Viewer Vomit #11: The Devil Within Her (1975)

Also known as I Don't Want to Be Born and The Monster.

Or, to this reviewer, Rosemary's Omen.

I've seen The Devil Within Her floating around on Netflix for what seems like forever, but never made the effort to watch it. And while I can't say that I'm immediately better off for having watched it after years of checking out the cover and deciding "Nah," I do have some thoughts:

While embarrassingly similar to The Omen and Rosemary's Baby (actually, the movie plays as some kind of half-assed mash-up of the two) TDWH has so many weird quirks it's almost charming. In a nutshell, it's about a woman who is cursed by a male burlesque performer with dwarfism to give birth to a devil-child who is also inexplicably the dwarf's psychic and physical other. If you think that sounds god damn ridiculous, then you're right. But the movie has heart. Like, I get the feeling that someone really thought this was a great idea and sank some cash and personal effort into it only to see the thing completely fall apart when actually put to film. Note that the freaky hand with baby legs wielding scissors on the poster does not make an appearance in the film (awww shucks).

What is completely disregarded, and what made TDWH's two illegitimate parents so affective, is any sense of mystery or questioning on the part of the viewer whatsoever. We're pretty sure from the get-go -- literally from the opening credits -- this baby is some sort of demon spawn. There is absolutely no psychological tension. Instead, the film relies on the notion that the audience will be legitimately afraid of a 4 pound devil toddler in a fuzzy yellow onesie. Unfortunately, we aren't.

So much of it just comes off as completely illogical and impractical that you're never even close to suspension of disbelief. Instead, watching TDWH is more like floating above the movie, wondering how the hell anyone ever thought this would come off. But maybe that's part of why it's kind of fun. It has a habit of moving from unbelievable to downright absurd (picture a grown woman fleeing from a murderous baby whom, due probably to a limited special effects budget, we never actually see), and constantly plays it straight as an arrow.

The Donald Pleasence factor, however, reaches a good 4.7 on the designated 10 point scale. We don't get too much of him, but when we do he's delightfully dry. He looks a little more turtle-esque than he would a few years later in Halloween. He also gets beheaded by a newborn while going on a Loomis-y jaunt through a walled garden, and that shit has to count for something when evaluating a film, right? Bonus points are also in order for casting Caroline Munro, though she's largely wasted. I appreciate the effort, nonetheless.

And that's really what TDWH is all about. The effort. This movie sucks pretty hard, but god damn it, they put in the effort. And because of that, it's an enjoyable watch, if even for all the wrong reasons. My recommendation would be to watch it with a group of friends so you can bag on in. I watched it alone at my laptop and had, I can imagine, less fun.

Oh, and one last thing. The soundtrack was surprisingly lush at times. Very prog-rocky with some great sounding synthesizers. It sort of reminded me of Walter Rizzati's scores (1990: Bronx Warriors, The House by the Cemetery). I went back and looked up the composer, Ron Grainer, and apparently he composed the theme music to 1963's Dr. Who as well as for The Omega Man later on in '71. I always thought The Omega Man had a cool score, so it's definitely interesting to find out it's the same guy. 

Much thanks to The Moon is a Dead World for having me participate in this edition of Viewer Vomit!

Video Vortex: THE ABOMINATION (1986)

The most excellent Alamo Drafthouse, conveniently located right here in the sandblasted nowhere that is Lubbock, Texas, recently began running a film series called Video Vortex. Once a month (?), the powers that be choose a cringe-worthy relic straight from the dusty shelves of your childhood video store and blow it up in full analog glory to appease the morbid curiosities of rabid tape fans. In less poetic terms, you get to watch so-bad-it's-good VHS releases while eating limitless bowls of popcorn and giggling with everyone around you. And, it only cost a buck. Since I'm super cheap (and super broke), that's almost the best part.

Last night was my first trip down the Vortex, and I had so much fun that I plan to make reviewing these films (and the experiences attached) a regular segment in Full Meta Jacket.

So now that we're all on the same page, let's get down to last night's labor of love, 1986's The Abomination.

I guess call the Maytag guy.

The Abomination may very well be, objectively, the worst movie I've ever seen. Don't get me wrong. I mean that in the best way possible, as I totally enjoyed wincing through it. But on a craft level—like, a film making level—it was a mess. The editing looked like it was done on two VCRs and possibly no monitor. The dubbing was almost constantly out of synch with the picture. There was consistent microphone hum, inexplicable, lingering shots of horses, and the most bland, monochromatic color composition I've ever seen. And the acting. Oh, God! The acting!

But the thing is, none of these terrible missteps were more or less terrible than anything else going on in the movie. So in that sense, there was a very cohesion to the whole thing. It was bad, but it was consistently bad in all departments, and therefore curated a certain charm. The audience and I laughed regularly at much of the unintentional ridiculousness throughout, and "Ew'd" and "Hah'd" at the over-the-top special effects. It was a good time all around.

Too cool for school.

Then, while I was watching a woman resembling the poor man's Frances Bay get eaten by a giant toothy tumor that lives in her kitchen cupboards, I had a thought that I've, honestly, never had before: I wish someone would remake this.

Because here's the thing. The idea behind The Abomination is incredibly unsettling and bizarre. And, dare I say, actually kind of frightening. Despite the fact that its production was handled with the finesse of someone peeling an orange with a chainsaw, the story plays into many of the same pockets of fear explored in the body-horror subgenre, while also touching on less tangible fears stemming from spirituality and perceptions of reality.  

It sounds like I'm giving a lot of credit to a shitty shot-on-tape release from the mid-80's, for sure. But I just can't shake the unsettling air that surrounds the premise. Which essentially (and without spoilers) is this:

A woman—both a hypochondriac and an obsessive viewer of televangelism— and her son, Cody, live together in a small, isolated house somewhere outside of Dallas (I think). The woman, convinced she has a tumor in her lungs (and despite evidence to the contrary), patiently and faithfully awaits to be healed by the televised word of televangelist Brother Fogg. One night, while her son is out, she goes into a coughing fit, and hacks ups a bloody, fist-sized, pulsating tumor. 

Returning home late, Cody falls asleep. In the night, the tumor-thing squirms from the kitchen trash and into his room. It them enters his body via his throat. When he awakes, he finds that he is vomiting blood, and soon begins coughing up more tumors. The tumors grow into eyeless toothed mouths, and Cody is inexplicably compelled to murder those around him in order to feed the grotesque monsters.

It ate all my Oreo crackers.

Of course, the execution does a lot of damage to the core concept of the film. 90% of the movie is just people standing around staring at shit, and almost every shot goes on about 10 seconds longer than it should. Combine that with bad narration (a voice-over, for fuck's sake) and all the afore mentioned technical problems, and the original idea, good or not, gets lost in a sea of ineptitude.

But—and I'm asking you to fly away with me to a magical world of Filmatic Ifs—imagine that instead of being shot on a prosumer camcorder and cast with full-on lobotomy cases, this story was handled by someone like Frank Henenlotter or David Cronenberg. I get psychic glimpses of what that presentation might look like, and it gives me shivers (no pun intended). I just can't help but wonder what a contemporary filmmaker might do with the concept if given the opportunity.

And maybe the most obnoxious thing, to that end, is that the special effects that bring the abominable tumor beast (or whatever) to life are pretty goddamn effective already! The thing looks utterly repulsive. And there's something about the way that it writhes around inside of cabinets and under the stove that makes it even more disgusting. Like it's fusing with the house or something.

Anyway, if you have the opportunity, you should check this crap-fest out. And if you live near a theater that's doing the Video Vortex thing (I assuming if it's happening in Lubbock, it must be happening everywhere), definitely get on board. Easily one of the best dollars I've ever spent.