SNUFF (1977)
Directed by Michael & Roberta Findlay
Blue Underground DVD
THE FILM
Sometimes, it feels really good to get really dumb.
Take everything you know about Snuff and spit on it. All of the mythology regarding its late-70s, theater-swindling promotion. All of the pontification about its production history. All of the 21st century arguments about whether or not the film warranted a $20 DVD price tag. At the end of the day, this is, quite simply, a movie. When that fact is disassociated from over thirty years of baggage, the truth wills out.
Snuff is a beautifully subliterate artifact. And I want to hug it.
So here we are. Snuff at its most crystalline. 80 minutes of Brazilian-shot, Mike and Roberta Findlay-enhanced nonsense. We see it for what it is, rather than what it is not. I mean, take a look around. There are speedboats. A grandma getting shot in the face for no good reason. Post-sex self-help melodrama. Neon gore. Michael Findlay sitting at an office desk in the middle of the street. And it's all here to get us from Point A, a Manson-esque cult of female bad-asses, to Point B, a frenzied faux-vérité murder climax. There's also a ton of so-so padding and some duotone cult initiations straight out of Last House On Dead End Street…which last for ten years. On average, Snuff is boring, stupid, and totally contrived. And that's why I want to hug it.
This film was compiled as a lazy, hook-filled novelty. Any sense of style is accidental. But you don't get that from reading about it; you get that from watching it. There's the early 70s Argentina footage, which centers around the girl-gang and their various/hilarious bursts of violence. Cutting-off toes. Knifing around in a mens' bathroom. Terrorizing a movie actress and her various beaus. On top of that, Michael and Roberta dub several characters themselves, making no effort to alter their voices. It's like a degenerate take on What's Up Tiger Lily? with KISS accents. You get Michael's Richard Jennings alter-ego from The Flesh Trilogy providing dialogue for suave Brazilian gentlemen and/or senior citizens. You get Roberta multi-tasking as a bikini-clad babe and a ridiculously hilarious teenage girl ("Please don't touch me like THAT."). The whole thing feels like a grody, asymmetrical collage, which awkwardly builds towards the late-70s shot (and late-70s awesome) ending. Cynical, yet sunny. Violent, yet buoyant. Always bewildering. There's nothing to dislike.
It's at this point, after the purge, that the binge can begin. You accept the film on its own terms. Everything opens up. And the ending, the trivia, the sheer outrageousness of it all, has room to enhance, rather than distract. That's when Snuff becomes something special. That's when Snuff makes you happy. And that's exactly when Snuff lovingly rubs up against you with synthetic junk like this:
"Shit! We've run out of film!"
"Didja get it? Didja get it all?"
"Yeah…let's get outta here!"
AUDIO AND VIDEO
There are no menus, chapter stops, or company information. Just the minimalist packaging and a DVD that plays a pristine, full frame print of Snuff on repeat. It's possible that this out-of-print disc was manufactured specifically for my own entertainment.
EXTRAS
Let me tell you about speedboats. I once accompanied a date on a speedboat. It wasn't my idea. But, I went along, as I had never actually ridden on a speedboat. So this speedboat starts picking up steam. We're sitting below deck and it's the kind of thing where, if you choose to stand, you're at the mercy of the wind. I didn't know this. I stood up. Suddenly, my sunglasses were no longer on my head and the content of a Blue Moon bottle was covering my shirt. It was hilarious. Or so I was told.
FINAL THOUGHTS
Embrace the dumb. Everything about Snuff is great. The humorous savagery. The boredom. And most of all, the exquisite stupidity resulting from each and every negligent creative decision. Watch it as a no-strings-attached, good-time release. Then, understand it as an artifact. When it all comes together, Snuff is revealed as a literal embodiment of supple exploitation. And there's always room for that.
— Joseph A. Ziemba, 04.21.11 |
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