The Post Pub Viewing Experience

Yeah, I know, I said that I'd kick off this year's quota of schlock by writing about a Mondo movie that I was planning to re-watch.  Instead, I ended up spending the back end of last week writing about a couple of direct-to-video B-movies that I'd recently seen.  The fact is that I still haven't gotten around to re-watching that Mondo - the reason I need to re-watch it is that  my original viewing of it on a streaming channel was interrupted by temporary problems with my broadband.  I've subsequently found a version of it online.  It's just a matter of finding time to view it.  Not that I haven't been watching a fair amount of schlock lately - as witnessed by my brief overviews of Evasive Action and Jack-O.  In fact, the latter film was part of a triple bill of schlocky movies I caught last week on Otherworlds TV, (always a reliable source for the weird and off beat), which began the Australian James Herbert adaptation The Survivor (1976) and ended with seventies oddity Pets (1972).  I might write about the latter at greater length some time - it is of interest to UK viewers simply for the sight of Ed Bishop not only getting top billing, but in actual US film, in contrast to his usual role as one of UK TV and cinema's stock Americans.  To get to a point, of sorts, what struck me about the two movies I wrote about last week is that fall perfectly into the category of 'post pub' movies - the sort of direct-to-video fare you sit through while slumped on the sofa after a few pints.  Precisely what direct-to-video was originally meant to be - the ultra low budget film makers, like Manchester's Cliff Twemlow, who pioneered the direct-to-video market realised this from the outset.  

Films like these don't need to be sophisticated, but they do need to be capable of holding one's attention while never being too complicated to follow for the partially inebriated audience.  Some competently staged action, a bit of nudity or, if a horror film, a spot of gore and the odd half decently staged decapitation and you are away.  If you can manage to throw a few recognisable faces, whether they be 'name' actors on their uppers, like Roy Schieder, or B-movie veterans like William Smith or Cameron Mitchell, all the better.  The secret, though, is never to patronise the audience - just because they might be drunk doesn't mean that they are bereft of all critical faculties.  The direct-to-video releases that fail are generally those that underestimate their audiences, thinking that just any slapped together nonsense with flaky effects work, a no-name cast of amateurs, poor script and incomprehensible plot will do.  Worse still are those that feel like self-indulgence on the part of their makers, as if you are watching somebody else's private joke which only they and their friends find funny.  Which is why I ended up liking both Evasive Action and Jack-O.  Neither film had any pretensions: they both knew that they were cheap direct-to-video knock offs of better known films that couldn't hope to match their inspirations.  But, within their limitations, they both delivered an enjoyable, if undemanding viewing experience - while neither movie took itself entirely seriously, they knew when to deliver the goods, whether that be some reasonably staged action or some well timed gore.  Indeed, they passed the test of still being reasonably enjoyable when seen stone cold sober.  I watch a lot of these kinds of film but many, mainly those I don't write about, are utterly desultory viewing experiences because their makers seemingly don't grasp the basics of schlock movie making (Or movie making generally), giving the viewer nothing to remember through that alcoholic haze.  The best of these films always have something in them that makes a lasting impression - whether it be the shock of seeing a onetime Hollywood A-lister slumming it, a bold plot twist, an unexpected sub-text or even just Linnea Quigley in a totally gratuitous shower scene.