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Category: slasher

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Plot: journalist and detective run afoul of escaped masked serial murderer.

Cry Havoc is the first installment in the newly-minted Havoc series, and the fourth in the original (and much larger) Playing with Dolls franchise. After three Playing with Dolls episodes writer-director Rene Perez has finally come to the realization that a slasher cannot work on a premise alone. Cry Havoc is what Playing with Dolls (2015) should have been some four years earlier. As a soft reboot of sorts Cry Havoc, for the first time in the series, actually attempts to tell a story. Cry Havoc ramps up the gore to Alex Chandon levels while increasing the boobage as if he’s trying to channel the spirit of the late Andy Sidaris. In truth it’s just an elaborate excuse to have a character utter the famous English military command, "Cry Havoc and let slip the dogs of war."

Investigative journalist Ellen Weaver (Emily Sweet) thinks she has happened upon the opportunity of a lifetime. She has been given the chance to interview an enigmatic and reclusive criminal mastermind who goes by the handle of The Voyeur. After a number of increasingly ridiculous precautionary measures Weaver is taken to his hidden compound by press liaison miss Wallace (Linda Bott). The Voyeur turns out to be none other than The Watcher, or Scopophilio (Richard Tyson) as he was once known. Weaver informs after the ethics and morality behind his skewed social experiments and the criterions by which he choses his “dolls” for psychotic masked serial killer Prisoner AYO-886 (J.D. Angstadt), these days simply referred to as Havoc, to “play with”. The Voyeur explains how he found Havoc and that these experiments in homicide aren’t his first. When The Voyeur questions her motives for accepting the interview Weaver suddenly finds the tables turned on her. Instead of becoming a famous reporter she awakens in Havoc’s woodlands. Around the same time a hard-boiled police detective (Robert Kovacs, as Robert Bronzi) has tracked down the whereabouts of his missing daughter (Spring Inés Peña) to a mysterious woodland area and cabin. In his search he comes across survivor Stina (Karin Brauns) but is too single-minded to safe her. The area is monitored and guarded by an extensive surveillance system and the well-equipped Echo private para-military force. Nor the Echo leader (J.D. Angstadt) and his troops or Havoc are going to let anybody trespass their domain without consequence.

For better or worse Cry Havoc seems to serve as a soft reboot of sorts. For starters it does away with the Playing with Dolls name and, perhaps more importantly, distills the basic outline of the previous three installments into a brief info dump (complete with recycled footage) to set up what should have been the backstory of the original Playing with Dolls (2015). If anything else, Cry Havoc is the most ambitious of the current Playing with Dolls episodes. Perez always was a good enough cinematographer and he has an eye for locations and composition. As such Cry Havoc is custodian to some of his best work yet. Everything from the camera set-ups, scene compositions, lighting, and the more mobile nature of various sequences; everything screams ambition. Perez still is in no hurry to detail the origins or Havoc or to humanize him, and as a barb-wired composite of Jason Voorhees, Leatherface, and Ogroff Havoc truly is about the only thing the Havoc franchise has going for it. Well, that and the attractive babes Rene Perez keeps finding to take their clothes off and die. Usually in that order.

For the first time in the series there seems to be a concerted effort on Perez’ part to flesh out, both literally and figuratively, what few characters there are. In record time he manages to get Spring Inés Peña, Sierra Sherbundy, and Nicole Renae Miracle out of their clothes. It feels almost as if Perez is angling and testing the waters for something completely else. Not that we would mind. At this point Rene seems to dabble almost exclusively in horror, westerns, thrillers, and various permutations thereof. His European fairytale adaptations have completely halted in favor of expanding upon his existing franchises. Given Rene’s predilection for high-octane action (which he is, admittedly, pretty good at staging and filming) and beautiful babes we’re still holding out hope that he will finally helm that long awaited LETHAL Ladies franchise derivate the world has been silently pining for. It would be the ideal excuse for Rene to bring back Alanna Forte, Elonda Seawood, Sierra Sherbundy, Nicole Renae Miracle, Spring Inés Peña, and beloved Perez veterans Irina Levadneva, Jenny Allford, Nadia Lanfranconi, Omnia Bixler, and Stormi Maya. Put them in small candy-colored bikinis and have them flaunt over-sized guns on sunbaked California beaches. If the late Andy Sidaris managed to perfect that formula in the eighties and nineties, there’s no reason why Rene wouldn’t be able to do the same in and for the current day and age.

The biggest change of guard in the last couple of years is J.D. Angstadt taking over from Charlie Glackin as Havoc. Glackin could be last seen as the masked killer in Playing with Dolls: Bloodlust (2016), and remains within Perez’ stock company. Angstadt took over the character for Playing with Dolls: Havoc (2017) and there isn’t too much of a difference between Glackin’s earlier portrayals, and Angstadt’s current iteration. As this is a villain-centric series nobody’s really here for the other characters and they are merely here to facilitate the body count. The kills have become more creative and spectacularly bloody where and whenever possible. From Glackin’s almost spectral killer to Angstadt’s brute force hack-and-slash madman Havoc is the reason to stick around. A running joke of sorts that continues with Cry Havoc is that Perez remains adamant about not explaining why Havoc is so aghast and repulsed by the sight of his female victims’ exposed breasts. It’s probably something Freudian and one of the enduring mysteries of the Playing with Dolls franchise. That it continues to persist three sequels in remains unintentionally funny no matter how you slice it. Breasts are, of course, something no Perez feature is complete without so he invents plenty of excuses for his actresses to either undress or lose their tops whenever convenient.

It stands to reason that Rene Perez is a resourceful enough director who’s able to make much of what is, by all accounts, very little. While he isn’t the best writer around (he doesn’t work with scripts as much as he works around scenes and set-pieces we're told) he has an eye for visually arresting locales in his native California, and he’s able to continually work with hungry young actors and actresses. Over the last decade he has shown that he’s able to creatively work around budgetary limitations, and mask them where and whenever possible. There’s no question that Perez could possibly do greater things if he was able to work with a director of photography as Benjamin Combes, George Mooradian, or Howard Wexler. In the two years since Playing with Dolls: Havoc (2017) Oliver Müller and Marcus Koch have grown along Perez and the two worked on an array of high-profile productions since then. As disciples of Tom Savini and Greg Nicotero there’s no question as to why they are so in-demand when it comes to splattery prosthetic special effects. If only Rene could find a decent writing partner, and try his hand at some different genres (spy-action, cyberpunk, martial arts) and he’s well on his way (together with, say, Neil Johnson) of usurping the throne vacated by the late Albert Pyun. Prisoner AYO-886 or Havoc is one of Perez’ greatest creations. Four years, and two sequels, removed from the original Playing with Dolls (2015) sees Perez, now almost a decade deep into his career, actually showing some mild promise.

In all likelihood we haven’t seen the last of either Havoc or the Playing with Dolls series. Of all the things Rene Perez has done over the years this ongoing franchise has proven to be the most lucrative, by far. Given how Perez has been working with pennies and small change it makes you wonder what he could do on an actual budget. That Perez hasn’t yet been contracted by The Asylum, TomCat Films, Kings Of Horror, or similar low budget production/distribution companies remains a mystery as well. If Rene Perez has proven anything, besides his tenacity, over the last decade is that he’s able to work around whatever limitations are imposed on him. There’s a lot of dreck to be found in the slasher subgenre and it’s rare seeing a director this young grown that much in just a few years. To go from the non-committal Playing with Dolls (2015) to something as confident and straightforward as Cry Havoc is worthy of admiration. It’s not exactly a loving pastiche to stab-and-hack horror in the way Benjamin Combes’ Commando Ninja (2018) was to 80s action. No, Cry Havoc finally knows what it wants to be. It’s not pretty, and even by slasher standards it’s perfunctory, but at least it has an identity its predecessors so lacked. It might not be much, but it’s a beginning.

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Plot: tourists are stalked by cannibalistic killer on remote Greek island.

The nineteen-eighties were an interesting time for American cinema. The old fashioned terror and suspense films were given a new coat of paint and updated for the new decade. Halloween (1978) was instrumental in that regard. John Carpenter’s little fright flick was just as much indebted to grindhouse features as Wicked, Wicked (1973) and The Town That Dreaded Sundown (1976) as it was revolutionary the way it upgraded worn-out conventions of the decade past making them relevant again for a completely new audience. It was Sean S. Cunningham’s Friday the 13th (1980) that, for better or worse, codified and cemented the slasher as it’s known and understood today. Whereas Halloween (1978) was a murder mystery (although there’s never any doubt about who’s doing the slashing and hacking) Friday the 13th (1980) had no such aspirations. First and foremost, Friday the 13th (1980) was horror with not an ounce of suspense. Stylistic decisions aside, it was a critical failure but a resounding box office success. Naturally, European producers/directors wanted to get in on the international slasher boom and wasted exactly zero time in formulating their own slashers. Who better to imitate yet another American art form than the birthplace of such things, la bella Italia?

That Europeans, especially those in the continental regions such as Italy and Spain, had an entirely different concept of what a murder mystery entailed, should surprise exactly no one. The Italian giallo and the German krimi existed and evolved parallel from each other all through the sixties and seventies. While they’re generally considered the common ancestor to the American slasher and frequently overlap in terms of conventions they don’t strictly abide by those rules or parameters. By 1980 Italy had accumulated around 15 to 20 years of giallo tradition. Spain had a tradition of horror and macabre cinema that existed for about as long. They were in a habit of imitating their Italian brethren when the occasion arose but never with any regularity. Spain responded to the American slasher with Pieces (1980) and Bloody Moon (1981). Leave it to professional pornographer and part time smut peddler Aristide Massaccesi (under his English nom de plume Joe D'Amato) to throw a wrench into the slasher formula. Before he introduced the world to Jessica Moore with Eleven Days, Eleven Nights (1987) and Top Model (1988) there was this. Old Joe had just made Emanuelle and the Last Cannibals (1977) and Beyond the Darkness (1979) and wasn’t ready (or willing) to meet American tastes fully. He hadn’t gotten that cannibalism itch out of his system yet. Something had to give. Filmed in a month (31 March 1980 to May 1980) on location in Greece (mostly around the Acropolis in Athens) and in Sperlonga, Viterbo and Ponza, Italy as the launch title of his Filmirage Anthropophagus (released in censored form in North America as The Grim Reaper and as The Savage Island in the rest of the world) is a slasher on the American model but one that’s all all’Italiana.

American tourist Julie (Tisa Farrow) has come to the Greek islands to reconnect with old friends. En route to her destination she tries to charter a boat making her acquaintance with a party of five friends about to go on a boat tour of the Aegean. She’s first approached by medical student Arnold (Bob Larson) and his very pregnant wife Maggie (Serena Grandi, as Vanessa Steiger), their friend Alan (Saverio Vallone) and his superstitious sister Carol (Zora Kerova) as well as the group’s would-be playboy friend Daniel (Mark Bodin). When Julie asks the group to sail to a remote island only Carol, an avid believer in Tarocco Piemontese, lays her cards and has a chilling premonition. She insists that something terrible will befall them if they do choose to travel there. As they make landfall on the island Maggie sprains her ankle and stays behinds with the boat. She’s attacked and dragged off by an unseen assailant. While the group explores what appears to be a ghost town a mysterious old lady gives them ominous cryptic warnings to steer clear from the island. The woman eventually identifies herself as Ruth Wortmann (Karamanlis in some versions) (Rubina Rey) and when the group reaches the abandoned house of Julie’s French friends Carol senses an evil presence that she can’t explain. The discovery of an assortment of desiccated corpses don’t help her fragile mental state nor for do things improve when the group happens upon Ariette (Margaret Mazzantini, as Margaret Donnelly), the blind daughter of Julie’s friends, blood-caked and screaming murder about a madman who smells of blood.

In the mansion they find a diary about one Klaus Wortmann (Nikos Karamanlis in some versions) (Luigi Montefiori, as George Eastman), his wife and their son having been presumed dead after a shipwreck. Then the terrible realization dawns upon them that Ruth was Klaus’/Nikos’ sister and that the incident sundered her sanity. They learn that Klaus/Nikos had been stranded at sea and in his desperation accidentally killed his wife in an argument about eating their son to survive. Driven mad by hunger he ate the remains of both his son and his wife and now has developed a cannibalistic appetite. As the shades of night descend upon the abandoned mansion and the group falls apart through arguments and romantic conflicts they realize that Klaus/Nikos is aware of their presence and surely will come to hunt them down. What was supposed to be a relaxing holiday soon will become a terrible ordeal for all involved. Soon they will come face to face with the prowler of the Greek islands, the eater of man, the Anthropophagus.

Headlined by a would-be American star, an accidental one and domestic one in the making and supported by no one in particular Anthropophagus has the good fortune of featuring a few familiar faces. The biggest name here is Tisa Farrow, Mia’s less popular sister who had starred in Some Call It Loving (1973) and played a small role in Woody Allen's Manhattan (1979). Somehow she got got mixed up in Italian exploitation and etched her name into the annals of cult cinema history with Lucio Fulci’s Zombie (1979). Apparently she took fashion advice from German sexbomb Olivia Pascal. Zora Kerova hailed from East-Europe and commuted between her native Czech Republic (then still Czechoslovakia) and Italy. While hardly an actress of great talent, she had much more of an actual career than, say, Mónica Zanchi or Cindy Leadbetter. Although she had starred in The House of the Laughing Windows (1976), and Escape From Women’s Prison (1978) Kerova would be the Italian exploitation pillar of the 1980s with roles in Umberto Lenzi’s patently ridiculous Cannibal Ferox (1981) as well as latter-day Fulci romps as The New York Ripper (1982), The New Barbarians (1983), as well as Fulci adjacent gore epics as Touch Of Death (1988), Sodoma’s Ghost (1988) and Escape from Death (1989) (often in tandem with Luciana Ottaviani). The other nominal star is Luigi Montefiori (or George Eastman) who had worked with D’Amato on Emanuelle Around the World (1977) and would star in, among others, Ironmaster (1983), Hands Of Steel (1986), and the Lamberto Bava giallo Delirium (1987). The remainder of the cast comprised of Mark Bodin from Alien 2: On Earth (1980) and Bob Larson from Filipino topless kickboxing sub-classic Angelfist (1993).

Looking almost matronly and modest compared most of her work by mid of the decade Anthropophagus introduced the world to one of the prime pin-up girls of the day, she who was loving dubbed the Italian Dolly Parton, miss Serena Grandi. Serena was a graduate in computer programming and initially employed in a scientific analysis laboratory and like her contemporaries Donatella Damiani and Pamela Prati her curvaceous, plus size figure soon to led to bigger opportunities. After playing roles of no real weight in the comedies The Traveling Companion (1980), The Women of Quiet Country (1980) and My Wife Is A Witch (1980) la Grandi got her first big break here and she had dialogue and actual things to do. Serena’s body of a goddess – an eye-watering 38D (85D) bust with an ass to match - didn’t go unnoticed and by 1982 she was in the Italian Penthouse. This brought her to the attention of professional worshipper of the female form Tinto Brass, who casted her in and as Miranda (1985), a high-profile role requiring extensive (partial and full frontal) nudity. From there Serena became a regular in glossy men’s magazines. First she landed a role in Luigi Cozzi's The Adventures Of Hercules (1985) and spent the rest of the decade showing off her divine dimensions in erotic romps as Desiring Julia (1986), Exploits Of a Young Don Juan (1986), Rimini Rimini (1987), and Delirium (1987). By the next decade her star had faded until Brass casted her again in Monella (1998). Grandi continues to act to this day and has settled into supporting maternal roles. Also making her screen debut was Margaret Mazzantini who, unbelievable as it may sound, was poised to become one of Italy’s leading figures in literature and who as an award-winning novelist saw her work translated into thirty-five languages worldwide.

Anthropophagus is interesting in how it adapts an old favorite into a newly codified subgenre. In 1980 the Italian cannibal craze was still in full swing and despite yielding a classic or two in the prior decade the classics were very well a thing of the past. This in no way slowed down to pretenders and wannabees from hacking out a few memorable hybrids and creative experiments during the ongoing feeding frenzy. D’Amato had dabbled with cannibalism in Emanuelle and the Last Cannibals (1977) and to a lesser extent in his necrophilia epic Beyond the Darkness (1979) and Eastman was very much his go-to man for his greatest gross out and sleaze fests. As a collaborative effort between the two Anthropophagus bears hallmarks from both (D’Amato and Eastman shared writing and production credits on this after all). Director of photography Enrico Biribicchi had worked as a camera operator with Fernando Di Leo and Roberto Rossellini but by the late ‘70s was working with shlockmeisters Andrea Bianchi and D'Amato.

As one of the more prolific composers of the day Marcello Giombini is known around these parts for the Bella Cortez spectacular Vulcan, Son Of Jupiter (1962), the gialli Murder Mansion (1972), The Flower with the Deadly Sting (1973), the enjoyable The Exorcist (1973) imitation Enter the Devil (1974) (with future realtor of the rich and famous Stella Carnacina), the Venezuelan Laura Gemser jungle romp A Beach Called Desire (1976) and his association with Alfonso Brescia. None of which really changes that Giombini completely phoned it in here with disconnected washes of tranquil ambient, random sci-fi blips and plops and a vaguely Greek sounding theme. He wasn’t exactly giving Klaus Schulze, Michael Stearns or Vangelis a run for their money. The special effects by Giuseppe Ferranti and Pietro Tenoglio are effective in their brutally utilitarian minimalism. Then again, Ferranti was busy that year with Hell Of the Living Dead (1980) from masters of disaster Bruno Mattei and Claudio Fragasso, Umberto Lenzi’s Nightmare City (1980) and Fernando Di Leo’s Madness (1980). No wonder then that Anthropophagus is hardly remembered as any of these men’s (or the director's for that matter) finest hour.

Had things been allowed to run their natural course than perhaps Anthropophagus would have been remembered as nothing but a curious footnote in D’Amato’s massive filmography. Yet never underestimate a zealot on a mission. By the early eighties Great Britain was in the grip of yet another moral panic: the unregulated home video market and the corruption of the minds and hearts of the youth it (supposedly) threatened. In a crusade spearheaded by conservative activist (and teacher) Mary Whitehouse the National Viewers' and Listeners' Association (NVALA) compiled a list of 72 films they believed to violate the Obscene Publications Act 1959. An additional 82 titles were confiscated under the Act's forfeiture laws. The entire sordid episode became known as the Video Nasties. If it weren’t for Whitehouse perhaps a great deal of these admittedly shoddy shockers wouldn’t be as legendary as they (often unjustly and most of them undeservedly) became in the aftermath. Then again, what are conservatives without a good moral panic; manufactured, imaginary, or otherwise?

The outrage and moral panic was perhaps indirectly responsible for spawning the nominal sequel Absurd (1981), which also ended up on the Video Nasties list. Almost twenty years later German gorehound Andreas Schnaas unofficially remade it as Anthropophagus 2000 (1999) and another twenty years later the D’Amato original begat a very belated spiritual sequel with Antropophagus II (2022) from director Dario Germani and sometime D’Amato producers Franco Gaudenzi, and Gianni Paolucci. For those in the know, Gaudenzi was the man that produced some of Bruno Mattei’s prime works in the ‘80s and Paolucci, lest we forget, facilitated a late-stage career revival for Mattei when he allowed him to direct shot-on-video sequels to his beloved/detested classics. Anthropophagus does a lot with very little and that was always D’Amato’s forte.