Rabid (1977)

          In some respects, Canadian filmmaker David Cronenberg took a step backward with Rabid, the second of his myriad biological-horror sagas and his fourth theatrical feature overall. Whereas the director’s previous bio-horror picture, 1975’s Shivers a/k/a They Came from Within, is suffused with Cronenberg’s distinctively clinical approach, Rabid is more obviously derivative, borrowing stylistic and thematic tropes from sources including the work of American gore maven George A. Romero. Rabid also lacks Cronenberg’s usual storytelling sophistication, suffering from halfhearted characterization, as well as stop-and-start pacing. Nonetheless, Rabid is still a nasty jolt of sexualized violence, and better by far than the average drive-in schlock of the same era—even mediocre Cronenberg is basically worthwhile. Better still, the creative growth the director demonstrated with his next bio-horror story, 1979’s The Brood, was extraordinary; after that, he was off and running on an impressive streak that carried him all the way to the acclaimed Dead Ringers (1988).

          Like so many of Cronenberg’s movies, Rabid begins with experimental medicine. At the institute bearing his name, Dr. Dan Keloid (Howard Ryshpan) employs chemically treated grafts to create quasi-artificial skin tissue during plastic surgery. When a young couple suffers a terrible motorcycle accident near the institute. Dr. Keloid employs his risky technique on badly wounded Rose (Marilyn Chambers). Upon awaking after surgery, Rose becomes a sort of mutant vampire, having grown a vagina-like orifice in her armpit that emits a probe capable of sucking blood from other people’s bodies. The movie’s title stems from a major subplot, in which the virus carried by Rose spreads to other victims, resulting in quarantines and other draconian responses by the government, recalling Romero’s The Crazies (1973).

          Whereas the best Cronenberg movies wrestle with profound ethical issues, Rabid is more of a traditional shocker in the Frankenstein mold—a doctor unwittingly transforms an innocent victim into a deadly monster that must be stopped. As such, there’s a lot of herky-jerky rhythm as the movie idles through dialogue scenes in between attacks. Rabid ultimately works, both in terms of shock value and suspense, but it’s not especially original or provocative, notwithstanding the aforementioned weird appendage. Among other problems, the music is generic and shrill, because Cronenberg had not yet begun his fruitful collaboration with composer Howard Shore, who bathed many of the director’s subsequent films with aural landscapes full of elegant dread. One more aspect of Rabid that’s worth noting is the presence of leading lady Chambers, appearing in her first mainstream movie after achieving fame in the porn blockbuster Behind the Green Door (1972). She’s fine here, and even affecting at times, though her frequent nude scenes indicate she was hired for her lack of inhibitions as much as for her acting talent.

Rabid: FUNKY

The Brood (1979)

          David Cronenberg’s horror movies are filled with indelibly unpleasant images, but it’s hard to top the surreal variation on childbirth that occurs near the climax of The Brood. Without spoiling the sickening spectacle, suffice to say there’s a lot of licking involved. And, as in the best of Cronenberg’s fright flicks, the image is about so much more than simply provoking revulsion and shock—it speaks to deep and disturbing themes that the Canadian provocateur has explored throughout his many bio-horror phantasmagorias. In this special pocket of Cronenberg’s filmography, the only thing worse than the terrors lurking inside our own bodies is the nettlesome human tendency to alter physiology, risks be damned.

          In this case, the individual playing God is one Hal Raglan (Oliver Reed), a therapist who has invented a field called “psychoplasmics.” He teaches patients to push negative emotions out through their skin, resulting in lesions and sores. From Hal’s Machiavellian perspective, this is a messy but necessary path to catharsis. Although Hal has a full complement of acolytes at his handsomely appointed institute just outside Toronto, not everyone is a believer. Frank Carveth (Art Hindle) is upset because his estranged wife, Nora (Samantha Eggar), is under a sort of lockdown for intensive therapy, and because Hal has begun working with the Carveths’ young daughter, Candice (Cindy Hinds). Frank employs various means (some legal, some not) in order to reclaim his daughter, somewhat like a concerned relative trying to free a loved one from a cult compound. Complicating matters is a series of gruesome murders committed by childlike mutants. Eventually, Frank helps authorities connect the murders to Hal’s research, though the task of confronting the good doctor—and whatever sort of weird creatures are hidden at his institute—falls to Frank.

         Although The Brood is a slow burn, with long stretches of screen time elapsing in between violent scenes, the combination of Cronenberg’s artistry and the immersive mood generated by his collaborators helps sustain interest. A serious student of metaphysical, psychological, and scientific subjects, Cronenberg puts across science-fiction stories exceptionally well by creating utterly believable environments and terminology, and by building characters who seem like genuine academics. The Hal Raglan character, for instance, is plainly a maniac because of his willingness to endanger the lives of others in the name of research, but Cronenberg ensures that the therapist never seems like a monster. Similarly, the people (and creatures) who do terrible things in The Brood are victims as much as they are victimizers. Cinematographer Mark Irwin’s naturalistic lighting energizes Cronenberg’s meticulously crafted frames, while composer Howard Shore—providing his first-ever movie score—conjures incredible levels of dread. More than anything, The Brood is a testament to Cronenberg’s unique storytelling style, which blends classical structure and methodical pacing with a natural affinity for the macabre and the perverse.

The Brood: GROOVY

Shivers (1975)

          Canadian provocateur David Cronenberg’s first proper feature, and also the first taste world audiences got of his disturbing biological-horror fixation, Shivers isn’t a fully realized piece of work, but it demonstrates Cronenberg’s skill with pacing and tone. The story is one of the writer-director’s signature cautionary tales about doctors mucking around with the human body and thereby causing organs to rebel. Specifically, a deranged M.D. invents a parasite that can supposedly enter the body of a diseased person, eat a dysfunctional organ, and take the place of the organ as a permanent (and functional) resident in the body. Unfortunately, the parasites have a tendency to turn their hosts into sex-crazed psychopaths, and to multiply by creating new parasites in the bodies of their hosts’ sex partners. (The creatures’ life cycle explains the film’s U.S. title, They Came from Within, featured on the above poster.)

          Instead of exploring the broader implications and big-canvas possibilities of this nasty premise, Cronenberg wisely takes the Invasion of the Body Snatchers route by restricting the action to one confined location: a small island outside of Montreal occupied almost exclusively by a high-rise apartment building. So, over the course of the story, the slimy little parasites—which, in one of the director’s characteristically perverse touches, look like crawling sex organs—spread from a few infected persons to the entire population of the building. Battling the creatures is physician Roger St. Luc (Paul Hampton), and suffering the monsters’ worst abuse is businessman Nicholas Tudor (Allan Kolman), who spends much of the picture convulsing while beasties squirm under the skin of his abdomen. Also along for the ride is B-movie icon Barbara Steele, whose character gets raped by one of the critters during a bath.

          Blood flows freely throughout Shivers, which doesn’t hit the balance of gore and ideas that distinguishes Cronenberg’s best bio-horror flicks, though the mercilessness of the picture gives it a kind of sadistic integrity. Cronenberg’s clinical camera style is impressively in evidence, as is his gift for clear-headed storytelling, despite the fact that Shivers features a cast of thoroughly mediocre actors; while some of the unfamiliar faces scream and suffer effectively, only Joe Silver (as a doctor unwittingly caught up in the infestation) conveys a distinct personality.

Shivers: FUNKY

Fast Company (1979)

Badass biker-movie veteran William Smith didn’t get many opportunities to appear in “real” movies, and it was even less common for him to play sympathetic leads. So while Fast Company is a routine B-movie elevated by the skills and reputation of its director, it also represents a high point for fans of charismatic muscleman Smith. The director is, improbably, Canadian bio-horror specialist David Cronenberg, caught halfway between his early Great White North indies and his ’80s breakout period. He does a solid job as a helmer-for-hire, delivering all the requisite drive-in whammies; lean and mean but reflecting a fair amount of craftsmanship, Cronenberg’s drag-racing extravaganza is exploitive without being out-and-out sleazy. There's violence, debauchery, and skin, but also consistent characters and a rational narrative about how a devious corporate sponsor exploits its drivers. Enter the Dragon guy John Saxon, at the height of his macho comb-over glory, revels in his villainous role, and Smith plays a simple but relatable sort of romantic lead. He also gets to deliver a few tasty lines, like when he takes a shot at his sponsor, Fast Co. Motor Treatment, during a live TV shoot: "Fast Co. is gonna keep you regular and raunchy till way after sundown." Preach on, brother man! The low-rent '70s music is atrocious and tragic ’70s starlet Claudia Jennings is underused, but the movie pays off like gangbusters. Fast Company is that rare animal of an exploitation flick you can watch without feeling skanky the next morning.

Fast Company: FUNKY