THE HORROR OF PARTY BEACH
(1964)
THE CURSE OF THE LIVING CORPSE (1964)
Directed by Del Tenney
Dark Sky Films DVD
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.
— Joseph A. Ziemba, 03.23.06 |
Blood freak
Love in the sand
Tree hugger
Welcome Back Candice
|
