"2,000 Maniacs!"(1964)d/Herschell Gordon Lewis

In the early part of 1964, the 'Godfather of Gore', Herschell Gordon Lewis followed up his wildly controversial pioneer foray into explicitly violent drive-in movies, 1963's primitive splatter opus, Blood Feast, with tonight's entry, a more urbane and imaginative affair that deals with a town full of Confederate ghosts seasoning the centennial of their brutal massacre at the hands of Yankee troops with violent retribution and rebel yells.With an alleged budget of sixty-five thousand dollars and the effervescent participation of the entire town of St. Cloud, Florida, Lewis triumphantly succeeds in creating a more jocular, piquant viewing experience this time around; Maniacs would be the second film in Lewis' "Blood Trilogy", and the second to feature Bill Kerwin as the (aging) male lead opposite to Playboy's 1963 playmate, the scrumptiously nubile Connie Mason.Amazingly, the director avoids the obvious race angle altogether, with nary a colored fella to be found among the supporting cast.Of course, it's still an H.G. Lewis movie, through and through, with buckets of unconvincing grue splashing mannekin limbs and a cringe-cajoling familiarly amateur vibe permeating the production, but it's light fun, and stands as Lewis' own favorite of his films, and mine, too, if anybody's keeping score out there.Even the soundtrack, which includes some upbeat country/bluegrass thigh-slappin' humdingers from 'The Pleasant Valley Boys'(and a theme crooned by H.G. himself!), is upgraded this time around.The South does rise again, only it's from the grave to exact bloody vengeance from the descendants of Union forces here, resulting in a rip-roarin' good time to be had by all.Forwards!

Those Pleasant Valley boys got them some good 'uns.Dogged if they don't!
An impromptu roadblock leads six northerners into the center of rural Pleasant Valley for its centennial celebration, unaware that their backwoods hayseed hosts have targeted them for violent retributive death for having license plates from states on the wrong side of the Mason/Dixon line.Mayor Buckman(Jeffrey Allen) informs the unsuspecting Yanks amidst much forced-sounding Southern drawl, and a-hootin' and a-hollerin' from Lester(Ben Moore) and Rufe(Gary Bakeman), his drawer-draggin' constituents, that they're guests of honor for the event.The adulterous Bea and John Miller(Shelby Livingston, Jerome Eden) are too busy flirting with their favorite confederate locals to effectively scrutinize the fucking pickle they've just gotten themselves in.Beverly and David Wells(Yvonne Gilbert, Michael Korb), a Wonderbread couple from the North, are equally Lethean to their inexorable fortunes.Only the beautiful blonde, Terry Adams(Connie Mason) and her aged ride-thumber, Tom White(William Kerwin) are the slightest bit circumspective of their abrupt hospitality at the hands of the good ol' boys.Harper(Mark Douglas),a firm believer in common household rope as a clothing accesory, lures Bea out to the woods for a discreet session of extramarital make outin', and after playing "Feel that blade!" with her, laughingly lops her thumb off.Her severed arm provides the comestibles at that night's barbeque by the fire, where Betsy(Linda Cochran) moonshines up Bea's husband, John, who finds himself tied to four horses all galloping in different directions.We like to call that "drawing and quartering" in these here parts.Despite the Millers' sudden disappearances, Buckman's reluctance to explain the necessary Yankee ingredients in the reb-celebration, and an inability to get an outside telephone line in the town, Terry and Tom still haven't figured it all out.

Harper(Mark Douglas) done tole ya thet knahfe were sharp.
The next day, a recalcitrant David is dragged out to participate in the "Barrel Roll"; only after he's forcibly held inside the barrel does he notice the nine inch nails being gleefully hammered into his wooden prison.And then there were three.Beverly whimperingly judges 'Ol Teetering Rock, which Rufe dislodges from its tentative roost with a good curve ball, sending the massive prop crashing down on the tearful Yankee, permanently removing her from the equation.Finally, it all dawns on the two remaining Union descendants:This is a revenge-fueled centennial where the northerners provide a blood sacrifice.Really couldn't figure that one out a little sooner, kids?Tom brains one of the Bufords guarding their rooms with his own acoustic twanger, grabs Terry and an annoying cat-lynching, confederate brat version of 'Dennis the Menace' named Billy, who divulges the yank's convertible key whereabouts in exchange for candy and a chance to draaaaaaahve the car.During the scramble to recapture the last guests of honor, Harper unwittingly quicksands himself.The would be vics ditch the young loudmouth and drive directly to the local sheriff, while Buckman and co. start dismantling all evidence of their celebration.When our heroes return to the scene of the crime, the entire town has vanished with an empty, swampy marsh in its stead.They find a large rock with a memorial plaque paying tribute to the denizens of Pleasant Valley who were brutally massacred by passing Union troops some one hundred years earlier.Elsewhere, the ghosts retrieve Harper from the bog, and ponder what the next centennial will bring.Tom discovers Billy's toy noose still hanging off of Terry's rearview mirror, proof that it really happened.The two yankees drive off, vowing never to take a detour again.You said it!And how!Boy, I'll say!Okay, I'll stop...

Well, you could just about rub me with stick butter and call me hominy grits!
The 82 year old Lewis continues to churn out cheezy B movies to this very day, with a fueled resurgence in popularity spurring on such titles as Blood Feast 2:All You Can Eat(2002) and The Uh Oh! Show(2009), and marking his return to the exploitation world after a thirty year absence.Personally, I prefer his old stuff, as it was more daring and shocking the first time around, while his recent material just seems to come off as rehashed nostalgic leftovers served up as fan boy-fodder.He followed tonight's entry up with Color Me Blood Red(1965), his last foray into gore before tackling the vampire mythology the following year with A Taste of Blood.We'll examine both of those movies here at the Wop at a later date, for sure.Whether you're a-layin' 'round the shack 'til the mule train comes back, or rollin' in your sweet baby's arms, Maniacs is a Pleasant eighty-seven minute excursion to the Valley, and with a top mark two wop score on the rating scale, it stands as H.G. Lewis' finest.Y'all check it out now, hear?

Ol' Teeterin' Papier-mâché claims another centennial victim.

"Impulse"(1974)d/William Grefe'

It's a sexy Thursday evening, folks, you can smell the pungent reek of primal lust in the air tonight.A woman's ample, heaving busom rhythymically quaking in a sparkly tube top stretched to the limits by the dinosaurian dimensions of her twin D's to a mid-70's disco bassline laid down by some cat with a caucasian natural 'fro, dressed in some outta sight polyester jumpsuit that'd make George Jetson piss Rosie the Robot into short circuitsville, culminating in a spirited twenty-five minute ham-slamming romp in the backseat of the Cougar behind the club.Solid, baby.Can you dig it?
Any movie directed by Grefe is usually an entertaining one, and when you've got The Shat on board as a sweaty-as-balls, sleazy-as-fuck murderous con artist-cum-gigolo decked out in only the most painful polyester fashions of 1974, well...you're in for a pants-pissing hootenanny, aren't ya.Adding to this Shatnerthon of epic hammy proportions, Grefe enlisted exploitation vets William Kerwin, formerly a H.G. Lewis splatter era leading man, and Harold Sakata, best remembered as the bowler-chucking James Bond Villain,"Odd Job" and a game cast of extras, not excluding Marcy Lafferty, who was later overwhelmed by hairy mygalamorphs in Shat vehicle Kingdom of the Spiders(1977), and oddly enough overwhelmed by Billy himself from 1973 to 1996 in what stands as his longest marriage to date.Tonight's entry suffers from countless gaping flaws in both logic and filmmaking, but Shatner alone is worth the admission price, delivering an unintentionally hilarious, classically hammy study on violent mental illness the likes the cinematic world may never see again, if it's lucky enough.Forward!

William Kerwin went from "long, hard ones"(cases)in Blood Feast, to "long, sharp ones"(Kitana swords) in Impulse.
Via inept black and white flashback,we get a miserable World War II era-slice of the childhood misery that shaped Matt(William Shatner)into the post-credits scuzbucket he grew up to be.Matt's mother,a drunkard in a nightie,serves up booze-soaked gash to the Sarge(William Kerwin),a hooch-hopped soldier who wants the boy's first birds and bees lesson to include his mom as the demonstration fuckdoll.The young Shat-to-be runs him through on a kitana blade for his troubles.Fast forward to present day Matt, a belly dancer-ogling, cigarillo-smoking hot shot, who's just burned his last bridge with Helen,an aging sugar mama who's been footing all of his bills, who he promptly chokes the fuck out of in her own car on the edge of a cliff in broad daylight("Big...tough...broad,aren'tcha!" he says beforehand).With her cadaver floating inside the car he dumps into the nearby drink, Matt wisely chooses to relocate in a hurry.We then meet Ann(Jennifer Bishop), single mother to pubescent clepto Tina(Kim Nicholas), who's soon to accept a ride from Matt wearing a checked blazer left over from the Love:American Style wardrobe rack where the professional chiseler wings a Doberman padding through suburbia with his car and drives off, sucking on his pinky like a pork-based precursor to Doctor Evil("Dogs...lick their wounds...they...clean 'em real good." he explains to the young passenger).When her mother meets him at her clothes boutique,where you can also buy cigarettes apparently(I never got to enjoy smoking during that era.I'm nearly finished completing my Bobby DeNiro Taxi Driver quick-draw sleeve gun that shoots packs of smokes, though.), the lonely young woman is no match for his corny bravado and deafeningly loud wardrobe.

"I ever...show you the...scar...I got from Spock's nerve pinch, baby?"
It's soon painfully evident that Tina is the only one impervious to Matt's over-the-top snake oil salesman bit, with a particularly easy hotel desk clerk(Mrs. Shat herself) and Ann's Maude-esque friend Julia friend quickly falling prey to his charlatanic charms.After Matt pyshcotically spazzes out on a woman who bumps into him with two arms full of balloons at the carnival("Fat... people like you oughta be ground up... and made into dog food!",he barks) ,Tina tearfully bears witness to the interloper running the pantsmeat to her mother in a hotel room,then dispatch his former associate,Karate Pete(!)(Harold Sakata)after what has to be the single slowest car chase through a working car wash ever filmed.When hanging him(!!) doesn't work, Matt simply gives him the Pasolini treatment(!!!), driving over him repeatedly with Tina hiding in the backseat.Matt corners the young eyewitness on her way to school,exclaiming that nobody'd believe a crazy little girl who talks to her father's tombstone in the graveyard.Then he threateningly points at her, pre-dating DeNiro by a few years, before driving off.In an insane headscratcher of a climax,Matt manages to jack ten large off Ann for phony investments, telling her he's flying off to Jamaica for a few days, which roughly translated from psycho means,"I'll be heisting all of your best friend's money and killing her too,so don't bother me."Tina watches Matt stab Julia in the labonza for recognizing the dark circle makeup he'd applied to his eyes, officially signalling his batshit craziness the rest of the way, then she's dramatically chased through a funeral home.While he's trying to drown her mother in the fishtank, she ironically skewers him on a sword, bringing him full cycle.Her mother shushes her ear-piercing shriek(you shanked him,what's he supposed to look like,kid?) as they walk past his lifeless body in fetal position on the floor,cuing an echo-heavy analogy Matt had made about being a puppy left out in the road.Explains everything, doesn't it.

You just don't see a good high-speed car chase moving slowly through a car wash anymore.
We covered Grefe's earlier cult classic,Stanley(1972),last month,so check that out if you haven't already, ferchrissakes.Though nothing that would crack your conventional Top 25 of the seventies(perhaps a Top 50 70's cult classics list,methinks),there's simply too much mint stuff occurring within tonight's frame to not snag yourself a copy of it immediately if not sooner, especially if you're a Shatnerphile of some degree, on top of your well-documented terminal genre addiction.I think we're gonna have to have a Top Lists week here at the Wop sometime in February, since I've always highly dug reading you guys' faves n' rappin' about 'em afterwards.Right now, we've just got too many damned movies to get through.On the scale,Impulse scores a solid double wop,and belongs in every self-respecting woprophile's movie collection, bar none.Seek the effer out, boys n' girls.

"Pinky swear you'll...never dime me out, Tina."