Satan's Mistress (1982)
Her wildest dreams are about to come true.
Year of Release: 1982
Also Known As: Demon Rage, Demon Seed, Dark Eyes, Fury of the Succubus
Running Time: 90 minutes (1:30)
Director: James Polakof
Lana Wood ... Lisa
Tom Hallick ... Burt
Sherry Scott ... Michelle
Kabir Bedi ... The Spirit
Britt Ekland ... Ann-Marie
Don Galloway ... Carl
John Carradine ... Father Stratten
Elise-Anne ... Belline
K. Strachuk ... Demon
Satan's Mistress is the eleventh in a series of reviews I've chosen to write as a tribute to Joe Bob Briggs for his lifetime of dedication to B, Drive-In and Exploitation movies. It was his Joe Bob Goes to the Drive-In column and host segments on Joe Bob's Drive-In Theater and Monstervision that inspired me to write with what limited ability I have. Thanks for everything Joe Bob, we all 'preciate what you do.
Regarding the ordering of these 12 tribute reviews, I'll be counting down the first 12 horror movies that Joe Bob reviewed back in '82 and '83. Less the titles I've already done up to this point. By the time I decided to do this, I'd already done some of those first 12 titles, so call that a blunder on my part. Satan's Mistress, technically speaking, was the 4th horror movie Joe Bob reviewed in his Joe Bob Goes to the Drive-In column, and the 9th overall.
For anyone that might be curious, the non horror titles (or titles that I may have done previously) between Satan's Mistress and my next review were: Kill Squad (#8), Intimate Moments (#7), The First Time (#6), Time Bandits (#5) and The Beast Within (#4).
A well-drawn, darkly dramatic tale of forbidden that pits good against evil as a beautiful but neglected wife drifts under the erotic spell of a dark-eyed phantom who is provoked into unleashing the mighty, avenging force of his unearthly and fiendish fury.
The horror increases to an awesome and bloody intensity, rising to an incredible crescendo before culminating in a spectacular conclusion that relegates The Exorcist to mere child's play.
A diabolical story of seething lust and demonic possession.
Satan's Mistress, the movie that reminds us that evil spirits don't take no for an answer, an they don't believe in one night stands. Alotta ladies waitin' around the bar at last call hopin' the guy down at the end'll be too drunk to remember he already went home with 'er once last month could really benefit from this kinda loyalty. Sorta gives ya a warm fuzzy knowin' they've found each other don't it? I mean, once she gets over the initial shock of not gettin' a say in the sexual relations. My mind started wanderin' a little bit during this one anytime Lana Woods' contract negotiators weren't on the screen an during that time I was askin' myself how come nobody ever started a datin' service for lonely disembodied evil spirits who can't identify with women unless they're ram-roddin' 'em with their devil dongs? John Edward really missed the boat on this one if ya ask me. See what you do is get a buncha lonely middle aged divorcees who own about thirty cats a piece into a room with a buncha sexually frustrated demonic wall flowers that never get asked to dance at the H-E-Double-Hockeystick karaoke bar an do speed datin' sessions. It's so simple that it's just sickenin' to think that nobody's done this yet, you just line up two rows of chairs facin' each other an every two minutes or so everybody moves down a spot an has little conversations. Prolly somethin' like this: "Hi, my name's Debbie an I like cheesecake, day time soap operas an guys that can appreciate inner beauty." An then maybe the Satyr sittin' across from 'er replies "Hello, my name's Xanzl an I enjoy brimstone, violent sex an kittens." See how easy this is? They've already got somethin' in common. Then when the night's over they all pair off an go out for Chinese food or somethin'. Or maybe have a game show like Love Connection where this mousey chick who weighs about 89lbs soakin' wet sits in a chair an asks three demons what their idea of a perfect date'd be like only to ignore all their answers an pickin' the one with the hottest car or the one with the biggest horns. I'd watch that, wouldn't you? It just seems like these days nobody wants to see anybody bein' happy on TV anymore. I mean, can't the Democrats get a slot on PBS for this kinda thing the next time they get control over the House an Senate? I thought they liked social programs? I'm serious about this, we needa do somethin' to help these poor people. I hereby give up intellectual ownership of this concept to anybody that'll get the ball rollin' on this thing, all you gotta do is run it during the early afternoon hours after the court shows're over but before American Idol comes on an I promise it'll be huge.
I'm sure that'll all work out somehow or another, so lets move on. Satan's Mistress has to be the third greatest movie made in 1982 to revolve around the rather touchy subject of intrusive demon schlongs, which got me to thinkin'. Maybe I'm puttin' the wrong spin on this topic. Like, remember when you were a kid an your parents always told you that if you'd just keep eatin' it you'd eventually learn to like some food that generally caused you to break the world record for the 100 meter hurdles as you tried to negotiate the furniture between the kitchen an the bathroom before you Linda Blaired the family portraits hangin' in the hallway? Well, after watchin' this one I've come to realize that my parents were right about just needin' enough exposure to somethin' to acquire a taste for it. I've gotta be honest, I was a little skeptical at first when I volunteered for this women's prison conjugal visit program an got assigned to a woman named Phyllis that the other guys referred to as "the wreckin' ball." I didn't figure out why until later cause next thing I knew this thing that looked a lot like Captain Caveman an smelled like a Marlboro factory that caught fire grabbed me by the hair an... well I don't remember much after that cept for wakin' up in the prison infirmary to a couple nurses takin' bets regardin' whether or not "it'll ever stand up again." I still wasn't convinced, so I figured all I needed was a little more immersion therapy. Phyllis was pretty surprised to see me again, apparently she doesn't get many return victims that're still functional. But anyway, there's not much need to go into greater detail about what happened after that but suffice it to say that Phyllis an I have an understandin' that I'm to show up every Thursday an in exchange she won't send 'er sister Elizabeth "the wood chipper" Jablonski to my residence to remind me about my obligations. After dealin' with Liz a couple times I came to the conclusion that I like Phyllis just fine an that we've got a pretty functional abusive relationship at this time. So you see? If you just give things a chance you may end up findin' out you liked 'em all along an just didn't realize it... though the threat of havin' your pocket rocket twisted into a balloon animal does tend to bring things into perspective a little.
The movie begins with a woman (Lisa) havin' a dream about the grim reaper wearin' a Tor Johnson mask chasin' 'er down the beach while 'er life preservers start poppin' out of 'er nightgown til it eventually catches up to 'er an tries to sell 'er a tactical breast containment system. But about that time she wakes up an goes out onto the deck of 'er beach house to watch 'er husband (Burt) head out into the surf for a swim. Everything seems alright, cept Burt's been refusin' to do the breast stroke on the water bed for a while now an so their relationship's got more tension than John Candy's girdle. So Lisa goes out to meet Burt on his way back to the house to try an talk but all he wants to do is go to work an try not to think about her disgustin' supple bosoms. Later on, once Burt's gone to his job as a male prostitute, steel worker, interior decorator or whatever it is he does that could possibly result in 'im not wantin' anything to do with his foxy wife, Lisa mopes around the house havin' trashbacks of all the filthy things she an Burt used to do before he started liftin' his pinky when he drinks tea. About that time she gets nekkid an hops into bed when all the sudden the pink cloud of smoke from the openin' credits on I Dream of Jeannie floats into the room, yanks off Lisa's breast vest, an proceeds to exorcise the orgasm out of 'er. Somewhere in the rigging somethin' musta gone wrong cause I was assured that in case of legitimate evil spirit rape the body has ways of shuttin' that whole thing down. Later that evening Lisa an Burt're havin' dinner with their yuppy friends (Carl an Britt Ekland), although Carl doesn't spend much time chewin' cause he's busy tellin' Burt that if Lisa was his wife he'd be hittin' that five or six times a day cause he's stuck with the beastly Britt Ekland, the poor bastard. So Britt has to cut Carl off in every conceivable way an about the time he starts to mock her professional acumen a black cat enters the room an jumps into Lisa's lap. At least somebody here wants it. But Britt starts gettin' bad vibes from the cat (she's a psychic) an warns Lisa an Burt's daughter (Michelle) to be careful as she tries grabbin' the cat an pretty quick 'er finger gets sliced open like a tourist in cannibal country as the cat flees the scene like O.J. Simpson. Only fast. Later that night Burt an Lisa are in bed when the ceiling starts glowin' red like an atomic pink belly an then Ayatollah Khomeini's face (we're talkin' 1982 Khomeini) appears an the various layers of panty shield get yanked off again. Only this time Burt's right beside 'er an she's got this look on 'er face like she's really only afraid of makin' too much noise an losin' the house in the divorce settlement if he figures out why she's doin' so much squirmin' around. Apparently evil spirit sex doesn't result in the traditional stank cloud either, cause he never notices a thing.
The next morning Burt an Michelle're downstairs makin' breakfast when Michelle starts askin' 'im all these questions about whether the parents' relationship is okay an if she's gonna end up a latchkey kid an Burt gets this look on his face like he's not sure if it's too early to start drinkin' or not. Then Lisa comes downstairs an when she doesn't fawn all over Burt for acknowledgin' 'er existence he gets P.O.'d an leaves. Michelle asks what the problem is an Lisa just explains that Burt's been in a lousy mood ever since that explosion at the construction site that permanently lodged a 2x4 up his ass. So once the kid goes off to school Lisa hops in the shower on account of 'er not havin' been nekkid for almost six minutes an the Ayatolla's face shows up again an she retreats to the bottom of the tub cause she ain't sure how 'er vaginal Indian burns're holdin' up. So after a quick inspection she determines she's ready to rock an pretty quick she's squealin' like the rear tires in a Fast and Furious movie. That evening, Burt wanders around the house lookin' for Lisa but only finds Michelle sittin' by a lit fireplace in the middle of summer an when he asks what the hell's wrong with 'er brain she tells 'im Al Gore said the ozone layer was gonna evaporate if she didn't keep the house 80 in August. Or that it was like that when she got here, one of the two. She also tells 'im that Lisa moved into the guest bedroom cause she prefers the company in there an once Burt cavemans off to find 'er Michelle starts seein' the Ayatollah's face in the fireplace. Meanwhile, Lisa's paintin' that same face in 'er new sanctuary til Burt busts in an starts rantin' about how she couldn't possibly be anything but care free and ecstatic when she's got his pleasant demeanor to keep 'er warm an doesn't even have to work. So after knockin' 'er paintin' over an stormin' out like a two year old that was just denied candy at the grocery store, the door latches behind 'im an Khomeini steps outta the shadows behind Lisa, havin' finally remembered to get his body outta storage. After which he puts the summer sausage back in the meat locker. The next morning Burt wakes up an realizes what a bummer it is bein' the neglected one in the relationship an invites Lisa to go out sailin', but she just ignores 'im cause she's already got 'er own dingy to play with. So Burt starts rummagin' around in the basement like a starvin' raccoon til he bumps into a suit of armor an dang near gets his charmin' personality chopped off by the battle axe it was holdin' when they both hit the floor. Elsewhere, Michelle's tryin' to get Lisa to go out to the multiplex, but Lisa don't wanna go cause by now it's startin' to hurt to walk an besides that they're showin' The Entity an she's already lived most of the plot from it over the last few days.
At this point Michelle tells 'er she ain't 'erself anymore an Lisa's just barely able to stop 'erself before tellin' the kid she wouldn't be 'erself either if she was gettin' pounded by evil spirit schlong every night. Of course she seems different, she's finally gettin' some for a change! Elsewhere, Burt's havin' lunch with Britt cause he dunno a spirit from a spittoon an so he tells 'er Lisa's holed up in the guest room makin' scary finger paintins all day an that the other night when he was lookin' for the ole ping pong table in the basement he nearly got Bobbitized by the prop he fished outta the lost an found bin at the renaissance faire. Britt doesn't need anymore convincin', so she heads home to get 'er proton pack while Burt goes back to the Amityville Whore only to find 'er makin' noises like somebody's... HEY. Burt's real P.O.'d now, an once she lets 'im in he wants to know who's in there with 'er an why she never makes those kinda noises when he's the one mountin' 'er. So she tells 'im she was just havin' a hot dream... uh... about him cause it's so sexy the way he pushes 'er away like she's got the crotch plague all the time, yeah that's it. Naturally he buys it an carries 'er off to what was previously their bed an doesn't find it the least bit odd that she's already hollowed out an ready for 'im when they get there. Not that she'd have to be all that hollowed for this guy if you get what I'm sayin', but anyway while they're makin' the sign of the double snouted attack yak the Ayatollah's standin' just a few feet away fumin' worse than that time Saddam got delusions of grandeur an started sendin' in wave after wave of smelly guys wearin' elf shoes into Tehran to kidnap the Iron Sheik for use as a bargaining chip. Then this self righteous demon bitch (Belline) shows up an starts brow beatin' the Ayatollah for not offerin' some of his new found poon to Satan first an threatenin' to give 'im the apartment next to Walt Disney if he don't get it together. Next thing ya know, Belline's down on the beach askin' Michelle if she's got a moment to hear about 'er lord an savior whose face graces those little boxes of red hots an maybe listen to a couple passages from the Book of Mammon an Michelle slowly backs away like a teenage Baptist that accidentally wandered into the sex education class. Once she gets back to the house she finds Lisa's makin' breakfast while Burt fondles 'er flapjacks an is about to tell 'em about the satanic army recruiter she was just runnin' from when the cat scratch on 'er hand starts eruptin' like Old Faithful. Then it just closes up an vanishes quicker'n a Jimmy Dean Sausage factory in Tel Aviv an she makes Burt take 'er to school so she can try an head off the stigmata jokes before they get outta hand.
After Burt leaves, Lisa calls up Britt an asks 'er to come over so they can have a Bond girls reunion in the hot tub, only once they get situated somebody cranks up the heat in the tub til they start gettin' boiled like crawdads an Burt comes back just in time to pull 'em out an apply butter to 'em. So Lisa goes up to 'er room to ask the guy that felt rape was a reasonable method of first contact why he's bein' such an asshole all the sudden an pretty quick the gown is off, the airbags are deployed an... oh, well, maybe just one more. She can lay off the pixie stick startin' tomorrow. Elsewhere, Michelle starts seein' the future through what appears to be a really serious gas leak while Belline keeps insistin' she's gonna help "them." Course we dunno who "they" are or what she's gonna help 'em do cause the camera's gone on an LSD trip, but I can't imagine it matters that much. Then Michelle an Burt sit at the kitchen table awhile pickin' at their microwave bounty an Michelle starts talkin' about not wantin' to be left at the pound again once the parents split up an Burt figures that battlin' Satan can't possibly be any worse than this conversation so he heads up to Lisa's room an tells 'er he wants to help. Lisa seems hopeful at first when she thinks he means she's gonna get a threesome but when the hope of that fades she sends 'im on his way. Later that night Burt starts havin' his own dreams about chest bumpin' with Britt, only she's wearin' white contact lenses an lookin' like she just got back from a Type O Negative concert, all the while Lisa an Khomeini're standin' there watchin' like they're lookin' for pointers. "Well that was interesting honey, you think maybe we could do that next time we..." "NO!" "Okay, was just trying to keep things fresh is all, there's no need to get..." "Just drop it, okay?! I said no!" The next morning Britt an Carl come over an while Carl goes inside Britt finds this set of footprints that would suggest Calibos must have a summer house somewhere nearby an follows 'em til she comes to a wall with a few bricks missin' where this severed head keeps pokin' out an playin' peek-a-boo with 'er. Then Lisa comes out an they go for a walk, during which Britt explains that accordin' to her extensive research into the matter of ghostly booty calls what they're dealin' with appears to be a lonely spirit that hooks up with lonely middle aged women while it's waitin' for its number to get called in God's waitin' room. Meanwhile, Carl starts annoyin' the hell outta Burt with the same old stories about how Raymond Burr is a close personal friend of his an that he's only doin' this movie to be on set when Lana Wood gets nekkid til, Burt splits an Carl wanders down to the livin' room where Michelle's makin' dinner.
But about that time the lights go out an Carl has to go rootin' around in the basement for the fuse box an after gropin' around blindly like a teenager in the back seat of an '82 Honda Civic on prom night for a while he gives up an tells Michelle to go find Burt or anybody else capable of the simplest of tasks cause he's in way over his head. Oh that sneaky Ayatollah, what a prankster, seems he's locked the basement door. An among the various other out of place props that Burt an Lisa look to have acquired from a yard sale following a local stage performance of Louis XVI, is a functional guillotine, which Carl somehow manages to Gerald Ford 'imself into before losin' his head quicker'n an Iranian feminist. About that time Lisa an Britt return from their spirit seminar to find the house empty. Eventually they notice the locked basement door an get it open, only to find Michelle curled up on the top step lookin' like a cat that got left outside in a hurricane, an once they realize why, Britt joins Carl in goin' to pieces, metaphorically speakin'. Later on the cops show up an before Britt leaves in the ambulance with the pieces of her splattered marriage she warns Burt that he's next an that he'd better get the heck outta that house or start donatin' his hat collection to the salvation army cause he won't have use for 'em much longer. Sometime later, Burt an Britt're walkin' around after Carl's funeral, discussin' whether or not it was in good taste to have a regular casket an a second real short one when Reverend John Carradine shows up an starts tellin' Burt all about the lost desperate souls that missed the Greyhound bus to the afterlife an how Khomeini's now so invested in Lisa that if she was to get back with Burt all the other cranky rape spirits'll be makin' fun of 'im til God finds his lost paperwork. John reiterates what Britt's been sayin' about gettin' the heck outta The Malibu Horror but tells Burt that if he's too dang stupid to follow that simple instruction to remember that God is pro, but only if you give yourself over fully an never waiver an yadda yadda, the short version is John keeps spoutin' more tripe like what you'd see on those inspirational Christian calendars til Roger Corman calls 'im up an tells 'im he needs 'im to shoot six more movies before supper time. Meanwhile Michelle's hallucinatin' that she's swapped places with Ted Danson from the Something to Tide you Over segment of Creepshow, til the Ayatollah shows up an takes Lisa away while Michelle just kinda sits there starin' through time. Finally, Britt an Burt show up to save Lisa from all the spicy sex it took 10 years of marriage and an affair to achieve. I'da cut here even if I wasn't a swell guy that didn't ruin endins cause quite frankly this one's harder to follow than snow leopard in the Himalayas.
Alrighty, well, apparently 1982 was the year of invisible rape demon movies, although this one's not completely mean spirited the way The Entity or The Incubus are. Though I've gotta point out that when the moral of your story is that if you just rape somebody enough times they'll learn to like it, it's probably not gonna catapult you to stardom, or even make its budget back. That's probably the movie's biggest drawback, the writing. I mean, right outta the chute you've got that little dandy of a lesson for all the kiddies, but besides that they make Tom Hallick's character out to be a complete asshole for absolutely no reason, and then expect us to be all excited and happy for Lana Wood once he starts acting like a human being. It's like in Midnight where they make Lawrence Tierney a would be child molester an then ask us to root for him later in the movie when he goes to rescue the protagonist. Unless you've got the memory of a gold fish, you still hate Lawrence by the end of the movie, and we still hate Tom by the end of this one. And like Midnight, there's absolutely no reason for it. The plot would have worked every bit as well if Hallick were only neglectful, and not an outright asshole. The neglectful character may just be a little misguided or have his priorities outta whack, but after he turns Lana down cold a half a dozen times and looks like he's memorizing the look of anguish on 'er face so he can jerk off to it later, you're prolly gonna have trouble selling the audience on the guy. The twist ending is extremely easy to see coming too, which doesn't necessarily make it bad, it just makes you feel sorry for the person that thought it'd be clever. The worst part is there's just really not much to the movie. It could have been 20 minutes shorter and you really wouldn't lose anything, even beside the fact that it's pretty much held together by Lana Wood's breasts, much in the way the later Ilse sequels are held together by Dyanne Thorne's. Plus Dyanne's are better. But anyway, there's just little here that's of interest, despite an alright premise that seems to at least follow the mythology of an Incubus well enough. I realize it's rather chauvinistic to say this but you're pretty much just waiting around for the next time Lana Wood deploys her airbags, which are admittedly pretty awesome. The editing is a bit confusing too, particularly towards the end, and the cute little gimmicky camera shots that utilize a perspective as though you're looking through a gas cloud or a lot of heat in a wavy fashion would be a whole lot more impressive if you could see anything through it. It's got a couple sequences that take place in the basement too wherein you've got zero lighting and you can't see shit, so again you're taken right out of the movie and relegated to waitin' on Lana to get nekkid again, it's pathetic.
Okay, lets cut this thing's head off and see if there's actually anything inside it or if the doctor performing the lobotomy got a little overzealous. The plot is okay, though you'd have to say a little tiring at the time of its release considering these kinds of movies were bein' cranked out faster than Duggar children. So the premise, at least, is okay. The acting isn't really all that bad, though Elise-Anne is rather untalented as the she-demon Belline. Sherry Scott isn't real hot as Michelle either, although she's saddled with such sparkling dialog as "that's where the cat harmed me!" so I think a little slack is in order. Lana Wood is pretty good as Lisa and I suspect has never slept with a man that thought he performed poorly cause she can fake an orgasm like a boss. Britt Ekland's in there too an gets to keep her clothes on for once. Guess they figured Lana had that pretty well handled. So excluding John Carradine who appeared in every movie ever made from 1968 - 1979 and thus needs no introduction, here's who matters and why: Britt Ekland (Beverly Hills Vamp, The Monster Club, The Wicker Man 1973, Asylum), Tom Hallick (Hanger 18, The Time Travelers 1976), Alan Harris (Evilspeak), Michelle Waxman (New Years Evil). As I mentioned earlier, Ekland and Wood were both Bond girls as well, and Don Galloway played Sergeant Ed Brown along side Raymond Burr for 8 years on the TV series Ironside.
The special effects... well, lets see, for one thing there just aren't that many. You've got the I Dream of Jeannie smoke at the beginning which looks ridiculous, a cut finger, a decapitation that occurs in a scene blacker than the heart of Dick Cheney, and some glowing eyes. Whoa, there go my socks, knocked 'em right off holy shit was that ever exciting. The shooting locations are alright, nothing special, though a beach house is something a little different for a horror movie setting, though certainly not unheard of. It looks okay, but it's very unincredible, though to be fair there are several very attractive sunset shots. The soundtrack isn't too bad, it's a little shrill and a heavy on the synth at times, but it really isn't anything that you'd complain about. It adds a little tension here and there and generally impacts the overall score in a positive way. Something that doesn't, however, is the ocean. I'll tell you what, if they were going for authenticity in terms of just how loud the ocean actually is when you're close to it they knocked it outta the park cause it's damn hard to hear a lot of the dialog anytime they're outside of the house. Roger Kellaway did an alright job on the score though, to give credit where it's due. Some of his other compositions include: The Mafu Cage, The Dark (1979), Jaws of Satan, and Evilspeak. Overall, this one's pretty bad. It's sluggish, poorly written, poorly photographed and drags like Clark Griswold's dog after he forgets he tied it to the bumper. So now you must ask yourself: how badly do I wanna see Lana Wood's melons?