I bought (or maybe received as a
present; I can’t recall) Dick Smith’s
Do-It-Yourself Monster Make-Up book
when I was a wee lad (probably the third edition; the one with the full color
photos of the two kids on the cover), and it was amazing. Let’s never mind that Smith was one of the most innovative and important figures in movie
makeup. His book was eye-opening in the
level of detail put into each makeup, even the simple ones (and this, for a
monster kid who ate up anything to do with special effects, was like crack). I once used this manual to do a
split-skull-face makeup on one of my siblings years later (and I have to pat
myself on the back a bit here, because it turned out pretty damned well).
Less well known, but just as
transformative for me, was 1976’s Make-Up
Monsters by Marcia Lynn Cox, a
book I believe I ordered through my grade school’s book program (you know, the
ones where you’d get a flyer, want every book in it, be able to afford maybe
one [and always be astounded at how the inevitable Garfield book listed was the most expensive thing there], and then
wait what felt like an eternity just to see if it was worth the money; probably
from the good folks at Troll). While not
as technically advanced as the Smith
tome, Cox’s book was just as
valuable for what it showed you could accomplish on a meager budget. It told you how to do a mummy makeup with
paper towels and corn syrup (a far cry from Jack Pierce’s groundbreaking work on The Mummy but still effective enough), a werewolf makeup with
lamb’s wool and eyeliner (again, not Pierce
level), and even a “dripping face” (much more relevant to this week’s film) with
dried beans (or popcorn) and cotton balls.
Even though I don’t think I attempted a single makeup in it (supplies
cost money), I must have gone through that book a thousand times, studying the
process and creativity at work. Along
with magazines like Fangoria and Famous Monsters of Filmland, books like
this one fueled my desire to be a special effects makeup artist (a fire that
was extinguished quickly after leaving high school, but that’s another
story). It makes me wonder if Joe Tornatore had the same book as a
kid, because the transformational makeup in his Grotesque (created by John
Naulin) has the same sort of uninspired-by-the-real-world, homemade quality
that made Cox’s book so special to
me. Sadly, it doesn’t help Tornatore’s film any that the makeup here
is weak, in my opinion, from a design standpoint if not from an execution one.
Kathy (Donna Wilkes, the original Angel)
and Lisa (Linda Blair) head on up to
Lisa’s family’s house out in the middle of nowhere. Meanwhile, a maniacal gang of punks, led by
Scratch (Brad Wilson), are also
headed that way because they heard that Lisa’s dad, Orville Kruger (Guy Stockwell), a special effects
artist, has a secret stash of either money or dope up there (hint: it’s
neither). Tab Hunter shows up later as Lisa’s Uncle Rod.
The one thing that Grotesque deals with more than anything
else is the idea of monsters. Orville is
an effects man who creates monsters on celluloid for a living. At home, he dabbles in creating more of
them. He gets a kick out of scaring
people with his creations (and, I’m sure, he equally loves being scared by
them) to the extent that he shoots home movies of himself “attacking” his wife
while in costume (she swings a knife at him in horror; jocularity!). Orville’s producers love his work so much
that they offer him a bonus for his accomplishments (going out on a limb here,
I don’t think any movie producer would ever do this, like, ever). Similarly, the character of Patrick (Robert Apisa) appears physically as a
monster, though his disposition is, we’re told, mild-mannered. It’s implied that Orville draws inspiration
for his work from Patrick, and in this way, Orville is forming mainstream
acceptance for a person who would never be accepted in regular society
(“Society won’t accept ugliness,” we’re told later in the film). Contradictorily, Patrick is kept in a secret
room in Orville’s house, hiding his monstrosity like something to be ashamed of,
but this is more to play to genre tropes than anything else.
Naturally, the true monsters of
the film are not the ones who look like monsters. The punks are evil through and through. They slaughtered the last family they tried
to rob, and they have no problem doing the same to the Krugers, if need be
(indeed, they really want to). But while
the punks look more “human” than Patrick, they attempt to make monsters of
themselves physically by dressing in a way anathema to popular culture (and it
was always the punk ethos to be set apart as “other” from the rest of the world;
the perfect visual shorthand for filmic villainy), their hair spiked, their
clothes stylishly tattered and/or greasy, their faces caked in garish makeup. They are, in essence, attempting to be what
Patrick was born as, although with the punks, it’s more to match their outsides
with their insides.
The film also concerns itself
with the creation of reality in artifice.
As the film opens, we see an old, dark house in a thunderstorm. An old woman monologues about something for a
while and is then bitten by a large monster in a hooded robe. It’s all just the latest horror film on which
Orville worked, but we’re led to believe that we’re kicking off the story
proper. From the outset, the reality
we’re presented with onscreen is debunked as false. Later, Orville will opine to Kathy, “What’s
reality, and what is illusion?” He
follows this by singing Row, Row, Row
Your Boat (“Life is but a dream”).
To Orville, film and fantasy are means to create reality, to channel a
new one into existence. Likewise, Uncle
Rod is a plastic surgeon, a person who molds the perception of reality for a
living (in effect, a makeup effects artist working in flesh rather than latex,
a point which will be brought up much later in the film). Even the punks get caught up in this
existential crisis to some degree (“Everyone else is phony, but we are real”). All of this culminates in a tribute ending
that is equal parts touching, silly, and incongruous yet sums up precisely
where Tornatore and company are
coming from (complete with a freeze frame and the celluloid burning out).
Despite the love clearly coming
from the filmmakers, Grotesque simply
doesn’t work, and that’s a bit of a shame because I admire the risks it takes
with its storytelling. It isn’t afraid
to get rid of characters we don’t expect to die, it isn’t afraid to introduce
major characters midway through its runtime, and it isn’t afraid to allow the
story to branch off in a completely unexpected direction in its second half. These subversions would normally be valued by
a jaded audience (red: me).
Unfortunately, the film doesn’t truly commit to either its Horror or
Revenge aspects as anything other than cool window dressing on a film that
doesn’t quite seem to know what to do with the window. So, I respect the film. I just didn’t particularly enjoy it.
MVT: I love the meta facets
of the film, but then, I always love the meta facets in films.
Make or Break: I was astounded when the film did a U-turn at the
halfway mark, and not astounded in a necessarily good way (though, as stated, I
did find it intriguing).
Score: 5/10