Flying in off the heels of the Vietnam war controversy, Wes Craven’s 1972 masterpiece of modern horror,
The Last House on the Left, was a film that forever changed the public’s perception of what contemporary fright fare was capable of. Whether knowingly or otherwise, the films’ handheld, gritty, no-holds-barred approach to screen abuse and unbridled sadism instantly made it one of the contributing genre flicks of the time that helped give birth to ultra-realism in horror cinema, influencing filmmakers worldwide in their efforts to capture an authenticity akin to that of
Last House. Initially released the same year as said film but under an alternate title, Roger Watkin’s
The Last House on Dead End Street (aka
The Cuckoo Clocks of Hell, The Fun House) is often confused as a pseudo-sequel to
Last House on the Left, regardless of how similar in subject and production values it may be. But for all its lurid pathos and backdoor sleaze,
The Last House on Dead End Street also possesses an intelligence intrinsic to its success; one that has some interesting things to say about the movie-going population’s insistence upon subjecting themselves to depictions of human suffering and cinematic violence and the subsequent irony possesed as viewers of such material.
THE LOWDOWN: On a chilly morning in an unnamed city, Terry Hawkins (Roger Watkins) is filled with angst and determination as he begins scheming a plan of revenge against a society he feels wronged him for putting him in jail over drug peddling and prostitution charges. His avenue of retribution: film. His method of payback: snuff. Also fresh out of jail, Ken (Ken Fisher), a good friend of Terry’s, manages to hook him up with some rich customers keen to pay top dollar for celluloid murder and the two men soon set out to recruit a cast and crew of willing participants for their twisted little enterprise. After previewing a number of sample movies and being very happy with the results, investors Steve (Alex Kregar) Jim (Franklin Statz) and Suzie (Geraldine Saunders) are invited to attend the shoot of a new film, although under somewhat shady circumstances. When they wake up in an abandoned warehouse roped to the rafters and begging for their lives, they quickly realize
they are the intended victims of Terry’s new film and the ultimate movie is about to go before the cameras.
THE TERROR TALE & ITS TIMING: The urban legend of so-called ‘snuff’ films is so disturbing an underground phenomenon it has repeatedly proven itself to be a more than ripe source of exploitation within the horror genre. Films such as
Peeping Tom, Videodrome, Mute Wittness, 8mm and more recently
Vacancy have all dealt with the subject with varying degrees of intensity, however Roger Watikins’ notorious
Last House on Dead End Street is arguably the most uncompromising, bravely choosing to make the myth the central theme of the drama. One may ask how a filmmaker could commit themselves to telling a story where the real-life slaughter of human beings is the foremost theme of the movie, which would be a valid point if the discussion where about personal taste. Watkins, however, (albeit high on amphetamines and other chemical substances during the time of filming) is a director conscious of his audience, demonstrating a greater rationale of social observation than most. Long before postmodern self-referencing
Dead End Street takes full advantage of the film-within-a-film scenario, pitting the lives of the production company executives against the mercy of the murderous filmmakers in the ultimate act of reckoning. Strangled, slashed, sliced and sodomized, Terry and his crew carry out the most heinous acts of violence upon their backers, fulfilling every disgruntled director’s dream of reprisal as a result of industry interference. Tongue-in-cheek? Hardly. This is outright anarchy!
The film also displays an astute awareness of its audience and plays on one’s usual preconceived notions of what to expect from a movie of this nature. Although instead of catering to the masses by constructing a formulaic exploitation film in the vein of Herschell Gordon Lewis, Jess Franco or Jack Hill, Watkins’ film (after a pretty straightforward first half) soon demonstrates its shrewd sense of self by turning the events of the last act into a virtual assault aimed directly at
you - the spectator. Watkins achieves this via means of viewer identification with the financial investors depicted in the film; the seemingly endless torture they suffer serves as a reflection the one’s own endurance test undergone whilst watching the movie. For every lash inflicted upon a victim is a lash inflicted upon the audience, perversely appealing through repetition. The substitution of viewer within a movie is a subversive idea and one rarely attempted (let alone successfully pulled off) but here the motive is more than accomplished and in turn contributes immensely to
Dead End Street’s unsettling aftermath.
DOOMED CHARACTERS: For a film heavily focused upon disorientation through disturbing subject matter and wayward editing logic, there naturally leaves little room for sufficient characterization, or at the very least an identifiable protagonist.
Last House on Dead End Street’s company of killers are a deplorable bunch, dedicated to nothing but the infliction of pain upon the snuff merchants, the punishment of which arguably exceeds the crimes they endorse. Terry (the films’ central lead if it were to have one) fuels the screen with an arrogance and disdain so deep-seated it makes it difficult for one to sympathize with his plight; a trait no doubt intended by director Watkins. His hatred for those who have persecuted him and the subsequent gruesome justice exacted is ultimately a personification of his sadism, albeit elevated by the help of his fellow practitioners. Watkins delivers a convincing performance, only occasionally appearing slightly awkward during scenes of more subdued activity (funnily enough) while the remaining cast are merely shuffled along for the ride. It should also be said that the post-production dubbing is at times unbearably out of synch and no doubt contributes to the impression of wooden performances.
THE LOOK OF FEAR: For a movie depicting the potential lives and day-to-day activities of small time snuffers, one would likely assume an atmosphere of constant access to violent imagery, sexual fetishes and any other number of ‘forbidden’ deeds easily attainable by those producing them. Thus, a film innate with grime and sleaze (both of which are necessary to tell its story),
Last House on Dead End Street possesses an adamant philosophy of economical restraint with regards to its production design, only ever pulling out the stops during sequences of sex, slaughter and human degradation. The intended 1:33:1 full-frame aspect ratio and grainy film stock selected by cinematographer Fisher, coupled with his often out-of-focus operating and minimal camera movement not only help enhance the lingering voyeurism but also compliment the improvised nature of the screenplay (that of which, according to Watkins, was virtually non-existent). When Terry finally exacts his revenge come the finale a number of truly bizarre and unnerving set pieces/imagery are put to use, most notably the gimmick of costumed masks worn by the crew as they taunt their victims endlessly before each ritualized slaying. The elementary effects work still packs a pretty punch (especially during the gruelling surgery scene) as does the somewhat disjointed editing style, resulting in a compelling deviance so potent you almost question your fascination with the deplorable events being played out on screen.
THE SOUND OF FRIGHT: Equally as effective as its oily visuals is
Dead End Street’s musical score, composed entirely of library archive material. Undeniably a product of the shoestring budget, Watkins’ ear for solid stock tracks with a more-than-sufficient dramatic intensity almost prove the film’s borrowed tunes may have been more effective than an original composition. The film opens with the sound of a heartbeat penetrating the deep silence of black, followed by a sustained ambience throughout by means of low-end synth streams and baroque drum beats sure to chill the bone. Whenever present the music strictly accompanies scenes of tension and suspense, only occasionally veering into swinging 70’s porn riffs during soft-core stag excerpts - those of which tend to be more campy than sincere. As a horror soundtrack, though,
Dead End Street sports an effectively anxiety-ridden compilation.
FINAL THOUGHTS: While to may be a difficult film to recommend to the casual horror viewer, the themes, imagery and overall mood running rancid throughout
Last House on Dead End Street are mature and unadulterated enough that they should both please as well as challenge the disposition of more hardcore fans. The films' conceit remains morbidly appealing, even if Watkins and co. may not have had all the resources on hand to effectively communicate the complexity the ‘business’ and/or the politics of its operation. Regardless of its flaws the film still stands as one of the early 70s more harrowing veritie’ shockers, in spite of its virtually bootlegged survival.
Dir: Roger Watkins
Writer: Roger Watkins
Cast: Roger Watkins, Ken Fisher, Bill Schlageter, Kathy Curtin
Country: USA
Run Time: 78min
Rated: R18+
