THE MEATEATER (1979)
Directed by Derek Savage
Active Home Video VHS
THE FILM
A guy at my high school carried
the notorious nickname of "Bill
Grunge." B.G. had long, greasy
hair, owned several exotic pets,
and rarely took showers. I went
to his house once (he was selling
a guitar) and it scared me. A connection
is now made.
If The Meateater was personified,
it would be Bill Grunge. Crude,
smelly, and alternately scary-then-goofy,
this first and only film from director
Derek Savage (now that's
a name) is a few non-showers away
from something remarkable. There
are Humphrey Bogart impressions.
A cop named Officer Wombat gnaws
at an endless supply of Beef Jerky
and contributes sexual asides. "Orthopedic
shoes" are mentioned. In the
middle of it all, The Crest Theater
looms with all its rat-infested,
piss-stained, old-kook-killer-on-the-loose
glory. For nearly an hour, I pet
the rats, inhaled the smells, and
gasped accordingly. Each minute
was my pleasure. Then, somewhere
around the PONG scene, the stank
fizzled. To hell with soap.
Mitford Webster decides to heave
his high strung career as a shoe
salesman ("I have a bleeding
ulcer!"), pack up the family,
and follow his lifelong dream to
own a movie "thee-ate-her."
Unbeknownst to the Websters, their
newly-purchased Crest Theater also
houses a Jean Harlow obsessive who
eats rats and stutters. He is...The
Meateater! Supposedly. From there,
a schlub named Raymond (Vernon Potts,
have you graduated from Horror
High?) projects a film
called "Grizzly Safari Wholesome
Movie." A hanging corpse leads
to the intro of Lieutenant Wombat.
Talk. Hot Dog plugs. People eating.
A Napoleon Dynamite twin. Talk.
Sitting around. Fizzle.
Technically, The Meateater
is an ideal shambles. Odd eye and
mouth close-ups rub elbows with
hilariously awful compositions,
achieving an inadvertent, sloppy
artsiness that fits the intended
tone of the film perfectly. Deadpan
non-actors hang on for dear life.
The unglued score from Arlon Ober
(Legacy
Of Satan! Nightbeast!)
steps right in line. All of that,
combined with a legit sense of the
sinister (and a few chuckles), juts
The Meateater into primo
trash territory. It's menacing and
nutty -- a lovely mix. That's why
the eventual deadening smarts so
much. A very promising concoction
kneels down to anti-climax, a lack
of backend ideas, and little exploitive
quality. Veritable dirt is shoveled.
Figurative dirt is not.
Please. Send more Grunge.
AUDIO AND VIDEO
I always thought that The Meateater
was shot on Super 8. As it turns
out, that was Lunch Meat.
I guess I'm meat deficient. The
print is broke and beaten down,
with muted colors, lots of grit,
and a tinny, warbled mono soundtrack.
Like Ogroff,
any cleansing would deter from the
experience. Active Home Video has
done their job.
EXTRAS
Jokester Mitford attempts to entice
his wife's libido with a dead rat.
He needs foreplay advice. Satan's
Blade could help.
FINAL THOUGHTS
I passed on Bill's guitar, but I'd
never desert The Meateater.
A dulled final third keeps this
scruff-fest from hitting the jackpot.
That's no reason not to see it.
The Meateater will always
be poised for greatness, even if
that'll never happen. Grunge can
work in mysterious ways.
— Joseph A. Ziemba, 03.22.07 |
Force Of Wombat
Totally sweet shot
Vote for Pedro
He's a Jean lover
|
