Private Parts (1972)

Had it been made ten years later and credited David Lynch as director, then Private Parts (1972) would probably have been hailed as minor classic of dark cinema.  But back in 1972 audiences clearly didn't know what to make of it and first time director Paul Bartel's name, at that time, held no cachet for them.  The biggest problem doubtless lay in the fact that it was marketed by its distributors as a straightforward horror film when, in reality, it is more of the sort of macabre, quirky black comedy that Bartel was to become known for directing.  No doubt other audience sectors were equally disappointed to find that, despite the suggestive title, Private Parts wasn't a porn film.  Not that it doesn't include some sex and nudity, not to mention a large dose of voyeurism, but these elements certainly don't run along the lines expected from the adult movie genre.  Likewise, while there are horrific elements - several murders, including a decapitation and a young girl being stalked by an unseen assailant, hiding in the walls of the hotel where much of the action takes place - these don't provide the mainspring of the plot.  The run down hotel itself - mainly occupied by dead beats and weirdos - also helps give the impression that Private Parts is going to settle into familiar horror tropes - a haunted house story, perhaps.  But it isn't ghosts that haunt the hotel, but rather a very human menace who, it turns out, is more akin to the disfigured protagonist of The Phantom of the Opera, forever skulking in cellars and spying on the occupants of the rooms above.  But this phantom figure's disfigurement is, as it turns out, psychological, rather than physical, wearing not so much a mask to hide their true self, but an entire alternative identity.

For a film running around the ninety minute mark, there's a lot going on in Private Parts meaning that it rarely flags, with a constant stream of new developments and twists to keep the audience's attention.  The various elements also keep viewers guessing as to exactly what is going on in the hotel - is there a serial killer at large, responsible not just for the two onscreen killings, but also the disappearance of two young girls formerly resident there?  Or is something supernatural going on?  Is the hotel's owner, the heroine's eccentric aunt, involved?  Just why does another resident, a fashion photographer, tape a picture of the heroine's face to his blow up sex doll, before injecting it with his own blood?  To Bartel's credit, you are never quite sure where it is all going, with the film starting with a runaway teenage girl falling out with her friends and taking refuge in the crumbling LA hotel owned by her aunt, before seguing into a slew of bizarre developments, as bodies and weird sexual antics pile up. The dilapidated hotel which provides the main setting is used to great effect, lending the film an air of faded seediness, you can almost feel the damp and mildew through the screen.  The residents (those that we see) match the hotel in dilapidation and strangeness, including a middle aged man who alternates between dressing as a priest or in black leather, a confused old woman who once owned the hotel and an enigmatic photographer.  The heroine's aunt, with her pet rat, her habit of wiring up the bunch of keys hanging in the kitchen to the mains and hobby of attending funerals in hope of photographing the soul leaving the body, not to mention her views on female morality, is equally off -kilter.  Even the heroine, a naive young girl with voyeuristic tendencies is shown to be manipulative and less than honest in her dealings with both family and friends.

The theme of duality of nature is, of course, central to the film, running through the heroine, the priest/black leather bondage guy and culminating in the film's mysterious antagonist.  Even the hotel itself conforms to the theme, with its external appearance and entrance hall still clinging to the last vestiges of its former respectability and opulence, in contrast to its decaying interiors.  The cast, while not exactly star-studded, give performances far stronger than is usual for a low budget film.  Ayn Ruymen, as Cheryl, the heroine, ensures that her character never becomes entirely dislikeable, despite the way in which she uses various characters, portraying her as an insecure and confused teenager, hopelessly confused by sex and relationships.  Lucille Benson is outstanding as her batty yet imposing Aunt Martha, while Laurie Main is memorably odd as the reverend.  The main criticism that can be levelled at Private Parts is its unevenness of tone, veering between suspense and bizareness, before finally settling into Bartel's more characteristic black humour at the climax.  If you are looking for a straightforward horror film, then Private Parts is likely to disappoint, but if you are interested in the more bizarre and off beat by ways of schlock cinema, then you'll find it an enjoyable experience.