Saturday, Amy, Tara and David Cooper and I made the trek out to The Oaks Theater to see a terrific double-bill: Texas Chain Saw Massacre II and Amityville II. This was the second of two double-bills set up courtesy of the great and powerful Art Ettinger, manager of the magazine that people actually read, Ultra-Violent. The premiere weekend consisted of Cannibals Holocaust and Ferrox, which I eschewed attending on the simple fact that Italians make crummy horror movies. And I didn’t enjoy seeing the turtle being murdered the first time around, so the prospect of that projected on a big screen more than made up my mind, despite my desire to support Art and UV. It also didn’t help that we had other plans that weekend…
Anyway, so off we four went tra-la-la to Oakmont. Amy and Tara got dolled up in wigs and glitter and bangles and all sorts of womanly accoutrement. David and I made sure we wore pants. Stopping off for numerous alcoholic beverages at a local imbibery, mere feet away from the theater, we were costumed and coiffed as we consumed and quaffed.
Then on to the shenanigans. We stormed into the theater and I plunked down money, demanding four tickets for The Duchess. Turned down flat, we opted instead for the movies we actually wanted to see. And see them we did.
I’d almost forgotten how much fun Texas 2 was, and how effective Tom Savini’s effects were, and just how loony Bills Moseley and Johnson were as Chop-Top and Leatherface. Jim Seidow is wonderfully over-the-top as The Cook as well. Ahhh. Having never seen this before on the big screen, it was like Christmas and National Blow Job Day all at once.
Then came Amityville 2, which Art introduced as “one of the sleaziest movies ever made”. And since both films had been prefaced by a quartet of ‘70s sleaze trailers from Art’s own collection, he was the inarguable authority. And boy-howdy does Amityville 2 live up to the sleaze. If you haven’t seen it, then you have prevented some part of your soul from dying. If you have seen it, you know the lunacy of which I speak. The child abuse, the incest, the murders, the interminable tacked-on Exorcist ending, the wonderful mustache-beard combo worn by the Defense Attorney, the look of despair on Brock Peters’ face in every scene he appears. Just heaven, I tells ya.
And through it all we hooted and guffawed and… okay, irritated the sour-looking blonde woman a few rows in front of us. Granted, we weren’t the only ones talking back at the screen and applauding and howling but, quite frankly, we were probably the loudest. Not the strangest, though. That honor goes to the young man who attempted to charm his way into Amy’s and Tara’s individual pants through the time-tested method of seduction via card tricks. Granted, he was a very good up-close magician. Also granted, he arrived and departed alone.
On the whole, I would give the entire evening an 11.5. If you weren’t in attendance, you can hang your head with shame. If you were there, I apologize for the numerous circumcision jokes.