My Bloody Valentine (1981)
There's more than one way to lose your heart...
Year of Release: 1981
Genre: Horror
Rated: R
Running Time: 93 minutes (1:33)
Director: George Mihalka
Cast:
Paul Kelman ... T.J.
Lori Hallier ... Sarah
Neil Affleck ... Axel
Keith Knight ... Hollis
Alf Humphreys ... Howard
Cynthia Dale ... Patty
Helene Udy ... Sylvia
Rob Stein ... John
Thomas Kovacs ... Mike
Terry Waterland ... Harriet
Carl Marotte ... Dave
Jim Murchison ... Tommy
Gina Dick ... Gretchen
Don Francks ... Chief Newby
Summary:
Twenty years ago a tragic accident in a mine on St. Valentine's Day took the lives of five miners. The disaster occurred while supervisors left their posts to attend the town's annual Valentine's Day dance. The only survivor, Harry Warden, was confined to a mental institution after the ordeal. On the disaster's first anniversary, he returned to the town for bloody revenge.
That was nineteen years ago, and memories have dimmed. Young lovers T.J. and Sarah and friend Axel are among the townspeople attending another Valentine's party. Then, a box of Valentine candy arrives, containing an ominous message and a blood-soaked heart. Before the night is over, terror will strike again and again and again.
Review:
My Bloody Valentine, remindin' us that when a maniac demands your festivities be canceled you can dance if you wannu, but he'll cleave your friend's behind.
And speakin' of actin' real rude and totally removed, I just wanna start off by thankin' all the folks who took the time to stop by the Videodome to express their support the last few weeks and to let everyone know that my attorney, Cletus Rubenstein, has officially rescinded my gag order followin' our settlement with the prosecution.
Cletus insisted from the beginnin' that there was nothin' to worry about, but even though I trust his legal counsel implicitly, I gotta admit that I was a little jittery until he threatened Wade Sawyer with a quarter-million dollar class action countersuit for false advertising on behalf of myself and every other patron who bore witness to "The Battle of Chickawalka County's Most Barbaric Babes" back on New Year's; we really caught Wade and his lawyer flat-footed with that maneuver.
I don't wanna get too bogged down in the details 'cause as I've recently learned the stuff you see on Judge Judy isn't an entirely accurate representation of the judicial process, but I'm gonna go ahead and share a portion of the transcript taken during the conference in the interest of public transparency.
"You gotta be shittin'--" Wade started ravin' before bein' shushed by his attorney - one Verl Slausen.
"On what grounds are these charges being levied? I must warn you that further incitement will only strengthen our case," Verl insisted, referring to the claim that I had somehow slandered Wade with my accurate assessment of his phony-baloney ladies' mud wrestling tournament.
"I have here a petition signed by 56 individuals presently housed within the Soggy Valley Women's Correctional Institution -- 22 of whom are currently eligible for the state's reentry program -- declaring their desire to participate in Mr. Sawyer's advertised mud wrestling extravaganza alleged to feature, and I quote, 'Chickawalka County's most Barbaric Babes,' end quote," Cletus explained, passing a copy of the petition to Verl.
"Pure speculation. Who's to say these women are better qualified for the sport than my client's selections?" Verl challenged.
"I have here a piece of surveillance video taken from a recent cafeteria altercation involving two of the women whose signatures appear on our petition. If you'll allow me," Cletus began, inserting the cassette into his VCR.
He let the tape roll to the moment just after Phyllis Jablonski body slammed Billy Hilliard's ex-wife, Rolanda onto a table covered with the slop of the day, but paused just before Rolanda caught Phyllis's follow-up dive and monkey-flipped her through the window of the adjacent guard station.
"In response to your question - a jury of your client's peers," Cletus punctuated.
"You can't expect me to put my girls in the ring with those animals! Someone could get hurt, or worse, uglied up!" Wade squealed indignantly.
"He's so close to gettin' it," I chuckled.
"Quite right, Mr. Sawyer. Were I in your place I would never put my employees in a position where they would be subject to such personal risk," Cletus agreed.
It was right about here that Verl could be seen visibly sweating as he dug around in his pocket for a Rolaid.
"Then what've these lap-lickin' troglodykes got to do with--" Wade started sayin' until Verl whispered somethin' in his ear that made his eyes bug out like a Chinese Pug gettin' a prostate exam.
"If your client is open to the idea Mr. Sawyer is willing to mutually end both sides of this litigation," Verl suggested while Wade leaned back in his chair with his arms folded across his chest lookin' like the world's grumpiest Buddha statue.
"I'm afraid it's not that simple. You see, when this suit was filed I took the liberty of gathering statements from several key witnesses involved in the incident, and some of those witnesses are also considering legal action against your client," Cletus said, motioning toward the hallway where Chastity Dollarhide and Mandi Tuggles were waitin' for their appointment and glarin' a hole through Wade's skull.
"Any grievances these ladies may have against my client have no bearing on the facts in *this* case," Verl insisted.
"Maybe so. Nevertheless, they assert that they were coerced into competing in their scheduled matches, which not only proves my client's assessment that the field of contestants was deliberately watered-down prior to the event, but the allegations also constitute a serious violation of the employer/employee contract," Cletus charged.
"Shows what you know - their job listings specifically stated 'and other duties as assigned,'" Wade grinned like he'd just won an AR-15 at a church raffle.
"I trust you'll explain to your client why he can't order his employees to endanger themselves because he saw fit to include a non-binding clause in a job description?" Cletus asked.
"Yes," Verl muttered into his palm before attempting to regain his composure. "What are your terms?"
Before I tell ya exactly how Wade's ass was divvied up between myself and the talent, I just wanna state for the record that I don't like settlin' these kinda conflicts through litigation, and that if it'd been up to me I'da been perfectly happy just grabbin' Wade by what remains of his hair and holdin' 'im while Chastity and Mandi worked 'im over, but at the same time it's a good idea to get the terms of your adversary's surrender on the record so that it's easier to crush 'em into dirt if they try welchin' on ya.
Like I was sayin' though - from this point on, no dancers can be conscripted to work matches unless they agree and sign the same waiver everyone else does, and furthermore, all female employees of Walleye's Topless Dancin' & Bait Shop are now eligible for three months maternity leave and reimbursement for the cost of any artificial enhancements acquired in service of their positions in exchange for not pursuing legal action against him.
And secondly, going forward all mud wrestling booking decisions will be made by a committee of five that includes myself, Wade, and three members of the Walleye's Topless Dancin' & Bait Shop staff, with the provision that at least two of three said members be tapped from the company's entertainment division. In the future, these positions will be elected democratically, but for the time bein' Wade and I were each allowed to appoint one member (I chose Tetnis and Wade picked Tawny Sissel on the basis that she wasn't part of the "mutiny"), and from there we voted 3-1 to appoint Mandi to the fifth position.
I realize that Wade's a world-class chunkhead and all, but once we've restructured the incentive program to include prizes that a real woman might actually want, I think we'll have a shot at bringin' major cultural improvements to the people of Chickawalka County and restoring the integrity of the sport of queens. I'll tell ya somethin' else too - it feels good to give somethin' back to the community, and I hope to see every last one of ya at next month's show.
Anyway, once we finished hashin' out everyone's committee assignments I hadda gun it on over to the Videodome for my shift and found out the hard way that it was Valentine's Day when I walked in on Edgar and Bambi Mastrude makin' the sign of the Paleolithic gaunch plancha in the Science Fiction section and almost hadda apply for workman's comp. Took about an hour to air the place out, but thankfully after about 20 minutes it got so cold in there that my nose started runnin' and I couldn't smell anything for the rest of the day anyway.
I was eventually able to distract myself from the horror by puttin' My Bloody Valentine up on the screen, and while I don't dispute its significance among the pantheon of holiday horror, it kinda boggles the mind to think that a flick centered around a buncha small town bumpkins with nothin' to do but grope one another couldn't muster a single breast exposure. I realize that a little slack is in order considerin' most of it was filmed underground in Nova Scotia, but you'd think someone tryna cash in on the success of Friday the 13th woulda understood the assignment and hired somebody willin' to brave the elements for the sake of their art. I spoze by tellin' ya that I mighta dug the flick a little hole but don't sweat it 'cause I've rustled up three invaluable insights guaranteed to prove that there's more to a Canadian tax shelter flick than T&Eh.
First, nothin' spooks a group of miners faster'n a narcoleptic canary. Second, you can pick your friends, but usually only once. And third, always establish a safe word before bobbing for wieners.
The movie begins down in a coal mine where a blonde fox is preparin' to perform a shaft evaluation, only instead of goin' for the motherlode the shaft's owner discovers an untapped vein in the gal's chest and decides to give 'er permanent black lung with his pickaxe. Meanwhile, all the other miners (T.J., Axel, Hollis, Howard, John, Mike, Dave, and Tommy) are up topside removin' their occupational blackface in the communal shower before racin' into town to the sounds of Hazzard County, at which point they storm the dance hall to fire off one last warnin' shot to all the chicks (Sarah, Patty, Sylvia, Harriet, and Gretchen) who've convinced themselves that one day their boyfriends'll buckle down and get respectable desk jobs so they'll quit tryna brew their own beer in the bathtub. Turns out the gals're decoratin' for the first Valentine's Day bash the town's had since the Kennedy Administration on account of some miners gettin' trapped in a cave-in while their supervisors were succumbing to the evils of The Twist at a similarly themed shindig. Unfortunately, by the time the rescue party located 'em the only guy left alive had gone insane in the methane and hadda be forced to watch Army hygiene films in a mental institution until he no longer found the human form appetizing, only the treatment never quite took and when the town went ahead with their party the followin' year the guy busted out and opened up a coupla supervisory positions at the mining company.
Next thing ya know some maniac starts passin' out candy samplers containin' mementos of Tony Bennett's time in San Francisco and stuffin' old ladies in spin dryers until the sheriff caves to the pressure and decides to cancel the dance before the body grinding gets outta control. Then T.J. hasta go have a heart-to-heart with Sarah and tell 'er how soary he is for runnin' out on 'er and basically takes the Rick Astley oath so she'll stop doin' rear alignments with Axel, and while that's goin' on the head zealot of John Lithgow's anti-dance league is over on the other side of town swingin' his pick up through the neck of a crotchety bartender until it comes out his eye socket and turns his peeper into creamed cornea. 'Course now the kids have no choice but to take their Valentine's Day party underground, and right outta the chute Slewpid shows up and forces some weiner to bob for hot dogs in boiling water until he looks like Slim Goodbody's leotard. Then John and Sylvia go rootin' around in the shower stalls until they run outta beer, 'cept while John's fetchin' a six-pack of fertility treatments Sylvia ends up gettin' a spigot rammed through the back of 'er skull and by the time John gets back he realizes he shoulda been more specific when he requested shower head. Unfortunately, before John can warn the rest of the canaries a bunch of 'em end up takin' the rollercoalster down into the shaft where Mike and Harriet branch off and start makin' the sign of the electrostatic pork boogen until they end up gettin' impaled mid-aardvarkus.
Meanwhile, T.J. and Axel slowly come to the realization that if Sarah gets her skull caved in they'll never know who she picked and agree to work together to rescue 'er but by the time they get their acts together the man behind the gas mask goes to work on Hollis with a nailgun and his Build a 'Bite kit. This was not at all what Howard had in mind when he came to the party hopin' to get nailed, and when he sees what happened to Hollis he ditches Sarah and Patty like a bag of weed durin' a police chase and decides to go enroll in medical school and do his part to help isolate the hockey hair gene. Eventually T.J. and Axel swoop in to rescue their imperiled poontine, but by the time they reach the elevator all the seal-fired power plants in Nova Scotia've shut down for the day and so they end up havin' to take the ladder until Howard's corpse plunges down towards 'em on a noose and ends up separatin' into multiple pieces due to his lack of backbone. Then Axel decides to take a shortcut and ends up at the bottom of a ravine fulla pit water and just when it looks like the survivors are about to reach the underground shaleroad and cruise to safety the Canadian Picker comes around the corner and gives Patty a tummy tuck before settin' his sights on the final couple and causin' a fresh methane leak in their drawers. Gonna go ahead and stop right here since we got a twist comin' and I don't wanna ruin it for all the young lovers out there discoverin' this flick for the first time, but I'll tell ya one thing - when it's all over it's gonna take more'n a Hallmark card and some cherry cordials to fix these relationships.
Alrighty, well, no matter how bleak the outlook you can always count on Canada to provide tax shelter from the storm. It's too bad the Canadian Parliament eventually realized they were funneling millions of taxpayer dollars into the hands of social deviants seeking to bring about the downfall of polite society, 'cause purt'near every one of the flicks produced with the help of this legislation turned out to be a bonafide classic. Some people consider My Bloody Valentine to be the cream of the tax shelter crop, but solid as it may be, I just don't see it competing with the likes of Black Christmas or any of David Cronenberg's assaults on the mental health and wellbeing of the movie-going public. You can thank the MPAA for that to some extent, as they saw fit to hack all the best effects out of the flick following the backlash of blue-haired bingo bitches against Friday the 13th the previous year, and although MBV is unequivocally guilty of tryna ride Friday's coattails, it should be pointed out that its version of the double-hump aardvarkus impalement got yanked outta the picture before Friday the 13th folks tried to sneak it into Part 2 a few months later.
Fortunately, most of the good stuff got dredged up outta George Mihalka's basement and stitched together by the nerds at Scream Factory to get the movie back into shape for public consumption, but even though that was a case of better late than never you can't help but feel bad for Mihalka and everyone who helped get the movie in the can back in '81 'cause by the time we finally got to see what we were missin' it was too late. They had the gore, timing, and a solid gimmick ready to take the box office by storm at the height of slasher-mania, but because of its absolute neutering at the hands of the MPAA the flick only did middling business and when it left theaters that was it; no sequel, no teenagers dressed up as coal miners for Halloween - nothin'. Movie was just gory and mindless enough that it coulda become Canada's first serious horror franchise, and all that potential went right down the crapper because a handfulla wimps tryna protect the moral fiber of North America hadda step in before anyone decided to go on a murder-spree with a pickaxe and a respirator. I guess that's not entirely fair, 'cause 28 years later a group of suits did finally see the value in the flick... and remade it. Kinda makes ya sick, don't it?
Anyway, let's go ahead and pick through this thing and find out if it's got the kinda heart necessary to justify its legendary status among the slasher faithful.
The plot draws considerable inspiration from the original Friday the 13th both in terms of the big picture and in its minor details/character archetypes, and it's interesting to compare it against the other Friday the 13th clones that were released just one year later as the formula shifted between the original Friday the 13th and its first sequel. MBV (unlike many of its predecessors released following Friday the 13th Part 2) positions itself as a whodunit by dedicating time to the police investigation regarding the whereabouts of the original Valentine's Day murderer so as to leave open the possibility that he is not the one committing the current murders, where other films of the era simply spell out the identity of the killer right outta the chute and send him on his merry way. There's no right or wrong approach, but I believe that flicks that take the whodunit approach tend to get a little more crossover with the general public, and while I do not maintain that a single anecdote proves this hypothesis it does bear out when comparing MBV's IMDB rating of 6.2 to Friday the 13th's 6.1 score. Other similarities include the bartending doomsayer who mirrors the Crazy Ralph character from the first two Friday films, the kids who ignore said warnings, and an identical motivation stemming from the belief that those in charge shirked their duties and allowed an accident to befall certain vulnerable characters, and to this end, it could be argued that it borrows more liberally than its brethren who zero in more on location than plot details. Once the killer's identity is revealed you may notice a few minor issues that bring into question the plausibility of it all, but generally speaking, there's nothing here that's likely to spike your blood pressure.
The acting is one of the film's weaker aspects, with most characters occasionally missing the mark in ways that aren't especially devastating to the finished product. Paul Kelman seems to be lacking in conviction much of the time but it could be argued that this was done to bait the audience into believing he might be the killer, and because of this possibility I think you have to give him a pass. Larry Reynolds is incredibly hammy as the mayor with the P.R. nightmare and Keith Knight's complete lack of reaction to having two nails driven through his skull is bafflingly silly, but on the other hand, you've got respectable performances by Rob Stein who effectively shifts from lovable scamp to traumatized boyfriend upon discovering the fate of his chick, Alf Humphries as the doomed prankster, and Lori Hallier as the final girl who manages to hold it together despite being pursued by a maniac with a pickaxe while trapped in a love triangle with two chunkheaded industrial arts dropouts. The only thing that's missing here is a B-movie hardened character actor for the part of the sheriff, 'cause although there's nothing ostensibly wrong with Don Francks' performance, I can't help wonder how much better the flick could have been with a Christopher George or a Lance Henriksen in that part. And, alright, fine - if the actor hasta be Canadian to keep the Loonies rollin' in on schedule - get Michael Ironside. Ya need somebody like that who can make even the most unnatural, stilted dialogue sound good.
Here's who matters and why: Paul Kelman (Black Roses), Lori Hallier (Heartstopper, Warning Sign 1985), Neil Affleck (Murder by Phone, Visiting Hours, Scanners), Keith Knight (Whispers 1990, Of Unknown Origin, Class of 1984), Alf Humphreys (X2, The Uninvited, Dark Skies 2009, Final Destination 2, Funeral Home, Virus 1980), Helene Udy (Bittertooth, The Haunting of Lady-Jane, Blood Covered Chocolate, Deadly Darlings, The Last American Horror Show II, The Embalmers, Death Care, Evil Under the Skin, House of Demons, Amityville Clownhouse, First House on the Hill, The Last Revenants, Swamp Freak, Terror Tales, 3 Wicked Witches, 1313: Frankenqueen, Witches of the Caribbean, KatieBird *Certifiable Crazy Person, Pin, Nightflyers, The Dead Zone, The Incubus), Thomas Kovacs (Scanners), Carl Marotte (Skinwalkers, Twists of Terror), Gina Dick (Happy Birthday to Me, Trapped, Don Francks (Johnny Mnemonic, Heavy Metal, The Minion, Terminal Choice, 984: Prisoner of the Future), Larry Reynolds (Killer Workout, Virus 1980, Welcome to Blood City), Jack Van Evera (Black Christmas 1974, Plague 1979, Deadly Eyes, The Incubus, Funeral Home).
And the show-offs: Lori Hallier (Yvette Dupros on Days of Our Lives), Keith Knight (Fink in Meatballs), Alf Humphreys (Lester in First Blood), Cynthia Dale (Olivia Novak on Street Legal), Helene Udy (Myra Bing on Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman), Carl Marotte (J.J. Stillman on Beyond Reality), Don Francks (Walter on La Femme Nikita, the voices of Thomas 'House' Conklin on Police Academy: The Animated Series and Dr. Claw on Inspector Gadget, Mr. Anybody on MisteRogers, Constable Bill Mitchell on R.C.M.P.), Patricia Hamilton (Rachel Lynde in Anne of Green Gables).
The special effects (provided you're watching the director's cut and getting to see them) are among the flick's strongest assets and include a pickaxe through the heart (a bit latexy but worth it to get the actual penetration), a coupla severed arms (very good, well weighted for added realism), a great lookin' barbecued corpse (if a bit bouncy), a disembodied heart (well designed, if somewhat stiff), a decent severed head saved by smart editing, a boiled face (a bit flakey and rough while submerged but looking much better once placed in a refrigerator), a flimsy dummy that benefits from the best possible landing one could hope to expect, nice nails through the skull, and the tour de force pickaxe through the throat and out the eyeball sequence. The blood generally has good consistency despite being slightly bright, but on the whole, the effects are almost as good as the stuff Tom Savini was doing on the early Friday the 13th installments, and the effects crew has a lot to be proud of here.
The shooting locations are superb, with all the mine interiors being filmed inside the Sydney Mines in Sydney (now Cape Breton) Nova Scotia, and the exteriors lensing in Sydney proper. Amusingly, the location was initially selected for its long-lived appearance and upon being selected for use in the film, was then given an expensive makeover by the townspeople to make it more "presentable" when the time came to begin shooting. They meant well, of course, but failed to realize that the mine had been selected specifically for its well-used appearance, and upon returning to find the place's atmosphere largely depleted, the crew were then forced to spend $75,000 of their budget to return the location to its former glory. Above ground, the cinematographer does a nice job selecting locations that convincingly reduce a city of 30,000 down to the 3785 population inscribed on sign signifying the Valentine Bluffs city limits, and although the police station is shot tightly and appears rather nondescript, there's also an excellent small town watering hole, a laundromat, and dance hall that complement the main attraction. Far and away the flick's strongest asset, and well-chosen by the crew's location scout.
The soundtrack is a bit subdued and tends to lurk in the background throughout much of the proceedings, and while this is fine and even appropriate for the bulk of the movie there comes a time when the events on screen call for something frenetic and intense to drive home the terror befalling the characters, and that piece just never comes. The score utilizes all four families of instruments and the pieces come together to form an enjoyable, atmospheric sound, but when the stuff really hits the fan and the film is crying out for a strong musical accompaniment that matches the danger on screen the soundtrack simply doesn't deliver. This element, more than any other, is why, in my opinion, My Bloody Valentine falls short of its direct inspiration, because Paul Zaza, good composer as he is, is not able to bring to this film what Harry Manfredini brought to the Friday the 13th series. The country songs work well within the context of the scenes in which they play, and The Ballad of Harry Warden is up there among the all-time great gratuitous '80s Horror folk songs (it's no "Beware the Madman Marz," but then, what is?), but at the end of the day, it's still missing that critical track that completes the story that the rest of the soundtrack tells so well right up to the climax. No offense to Paul, of course, 'cause Ghostkeeper, Curtains, The Brain, and Popcorn are all top-notch scores, as are many of his non-horror offerings like A Christmas Story, and Porky's - I just feel like this one falls a little short.
Overall, I find My Bloody Valentine a smidge overrated. It's still a good, significant installment in the '80s slasher cycle, but some of its elements seem to be trying to make it deeper than it actually is, and when the movie takes itself more seriously than the audience an impulse to look for problems with which to bludgeon it takes hold and you have to remind yourself not to go actin' like an asshat just because the movie got a little too big for its britches. Oddly, had there been either less, or more character development to go along with the romantic subplot the movie would have benefited greatly, but what we end up getting feels tacked on and tonally incongruent. Maybe I just hate Valentine's Day, I dunno. Regardless - it's essential viewing for '80s slasher fans, and a classic of the Canadian tax shelter era, so if you haven't gotten around to it yet be sure to do so.
Rating: 67%