years ago, not a single print of Girly could be found. Even I’d pretty much forgotten all about this darkly funny, sexy gem until Scorpion’s screener landed at the House of Horror. Although sadly fullscreen, the picture quality and sound are generally good, which is more than can be said for the extras; interviews with Francis and screenwriter Brian Comport are entertaining but suffer from very dodgy audio. No matter, I im- plore you, jump on this one as soon as you can. JOHN W. BOWEN
For Sludge Lovers Only
HONEYMOON OF HORROR (1964) Starring Robert Parsons, Abbey Heller and Alexander Panas
Directed by Irwin Meyer Written by Alexander Panas Something Weird Video
The state of Florida generated some bizarre ex- We’re a Happy Family
GIRLY (1970) Starring Vanessa Howard, Howard Trevor
and Ursula Howells Directed by Freddie Francis Written by Brian Comport and Maisie Mosco Scorpion Releasing
“Nasty nanny is no good! Chop her up for fire-
wood! When she’s dead, boil her head, make it into gingerbread!” Man, talk about a film falling through the cracks. It’s not entirely surpris- ing that such an oddball, broadly satirical thriller as Girly – a.k.a. Mumsy, Nanny, Sonny and Girly – failed to find a mainstream audience in 1970, especially given its lack of name actors. However, this was still Britain’s golden era of hor- ror cinema (albeit in its twilight years), which was also an in- credibly fertile period for offbeat British comedies such as Be- dazzled and The Magic Chris- tian. Add the marquee value of Hammer stalwart Freddie Francis as director, plus a sexually charged, virtually unknown stunner and you’ve got a film that should at least have rated a footnote.
REI SSU ES Based on a stage play titled Happy Family,
this delightfully twisted concoction introduces us to a conspicuously fatherless clan of nursery rhyme-spouting upper-crust psychos who lure hippies and homeless people to their palatial es- tate for elaborate games that inevitably result in the guests being “sent to the angels.” Although siblings Sonny (Howard Trevor) and Girly (Vanessa Howard) appear to be in their late teens or early twenties, both exist in a state of arrested development circa age ten, and glee- fully toy with each new vic- tim before dispatching them in darkly novel fash- ion. The deadly fun and frolic continues until the “kids” bring home another new friend – Michael Bryant, billed only as “New Friend” – who plays a few games of his own. Perform- ances range from good to great, but the standout here is perpetually mini-skirted sexbomb Howard, who should have skyrocketed to major pin-up status but soon grew discouraged by
her stalled career and drifted out of the busi- ness. Apparently when London’s National Film The- atre presented a Francis retrospective a few
ploitation films in the ’60s and ’70s, the most head-spinning examples being Two Thousand Maniacs!, Blood Freak, Flesh Feast and Death Curse of Tartu. Irwin Meyer’s Honeymoon of Hor- ror isn’t on par with those pictures in terms of its disorienting capabilities, but it’s still an amusingly hammy psycho-thriller with plenty of camp charm. The vacuous Lilli (Abbey Heller) is an in- nocent young thing whose marriage to overripe French sculptor Emile (Robert Parsons) intro- duces her to a gaggle of artsy weirdos, all of whom seem intent on seeing her dead. The mo- tive is simple: none of the nutty crew, which in- cludes Emile’s institutionalized brother (screenwriter Alexander Panas), blowsy hanger- on Helene (Beverly Lane) and turbaned manser- vant Hajmir (Vincenzo Petti, whose stony Hindi routine is straight out of a ’30s serial), want to share Emile’s incredible magnetism and talent – though with his fruity accent and Brylcreemed ’do, it’s hard to un- derstand the hold he has on them. Maybe they’re all under- achievers. As suspense goes,
director Meyer (later a prolific TV pro- ducer) fires blanks at every turn, so the film’s true selling point is its uninten- tional humour. Per- formances range from narcotized (Heller) to certifiably goony (Petti), while Panas’ sudsy dia- logue is about ten shades of purple. Gorehounds expecting Herschell Gordon Lewis-style proto- splatter should know that there’s a smattering of blood in the final third of the film but, for the most part, Honeymoon of Horror is fairly anemic. But as Frank Henenlotter observes in his liner notes, the movie makes an agreeably knuckleheaded bookend to other kill-for-your-art horror sludge such as Color Me Blood Red and Scream Baby
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