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I was startled when I discovered this recently. I was never aware up to now that our old friend Dwain Esper (Reefer/Sex Madness) was the man who acquired the rights to ‘Freaks‘ in the late 1930’s.

I always knew that it was initially disowned by Tod Browning’s studio. In fact, it had a very damaging effect on MGM and caused Browning to be outcast from the movie industry. What I did not know, was that Dwain Esper bought it up and toured with it. There is no mention of Browning on this poster whatsoever.
In true Esper style, he added an extra reel featuring nudity, just to entice a few more thrill seekers through the carnival doors. This poster gives us a great example of Esper’s sideshow mentality and sensationalist ethics. He ignores the central theme of the movie, apparently missing it altogether, and sells it as a sex oddity.

‘Do Siamese Twins Make Love?‘, ‘Can A Full Grown Woman Truly Love A Midget?‘ and ‘What Sex Is The Half Man Half Woman?‘ Are all questions heralded underneath the banner:’ The Story Of The Love Life Of The Sideshow’

These issues are barely touched upon in the film itself, but in classic Exploitation style, Esper shows us that more than any other, it’s the audience and their expectations that are really being exploited in these instances. We will find as we go that so many of these movies relied heavily on their posters to drag people in or entice them to part with hard earned money to see the movie in question. It is important to historically contextualize things as well. We are talking about Depression era America and a very new medium of entertainment.

The majority of early cinemagoers were labourers, immigrants and unsavory types. This was why topics such as sex, drugs and human trafficking (which we are yet to touch upon) were forerunning subgenres of the decade. The films contain common themes but are so diverse and interesting when placed as an alternative counterpart to the Hollywood output of the same time. Keep checking in as we delve further into the 1930’s as Exploitation Season continues here at Zombiehamster.com.

The infamous tale of Jane Bradford ‘The Cocaine Fiends’ aka ‘The Pace That Kills’ (1936) is a rather high quality affair. The sets are quite resplendent and the performances higher than one might initially expect from one of the ‘Cautionary Tales’ that we have been watching sofar. The gangsters are well presented James Cagney types, all trilbies and loose ties, the best kind.

We follow the story of two ladies, both of whom have hooked up with the wrong individuals. Falling foul to lines such as: ‘Say, I know a fella that’ll put you in a show right away’, the girls enter what they believe to be a glamorous world, but its murky undercurrents do not take long in revealing themselves.

Both of the heroines are given cocaine under alternate pretences at the start, but soon realise what they are becoming addicted to. The movie then examines the easy spread of the addiction, with a soda pop waitress supplying some to a naïve co-worker who is complaining of tiredness. It is this couple that remain the most riveting to watch for the duration of the feature. It begins, as all drug stories, on a whirlwind high, as our pair attends some rather debonair nightclubs. The impression being given is that this is an affliction that is penetrating every area of society. In fact, the introductory reel states very clearly that it is up to the viewer to spread awareness of this terrible sickness.

‘The Cautionary Tales’ fit into the Exploitation genre because they stood as a moral compass for the masses. The true intentions that lay behind the productions were to scandalise and depict socially unacceptable behaviour (drugs, nudity, prostitution etc) in extremely graphic detail. Whilst some of the scenes contained in them may seem somewhat tame in our desensitised times of apathetic audiences, some still pack a significant punch.

One such scene in ‘The Cocaine Fiends’ is when, after losing their jobs through their problem, our ex service staff are now living in a squalid bedsit (and behind in their rent). He writhes on the bed and proclaims: ‘I gotta have dope, I’m a hophead, I’d sell my soul for just one shot’.

She looks deeply into his swollen, blackened eyes and then walks slowly to a mirror and readjusts herself. She may not have a soul left to sell, but she does have a body. The streetwalking scene is so swift that it is over in an instant, but through its use of shadows is a brilliant exercise in the art of ‘what we don’t see’.

She brings him his shot. It transpires that he is Jane Bradford’s brother, who came to town in search of his missing sister. The family are shown at home, in small town America, fretting for the disappearance of their daughter, who is embroiled in a destructive relationship with her gangster boyfriend and is being kept captive by some form of madam.

The boiling kettle is used as a focal point in later scenes, symbolic of the building tension and uncontrollable nature that resides within our characters. It spirals quickly into rough territory, displaying just what an ambitious little film it is.

As a bonus, there is a scene in which our heroine goes to score at an Asian opium den, where there is both a midget and a monkey buzzer. The circle is complete.

‘Human Wreckage‘ was an alternate title for ‘Sex Madness‘, I found this beautiful rare poster in a book recently and thought I should add it to our ongoing collection of Exploitation goodies.

Dwain Esper (1892-1982) becomes more intersting all the time, it transpires that he was a WW1 veteran, who was later known as the ‘King of the Celluloid Gypsies’. It was Esper who broke endless boundaries in his field, showing nudity and explicit drug use in his movies long before many of his contemporaries would dare.

One of his movies which we will have to feature is ‘Narcotic‘ which shows graphic injection methods and whilst showing the picture, Esper toured with a real corpse known as ‘Elmer The Dope Fiend‘, for added effect. It turned out however, that the corpse belonged to a former highwayman that Esper had bought from a circus. This was the body of Elmer McCurdy, who we mentioned in the ‘Sex Madness’ review.

A temperance movement is a social movement against the use of alcoholic beverages. Temperance movements may criticize excessive alcohol use, promote complete abstinence, or pressure the government to enact anti-alcohol legislation. I mention this, as it was Timothy Shay (T.S.) Arthur (1809 – 1885) who originally wrote the highly successful temperance novel ‘Ten Nights In A Barroom’. The novel was so popular that it was made into several movies throughout the silent era and a very well received play.

The version that I am reviewing is the 1931 adaptation. It begins as a simple tale of a miller, Joe Morton, a teetotaling put upon family man, whose daughter is very ill with a mystery illness. Hope is brought to the Morgan’s (Joe, his wife, mother and young daughter) with the arrival of a young doctor. This comes as a huge relief to the town as they had to: ‘Drive out to see Dr Spock, ever since Dr Burton died!’ Joe tracks down the new doctor to the local tavern, where he is antagonized by the snide manager (‘Are you too good for my place Joe?’).

It is here that Joe gets involved in a fight and afterwards partakes in one celebratory drink. There is a bizarre comedy moment when a man falls through a door, knocking down the cleaning lady. She is helped up by a sinewy old codger who asks: ‘Did it hurt ya Fanny?’ to which she replies: ‘No, it hurt my elbow’. Comedy gold people. The saloon is full of Barbershop Quartets and young roustabouts who moonwalk and tumble for the punter’s entertainment. If there is one thing that public houses are missing in this day and age, it’s young men who are willing to tumble for the amusement of their peers.

A few short hours later and Joe is on top of the world, as well as being pissed as a coot. He falls in the door shortly afterwards, dismissive of his nagging mother, who proclaims that ‘There isn’t a Morgan man who won a battle with the whiskey’. Oddly enough, making a very early reference to the ideal that alcoholism is hereditary and a disease, something that would not become a common opinion for several decades.

Joe’s decline into the bottle is a swift one. Within six months he wears nothing but black, unshaven and crazed looking; he begs, borrows and steals drinks wherever and whenever he can. Nothing more than a barfly, he sinks so low as to sign over his house to the bar manager in a bid to clear his tab and buy more. He sinks to new lows as his family start to depend on local charity and Joe gets an unsavory reputation.

In structure and tone, this is the classic story of the alcoholic. It has been retold many times in recent decades and this piece holds its own very well. Considering its age of over 80 years, it remains a startling piece of cinema. A great deal of which can be attributed to the climactic finale, which is one of the most unexpected and shocking that I have seen of late.

The main surprise is just how enjoyable this film is, far from being the dull, preachy rhetoric that I expected; it was a delight and a pleasure to watch.

A brief snippet can be seen HERE.

‘The Wolfman’ (2010) had originally been scheduled for a release last Halloween; however, it was put back several times and now finally sees the light of day over valentine’s weekend. This can only be good news for anyone who didn’t fancy seeing ‘It’s Complicated’ or something with Sandra Bullock in it (Seriously, why is that woman getting so much work at the moment? Have we forgotten people, have we forgotten? Four words: ‘Speed Two: Cruise Control’).

I hadn’t followed the hype monster for Wolfman, due to a plethora of cinematic disappointments over the last 12 months. The very idea of another remake provoked nothing more than a half hearted shrug of vague interest. In short, I expected nothing from it, and boy was I rewarded for this.

There is very little messing around, the movie gets right into the action and never really lets up. It’s a faithful and simple story, which allows for all involved to really get their teeth into the picture (sorry). Benicio Del Toro is Lawrence Talbot the prodigal son of Anthony Hopkins’ Sir John Talbot. Cast out by his father at a young age after witnessing his mother’s suicide, he was committed to an asylum before turning his hand to the stage (to great acclaim).

The disappearance of Lawrence’s brother motivates his widow Gwen Conliffe (Emily Blunt) to write to him, requesting that he return home. Upon his arrival he discovers that his brother’s body has been found. This is where the mystery begins.

The most prominent feature about ‘The Wolfman’ is that you never feel you are watching an actor. Del Toro, Hopkins and (later) Weaving assimilate into their roles, allowing the viewer to focus on the story, the mark of a consummate professional. If it were say, Brad Pitt onscreen, it would be a case of watching Brad Pitt in a movie about ‘The Wolfman’, and no amount of Victorian posturing would detract from that. I have been a fan of Del Toro since I was about 8 years old and saw him as a sleepy looking henchman in ‘Licence to Kill’ alongside 80’s favourite Robert Davi. He excels in this.

The slow descent into lycanthropy and the specifics that surround it are not something that should be purveyed by some jumped up little internet reviewer. That is why I shall give you a simple recommendation to see this in the cinema for yourself. For a few brief and beautiful hours, my cynicism was washed away, I felt as if I was transported to the time of the big screen Horror classics. All involved have embraced the genre with love and care, replicating without regurgitating, creating homage without farce or unnecessary adaptation.

The sets and costumes are remarkable and the ghoulish Victorian atmosphere is stylish and believable. Following the absolute travesty that was ‘Sherlock Holmes’ and witnessing the damage that can be caused to a franchise by contextual reworking and insertion of 21st Century attitude, ‘The Wolfman’ shows that when it’s done correctly, a remake can be a thing of great love and wonder.

It was nice to see that Andrew Kevin Walker was the main screenwriter on this piece, his work was always of great quality (Se7en, Sleepy Hollow, The Game etc) and it’s great that he’s back on the scene. All of the actors involved were superb and the direction was concise and effective. The best Friday night I’ve spent at the cinema in a long, damn time.

If it were the case in the 1930’s that the success of a man could be attributed to his acquisition of midgets, then Jed Buell was the Donald Trump of his day. ‘The Terror of Tiny Town’ features an ‘All Midget Cast’ of none other than ‘Jed Buell’s Midgets’. Yes folks, step right up to witness the all singing, all dancing, hootin’, shootin’, rootin’ and hollerin’ collection of pint size Sheriffs, diminutive cattle rustlers and half measure drunkards.

This was pretty much how ‘The Terror of Tiny Town’ was marketed, a direct cinematic transfer of a sideshow act. The tone is set straight away in which an announcer welcomes us all to have a bit of a laugh at a varied collection of small people. He is interrupted by the two stars of the show, who ensure us that this is no comedy, and is to be treated as a serious feature.

The credits don’t even attribute character names to the actors, they are merely known as ‘The Hero’, ‘The Villain’ etc. We are then transported to a western town were the inhabitants sing about

‘slashing your blues away with your sledgehammer.’ Sound advice methinks.

The fundamental flaw in ‘The Terror of Tiny Town’ is that it’s essentially a one trick (Shetland) pony. The fact that the cast is made up of circus performers and sideshow attractions is all there is to it. It is an act that may have delighted several hundred attendees at a Vaudeville show, but fails to transfer to the big screen with any grace or humour whatsoever. The cast ride around on miniature horses, lassoing tiny calves with clumsy ineptitude. What would have caused roars of laughter in the fleapits, leaves the viewer decidedly cold.

It would be wrong to attack the actors for the poor performances, they were after all, commodities, they were possessions who did what they were told. It is the lack of empathy and the abundance of snickering and finger pointing that leaves this an altogether charmless affair. The result is a long winded Western of poor and predictable quality.

It lacks the heart of Tod Browning’s ‘Freaks’, which allowed it’s outsider cast to voice their frustrations at the attitudes of an ignorant, unsympathetic society, this feature however, encourages us to do no more than point and laugh.

In the sense of Exploitation, this is as literal as it gets. A turn of the (20th) Century sideshow brought to life before your very eyes. As a historical reference point it is interesting, and definitely worth watching, for it portrays the humour, harshness and apathy that people felt towards those of whom had the misfortune to be born different.

The film maintains a cult status today and is referenced in movies (Johnny Suede), music (Dead Kennedy’s Jello Biafra) and TV (M*A*S*H*). The reason for the references lies, I imagine, in the obscurity of the concept more than the execution of the feature. It’s a shallow and saddening piece, but one which is worth watching nonetheless.

Make your mind up for yourself.

Before the release of ‘Freaks’ in 1932, director Tod Browning (1880-1962) had made silent features with Lon Chaney Sr. and of course, directed Bela Lugosi in 1931’s Dracula. He also had over fifty completed movies to his name. After the controversy and furore that surrounded ‘Freaks’, he directed only four. What could have possessed Browning to make such a bold cinematic statement that would have drastic results on what had been a lucrative career?

Inspired by a story written by Tod Robbins (1888-1949), (a Science Fiction, Horror and Fantasy writer who would later spend WW2 in a Nazi occupied concentration camp), Browning drew from his own experiences, having run away from home at 16 to join a travelling circus. This was the basis for his eventual ascent through Vaudeville and eventually, Hollywood.

Browning makes his feelings clear in the opening reel, praising the misshapen outsiders of the movie for their courage and strength in dealing with their afflictions, and the uncaring harshness of the regular world. The written introduction draws to a close with the mission statement:

‘With humility for the many injustices done to such people (they have no power to control their lot) we present the most startling horror story of the ABNORMAL and THE UNWANTED.’

A horror it most definitely is, but for reasons well beyond the aesthetic. Browning’s choice to cast actual sideshow employees, such as Johnny Eck and members of Germany’s The Doll Family, would be what audiences professed to find disgusting and in poor taste. It is Browning’s reflection of society’s attitude towards individuals of difference that really struck a nerve. The horror in this movie is a human horror, and it is more terrifying than any monster imaginable.

It begins with a Carnival hype man, who is telling the story of one particular exhibit, and we are cast back to the travelling show’s recent history. It is here where we first meet Hans (Harry Earles) who is engaged to Martina (Daisy Earles), two of the performances ‘little people’. Martina worries that Hans is starting to develop feelings for (regular sized) trapeze artist Cleopatra. From Hans’s smitten, forlorn gazes, this would appear to be the case.

Cleopatra is involved in a relationship with the circus strongman Hercules (again, one of the non afflicted cast members). Upon the revelation that Hans is in receipt of a considerable inheritance, Hercules and Cleopatra make a joint plan to weasel him out of it.

It is prominent throughout, that the ‘Freaks’ live by a very strict code of conduct and honour, which is far more than can be said for their average counterparts. The initiation scene, in which Cleopatra is accepted into their group, is possibly the most recognised and referenced in pop culture, but there is far more to this movie than one scene can surmise.

It is above all, a love story, but it is the twisted and devious ways of man, which make it a horror.

Freaks became notorious. The prologue was added post production and several scenes were heavily cut. One woman even sued MGM complaining that the movie had caused her to miscarriage. This led to the exclusion of a castration scene and its subsequent results. It also meant that an attack scene, included in the climax, was also almost completely eradicated. A happier ending was added too. None of these factors however, diminish the joy and pleasure that can be gained from this movie. It is a testament to Browning’s skills as a director and producer, that almost 80 years later, ‘Freaks’ stands strong through the references and parodies, leaving behind one of the most spectacular and genuinely shocking movies ever made. Although possibly not in the ways you might initially imagine.

We return to examine the work of Dwain Esper, of ‘Reefer Madness’ fame. Two years after the success of ‘Reefer’, Esper directed ‘Sex Madness’ (aka: ‘They Must Be Told’, ‘Human Wreckage’) (1938) which was pitched as an educational cautionary feature that stood to enlighten adolescents and young adults on the perils of venereal disease.

We have moved well beyond grotty cafés and sinister, dope fiend ragtime pianists to the seedy world of the burlesque theatres. Shady, prurient men que up outside, sharing in underhand comments and suggestive inclinations as to what the night will hold in store.

Four minutes in and we see the effects of the raunchy burlesque act, causing pencil moustachioed men to make public advances upon their ladies and the ignition of lust between couples of the same gender. In the high after the show a seasoned dancer suggests to the newbie (and our protagonist) that they should attend a house party afterwards, a sexy house party.

The sexy party does not fall short of complete and utter degeneracy; one wayward youth actually invites a young gentleman up to her boudoir to ‘See her Pomeranian.’ Nothing to mention of the fact that none of these people are even married. Truly shameful.

Finally, the payback comes. With a visit to the doctor, our heroine is diagnosed as having Syphilis. She tells of her love back home and how she never meant to get mixed up in the world she is now trapped in.

‘I was ready to give up….and then….and then I met a…..a theatrical agent’.

This is one of the most hilarious scenes in the movie. The agent is sleaze incarnate; a wonderful portrayal of such characters, long before the cinematic ideal of an upscale pimp was solidified and replicated ad nauseum. He even gets her to ‘Raise em up a little, I wanna see if you’re the type.’

A similar segment to that to ‘Reefer’ follows, in which a doctor is allowed the chance to air the dangers and facts on venereal diseases, complete with newspaper clippings and photographs. The heroine is assured she has been and returns home to her childhood sweetheart and husband to be.

But things are not what they seem.

This is a far superior film to Reefer Madness, which was; let’s face it, a bit silly. The actors are better and as there is a smaller cast, it is easier to have something resembling empathy for them. The storyline is solid and it goes in some interesting and admittedly quite shocking directions before the climactic finale. I found that I had stopped sniggering after about twenty minutes and had found myself completely engrossed.

This goes to show that Esper was more than just an opportunist hack, that there was some substance to his work after all. A lesser known, but no lesser movie, ‘Sex Madness’ is one that holds as much a place in the history of Exploitation Cinema as its slower, perpetually giggling, slightly hungrier counterpart.

The most famous (in name at least) of the ‘Cautionary’ tales of the 1930’s is ‘Reefer Madness’, which was originally a Church Group sanctioned public safety entitled ‘Tell Your Children’. It wasn’t long after its release that it was purchased by raconteur and movie producer Dwain Esper, director of classics such as ‘Sex Maniac’ (1934), ‘Sex Madness’ (1938) and ‘How To Undress In Front Of Your Husband’ (1937). Esper was also responsible for showcasing the mummified remains of outlaw Elmer McCurdy, who has since become a lost sideshow legend and the makings of many urban myths.

The film begins in a lecture format, as a spokesperson introduces some concerned looking individuals to the madness and menace of the demon weed. A short selection of stock footage is played, showing the simplicity of the drug’s manufacture, distribution and supply. We then cut to the subsequent story.
The plot (as it is) centers around Jack and Mae, he’s a sullen hood with a predatory approach to pedaling his nefarious wares. When some preppy looking college boys come up to the apartment to do some dealings with Jack, Mae comments that they are ‘Not like the young kids you bring up here.’ To which Jack responds: ‘Why don’t you get over your mother complex?’ Thus displaying his damaged, uncaring personality, no doubt accentuated by his devious lifestyle.

The kids are Bill and Jimmy, who will become further embroiled in Jack’s web of sin. Soon afterwards we are taken to a seedy bar, where crazed looking teenagers are losing control to some provocative ragtime, played by the most sinister looking man I think I have ever seen in my life.

Watching him huff down a reefer, clutched in his gnarled fist a few minutes later, is no less terrifying.

The spiral then begins. Jimmy, currently ripped out of his tiny mind, speeds home at speeds of almost 50 miles per hour! His passenger yells in fear as Jimmy runs uncaring through a stop sign, plowing down an innocent man and driving away, impervious to any form of empathy or remorse.

A frantic professor contacts the FBI, well aware that the drug is being distributed amongst his students. The agent shows him examples of ‘Marihuana’ based atrocities, such as one young man who:

‘Under the influence of the drug killed his entire family with an axe.’
As if we were not suitably shocked and awed at this point, we see yet another wild and crazy sex party, in which girls who are out of control spin wildly to yet more ragtime, played by an equally insane but slightly less sinister pianist.
Things degenerate so much beyond this point that I can only allow you to proceed alone. If you dare.

It’s easy to see why this became a cult classic when it was released again in the 70’s. It has been heavily re-cut and altered since its original creation; this was primarily the work of Esper, who wanted it to appeal to the exploitation market. I gave the film a hard time in my introduction, but I think I was projecting the frustration at the aforementioned students who hang the poster on their grubby walls without realizing what the movie is actually like.

Thankfully for all of us, it’s currently in the Public Domain, and so we can watch it right here, all completely legally and guilt free. So, get comfortable and judge the rest for yourself, I hope that you will agree, it’s a nice starting point for what is going to be a very long trip indeed.

‘Baby Don’t Fear The Reefer‘

It was going to happen eventually. Over the last few months I have found myself going through another massive Exploitation phase. For the uninitiated, this is far less sinister than it sounds. Basically, Exploitation cinema consists of everything that is cheap, sleazy, violent, sexy, horrific and well, exploitative I guess.

The image that you see above is of the infamous 42nd Street, New York. This was the epicentre for unsavoury celluloid throughout the 60’s and 70’s (with the eventual and unfortunately inevitable decline and corporate reconstruction of the area taking place in the late 1980’s). Notorious for its XXX adult features, but more interestingly, for some of the strangest and most entertaining alternative movies of the time. It was the polar opposite of the glamour that surrounded Mann’s Chinese Theatre in Hollywood. Grindhouse cinemas lined the street and they played to their audience. For better or worse the audience of this particular district was made up of pimps, hustlers, gangsters, dealers, hookers and johns.

It was all about shock; sometimes (more often than not) an attention grabbing title would be used to drag people in of the street. Lascivious and violent posters promised flesh, blood and action, and this was what they delivered in abundance.
It wasn’t just 42nd Street that created the genre, but it was definitely the hub. It was back in the 1930’s when ‘Cautionary Films’ were released, that the true origins can be pinpointed. Every second student has a ‘Reefer Madness’(1936) poster in their squalid, unwashed, shared accommodation, but I’m sure if a survey was taken, less than a third could actually profess to having seen the movie. In all honesty, they probably aren’t missing much, because it’s not very good, but it serves as a good example for all intents and purposes.

The ‘Drug Warning’ movies of this period stood alongside examinations of teenage pregnancy and pre marital sex, the dangers of peer pressure and jazz music. All of which show us that our generations are no more revolutionary and rebellious than those that existed almost a century ago. There was also a very obscure run of indescribable films at this time which signified the beginning of the B-Movie genre, films such as ‘Omoo Ommo the Shark God’ (1949), ‘Slaves In Bondage’ (1937) and ‘The Terror Of Tiny Town’ (1938) an all midget western.

Over the coming weeks and months, I invite you on a sporadic journey to familiarise yourselves with some Exploitation classics, their cousins, some of their cousins’ friends, and some chap they met down the Mess Hall named Bernard. We will examine the new generation, the classics, the forgotten gems, the ridiculous offshoots. We will prod inquisitively at the genre crossovers such as B-Movies, Trashy Horror, Giallo and Euro Horror, without retreading well worn steps. There would be no point in me telling you that Dawn of the Dead is a good movie, or how Evil Dead is worth watching, you already know this, if you didn’t, you wouldn’t have made it to the end of this article.

The last point and possibly the most important thing to remember in all of this is:

Keep telling yourself…………….

NB: 42nd Street now consists of McDonalds, Madame Tussauds, Lousy off-Broadway Theatres and loads of other shiny crap that holds no interest to anyone of discerning taste.