Having just seen, loved, and written about Girly (1970), it's a fine task to delve into a very similar and yet unique unto itself personal favorite schlock horror film, Spider Baby (1968), for Stacie Ponder's Ye Olde Film Club Day over at the definitive Final Girl.
disturbing things about via the NY Times' Ben Brantley:
Now, imagine a Spider Baby remake starring Michael Cera in the same situation as the one Quin Redecker finds himself in in the photo above --tied down and at the mercy of a nubile nymphet with two butcher knives, wearing nothing on but a nightgown. Cera would squirm and make lame excuses and try to talk his way out of the situation, just like a big...fat... bug... caught in a spider web. Redecker still squirms, but he's a swell fella, with some real class and a thorough knowledge of horror films.Wednesday grown up and asking her parents to act "normal'" and not embarrass her in front of her bland boyfriend? Why revive a vampire just to cut off his fangs and make him sell soft drinks? Nothing's worse than when a genuinely macabre family gets watered down and sanitized to appease Times Square tourists. What's next for these mad remakers? Midnight Cowboy where Joe Buck gets a great job as singing dishwasher in Times Square and meets a gorgeous tourist named Ratsa Rizzita?Gomez (Mr. Lane) and Morticia (Ms. Neuwirth), the heads of the family, discover to their alarm that Wednesday (Krysta Rodriguez, left), their 18-year-old daughter, has fallen in love with Lucas Beineke (Wesley Taylor), a young man from a middle-class all-American home. What’s more, Wednesday has invited Lucas and his parents — Mal (Terrence Mann) and Alice (Carolee Carmello) — for dinner, and insists that the family try to act “normal” for the night.
Spider Baby has a come a long way and endured many setbacks, like being barely screened at all when originally released because in 1968 suddenly no one wanted black and white films at the drive-in... the color cut-off date had occurred. The film resurfaced later on blurry video where it became a slow-burn cult favorite, but even then it was the kind of film you had to dig for, at least you did in 1990 when I found it a weird video store in Seattle. I'd watch it every night around three AM, drunk on bourbon and ginger ale - it was on a 6-hour tape I made, betwixt Mesa of Lost Women and Faster Pussycat Kill Kill. Together they formed for me an inner sacred space of the devouring Kali goddess cinematic energy, a womb where death and life were all in the hands of batshit insane dark haired spider ladies, and in the process helped me appreciate Camille Paglia's 'chthonic' vision when I read her Sexual Personae a few years later. Thus prurience, punishment and drunken self-loathing all came together into a toxic crucible which is then blessed by succubi and nymphs, and transmuted into to 127 proof gold of the absolving Kali.
No one can climb into the lap of a tied-down uncle Peter (Redecker) or mix girly baby doll sexuality and creepy murderousness like Jill Banner (above). Though Beverly Washburn as her sister Elizabeth comes in a respectable second. Cordelia's more about tattling to the family cutsodian/chauffer Bruno (Lon Chaney Jr.) while Virignia's thing is the "spider game." She's the titutlar baby; her sister Cordelia doesn't even like spiders! As usual with these film dionee, the brother is a wild child simpleton (Syd Haig) and the patriarch long dead but still in his upstairs master bedroom, and Bruno is the best kind of dad to step in as guardian, eternally gentle and decent with his homicidal charges.
We all love Chaney's farewell monologue with the children gathered around, as he comes up with the solution to their unwanted house guest problem, a solution which will mean the death of them all-- and a gleam of sadness comes into his eye and you know he's using his personal career rises and falls and awareness of his own mortality and bogey man obsolescence to access that melancholy and ravaged relief -- everything in poor Lon's life, from his childhood sleeping in the vaudeville trunk of his thousand-faced dad, all the way down to fucking up his live TV Frankenstein--it all comes pouring out so beautifully you can't help but tear up. It's his "Home... I have no home" speech, and he does it so well he never has to vary from being mellow and glowing, happy that all their woes will soon come to an end. Lon shows just what he was still capable of and it makes a nice capstone for a great actor mauled by Hollywood's fickle taste changes and his own genetic predisposition for booze. In this single scene on a film that crawled out of the obscurity basement all on its own, he transmutes his entire squalid life into an unqualified triumph.
I can't find my copy of the old version DVD but I ordered the director's cut direct at his Spider Baby Online site. I'm hoping going through that, director-writer-producer Jack Hill gets a bigger cut of profit, so he can get rich and make more movies. Stop meditating and start scarifying again, Jack, you've got a great eye, ear and wit, so use it, por favor--and Stacie Ponder, you are the Mother Queen of all horror and strange film bloggin's. Yours was the first "blog" I read and related to, years and years ago! You showed monsters and perceptive writing could be fused!