We’re edging ever nearer the climax that is my interview with Sybil Danning next Monday. So, before then, here’s more Sybil Danning!
So, none of Sybil Danning’s films really are what you would consider “respectable.”
As I mentioned previously, it’s not her fault though. She’s always wonderful; and, even when doffing her top (as she does in these two films as well) she brings an air of class to every film she graces, from Battle Beyond the Stars to Jungle Warriors and everything above, beyond and in between, Sybil Danning = Awesomeness.
That being said we’re going to discuss the two of her films most resembling classy affairs.
First off there is Bluebeard from 1972, a remake of the film of the same name from 1944, starring my beloved Richard Burton in the titular role, Joey Heatherton, Raquel Welch and of course… Sybil Danning. The film is a black comedy/thriller, of sorts, set in an (I guess) alternate time period, during World War II. It follows the humorous exploits of ‘Bluebeard’ aka Baron Kurt Von Sepper, as he marries (SPOLIERS), then kills a parade of 70’s beauties, in increasingly over the top methods (and numbers) because he is impotent and cannot sexually satisfy them.
Bluebeard, as with most of Richard Burton’s output from the 1970’s, was hated upon its release and I can see why (although, I love the film.)
Granted, I love everything Richard Burton has ever done from the classics like Night of the Iguana, Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf and The Spy Who Came in From the Cold, to the not so classics Exorcist II The Heretic, The Medusa Touch and Hammersmith is Out, he can do no wrong in my book. In fact, as I also mentioned previously (I think), he could read the phone book for 3 hours in the same cardboard delirium he performed in during Exorcist II and I’d award him best actor…
But, anywho… On the whole, the film is a bit of a mess, not horrendously so, but enough to make it a challenge, I’m sure, for non-fans of weirder fare to get into. The tone is the most major problem it has going for it, a lot of the time you can’t tell when things are supposed to be funny or serious and more often than not, even when it SEEMS like it should be funny, it’s leaning toward serious. The other biggest issue is the pacing. The movie proceeds in a very slow, stately fashion, when in reality it needs to be clipping by at rapid fire speed to keep the laughs and horrors flying at you from all directions, like a Vincent Price film from around the same time period. (Burton once said he based his performance in Bluebeard slightly in the vein of Price in fact.)
The cinematography and set design are wonderful though. Burton is game and in top scenery chewing form, aside from the occasional dip into the de rigeur for the period woodenness here and there. The ladies who play his various consorts are also pretty much pitch perfect for the needs of the film (even Joey Heatherton, who gets a lot of hate for her talents is quite good, although Elizabeth Taylor in the same role would’ve made things a whole lot more interesting.) And the direction by veteran Edward Dmytryk is solid, just could have used a more judicious watch in the post production process.
Sybil has a TINY, tiny, cameo part in this one, but it’s memorable and she steals the scene as a Lesbian Prostitute hired by one of Burton’s many wives to teach her how to make love to a man. Sybil is equal parts commanding, funny and sexy as ever in what is essentially a throw away role. (Yes. There is nudity, as stated. And yes, she and the wife do get impaled by a chandelier in mid coitus. You’re welcome.)
Up next is Julie Darling aka Daughter of Death from 1983. This one is a bit more obscure and hard to track down, but I highly recommend doing so. It’s written and directed by future Chained Heat “auteur” Paul Nicholas and, in addition to Sybil, stars another of my favorite actors Anthony Franciosa and in a should have been star making turn, Isabelle Mejias as ‘Julie.’
The film introduces us to Julie and quickly lets us know that she is EVIL with a capital Elektra Complex. You see, Julie likes her dad, and by likes her dad I mean… wants him inside her…
We see Julie watch as her own mother, whom she hates, get brutalized and killed by an intruder (even though Julie, who is an expert with guns, could have shot the attacker any time) so she can have daddy to herself. And, she does, for a little while at least… until dad (Franciosa) brings home a new stepmom (Danning) and brother. Needless to say this doesn’t set well with Julie and she tries her damndest and I mean DAMNDEST to make herself the only person in dear old dad’s life for good!
I won’t spoil this one, because it’s a really unique thriller. It has a lot of tense moments and one MAJORLY gross moment, that even The Orphan didn’t have the balls to go all the way with. And the ending is a real nail biter that will leave you scooting toward the edge of the seat right until the last few moments.
The direction and script ARE a little muddled at times, but overall it’s a superb lower budgeted effort. Franciosa gives an atypically off kilter performance, as if he wasn’t sure what to do with the part (and as much as I love him I NEVER want to see his sex face again. *shudder*) Isabelle Mejias is FANTASTIC as Julie. She nails it, kills it and makes it totally her own, from the fake innocence, to the freak outs, to the psychopathic rage, Julie Darling wouldn’t work without her. And, as usual, Sybil is solid in her part, which, much to my surprise is the most substantial role I’ve ever seen her in. Once she shows up she’s in scene after scene, and pretty much carries the film as Julie’s unwitting enemy throughout the bulk of the film. It’s really a powerhouse part for Sybil, that should have gotten her a lot more attention as well.
Bluebeard 6 out of 10 “Playing with his Organ” jokes
Julie Darling 8 out of 10 Refrigerator based hiding places for kids
In honor of my upcoming interview with Sybil Danning (which is AWESOME by the way) I will be doing reviews of several of her films, starting with a couple of her “trashier” efforts…
But, first, before we go any further, let me get this out of the way, Sybil Danning is an absolute good.
And, of course, there are many things in this world that I consider “absolute goods” but Sybil Danning is in the lofty upper echelons of that classification. She stands along side Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor, Jamie Lee Curtis, Linda Blair’s Breasts, Clint Eastwood, Xanadu and Megaforce as one of those forces of nature that never fails to bring a smile to my face. (Also, speaking of breasts, if the Smithsonian ever does an exhibit of Best Racks in History Ms. Danning’s will be at the top of the heap along side Adrienne Barbeau’s legendary assets and Dolly Parton’s original twins.)
Oh, by the way, if you don’t know who Sybil Danning is 1. Why are you reading my stuff? 2. Go do a google image search, and bask in her Nordic Goddess glory for a minute THEN find yourself some copies of Reform School Girls, Battle Beyond the Stars, Chained Heat, Operation Thunderbolt and Howling II (among many other cheddarific choices) and bone up, both literally and figuratively.
OK. Now we can get on with the shows…
They’re Playing with Fire (1984) is a terrible movie, but terrible in the best of ways. (And, as she is time and time again, Sybil is far better than the material deserves. She’s one of those actors, like Pam Grier, who COULD consistently be in “quality,” “respectable” films, but sticks to the B’s for better or worse and I say, God bless her for it.)
Plot wise the film is sort of a mash up of the cheeky “Teacher Seduces Student” comedies (Private Lessons, Homework, etc.) and a slasher film; and since those genres weren’t really made to interact at all it doesn’t work in any way, but it sure does try hard.
As you can guess, Sybil plays the sexy teacher (and not only is the film a showcase for her ability to act circles around the rest of the cast, it’s also a loving cinematic homage to her ample bosoms) and Eric Brown (of the previously mentioned Private Lessons) plays the student (he’s terrible. Like, horrible. I mean that in the most deadly serious of ways. Not bad to look at, but acting wise… Imagine early era Tom Cruise ACTING like he had downs syndrome, but that’s just how he actually is all the time. I challenge you NOT to laugh during his first sex scene with Sybil. It’s impossible.) Anyways, anyways, anyways…
Sybil and her smarmy professor husband enlist the seduced student to scare some batty, wealthy, elderly relatives of his out of their massive estate, so he can force the old broads into a retirement home and control all of their money n’ such.
This of course doesn’t work, and there are some comedic mishaps, then some brutal (seriously, BRUTAL) murders and everyone ends up a suspect. After that there’s lots o’ pointless nudity, a TON of running around aimlessly (the movie was in point of fact edited by an automatic deli meat slicer,) some chick randomly gets baseball batted to death by Santa Claus in a bathroom, the catchy/horrible Eurotrash Pop/Disco theme song which repeats the title of the film ad nauseam is played literally thousands of times, the killer turns out to be some out of left field, highly implausible character barely connected to the plot and Sybil and Student, somewhat unusually, travel off into the sunset together with a fat wad of cash and absolutely zero plausibility as to how they could keep said cash.
As I said, it’s terrible, but in the same breath I think you should go out and watch it right this minute.
It’s like a sexy, pantyhose clad, thigh hug for your brain.
Also, to be of note, I’m under the belief that the very misleading title, really should have been used for a film in which Sybil plays the head mistress of an all boys school somewhere in Italy, that comes under attack by guerilla feminazi’s that she must then ward off with a flame thrower. Can anyone say BEST MOVIE EVER?
Anywho…
Have you ever wanted to see a feature length, kind of crappy, overtly silly episode of Magnum PI, with more breasts on screen than there is actual running time? Yes? Then Malibu Express (1985) is the movie for you.
Written and Directed by legendary shlock maestro Andy Sidaris, Malibu Express is a cheesy, ludicrous, ultimately halfway decent little slice of softcore porn/action-comedy.
Essentially if Marshmallow Fluff could be a film, this would be it.
The stunningly handsome Darby Hinton plays blonde Tom Selleck Clone, “Private Dick” (wink wink, nudge nudge) Cody Abilene, who is hired by the Feds to root out the corrupt elements of an absurdly rich family that is funding some shady Computer Technology company, with his penis…
There’s talk of communists, some seemingly gay overtly muscular hit men, a lot of car chases, a ton of sex scenes, a few decent one liners, a character named June Khnockers and a complete void of logic… Still, it’s fun.
Actually, to be honest, I can barely remember any thing about the movie but boobs but I don’t regret watching it at all. In fact, it’s one of those movies that I would trot out at parties. It would be amazing to watch drunk or high, I’m sure. (Really, much like my friends and I enjoy doing with Chained Heat, one could take a shot every time a pair of tits is whipped out and have some REAL fun, REAL quick.)
OH! And I didn’t mention Sybil yet! She plays, in a sort of glorified cameo, the Contessa Luciana, a friend of the Feds, a friend of the wealthy family, a friend of Cody Abilene’s penis and all around a sort of mystery woman… in that the character is kind of under written and like the rest of the film, doesn’t really make much sense. Still, it’s Sybil Danning and she’s wonderful (once again, miles better than anyone else in the film besides Hinton.) Also, she wears a red sequin outfit midway through the flick that displays more side boob than is scientifically possible.
Lastly, to be of note, there are ALMOST as many loving, close up, cheesecake shots of Darby Hinton and his sexy, sexy body (and glorious mustache) in the film as there are naked ladies… ALMOST. Which is a refreshing change of pace for a gentleman of the queer persuasion, such as myself, to find in a macho 80’s flick; so, I tip my hat to Mr. Sidaris up in the Playboy Mansion in the sky.
That’s it for this one me thinks!
As mentioned up top, this is the first of a few Sybil Danning heavy posts, leading up as I often do, to my interview with her. (It’s wonderful by the way, my favorite so far. So stick around for that please.)
They’re Playing with Fire 5 out of 10 nosy bitches listening at doors.
Malibu Express 5 out of 10 “This car is tits. Seriously, it’s tits!”
Before the premiere screening of Piggy, the debut of London Film School graduate Kieron Hawkes, the director took to the stage and jokingly commented that his maiden film was an expression of his own dark and twisted thoughts on screen. Quite fitting for what was to come then, as this slow-burning, emotionally charged and brutally violent tale of vengeance and redemption is every bit as disturbed as it’s director suggests.
Following the trend of recent British, or more specifically London, cinema; Piggy very much treads a familiar path down the shadowy urban walkways of our capital city, painting a picture of a desperate London, a lonely London and a city where excessive violence and confrontation are only a misplaced foot, or in this case a chair, away. It tells the story of Joe (Martin Compston), a fearfully quiet young man who feels to blame for the murder of his older and adored brother (Neil Maskell) after an innocent altercation in a London pub. Enter Piggy (Paul Anderson), an old friend of Joe’s brother who vows to help him enact revenge on the men who ferociously ended his brother’s life and consequently ruined his own. As their journey of bloody and brutal vengeance develops, Joe’s very existence is engulfed by Piggy’s promise of closure on his brothers death and the consequent emotional fulfilment that will follow.
The film is every much as dark and grimy as recent British cinema gets. With a constant murky tint, an explicitly haunting soundtrack coupled with some extremely graphic violence, Kieron Hawkes’ depiction of London is how we all fear it to be: Deadly.
Unrelenting in its brutality, Hawkes superbly manages to finely balance the visceral violence with an emotional sensitivity. As the crux of the story is a man who lost his brother for no real reason, the journey of Joe is interesting and often heart breaking to witness unfold. It’s a story that isn’t overly detached from reality, so when given the option of revenge by the mysterious visitor in Piggy, Joe’s decision is one that many would ponder if faced with such a scenario. A lot of credit must be handed to Hawkes then, purely for having the balls to explore what might be if one was to take justice in their own hands. Approaching the story with such an unashamed honesty, he pulls it off with aplomb and as a result, Piggy is a no-holds barred portrayal of one man’s wrestle with a perception of justice.
Paul Anderson is superb as the title character.
While Joe’s evolution from a fearful, timid character into a ruthless and aggressive avenger, is an honest, empathetic and above all believable performance from Compston, it is Paul Anderson’s exceptional turn as Piggy that makes the film stand out from the crowd of other British urban thrillers. From the moment Joe opens the door, and with it his life and psyche, to Piggy, Anderson delivers the sort of performance that sends chills down the spine. Put simply, he is fantastic. Eccentric, unpredictable and even humorous from the off, we are compelled to like him despite knowing that we should feel the complete opposite, much like Joe himself.
Sitting alongside other top-notch British films like Dead Man’s Shoes and the more recent Harry Brown and even The Glass Man, it is very much a movie sans the Hollywood gloss with the “British Grit” cranked up to 11. Visually, the film looks fantastic. With some very stark, impactful shots, Hawkes has made a very polished looking film considering it’s very modest budget. To have maximised this to such a level is a credit to both the man himself and the evidently talented team behind him, as some multi-million pound films could only hope of looking, and sounding, as good as this. It wouldn’t be unfair to liken Kieron Hawkes to a southern version of Shane Meadows, then. As like Dead Man’s Shoes, Piggy deals with similar themes but with a certain Southern sensibility. I wouldn’t say Piggy is as impactful or as original as Shane Meadow’s 2004 masterpiece; (a seemingly forced love interest with a capable Louise Dylan appears somewhat trivial) but for a first time outing as Writer/Director, Hawkes must be a very proud man, and rightly so.
It will be interesting to see what else the mind of Kieron Hawkes has to offer, and by going off this ferocious debut, it definitely won’t be for the squeamish. ****
As I’ve mentioned previously I don’t really like to review a film where my review is basically a full frontal ass raping of said film, but as has happened on the rare occasion in the past… I can’t help myself this time.
Recently Adam and I went on a little vacation to Texas, mostly to visit our exceptionally friendly friend Travis, each our weight in horribly wonderful food and to ride rollercoasters, but also to see The Raven on opening day (even got advanced tickets and all that jazz.)
I knew the presence of John Cusack (second in blandness only to Matthew Broderick), particularly John Cusack (did I mention the blandness?) as Edgar Allen Poe, would be pretty terrible, but I had hoped the mostly impressive directorial talents of James McTiegue would save the whole affair… sadly they did not.
Plot wise, the film is essentially a rehashing of Seven, or perhaps even Urban Legends, with deadly sins and or urban legends replaced by Poe stories, loosely used Poe stories I might add at that.
The performances all around are terrible. All the men in the film play to the cheap seats in the worst possible of ways, chewing up the scenery and dialing it up to eleven on the reading of every line (did people in the 19th century have a horrible disease which caused them to overact wildly?) Generally I’m a fan of this sort of broad, theatrical acting in films, especially horror films, but it just doesn’t work here. And of special note, despite loosing 25 pounds for the role and being “very interested” in capturing the essence of Poe on screen, Cusack is Cusack… maybe by way of Nicolas Cage slightly, but he looks nothing like Poe and is woefully inadequate for mustering up any sort of charisma needed for the part. Also, the women, particularly the chick who plays Poe’s girlfriend (whom I’m not interested in learning the name of) take the opposite route and play their parts as coma victims. Even the presence of the usually brilliant Brian Blessed does nothing to elevate any of the acting in this bitch and that’s saying something.
On the direction front you’d never be able to tell this is from the same man who made V for Vendetta. It appears that the not-so-decent Ninja Assassin, also under his healm, was a harbinger of things to come. The film is visually uninteresting. Perfunctory would be a better word, autopilot another. It just goes, hits the points it’s supposed to hit, goes again and does nothing else. I will concede there was one shot I liked of “the killer” riding in slow motion on horseback during the Masque of the Red Death sequence and a couple foggy shots during the climax that got a rise out of me, but nothing else was even decent in any way.
The script and dialog are terrible. Words sit down from the actors lips and waft malodorous about the screen like a turgid old man engaging in his afternoon dump. And, the “twist” of the film, if you can even call it that, is stupid, hackneyed and broadcast a mile in advance. AND when the killer (SEMI SPOILERS) announces who he is by saying in the most Adam West’s Batman of ways “Who would have ever guessed, that the killer was me, Edgar Allen Poe’s biggest fan!” (paraphrased) I burst out laughing for about the eighth inappropriate time.
For a “gory”, big budget, A-List horror film based on the works of one of the most original, dark, twisted and influential authors of all time it sadly lacks any of those qualities I just named.
Sorry it’s been a while, but been gearing up for some big things coming soon. And, as usual after a long hiatus I like to strike back with a bang! Gonna be a post today until next Monday May 7th when I’ll be posting a review with Action Queen of the 80’s Sybil Danning. And, not only is it a riveting, informative interview (my favorite so far in fact), it also will feature some exclusive to BRWC Sybil Danning news and a little special info about yours truly.
In the mean time, here’s something a little different for you to partake of…
Confessions of an Extra: Sexploits on the Set of Hellraiser III
Aka The Virgin Spring of Eunyce Raye
An Allegedly True Story
Brought to you by well known Gay Rights Advocates, Chik Fil A
I normally don’t do gossip, or scandal, or anything too trashy (unless it’s entirely fabricated and utterly ridiculous) involving the Celebrities, Actors, Filmmakers and such that I love so much, because it isn’t REALLY my thing (that and I don’t want to get sued.)
But, when my Drag BFF Eunyce Raye implied that she had her cherry popped by a certain horror icon, known for looking like the world’s most evil sewing implement, I couldn’t resist.
Now, before we get to the meat of this sordid affair, which I’m sure is just making your mouth water and your nethers quiver, I will put a few things up front here:
One, while I believe this story whole heartedly, it may or may not be true (don’t sue us.)
Two, I mean no disrespect or harm to Doug Bradley, the actor who plays Pinhead in the Hellraiser films, at all. He is a talented thespian (far better than most of the projects he’s been associated with deserve) and is at least tangentially associated with the queers (and semi-out of the closet) by mere way of being in a Clive Barker created film series (among other things.)
Three, some names have been changed to protect the innocent and non-famous. (Please don’t sue us.)
Four, while the content and “facts” of the story are straight from the horse’s mouth (Eunyce) the execution of them is all me (as I felt to truly relay this to you it needed to have appropriate Harold Robbinsesque proseyness to it.)
With that out of the way, turn down the lights, turn up the heat and let the sexcapades begin!
It was the dead of Winter 1991, I was 16 years old, much thinner and much less Drag Queenish, cold and alone… Already I was taller and bigger than the other boys, a man on the outside really, but still a boy within. A boy longing, hoping… needing for that special moment, that special someone to come and open the petals of my tightly closed morning glory of Eros for the first time… and take me to the next plane of my (very limited, non-existent in fact) sexual awakening.
Alas, my, although thick and luxurious, floppy, Color Me Badd inspired Little Lord Fauntleroyesque locks weren’t winning me any favors with the local boys or men at the time (even though it seems every male who lived anywhere on Earth between 1989 and 1994 had to have the same cut at some point. It was mandatory in fact.) And, really, just being a young Gay man in the South, in the early nineties wasn’t exactly open season regardless… But, unknown to me then, my lack of small town action was about to change, for the better and… the more exotic.
It was announced that for the first time ever a Hellraiser film was to be made outside the United Kingdom! But, not only outside the United Kingdom, it would be made right here, next door to little old me, in High Point North Carolina!
Being a film, TV and music connoisseur such as I was, and still am, this was like a gift from God himself (granted a very unholy abomination of a gift, but still…) “A shocking, sexy, gory, strange, deranged, chain flying, skin ripping HELLRAISER film coming to the sticks, what could be better?” I’ll tell you. Not only were they to be shooting this prestige Hollywood film right within sight of my young eyes, they need local people, like me natch, to be in the damn thing! Tres chic. Tres chic, indeed.
Flyers began popping up all over asking for extras of all ages and types to come and try out. There would be pay. They would work around your schedule to a degree. And, it didn’t matter if you were underage as long as you had parental consent.
Star in a horror film, get paid for it, and it’s convenient? Count me in. And, mom agreed, so I really WAS in. (She even bought me the hideous green blouse I would later wear in the film, but that’s neither here nor there.)
After the casting calls everything began moving rather quickly. The crew jumped around to location after location in the area, hitting Charlotte, Winston Salem and even doing the exteriors of the infamous “Thou shalt not worship graven images” scene at the Immaculate Heart of Mary right up the street! It was all so very exciting. But, not as exciting as what happened next.
My scene, my close up, my time to stand in the blinding spotlight and forever capture my wondrous presence in full celluloid glory was at hand!
I, get this, was not only going to be a featured extra in the film’s massive Goth Club Murder Extravaganza, I was also going to get killed via CD to the forehead! What southern teenage gay boy could ask for more? All I hoped then, was that the CD of choice was something decent… Michael Jackson’s Dangerous, perhaps?
The ballroom of the Howard Johnson’s across the street from my house was dressed up like the beyond hardcore, dead baby bodies and razor wire covered, underground Los Angeles rave club it was supposed to be (ah, movie magic) and the lot of us yokels were piled in to the place, ready to work at pretending to party. Shooting the under ten minute “build up to the massacre” sequence took about a half a month to film. It was tedious, it was grueling, it was one of the most meticulous things I’ve ever been a part of, leading lady Terry Farrell was a major bitch, leading man Kevin Bernhardt was a sweetie (sadly straight, but he did buy us all pizza) and I wouldn’t trade a second of it for anything.
Murdering everyone in the club itself took another half a month to shoot, but this of course was the more fun thing to do (aside from the 5 or so hours a day in make-up), so it flew by a bit quicker. Plus, it meant I was getting closer to the big man himself… Pinhead. (And I got to watch the fascinating, pre-CGI days, art of effects creation up close and personal like.)
Side note, being a fan of the first two films in the series I had always found Pinhead oddly alluring. His voice, his outfit, the whole seedy sexual under and over currents of the Cenobites in general had occasionally stimulated me in ways I didn’t know I wanted to be stimulated. Not then, or now, am I really into anything too excessively kinky, certainly not to the extent of the movies, but… taking a walk on the dark side now and then isn’t a bad thing, is it?
Anyways, the day came. The day we’d all been waiting for. There we were, huddled together, putting on our best fear faces, looking off into the blackened recesses of the smoky set, waiting, breathless, for the appearance of HIM… And, disappoint he did not. From somewhere beyond the blinding haze of backlit, smoke machine fog, he descended into the midst of us mere mortals and I was transfixed…
Doug Bradley, when he’s in character as Pinhead, has this way of walking… no, gliding… that is truly a thing of beauty. He seems to float inches above the floor, seemingly of his own will… And, when he speaks, even out of character, his rich, tremulous, baritone voice was more than enough to set my teenage loins ablaze. “Take me! Take me now! I don’t care if it’s on set, in front of everyone, just take me!” I was screaming… in my head.
Sigh, if only this could be. But, surely the world’s most famous supernatural, cinematic, serial killer, under Freddy Krueger of course, must be a staunch heterosexual. And, even if he isn’t, whatever could he see in a small town boy like me… certainly not… his penis… right?
After my climatic denouement (sadly, frustratingly, cut from most commonly available prints of the film) was in the can I moseyed back into the Green room to take a break and grab a bite to eat, before heading back for the other angles and continued reshoots (of which there were many.) And, just as I had settled into place and put my feet up, Doug walked by the door.
I knew I had to act.
I ran out into the hall, trying to look as cool as possible (and probably failing) really, honestly, just to talk with him. I mean, this was most likely the only chance I was gonna get to have a face to face with a horror icon, so I might as well take it.
He was still in make-up, but otherwise, very pleasant. We talked for a bit, about nothing in particular, but enough to keep things going, and then he asked me to join him in his trailer, to continue the conversation…
Isn’t this how most Jackie Collins’ novels start?
Follow him I did of course and we did in fact continue talking, in a nice, friendly, very relaxed manner, as he began to remove his make-up (surprisingly easy, considering it was mostly latex appliances) and then… his costume…
Let me tell you, Pinhead must be part Irish, because there’s nothing on under his kilt honey. PLENTY going on (think, your average stable horse) but nothing physically on, if you catch my drift… Must get hot under all that pleather…
Much like it was getting hot in his trailer…
Doug, apparently sensing what I was thinking (desiring, hoping) asked me if I’d ever been with a man before. I said no. He asked me if I’d ever done anything at all. I said no, never. And then… he asked me… if I wanted to do everything… And… I said yes… And then… Then…
You remember the tagline to the first Hellraiser? “He’ll tear your soul apart!” Well, he tore my HOLE apart.
Not only that, but he took me around the world, more than once. He broke me in, showed me all the ropes and more. He made me a man that day, many times over in fact… And proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was indeed the finest choice to play Pinhead they possibly could have made… I’m not going to get into each and every of the particulars, those are best left for my fond memories, but it was very good, especially for my first time, for ANY first time I might add, and Doug was very kind.
So kind in fact, that one day, after our third or fourth rendezvous (don’t think anyone was kidding themselves about it being anything more than friendly fucking, cause they weren’t), sometime later, he decided to accompany me to my French Mid-Term, which I unfortunately had to take during the filming of some of the afformentioned numerous reshoots…
Picture this, if you can, Doug driving me to school, in a studio vehicle, he dressed and made up in full Pinhead accoutrements and I in my death, dead and dying appliances, covered from head to toe in fake blood.
Naturally this created a something of a scene.
Everyone we passed averted their eyes or screamed as we made our way across campus to the French Language building. Once inside my class it was a “Bonjour, Monsieur Jean.” From me and a “Allo oiseau-peche.” Back, without looking up. To be of note here, for those who don’t speak it, the teacher and classmates liked to call me “Peach bird.” Anyways, as I made my way to a desk at the rear of the room “Mr. John” finally looked up and spied not only me, but Doug taking a seat just behind me.
Mouth agape, jaw slack, eyes wide, “Mr. John” kindly asked that I take my test and work on it in the Library… on the other side of campus. Begrudgingly, I obliged.
Naturally, as Doug and I made our way, a good portion of the other exams were letting out, sending a parade of more ashen faces and stuttering voices our way. Once at the Library I tossed off a hearty “Hello Ms. Page.” To the chief librarian, sending her clattering to the floor in a swoon straight away. The second librarian came over and almost fainted herself when she saw Doug come in behind me, but thankfully didn’t. She did however send us off to a private room, to work. And, as luck would have it, Doug spoke fluent French, being the true man of the world he was. Also, as I was at least somewhat of a gentleman myself I didn’t cheat too bad, just enough to make a solid B.
After that I was admonished by the Principal a tad for being a “disruptive element” and forbade from ever coming to school in make-up again, but I didn’t care. That day, those couple of months, my time with Doug was some of the best of my life. And, who else can say they aced a French Exam with help from an Evil sexual demon that had just taken his V-Card?
Irony of ironies, they had a premiere some time later, in High Point, but none of us under aged cast members were allowed to attend because it was Rated R (if only they’d know about the X Rated goings on behind the scenes, eh?) And, every once and a while I’ll still get a residual check in the mail; it’s never much, enough to buy a couple packs of cigarettes… but, it always makes me smile and causes me to reminisce about that sweet, tender, sex ravaged winter in the halcyon days of my youth.
