Sun-Drenched Cinema

(Mostly) horror/exploitation films (mostly) from the 1970s evocative of: walking barefoot on the hot asphalt at 7pm in the American Southwest, hitting the Drive-In late in August before starting senior year, listening to T. Rex while cruising in a 1970 dodge challenger with your feet on the dashboard.

Duel (Steven Spielberg, 1971)
Before he went family-friendly with blockbusters like E.T., Spielberg was weirdly concerned with masculinity, or maybe not so weird considering the flux American society was in at the beginning of the 70s. Instead of having the male character assert his masculinity by tapping into some primordial aggression like so, so many movies regurgitate as the answer for Men in the Age Of Feminism, our protagonist kind of just barely survives; and despite the sympathy the audience automatically holds for an innocent in peril, the film never portrays him as an especially sympathetic figure. Whether this is due to the director thinking he is pathetic for not being enough of a man, or pathetic for thinking that he's not enough of a man because Women Are People, is left ambiguous. What is always omnipresent is the sun, the car's engine, and Southern California's arid inland.

And Soon the Darkness (Robert Fuest, 1970)
England's primary horror output at the end of the 60s was gothic chillers and Hammer glamour, and euro-horror in general is not known for its road movies the way America is, but one of the greatest contributions to scorched cinema is this early 70s thriller about two girl friends on a holiday cycling through rural France when one of them goes missing and the language barrier makes it all the worse. Featuring hot pants, girl detectives, and feeling foreign and alone whether you're surrounded by the open, empty land or in a room full of people who can't understand a word you say - or can they?

Night of the Comet (Thom Eberhardt, 1984)
Though this list is in no way chronological, we have finally hit the 80s -- from the grindhouse to the living room, the Drive-In is still Queen, as evident in this sci-fi/horror/chick flick (and I say this in a positive sense even though the term makes my skin crawl) about an 18yo valley girl who works at a movie theater and her cheerleader sister who both miraculously survive the almost total extinction of the human race -- and have to deal with those who haven't died yet aren't exactly... "alive". Featuring a pop feminist department store showdown and a Mexican-American male lead - this (unintentional?) updating of W.E.B. Du Bois' "The Comet" is a perfect paean to the Drive-In aesthetic with a heart of gold. Recommended for: valley girls with uzis.

Hannie Caulder (Burt Kennedy, 1971)
And we're back to the early '70s in this Raquel Welch starring rape-revenge Western. Taken by force, husband killed, house burned down, and left for dead, Hannie recruits a bounty hunter to mold her into a skilled gunfighter in order to deliver personal retribution. Raquel Welch was one of the few (though white-passing) Latinas to find success in Hollywood in the late '60s, albeit largely as a sex symbol. Though this isn't exactly high caliber acting, it is a more dynamic role even if she is highly sexualized early in her plight for vengeance. Shot in Spain, produced in Britain, but highly indebted to Spaghetti Westerns, this female fronted gem is lighter on the misogyny and violence than you would expect (at least for a film that's crux and narrative propulsion is rape -- it's no spoiler to say she wins in the end) and entertaining as hell.

Eaten Alive (Tobe Hooper, 1977)

1. Deep in the swamps of Louisiana, disfigured psychotic Judd (Neville Brand) manages a sleazy, decaying motel. Upon learning that one of his guests is a prostitute, he promptly impales her with a pitchfork and tosses her to the crocodile that stalks the nearby waters. This is just the first in a series of slayings, and, as the croc's belly begins to bulge with victims, people grow suspicious. Outsiders begin to poke around the motel, but Judd simply sees them as more treats for his pet.

I haven't actually seen this movie since I was 13, and hardly even then, but what I can remember from its rare Turner Classic Movies screening was the heady atmosphere, lack of moral expectation, and utter seediness. I can't say I'm a fan, but I can say it's left an impression for life -- like a nightmare you only half remember.

Shivers (David Cronenberg, 1975)
The movie that defined the Cronenberg aesthetic and ideological fixation, this was also released as They Came From Within and was notorious in grindhouse circuits under that name. Melding sex, violence, and social critique, this is the closest J.G. Ballard got to the silver screen in his prime. Ask anyone over 40 and they will remember remnants of this film, often as more horribly graphic than the film actually is. High rise apartments, the bourgeoisie, and venereal disease -- best viewed on VHS or on-demand at 3am in your friend's house after they've gone to sleep. Summer inside with the a/c on blast.

Coffy/Foxy Brown (Jack Hill, 1973/1974)
It's common knowledge at this point that Pam Grier is The Best but I need to repeat as often as possible in case anyone misses it--Pam Grier is THE BEST. And while these movies don't drip heat like the rest on this list, they are absolutely essential summer double bill viewing. Black women had never, ever been portrayed this powerful, in control, and JUSTIFIED before and really, rarely have ever since. And though it is ABSOLUTELY exploitation, its written and directed by a white man, it is pure capitalization--99% of film output is exactly that. What is exploitation? Is it only when the content is niche? When you strip it all down, all media is sensationalism and I'd argue you really have to take a closer look at what is disregarded as exploitation, and when, to get the full picture. Minus the early '70s typical homophobia -- like I said, these movies were largely written and directed by white men and the most threatening thing possible would be to portray minorities as showing any sort of solidarity with other minorities -- these movies are a dream to behold, and a reminder of what representation could have been had the "Strong Black Woman" not become a caricature to capitalize on and instead continued to be fleshed out so we eventually saw more strongly characterized black women in the decade that followed.

They Call Her One-Eye aka Thriller: A Cruel Picture (Bo Arne Vibenius, 1973)
In case it's not obvious, vengeful women are a favorite of grindhouse filmmakers and viewers alike. Because, if anyone has a RIGHT to be vengeful it is women. Unfortunately, the easiest way filmmakers of this era found to make our heroine's plight sympathetic was to make the initial defilement something all too many women already experience. Because the producers of these films were primarily in it for the money, and the filmmakers were often looking for a way to express themselves with minimal restrictions, many directors were given free reign content wise as long as there was lots of sex and violence. Lesser directors filled this quota w sexualized violence, others tapped into the reality of it to deliver tales of female retribution to our screens. There's two cuts of this film. One with a porn stand in for Christina Lindberg's prostition/rape scenes that are very graphic and completely unnecessary, and one that does the minimum in portraying the actual sexual violence on screen and the maximum in identifying the viewer with our mute protagonist and her vendetta. It's called the "Vengeance Edition" and it is beautiful. It would be too easy to dismiss all exploitation as trash when so many hold the keys to catharsis -- if you have the privilege to be able to endure the bad, I always encourage seeking out the good. This movie isn't June or even July but a late August, with fall right around the corner and the past 8 months far behind you.

Predator/Aliens/Terminator (John McTiernan/James Cameron, 1987/1986/1984)
It's the middle of the summer, 96 degrees, and the Drive-In is showing $5 double features with homoerotic machismo, big guns, badass women, Nike high-tops, simultaneously stereotyped and humanized minority characters, and tons of explosions -- show up in jean shorts, hit the concession stand, and enjoy the ride.

The Ultimate: The Texas Chain Saw Massacre (Tobe Hooper, 1974)
Cars with no a/c, windows rolled down & on the highway passing nothing but drought blighted farmland, a perpetual coat of sweat, running barefoot, smashing through glass, bell bottoms, tank tops at midnight, exploitation as art, the end of an era.

And the modern: Death Proof (Quentin Tarantino, 2007) 
Quentin is the worst. His movies cherry-pick grindhouse cinema and are eaten up by film bros who see it as trash elevated to art through craftsmanship. People who would heckle through any 1970s movie with less than 7 stars on IMDb love him and it’s easy to see why -- essentially he’s just tapping into the populism inherent in exploitation films. There’s a reason these movies were so popular, and QT is updating that with slightly more self-awareness to fit our postmodern times but still through the lens of a straight, white man -- its an annoying predicament. That being said, Death Proof is the ultimate in sun-drenched cinema: from the references to car culture and films, insanely impressive stunts, and practical effects to the largely female (and not completely white!) cast and protagonists, Death Proof takes everything that is great from exploitation cinema of the 1970s and manages to make something both loving (we can say all we want about Tarantino, but he does LOVE these movies) and genuine while staying true to the grindhouse spirit and aesthetic.