross) asks a pharmacist if he's got any extra large condoms for sale, and when Little Hal (Jim O'Doherty) videotapes the most nauseating birthing sequence in film history for posterity. (I liked the drugstore scene because it forces you to imagine what the mutated genitalia of a man with twenty-seven noses would look like encased in rubber.)

Performing double-duty as a penetrating public service announcement detailing the bane that is prejudice and a cautionary tale about the dangers that can come with being too fertile, the film covers some pretty deep themes. The matriarchal Granny Ruth and her band of oddities, still living on Staten Island, are planning a trip down south in order to procure the doctoring expertise of one Uncle Hal (Dan Biggers). Why do they need a doctor, you ask? Remember that revolting sex scene I mentioned that takes place between Belial and Eve in Basket Case 2? No? Well, it seems that Eve is pregnant and they want Hal to deliver the baby. Anyway, they all hop aboard a school bus (even Cedrik and his head of lettuce) and mosey on down to Peachtree, Georgia for some Dixie-based hospitality.

Don't worry, I haven't forgotten about the mixed-up Duane (Kevin Van Hentenryck) and his various issues involving his homicidal twin. Worried about his safety, Granny Ruth has fitted him with a strait-jacket for the long journey south. He still desires to be free from the freakish cabal, but he really misses his brother, and hopes to reconcile with Belial, the basket-bound expectant father who likes to rip people's faces off.

All the so-called "freaks" (I don't really like to call them that since I've grown quite fond of them) from the previous film are all back and more grotesque than ever. A large part of the enjoyment of parts 1 and 2 was gingerly basking in the pure inventiveness that must have gone into creating the various deformities. I mean, one of them has a head shaped like a half-moon.

Now, I know it's rude to stare and all, but every time they showed them in a room together, like, for example, the party celebrating Eve's multiple birth, I couldn't help but be in awe of the craftsmanship that was on display.

The aforementioned birthing sequence is quite the sight to behold. The way the little Belials kept coming, while comedically satisfying, was a sickening spectacle. Don't get me wrong, I'm a big fan of the circle of life, it's just the screeching sound they made, and, not to mention, the manner in which they were all strung together, was all a tad much to take. Luckily, the bizarre play-by-play provided by Little Hal as the tiny terrors came out managed to alleviate the tension. In fact, some of his comments were quite funny. Of course, funny in a "did he just ask for some celery" kinda way.

Nothing is normal in the ooze-filled world of Frank Henenlotter.

Speaking of not being normal, I loved how the pristine-looking Opal, the daughter of the local sheriff, had a little bondage surprise for Duane during his brief stay in jail. It was just another in a long line of demented treats in this film. However, the fact that her disrobement led to unveiling of leather lingerie was actual not as big a shock as one might expect. I mean, I've found that it's always the quiet ones who exhibit the most perverted of tendencies. The other cool thing about Opal was that she was played by Tina Louise Hilbert, an actress who has the boast-worthy distinction of having Basket Case 3: The Progeny be their only motion picture credit role to date. I'm a big fan of actors who only have one film on their resume.

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Basket Case 2 (Frank Henenlotter, 1990)

The dark and mysterious caverns of the Sanctuary Vampire Sex Bar on Queen Street West and the unmistakable sexiness of Jamie Stewart's bang-friendly haircut bobbing about in the music video for The Cult's "She Sells Sanctuary" are first things that lurch/pop into my mind whenever I hear the word "sanctuary" bandied about in a public forum. What this particular nugget of information has to do with Basket Case 2, Frank Henenlotter's surprising yet logical followup to the first Basket Case, I'm not quite sure. But you gotta admit, I'm one groovy chickadee. I was gonna add this tasty morsel about this reoccurring dream I've been having lately, one that involves me easily winning a Rossy de Palma lookalike contest being held out in the wilds of Etobicoke and blowing my prize money on the recently stained pantyhose of porn stars who appear in pornographic movies where stains and pantyhose go hand in hand, but that would be overkill. Well, whaddya know, while I was not going on about adding my Rossy de Palma/pantyhose dream to the word mix, I happened to recall why I started off on that tangent about sanctuaries: It's because this chapter is all about Duane and little Belial's struggle to find sanctuary in a world that repeatedly rejects them. Somehow managing to survive their plummet-based engagement with the cold, hard sidewalk outside the Hotel Broslin in Manhattan, erstwhile conjoined twins Duane (Kevin Van Hentenryck) and Belial (???) find themselves living with Granny Ruth (Annie Ross), Susan (Heather Rattray) and a vast cornucopia of unique individuals in a stately home out on Staten Island. Of course, not before Belial can claw violently at the face of the policeman who was guarding the hospital room they were recovering in; it's what the twisted little scamp does best.

Luckily, the nurse, played by the statuesque Alexandra Auder (Viva Superstar's daughter, who looked like Zooey Deschanel from certain angles), is spared the unwanted facial rearrangement.

Anyway, a champion for disfigured freaks the world over, Granny Ruth has created a mini-mutant paradise in her spacious attic; a place where the deformed and the hideous can feel a sense of belonging, and not have to worry about the scornful glares of the so-called "normal people."

Feeling out of place in an environment where humans who look like frogs and have twenty-seven noses help carry in the groceries, Duane tries yet again to extricate himself from his needy twin brother. Falling gaga for the deceptively normal Susan, Duane dreams of running away with her and starting over. Only problem is she is just as dedicated to the creature cause as Granny Ruth. Plus, a nosy reporter (Kathryn Meisle) who works for a sleazy newspaper and a private dick (Ted Sorel) have caught wind of the goings on at the monster manor (Duane and Belial's story have become tabloid fodder), and threaten to expose the collection of oddballs to the unforgiving light of day.

The complex decision Duane has to make, you know, whether to stay and help his freaky brethren fight the intrusive outsiders or seek the autonomy he has always desired, is the film's strongest element. Sure, the face gouging and the jarring nature of some of the attic dweller's appearances were topnotch in terms of forcing out the facial contents of others and abnormalcy, but it was Duane's conflicted loyalties that elevated Basket Case 2 beyond the realm of your average freak show.

You see, he doesn't see himself, nor Susan, as one of them (other than the huge scar down his side, there's nothing overtly repelling about his visual presentation). The only thing keeping him there is his misguided commitment to his clearly deranged brother. Which, when you think about it, is a pretty astute metaphor for the festering sore that is family.

As with the first chapter, the film benefits greatly by the deadpan presence of Kevin Van Hentenryck as the mildly troubled Duane. Delivering each line with an unnecessary sincerity, the lanky actor, who, for some reason, only seems to appear in Frank Henenlotter films, manages to create a sympathetic character with a seemingly feckless brand of ease. The best example of this kindly earnestness comes when Kevin evilly explains the dichotomy of being normal in a world populated entirely by freaks to Ted Sorel's P.I. at a local watering hole.

Going in the opposite direction when came to acting strange in a suburban setting, Annie Ross (Pump Up the Volume) camps it big time up as Granny Ruth. Her pep talk to inspire her tight-knit horde of contorted weirdos against those who would dare violate their sanctuary displayed the kind of crazy that I can confidently throw my support behind.

The sex scene between Belial and a similar-looking creature of the opposite gender proves once and for all that Frank Henenlotter ain't hooked up right. It's true, that Belial tries to rub against the shapely thighs of Beverly Bonner (who makes a cameo in this film) in the first chapter – so, he is interested in sex. But I had no idea he had a functioning penis. I don't know what's more disturbing, the look on Belial's face the moment he made his pleasure ooze, or the fact that Kathryn Meisle can be seen at one point wearing white socks and sneakers with her ladies business suit.

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Basket Case (Frank Henenlotter, 1982)

We've all had parasitic family members who have, at one time or another, leeched off our revitalizing auras for the welfare of their own spiritual trajectory. But what if that family member was attached to your pelvic girdle and prevented you from fornicating with others at every turn? Well, that's exactly what the bushy haired boob in Frank Henenlotter's wonderfully sordid Basket Case has to contend with on a daily basis. An unabashedly sleazy and extremely low-budget affair, the film is essentially about sibling jealously (I, too, would be envious of a sibling if they got to date bosomy receptionists, while I had to spend all day in a basket with nothing but raw hot dogs to keep me company), malpractice (dining room surgery rarely turns out for the best), basket-based curiosity (the desire to know what's inside the basket crosses every character's mind at least once), and revenge (forcing conjoined twins to separate, even if one of them is a wheezing monstrosity, isn't always the sanest course of action). However, the film is about so much more than that. For example, the amount of insidious nuance that takes place amidst all the flesh tearing was off the charts in terms of intricacy. The film is also quite romantic. Case in point: The awkward relationship that forms between the vengeful basket carrier and the receptionist was touching and realistic (their open mouth kisses were tantalizing). Plus, I liked the way the both had an affinity for unkempt hair. In fact, it's probably the main reason their eyes locked so intensely when they first met (see, intricacies). The decision to have them go to the Statue of Liberty for their first date was a brilliant one, as the unpredictable winds of Ellis Island had field day with their ungainly locks. All this hair raising and unexpected courting was groovy and all, but the principal reason for the film's existence is to show quacks being torn apart by a screeching mound of flesh with a score to settle, not the coquettish dalliances of a couple of people who really need to get to a salon.

An accidental love letter to city of New York circa 1982, Basket Case, like most films that were shot there during that particular time period, benefited greatly from the energy the lively metropolis was putting out there. The sight of Duane Bradley (Kevin Van Hentenryck) simply walking down the street, basket in hand, is enhanced by the fact that he's walking in Times Square (42nd Street). The lights, the street life, the sleazy movie titles on the cinema marquees, and the noise all contributed to the overall vitality of the piece.

The story of a young man wanting to get revenge for a past wrong is nothing new. On the other hand, the story of a young man and his deformed brother, whom he carries around in a large wicker basket, wanting to get revenge on the doctors who forcibly separated them is quite unique. After dispatching one doctor in their small town in Upstate New York, Duane and his brother head to New York City to take care of the other two.

Staying at a cheap hotel, the wide-eyed Duane befriends Casey (Beverly Bonner), a shapely hooker with iridescent lipstick, and makes goo-goo eyes with Sharon (Terri Susan Smith), the receptionist of one of the doctors on their kill list.

These relationships complicate their mission, as the brother in the basket grows increasingly jealous of Duane's ability to interact with attractive ladies (the hand basket resident communicates his displeasure telepathically). Whereas, all he seems good for is mutilating people. It's this sibling rivalry that drives the film forward to its inevitable conclusion. There's an excellent flashback sequence that explains the origin of the Bradley brothers' grievances.

The combination of outlandish gore and earnest acting are what Basket Case a classic in my warped mind. I mean, you have commend the actors for playing it so straight. This is especially true when comes to Kevin Van Hentenryck, who spends most of his time emoting with a basket and running naked through Manhattan. The slightly askew vibe that Terri Susan Smith brought to the girlfriend role was a surprising delight. I think I already mentioned this, but her kissing technique was downright yummy (it was almost as if she was inhaling his entire face). And the securely built Beverly Bonner reacted the way any normal person would react if they found a demonic head with arms in bed with them.

The many flesh ripping scenes, while disgusting, had a strange, almost playful air about them. Maybe it was the semi-hilarious image of a screaming doctor trying to fend off what is essentially a severed head with claws that made these violent scenes so carefree. I don't know. But either way, the excessive blood seemed reasonable and the amount detail that went into creating the gashes was topnotch.

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