The Driller Killer - Perception vs Reality

I saw The Driller Killer for the first time last night, and I've since decided that you must not form opinions, conclusions or ideas about anything before you yourself have taken the plunge. There is never any substitute for watching, reading or listening to something yourself. Of course, you can gorge yourself on images and synopses, but nothing will ever compare to that unique connection created between you and any given work of art should you ever grace it with your full and undivided attention.

I've heard it said that, when questioned by the Pythons over whether they'd actually bothered to watch The Life of Brian, those self-righteous moral guardians replied along the lines of “You don't have to see a pigsty to know that it stinks”.

But this isn't about close-mindedness. It's about the discrepancy between perception and reality, and it happens to me all the time. I'm not in the habit of forming opinions in advance of experience, but I can't help but harbour ideas about things. And, in my defence, The Driller Killer does itself no favours.

For a start, there's the name. And the poster:

And the tagline: “There are those who kill violently!”

And the whole video nasty connection.

OK, The Driller Killer is a nasty film that leaves you feeling grim, grimy and in dire need of a wash. But, despite a superfluous lesbian shower session and a completely unnecessary scene that details the butchering of a skinned rabbit, I'd hardly call it exploitative. Rather, it comes across as a low-budget labour of love which, at times, veers deliriously close to the art-house.

There are some moments of extreme violence, but even those seem tame by today's standards. The remainder of the runtime is taken up by a dark, dank and claustrophobic account of desperate New York City low-life. It's like a cinematic interpretation of a Lou Reed song, or a loose adaptation of a forgotten Bukowski.

It's a visceral thrill, with talking paintings, performances that are either terrible or faithful to a whacked out state of mind, and scratchy footage that's so grainy I'm sure it would be rendered unwatchable on a HD TV.

But what I really wasn't expecting is just how punk rock is The Driller Killer. I don't use the term “punk rock” to describe something that's self-consciously anarchic. Rather, it evokes a snotty glue-sniffing frazzled sort of energy, with an in-house band called The Roosters who would be amazing (so long as they weren't living next-door). At the start you're even instructed that “THIS FILM SHOULD BE PLAYED LOUD ”.

An extreme close-up of a life I'd never want to live myself but which I find utterly thrilling to visit, I would never have expected so much from The Driller Killer. For so long I've been happy to think of it as an exploitative, ultra-violent video nasty. Instead, it's a DIY low-budget Taxi Driver with an incredible soundtrack.

I might never have gone out of my way to see The Driller Killer, but I'm happy to have learned, in the best way possible, that everything has the power to surprise you.

Another recent incident of reality eclipsing expectation came last Halloween when I finally got round to reading Mary Shelley's Frankenstein.

Thanks to seemingly every adaptation ever, I had certain preconceptions about Frankenstein that involved lightning, a hunchbacked assistant, deranged cries of “IT'S ALIVE!” and a lumbering monosyllabic hulk of a monster.

So imagine my surprise when, upon initially confronting his creation, Frankenstein's monster replies in these words:

“All men hate the wretched; how, then, must I be hated, who am miserable beyond all living things! Yet you, my creator, detest and spurn me, thy creature, to whom thou art bound by ties only dissoluble by the annihilation of one of us. You purpose to kill me. How dare you sport thus with life? Do your duty towards me, and I will do mine towards you and the rest of mankind. If you will comply with my conditions, I will leave them and you at peace; but if you refuse, I will glut in the maw of death, until it be satiated with the blood of your remaining friends.”

That's right. Frankenstein's monster isn't a shuffling green giant with bolts coming out of his neck who communicates with one groaned word at a time. He's an athletic, acrobatic, eloquent philosopher who manages to teach himself how to talk, think and reason just by observing a family from a distance.

Again, I was quite happy with the images that sprang to mind when someone said “Frankenstein”. The reality, though, is infinitely preferable to my perceptions.

Then there's Phileas Fogg, who never once uses a hot air balloon in his journey Around The World in 80 Days. And Captain Nemo, who doesn't travel to a depth of 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea. Rather he journeys a distance of 20,000 leagues.

My dad hasn't seen Titanic. Every time he's asked about it, he jokes “I know how it ends!” The implication is that there's no need to see a film if you know the ending.

I've passed over so many books of which I've already seen the film adaptations. Similarly, there have been many times when a preconception has made me somehow reluctant to watch a film or listen to an album.

It has been proven to me, numerous times, that even if it doesn't differ so much, the experience always outweighs the expectation.

I wonder how many life-affirming, mind-expanding, soul-enriching or just plain entertaining experiences I've denied myself as a result of skewed perception?

Baby Blood (1990)

Baby Blood – otherwise known as The Evil Within – was shown as part of The Horror Channel's World Cinema season.

I do believe that it's the first time I've ever seen a French horror film. I'd quite like to see some more! Infused with a dynamic verve all-too-rare in this genre, I rather hope that Baby Blood is a typical – perhaps even “tame” - example of the French horror genre. If so, I would very much like for some kind of expert to give me a list of suggested viewing, as I feel I'm in for a treat. If not – well – Baby Blood was fantastic.

Particular kudos is to be reserved for The Horror Channel for broadcasting the original uncut French version. I've been reading about the dubbed American version. Whilst it features the voice talents of Gary Oldman, by the sounds of it, the cuts effected were so brutal as to have rendered the film unwatchable. It seems that some scenes were spliced mercilessly; their butchered footage spliced willy-nilly into that which remained; with chronology often completely and inexplicably ignored. Having not seen said version, I have no right to describe it as “a mess” or “a shambles”, but I'm ever so grateful to have viewed Baby Blood as it was intended to be viewed.

The plot involves the beautiful and distant Yanka. She lives with her abusive husband in a small caravan and performs as part of a circus's lion-taming.

The circus receives a delivery of a new leopard, who unexpectedly implodes during the night. This is because it was infected with a slimy snake-like parasite, which proceeds to slither into the uterus of the sleeping Yanka.

Yanka is immediately impregnated by this alien parasite which might well be as old as time itself. Wise and sentient even in the womb, it is later revealed that it is part of the advanced race destined to rule the world in humanities stead some five million years down the line. Indeed, the only thing holding it back is the fact that it's never had a proper birth, meaning that it's never been allowed to properly evolve.

In Yanka, however, it finds the perfect host. She's lonely and vulnerable and therefore in a perfect position to be manipulated to this parasite's own devious ends. It needs human blood to survive. It doesn't take much to convince Yanka to carry out the necessary atrocities to satisfy her parasite's blood-lust.

The result is engrossing and tragic. The violence is so over-the-top as to sometimes appear farcical, yet this somehow never distracts from the film's overall gravitas. Yanka can hear her parasite at all times, and it speaks with a disturbing babyish growl on various aspects of the human condition. The result is a film highly reminiscent of Peter Jackson's early work, except with French political musings in the place of Kiwi humour.

It's always very late at night when I watch these films, so I'm always in quite a hazy and suggestive frame of mind. I don't doubt that Baby Blood might appear comparatively underwhelming on a repeat viewing. However, it's been so long since I've been so impressed by any horror film that I'm more than willing to give it the benefit of the doubt and grant it entry into the pantheon of films that demonstrate how these things should be done.

L'anticristo (1974)

The Horror Channel (about which I just won't SHUT UP) are currently having a world cinema season. Every Friday night they're showing a horror film from somewhere that's not the UK or the US.

To promote this season of fine, fine broadcasting, they had an advert which did exactly what adverts are supposed to do: It battered the synapses into submission and made me determined to soak up every single minute of their quality programming in the coming weeks.

OK. So far I've watched one film. It entailed staying up really late, and then not ten minutes ago I find the exact film to be on Youtube in its entirety.

Had I known I could have watched it from the comfort of my own blog I may not have bothered.

But, in the immortal words of Uncle Bryn, there really is something about watching it live, isn't there?

L'anticristo is a bit like an Italian remake of The Exorcist. That's to say that it details the demonic possession of a young woman, only this time everybody's dressed beautifully and more people get naked. Also, there's a strange series of flashbacks to a previous life set during the inquisition threaded through the narrative.

In scope, then, L'anticristo is ostensibly much broader in scope than the film it so clearly wishes to be. On the whole, though, it's let down by some zero budget cut'n'paste effects and a general mood of over-the-top hamminess which serve to pull the wary viewer out of the otherwise nightmarish world so brilliantly realised when the film's on its best behaviour.

Ippolita is "she who becomes possessed". Or does she? She's partially paralysed, sexually frustrated, grieving for her dead mother and suffering through some kind of spiritual crisis. On one level it could be argued that we're not so much witnessing a possession here as a severe nervous breakdown. However, that would be to ignore the spectral hands Ippolita is able to summon from thin air; not to mention her ability to make love across the temporal divide with a goat-headed lover from her past life.

So, yes. If you're interested you can watch L'anticristo in its entirety on Youtube. I've embedded it below for your safety and convenience.

It's worth watching if you've a spare 1:51:50, if only for the pagan woodland orgy scene, in which everyone's painted to look like a corpse. That appears about 40 minutes into proceedings. I warn you, though – it looks utterly ridiculous when taken out of context.

Introducing Information TV Week!

Freesat might be the best thing that ever happened to me.

It has The Horror Channel, for whom I would be more than happy to act as a brand ambassador. I'd change my name and everything!

You might argue that so long as you've access to The Horror Channel, you're set. And you'd be right, to a point. Basically, all that's missing from their schedule is the news. Of course, there are horror news updates. They're called Horror Bites, and I think they make up something like 56% of their weekly schedule. But in order to ensure that we never, ever have to change the channel, we will, at some point, need real news too.

Real news, as read out by an old man in a vampire costume like in Gremlins 2. He could intonate the day's news in terrifying tones - “We've entered a double dip recessioooooooooon!” - as thunder and lightning sounds behind him. Then there'd never be any need to change the channel.

The weather could be presented by The Creature. Sports by The Mummy.

Limitless potential. And, ironically, the world would appear a lot less gloomy if the news were presented with such hammy gloominess.

Ahem.

But anyway, whilst I thought that The Horror Channel was IT, I recently found something else. Something really quite beautiful.

Information TV.

They show niche programming. Their slogan is “Making It Happen”. Here you'll see exactly the type of thing that you won't see anywhere else.

True, they broadcast a lot of Teleshopping, and a lot of their stuff you would never choose to watch anyway. But it's heart-burstingly wonderful that not only are these shows made – with dedication, passion and very limited resources – but also that they're watched.

I like niche interests.

Hell, I just like interests. I find it painfully endearing that people should be interested in things. Don't you?

This week is Information TV week on my blog. I will be posting various examples of why Information TV is the best thing to happen to humanity since – well, ever.

Information TV truly represents the peak of human endeavour to date. This is because it highlights that there's a whole world out there, and that it takes all-sorts to make it spin.

It's therefore humanity itself contained within a single TV channel.

As a special sneak preview of the sort of tear-jerking joys you can expect from my loving tribute over the coming days, allow me to share a synopsis of the very show that's being broadcast at time of writing.

It's a show called Caravan Finder. Tonight they're showing episode 17 of 26, in which “Graham continues his journey over in France with his caravan.”

Need I say any more? Need I say any more. Graham and his caravan. Aw.

Actually, the caravan community are just one of many fringe communities catered for by Information TV. I even once caught a light-hearted advert which referenced a hitherto unknown rivalry between those who own caravans and those who own motorhomes.

It seems that Information TV had (hoho) tried to cater for both audiences with one show! This obviously lead to a lot of bloodshed and many, many lives lost. The advert in question was a reassurance that, from now on, each community would have their own programmes.

Beautiful.

 So. Happy Information TV week, everyone. Stay tuned, and that.