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Notwithstanding his previous little seen featurettes Stereo and Crimes of the Future, it was Shivers that first exposed an unsuspecting populace to the nascent cinematic subversions and psychodrama of the cunning, Canadian cuckoo Davey C.
And this was supposed to be IT. The drive-in classic. The genesis of the whole D.C. mind/body creepoid conundrum.
The tip of the Cronen-berg, if you will...
...or so I fondly remembered...
1975 - the Orange Avenue Drive-in Theater. My rusted '65 Riviera. I have a sliver of greasy pepperoni/mushroom in one hand, and Tina's tight, tender little butt in the other. The screen is as big as a house. The Citronella smoke strands slowly snake out into the flickery half moonlight.
And now, for our feature presentation...
There's just one problem...besides my garlic breath, light drizzle, and sliding into second base...
...this is the worst piece of sh!t movie I have ever seen.
Yep, it's how-the-mighty-have-fallen/feet of clay/Icarus-too-close-to-the-sun time for Crono.
This is buy-up-every-DVD-and-Frisbee-them-into-the-La-Brea-Tar-Pits bad.
And yes, the flick is buttressed by a smattering of smart satire in the opening credits, and a semi-competent conclusion. There's also an intriguing, early signature Cronenberg salvo of slaughter/suicide and the occasional character actor flourish, but that's about it for the home team.
Even ernstwhile Hammer horror hottie Barbara Steele, fresh from the crypt, can do naught but pound down the Pinot Noir and get cooch corked by sum semi-flacid whoopee cushion in an infamous, cheeseball bathtub bonhomie (hey, watch your trajectory there bucko - I've gotten into trouble for that myself a few times.)
However, the worst is that stupid, stumble bum husband, staggering hither and yon like the drunk at the kegger you just KNOW is gonna bazooka puke on somebody any moment (hey, who gave 'em the home video of my brother-in-law's Bar Mitzvah?!)
Now if you really crave great horror and accomplished acting, then stick around for the kooky Cronenberg interview on the DVD extras menu. See the master thespian himself struggle mightily to keep a straight face as he compares this leech laugh-a-thon to Alien, and his Popsicle stick/prophylactic makeup effects to Dick Smith's brilliant work in The Exorcist.
Oh, and Dave says actress Susan Petrie had him slap her in the face just before her many onscreen crying jags (I hope the whole cast and crew did him ditto after seeing the dailies.)
But don't get me wrong, I love Dave-o. I think he's great. As a matter of fact I would highly recommend renting this on a double bill with the fantastic work he did on last year's Spider.
Sorta like watching Rashomon after Godzilla vs the Smog Monster...
And this was supposed to be IT. The drive-in classic. The genesis of the whole D.C. mind/body creepoid conundrum.
The tip of the Cronen-berg, if you will...
...or so I fondly remembered...
1975 - the Orange Avenue Drive-in Theater. My rusted '65 Riviera. I have a sliver of greasy pepperoni/mushroom in one hand, and Tina's tight, tender little butt in the other. The screen is as big as a house. The Citronella smoke strands slowly snake out into the flickery half moonlight.
And now, for our feature presentation...
There's just one problem...besides my garlic breath, light drizzle, and sliding into second base...
...this is the worst piece of sh!t movie I have ever seen.
Yep, it's how-the-mighty-have-fallen/feet of clay/Icarus-too-close-to-the-sun time for Crono.
This is buy-up-every-DVD-and-Frisbee-them-into-the-La-Brea-Tar-Pits bad.
And yes, the flick is buttressed by a smattering of smart satire in the opening credits, and a semi-competent conclusion. There's also an intriguing, early signature Cronenberg salvo of slaughter/suicide and the occasional character actor flourish, but that's about it for the home team.
Even ernstwhile Hammer horror hottie Barbara Steele, fresh from the crypt, can do naught but pound down the Pinot Noir and get cooch corked by sum semi-flacid whoopee cushion in an infamous, cheeseball bathtub bonhomie (hey, watch your trajectory there bucko - I've gotten into trouble for that myself a few times.)
However, the worst is that stupid, stumble bum husband, staggering hither and yon like the drunk at the kegger you just KNOW is gonna bazooka puke on somebody any moment (hey, who gave 'em the home video of my brother-in-law's Bar Mitzvah?!)
Now if you really crave great horror and accomplished acting, then stick around for the kooky Cronenberg interview on the DVD extras menu. See the master thespian himself struggle mightily to keep a straight face as he compares this leech laugh-a-thon to Alien, and his Popsicle stick/prophylactic makeup effects to Dick Smith's brilliant work in The Exorcist.
Oh, and Dave says actress Susan Petrie had him slap her in the face just before her many onscreen crying jags (I hope the whole cast and crew did him ditto after seeing the dailies.)
But don't get me wrong, I love Dave-o. I think he's great. As a matter of fact I would highly recommend renting this on a double bill with the fantastic work he did on last year's Spider.
Sorta like watching Rashomon after Godzilla vs the Smog Monster...
