The
makers of Slamdance victors Harry
Knuckles and the Treasure of the Aztec Mummy are back with a cautionary
tale involving Jesus, lesbians, vampires, Mexican wrestling, Kung Fu, and God
knows what else I missed because the smile on my face was so huge, I couldn’t
see over my cheekbones. We’re talking about a film whose tagline is “The power
of Christ impales you,” so religious nuts, consider yourself warned: Jesus
Christ, Vampire Hunter (screens Saturday, August 30, at the Dryden)
will offend the pants right off of you.
Hunter,
which was shot on 16mm stock to (presumably) make it look more like a campy
’70s exploitation flick, takes place in Ottawa, a city plagued by a problematic
shortage of lesbians. Suspecting foul play (read: vampires), Father Eustace
(Tim Devries) heads down to the shores of the St. Lawrence to get some help
from Jesus H. Christ (Phil Caracas), who emerges from the water clutching a
pitcher of refreshing lemonade like the Kool-Aid Kid. “Lemonade?” he
offers. “Will there be enough?” Eustace’s sidekick wonders. “Oh,
there will be plenty,” Jesus assures him, reminding us of that deal with
the loaves and fishes.
This is the kind of humor to expect
from Hunter. And a few seconds later,
you’ll understand the film’s action quotient when a trio of lady vamps, led by
the hysterically named Maxine Shreck (Murielle Varhelyi), kick Jesus in the
nuts and toss sand in his face. What kind of way is that to treat Our Savior?
And what, pray tell, is the Big JC doing wasting his time helping Canadians?
You know it’s on after that.
After getting a fashionable haircut
and some ear piercings (who knew he had such a pronounced widow’s peak?), Jesus
teams up with devout follower Mary Magnum (Maria Moulton) and discovers a
horrible underground secret. It seems that local lesbians are being snatched up
and brought to the lair of Johnny Golgotha (writer Ian Driscoll), who grafts
their skin onto his vampire pals so they’ll be able to walk around in the
daylight.
Once in a while, characters break
out in song, making Hunter some kind
of twisted concoction of Godspell, Jesus Christ Superstar, and The Rocky Horror Picture Show. Jesus
croons, “I was born in a manger/Doomed to live in danger,” and we
cheer when he does it — we really can’t help it.
Jesus’s adventures, which feature
surprisingly original action sequences, involve a battle with a clown car full
of atheists (“Let the conversion begin!”); God appearing in a bowl of
ice cream to nag Jesus to call his mother once in a while; and, eventually, an
appearance by Jesus’s longtime crony, Mexican wrestler El Santo, who I think
might have been played by Harvey Weinstein. Scenes are separated by a spinning
crucifix, à la the Batman logo from the equally campy ’60s television series.
And the sound — oh, Lord, the sound — has all been (purposely, I hope)
redubbed to look like a bad Godzilla knockoff.
While Caracas makes a fine Jesus, Hunter is nearly hijacked by Moulton’s
Mary Magnum. She looks like Diana Rigg reimagined by Russ Meyer, and the shiny
red spandex they pour her into brought back fond (yet sometimes painful)
memories of Italian actress Ornella Muti working a similar outfit in the Sam J.
Jones-Max von Sydow version of Flash
Gordon (she was Ming’s bitchy daughter).
Cram Wet Hot American Summer and But I’m a Cheerleader into a musty cabin
for a few weeks, hire Stephen Sondheim as a counselor, and you get Camp (opens Friday, August 29, at the Little), a sometimes witty but unnecessarily
long comedy that does for musicals and the people who love them what Best In Show did for dog fanatics.
(Note: The author of this review is a straight male who likes musicals about as
much as he likes Kate Hudson films, and knows as much about them as he does
rocket science, so a lot of humor may have flown right over his dumb hetero
head.)
Camp is set in Upstate New York’s Camp Ovation, which is the place to go if you’re
young and fantasize about Broadway stardom. In other words, it’s a place where
the sports counselor is incredibly bored, if you catch my drift. The story
follows a very familiar trajectory despite focusing on a half-dozen characters.
There’s New Hot Straight Boy (Daniel Letterle) who can’t choose between Ugly
Duckling Fag Hag (Joanna Chilcoat) and Slutty Blonde (Alana Allen) With Parker
Posey Lite Sidekick (Anna Kendrick). There’s also Cross-Dressing Justin Guarini
Clone With Bad Skin (Robin de Jesus) and Fat Girl With Jaw Wired Shut (Tiffany
Taylor), who are each looking to earn respect from their parents. And there’s
Washed-Up Drunk Slash One-Hit Wonder Turned Reluctant Leader of Ragtag Kids
(Don Dixon), who constantly lives in the shadow of his former glory.
Writer-director Todd Graff, who used
to be a counselor at a similar camp, fills his cast with talented novices,
which makes Camp seem like Fame for a new generation. But I don’t
mean that in a good way. Graff also pads his running time with a lot (about 20
minutes) of stuff that just doesn’t need to be in there. Again, the humor and
your ability to appreciate it will be based on your expertise in the field of
musicals… or the enjoyment you might derive from watching Fame.
Interested
in raw, unsanitized movie ramblings from Jon? Visit his site, Planet Sick-Boy (www.sick-boy.com),
or listen to him on WBER’s Friday Morning Show.
This article appears in Aug 27 – Sep 2, 2003.
