A near collision culminates with Rose (Marilyn Chambers) pinned underneath a motorcycle in flames. She and the other rider, Hart (Frank Moore), are rushed to the nearby Keloid Clinic, where plastic surgeon Dr. Keloid (Howard Ryshpan) immediately begins surgery on Rose. He employs a revolutionary process called “neutral field grafts,” in which skin grafted onto the woman’s burned body would aid in the growth of new tissue. An unforeseen side effect is a slit underneath Rose’s left armpit, from which protrudes a stinger-like organ used for feeding on blood. What’s even worse is that Rose’s victims don’t die but rather turn into raving zombies that, in turn, attack and infect others.
David Cronenberg’s Rabid (1977) is an early film for the Canadian director but still displays the type of themes he would continually return to, including metamorphosis, physical or otherwise. It’s also an early movie for producer/director Ivan Reitman, who produced this movie and Cronenberg’s previous film, Shivers (1975/aka They Came from Within).
The sexual implications of Rabid are unmistakable. But what holds even more weight is a more general comparison of genders and a critical assessment, it would seem, of masculinity. One can’t help but associate some of Rose’s qualities – her new body part and its corresponding violence – with masculinity and the woman’s human characteristics – her guilt, expressions of pain, even her smile – with her own femininity. Or more simply: the monster is male, the human is female.
In the same vein, the majority of Rose’s victims are male, most of whom are aggressive or too brazen and seemingly deserve their fate. The rabid men’s attacks are ferocious – they hurl themselves at people while foaming at the mouth – but Rose feeds with a mere hug, and an arguably more potent result. She ends most attacks by gently stroking the victim’s hair, a compassionate act that further differentiates the monster (male) from the woman herself. Perhaps most significantly, the doctor, who’s essentially responsible for Rose’s condition, is a man who tries to improve the female body and fails miserably.
Cronenberg excels at perverting the ordinary. A crowded subway train becomes confined and inescapable when one of the infected passengers begins attacking others. A surgeon asking for a surgical instrument is really just asking for a weapon when he’s rabid and craving blood. Movie theatres aren’t relaxing, shopping malls are anything but leisurely, and hospitals are better at creating sicknesses than curing them.
Chambers, born Marilyn Ann Briggs, first gained notoriety in adult features before leaving the industry and starring in mainstream films. Rabid was her first starring role in mainstream. She returned to adult pictures and eventually starred in indie films. Chambers began her career as a model and was pictured on the box for Ivory Snow laundry detergent in the 1970s – she’s a smiling mother holding an infant. The multitalented woman was also a singer and had some success with the single, “Benihana”, which is featured in Rabid, playing on the radio while Hart is in the garage working on his bike.
Sissy Spacek was reportedly the actress whom Cronenberg originally wanted to play Rose. In the film, actress Chambers passes a movie poster for Carrie, Brian De Palma’s 1976 movie starring Spacek.
A keloid or keloid scar – the doctor’s namesake in Rabid – is scar tissue growth that typically occurs following a skin injury.
So what’s the moral of Rabid? Well, it could be that men without inhibitions would turn into rabid, mindless, infectious, murderous freaks. Or maybe it’s that men should respect women and accept them as the stronger, more adaptable sex. But I like to think it’s this: Hugging a person you love is good. Hugging strangers or people you barely know is bad, especially if they’ve just undergone experimental surgery.
Ante Meridiem Theatre is a new feature at the Cafe to focus on those movies that, years ago, would crop up on TV in the wee hours of the morning, when you were only partially awake, and right before the network turned to snow.
A night watchman at a factory finds a woman standing next to a hydraulic press and a crushed body. The woman, Helene (Patricia Owens), flees and later calls her brother-in-law, Francois (Vincent Price), to tell him that she’s killed her husband (and Francois’ brother), Andre. Francois is initially skeptical but his brother’s death is quickly confirmed and made all the more confusing when Helene claims that she operated the press but Andre had lain his head and arm under the machine. Francois and Inspector Charas (Herbert Marshall) find Andre’s laboratory (a madman’s lab, according to Francois), and Helene is seemingly obsessed with flies and becomes hysterical when her nurse swats one of the insects. Eventually, Helene tells the story of Andre (David Hedison), who had invented a device capable of transporting matter, suitably titled the Disintegrator-Integrator. His invention is successful, but one day, he locks the lab door. Slipping notes under the door, Andre informs his wife that he cannot speak and that he needs her help, though she must promise to not look at him. Inside, Andre’s head and face are covered by a cloak, and he keeps his left hand hidden. Helene must find a specific fly, one with a white head, for Andre to correct the ghastly accident which occurred when he transported himself -- not realizing that a fly was in the machine with him.
When I was younger, some of the local cable channels would show numerous horror and sci-fi films late at night and into the early morning hours. Vincent Price was the star of many of these movies, and my brother and I were huge fans, my brother filling a stack of VHS tapes with Vincent Price films. Some our favorites were House of Wax (1953), The Last Man on Earth (1964), and the Dr. Phibes movies (1971-72). Kurt Neumann’s The Fly (1958) is perhaps not the best film to watch for Price fanatics, as over half of the film is Helene’s flashback, in which Price’s character, Francois, only appears in a couple of segments. But despite Price as a supporting character, the actor’s presence has made The Fly a Vincent Price movie.
The Fly is a superb film, and its structure works wonderfully. Rather than open with the genesis of a scientist’s creation, it starts with the aftermath, the shocking image of Helene -- in a dress and with her hair up -- standing next to a bloody body. The first act of the movie consists of Francois and the inspector investigating the crime scene and Andre’s lab, while Helene provides only a few details. The flashback slowly and effectively builds to the accident and invariable reveal of Andre’s new head and arm. Andre as the fly is finally seen with only about 20 minutes remaining, but the gradual suspense -- including Helene and her son trying to catch the fly that Andre says he’ll need to reverse the procedure -- makes the long wait anything but disappointing. Unfortunately, the more overt qualities overwhelm the movie’s subtleties, as the intriguing concept of Andre’s waning humanity is given little development. But the film remains engaging throughout and has a terrific ending -- Francois finds the much-desired white-headed fly.
A sequel followed in 1959, called Return of the Fly. In it, Andre and Helene’s young son has grown and is trying to redeem his father’s name and reputation by continuing his work. Similar results ensue, courtesy of dissimilar circumstances. Price reprises his role of Francois. A second sequel, Curse of the Fly (1965), was produced in the UK and follows the son and grandson of Andre -- though the son now has a different name. They experiment with teleportation, and before long... well, you can guess what happens. Brian Donlevy, who portrayed the titular scientist in two of the Quartermass movies from British studio, Hammer Films, stars as Andre’s son. Director Don Sharp also made movies for Hammer.
Some viewers see the 1958 film as campy, particularly Andre the fly -- though I think he looks creepy, and I especially enjoy his thousand-eyed point-of-view of Helene. There was no sign of campiness in Canadian filmmaker David Cronenberg’s remake in 1986. The movie starred Jeff Goldblum as scientist Seth Brundle who impresses a beautiful journalist, Veronica (Geena Davis), with his Telepods -- devices that can teleport an object from one machine to the next. The most significant difference between the remake and the original is that, while in the original the scientist and the fly “swapped” molecules (and body parts), in the remake the biological makeup of both fuse and create a singular being. This causes Seth to metamorphose into a new creature -- he calls himself “Brundlefly.” The movie is decidedly more horrific and more grotesque, and though the 1958 movie is good, Cronenberg’s remake is even better. There was also an okay sequel to the ‘86 movie: The Fly II (1989), with Eric Stoltz as Seth’s son who -- blah, blah, blah, he becomes a fly!
Suffice to say, teleportation never seems to work out well in movies, or literature, for that matter (example: Stephen King’s short story, “The Jaunt”, from the collection, Skeleton Crew). People are often excited about technological advances, but The Fly represents a fear of new technology -- Helene explicitly voices her apprehension -- and the potential (and feasibly harmful) side effects of unfamiliar machinery. Most technology is about convenience. Sure, it’d be great to quickly teleport to a place miles away, much like the speed of messaging via texts and email. But would I take a fly head and arm in exchange for Apple’s new iTeleport? Nah, I’ll just walk.
Canadian filmmaker David Cronenberg once said that his 1979 horror film, The Brood, was his version of Kramer vs. Kramer (1979), the story of a couple (played by Dustin Hoffman and Meryl Streep) going through a bitter divorce and custody battle over their young son. This may be the easiest way to digest Cronenberg's landmark movie. Think of it as a drama: Frank is estranged from his wife, Nola, and their daughter, Candice, is caught in the middle. Oh, and there are these dwarf-like creatures bludgeoning people to death.
A very unhappy Nola (Samantha Eggar) checks herself into the Somafree Institute of Psychoplasmics for "intensive therapy." Sharing custody of young Candice, Frank (Art Hindle) agrees to allow his daughter to stay at the institute while Nola is being treated by Dr. Raglan (Oliver Reed). The doctor's methods include pushing patients to fight through their emotions -- typically anger (his book is entitled The Shape of Rage). Raglan's experimental therapy is so extreme and intense that it will sometimes bring about changes in his patients, not just emotionally but physically as well. As far as Frank is concerned, Nola can submit herself to as much therapy as she wishes, but when Candice comes home covered in bruises, he is determined to keep his daughter away from Nola and anything to do with psychoplasmics.
The father soon begins searching for hard evidence so that he can openly accuse Dr. Raglan of fraud. He finds a former patient of the institute and sees firsthand what exactly can result from the doctor's therapeutic means. While Candice is staying with Frank's mother-in-law, the young girl's grandmother is murdered, and Candice catches a glimpse of the killer, leaving her in shock. More murders occur, Candice is kidnapped, and Frank learns that Dr. Raglan has made his other patients leave the institute so that he can focus solely on Nola.
Not much more can be said about the film's plot without disclosing the details of the ending. A word of warning: the scene in which Frank uncovers the reason that Nola is Dr. Raglan's most successful patient may be a bit hard to stomach for some viewers. It is fitting and quite brilliant on a thematic level, but it is also a truly horrific sequence.
As my uncle once told me, many of Cronenberg's films deal with some sort of metamorphosis. Marilyn Chambers develops an odd lesion near her armpit following an unconventional operation in Rabid (1977), James Woods becomes a human VCR in Videodrome (1983), and, of course, Jeff Goldblum becomes... well, you know, in the director's 1986 remake of The Fly. Even in his later films, which don't involve bodily mutations, there is almost a psychological metamorphosis. In A History of Violence (2005), for example, Viggo Mortensen's character begins as a small-town diner owner and seems to turn into a cold, deadly gangster (it's perhaps closer to a regression but in the viewers' eyes -- and the eyes of his family -- it can be considered a metamorphosis). There are metamorphoses throughout The Brood: the physical changes in Dr. Raglan's patients, Frank and Nola's relationship, Ralgan and Nola's sessions, little Candice witnessing things beyond her years, etc. It's the essence of the film. As the director suggested, we begin with Kramer vs. Kramer, but we end with purebred Cronenberg.
The controversial ending was edited by a mere few seconds in the U.K. But those small cuts, intended to make the scene less intense, made Nola's actions appear much more sinister. The Brood and many of Cronenberg's films seem to be an acquired taste. But they are unquestionably the products of an intelligent, thoughtful filmmaker who can tell a great story. And if nothing else, viewers can learn this from The Brood: If ever you hear a noise in the kitchen, don't investigate. You probably don't want to know what's rooting around in the cupboards.
A near collision culminates with Rose (Marilyn Chambers) pinned underneath a motorcycle in flames. She and the other rider, Hart (Frank Moore), are rushed to the nearby Keloid Clinic, where plastic surgeon Dr. Keloid (Howard Ryshpan) immediately begins surgery on Rose. He employs a revolutionary process called “neutral field grafts,” in which skin grafted onto the woman’s burned body would aid in the growth of new tissue. An unforeseen side effect is a slit underneath Rose’s left armpit, from which protrudes a stinger-like organ used for feeding on blood. What’s even worse is that Rose’s victims don’t die but rather turn into raving zombies that, in turn, attack and infect others.
The sexual implications of Rabid are unmistakable. But what holds even more weight is a more general comparison of genders and a critical assessment, it would seem, of masculinity. One can’t help but associate some of Rose’s qualities – her new body part and its corresponding violence – with masculinity and the woman’s human characteristics – her guilt, expressions of pain, even her smile – with her own femininity. Or more simply: the monster is male, the human is female.
Cronenberg excels at perverting the ordinary. A crowded subway train becomes confined and inescapable when one of the infected passengers begins attacking others. A surgeon asking for a surgical instrument is really just asking for a weapon when he’s rabid and craving blood. Movie theatres aren’t relaxing, shopping malls are anything but leisurely, and hospitals are better at creating sicknesses than curing them.
So what’s the moral of Rabid? Well, it could be that men without inhibitions would turn into rabid, mindless, infectious, murderous freaks. Or maybe it’s that men should respect women and accept them as the stronger, more adaptable sex. But I like to think it’s this: Hugging a person you love is good. Hugging strangers or people you barely know is bad, especially if they’ve just undergone experimental surgery.
