THE HORROR OF PARTY BEACH (1964)
THE CURSE OF THE LIVING CORPSE (1964)
Directed by Del Tenney
Dark Sky Films DVD
Reviewed 03.23.06
Review by Joseph A. Ziemba

THE FILMS
If you like magnifying glasses, encyclopedias, and hearing yourself talk about yourself, congrats. You're free to go and vex somewhere else. However, If you're the type of person that likes to live a little, there's a social up the road with our names on it. And Del Tenney's.

The reverb of Santo & Johnny's "Sleep Walk" trails through a portable transistor. A bottle of Fanta fizzes over the sunlight. After a skip around the cemetery, the warm sand of the beach curls over toes. Soon, a radioactive monster with bratwurst for teeth rips someone limb from limb; a madman in a black cape guts a lip-locked couple under a tree. Romance is truly in the air.

Paralleling the first five years of Ray Dennis Steckler's career, Del Tenney's most accomplished films bear a tranquil power. They're literal explosions of erratic 1960s American pop culture, impervious to boring fact checks and stuffy criticism. Storefront shadows, fingerpaint gore, inglorious rock 'n' roll...all you can do is sit back and beam. Less creative than Steckler's most intuitive moments (ie The Incredibly Strange Creatures...), but more polished overall, Tenney's work with partners Richard Hilliard and wife Margot Hartman was uneven save for a back-to-back, sensationally titled, shot in Connecticut double bill from 1964. The Horror Of Party Beach and The Curse Of The Living Corpse have returned to please-please us. Obscurity has been defeated. The jig awaits.

A small coastal town is besieged by ugly, radioactive zombie-fish fiends. The "kids" dance on, even in mourning. They've got no choice. After all, this is The Horror Of Party Beach. Embracing sexual zingers from the pages of Cracked with freakish kill scenes and an unglued soundtrack (featuring local Jersey boys The Del-Aires) that would make Joe Meek proud, Party Beach plants the mood and digs its cheap claws in. Real deep.

Forget about the characters, who, incidentally, come and go with ease. Dismiss the obvious plot stumblers. The ambience is too thick to turn off. Party Beach is a simplistic exercise in near-surrealist trash. Expertly photographed and brimming with daft confidence, the film backhands antiquated ideals of what vintage spook films should be. Beach blanket innocence is disturbed by senseless violence. Gigantic shadows overtake the suburbs. Midnight slumber parties transform into mass graves. Through it all, the outside world is forgotten for 78 minutes, awash with a suicide-soda of early 60s pop cognizance. When a confused monster attacks a storefront mannequin while ear-piercing noise and spazzy edits belt the screen, see if you disagree.

As twilight rolls over the waves, we leave the Telecasters behind and head for a cardboard tomb. The jig continues.

Rufus Sinclair's funeral is underway, but is he really deceased? If the prissy Sinclair clan doesn't adhere to the strict rules outlined in his will, they might find out, thanks to The Curse Of The Living Corpse! Exchanging the happy-go-lucky fidgets of Party Beach for somber, death obsessed moods, Curse loses the off-beat, but not the fun. It's a more consistent crime thriller than Tenney's earlier Violent Midnight, but just as impressive from a technical standpoint. So what makes the film extra appealing?

Curse is a mix of "Old Dark House" trappings (dopey cop comedy, singular location), Dark Shadows production values, and visual Ed Wood fixations (lo-fi crypts at night, men in black capes). The credits tell us it's 1892, but the delivery is pure 1964. That's the real hook; boiling lust, terrific gore, and ghastly violence prickle it up like no other year can. Excellent acting from the always dependable Margot Hartman, Roy Scheider (yes, the guy from Jaws), and a bit part from Candice Hilligoss (her only role aside from Carnival Of Souls) caps it all off with melancholy class.

The Del-Airs tap out "Elaine" during the last call. The man in black returns to his coffin. Eyes flutter. Drinks drain. The sun peeks out behind the mist. Our love affair might be over for this evening, but deep down, we know it'll never end.

AUDIO AND VIDEO
Prism VHS tapes the world over are heaving with relief. Both films are presented in 1.78:1 anamorphic widescreen and decked to the Saturday night nines; razor sharp clarity, deep blacks, and zilch in the damage department. Curse had a few instances of transparent blotch marks at times, but if that bothers you, I don't know what to say. The mono sound for both films was just fine, representing the way they've always sounded, just freshened up. Overall, pretty much flawless.

EXTRAS
It's Del Tenney fever. In addition to theatrical trailers for both films, a 20 image-strong gallery (promos, stills, posters), and a charmed 9 minute video interview with Del ("Today, I live a good, happy life."), each film hosts a full length commentary track with Tenney and moderator Shade Rupe. Like the commentary included on the Violent Midnight DVD, both talks lean more towards pleasantries than hard facts (especially since Del's memory seems to come and go). The Party Beach track is the more entertaining of the two, with discussions covering Tenney's distribution deal with 20th Century Fox, Ed Wood, and all aspects of the film's production. Curse falls back on describing screen action from time to time, but still offers a few interesting tidbits. Not essential listens, but I'm glad they're here, even despite some frequent overlap with information.

FINAL THOUGHTS
For anyone who has previously enjoyed Del Tenney's spectacular 1964 deuce, this is one of the most satisfying trash DVD releases of 2006. If you've yet to dip and are even remotely interested, don't take a pass. Trust me, the attraction will never waver.

Blood freak


Love in the sand




Tree hugger


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