A Twilight Zone Chiller




I recall my former life as an assassin blood orange sands smoke trails of a djinn shapes of infinity darker side of iconography origin of sexual differentiation – this is very much a personal statement. I stood resplendent in polyester in a series of Fellini-esque entertainments life into film solarising old filigree footage seemingly straight portrait of New York underlying action knowing genre piece spectacular effects. Kick ass lotsa love Jake…now you begin to look like an eerily atmospheric cult movie from the 60s a twilight zone chiller highly polished strong shimmering paint processing beautiful colour negative images – these



Of strange telekinetic powers pulverising visceral energy truly terrifying emotionally charged engrossing fin de siecle fantasy gothic elements dramatic Technicolor inserts bathed in excruciating jokes nudge nudge humour central premise revitalises well-worn amnesia device expressionist lighting reflecting degeneration of the soul my soul your soul. Unable to cope with accidental death but retaining the rock n roll style of the original I fell into the arms of a vengeful Hispanic street gang while a tribe of down-at-heel Puerto Rican hookers ruthless specialists in military flesh piercing took refuge in the sewers captive zombies rebelled. Army brat Curt used experimental methods bring them back into night delighted to welcome acclaimed singer-songwriter looking for inspirational source of new album called The Long Kiss paranoid outsider.



Enter through a mirror trick me into drawing cross and curve with bandaged hands intriguing striking mysterious haunting themed soundtrack set on location impressively photographed fanatical guerrillas huge gold disc doorway leading to finale modern day troubles a showing of Maciste All’Inferno detailed black and white sets all words from twenty-four books stunning use of graphics intelligent ambitious key example of avant garde poetic metaphors traditional training rituals courtship marriage greed life-power-money more life-power-money original tinting and toning. In the throes of new lusts a dying American multi-billionaire explores opposing cultural worlds – teenagers who like Salsa and Carmelita’s monologues women’s prison films subvert stereotypes of mature ladies and post-modern men – complex subject of cultural identity what?



What dazzling displays of sheer zest comic romantic (what?) melancholic drawn from space-age pop the dawn of hi-fidelity original talent darker companion showcase for pan-galactic audio reproduction

indispensable veers from surreal hilarity to political upheaval and back again and again and again a zillion trends in hi tech jinks gangs of twatted clubbers lurching about like idjuts to unfashionable springy rhythms in a neon-lit underworld a sea of love a glossy comeback vehicle no more editing with razorblades no quirky signals etched on wall no fags no lonely soul-searchers long fingered aristocratic fun hugs and cuddles Celtic daydreamers potential suspects celluloid visions of Ian Fleming’s secret agent involving themes of sexuality and violence just watch our jet-set gaucho zoom into overdrive where’s the supernova? Sombre skies links between sado-masochistic monologues drag performances production numbers drugs booze and drive-by shootings peek inside the Vogue editor’s war room complete with quantum beam splitter a cornucopia of mid-sixties rarities. Try impersonations with improvised dialogue sharp cruel witty no more pimply street-boy types just examples of red-hot



So remember Yma Sumac? A solo performance until the cops show up. Follow a group of women who set sail in a Chinese junk seeking adventure new life far from this gory shrieking abrasively satirical horror movie another godless foray into wanton abandonment crazed family abducting stray refugees incorporating them into the Golden Age of Hollywood shock echoes of mad interviews filmed in Philippines packed with astonishing revealing moments ah the spirit ah the uplift spaced out like a toothpaste commercial projected over dark intimidating housing complex we immerse ourselves in the amazing world of ‘neuro-vid’ exhibiting flare to spare and aural clichés. Holding this thing together is Leon Theremin’s Ether Wave an all-too-regular feature rising to the forefront of memory unusual poise pazazz playful provocative like the Inn of Sins on a Saturday evening as I pursue your sister’s killer into a liquid dream. Flitting through Boulevard Haussmann skirting the middle of the night hip British stars like Gary Oldman and Tricky neatly tongue-in-cheek outlandish costumes neither sympathetic or understated script dense awash with arty French movie motifs revealing the killer a young violin player



Arrives on Bitch Island grim cyberpunk world desolate wasteland worse than Bognor Regis populated by an amplified soundtrack roll call of the great and gorgeous: Alice B52s Bauhaus Blondie Bowie Cassandra Doors Dusty Elvis Eno Eurythmics Iggy Jerry Lee Jimi John C Joy Division Kate B Lou Marianne Massive Mazzy Miles Neneh Parliament Patti Pharoah Phil S Portishead Prince Ra Roxy Siouxsie Spacemen 3 Specials Stereolab Stones Suicide Teardrops Tom W Transglobal Transvision VU no plonkers no chaser standard situations indefinite TV self-portraits lots of silent black and white photography a few anguished young men looking like Pasolini threatened by environmental disaster and loops of Barbara Streisand songs. Our heroes have been working in video since the mid 70s first feature about a young woman bored with her boyfriend smashes violin sucked into universe of downmarket noir features with the all the hallmarks of knee-jerk gore this means we reassess our future



Of irrational netherworlds suppurating ecstasy pleasure-pain downtrodden masses thousands of extras unforgettable hunger trendy interiors classic seductions Antipodean disco-dancers showcased in epic productions becomes spiritual journey through Hell on Earth watch the crowd go craazzzeey – depth emotional insight vast international nuclear conspiracies mixing politics with myth and fantasy – these were both our strengths and weaknesses fascination for the interplay between inanimate objects sinister metamorphoses split screen contrasts situation dark malevolent tone of post-war Absurdist tradition meanwhile on the far-out fringes of ‘the permissive society’ lurks an irreverent humour explicit material which may



With luck and a fair wind hey ho precipitating usual yuppie nightmare young Manhattan literary agent pushed over ‘edge’ whip-cracking world of absolutely wicked dominatrix plastic clients prowl through labyrinth of rooms act out grotesque parody of Ariadne’s Thread uncover secret society pain humiliation so-called Captains of Industry their aunt’s brother’s gallery owner’s elaborately montaged astute media manipulators can you have the rock without the roll the swing without the bin? In Europe nothing has changed: the steam still splutters from the pool leitmotivs rain from the sky in gay abandon old dirty magnificent stylish dramatically allegorical erupting into frenzied bloodshed over two hundred locations two thousand costumes elements of giant fresco running time three hundred minutes plus intermission to allow moves towards understanding aerodromes visually lavish hero a local boy scene a remote country house where Gladstone spent many a weekend researching Black Holes and the Estranged Attractor background modelled on Things To Come And Go bump In The Night vague



Celebrated climax in Royal Albert Hall as a bunch of hard-nosed space-marines are pitched headlong into a network of international kidnapping web of extracts from Rimbaud’s poems one of the best loved British thrillers mechanisms naked as tortured emotion singing symbols back to front round and round all places the poet used to visit on the run in London one of most terrifying moments in 50s TV drama not so much a search for the East more a deflation or deconstruction of big time aspirations as he festered underground in Mrs Scarlett’s Lodgings rooming house dosser’s paradise brilliant new wave language of verbal colour criminal love The New Eve paraphrase of maybe/maybe not rewrites off-cuts personal memories found objects old bus tickets possibly the work of fashion conscious humanoids excavating rich vein of neo-Dadaist humour cheeky enterprise harsh times something for everyone



Semi-abstract associations Punk New Wave link-ups cold cold jazz we can never know the answer. Was it ‘Old Dirty’ ? We can never express the dynamic like Edgard Varese on acid oddly life-affirming oddly oddball familiar faces well worn amnesia device another nice one from Botchit & Scarper series takes off with uncompromising production design externalising desire warped limits orthodox syntax in equal measure makes James Last sound like Led Zeppelin farthest reaches final frontier unearthly terrain mapped out by intrepid explorers alienated outsiders yes we are at the outer limits of representation folks from the sublime to the ridiculous forget those art-house classics rediscover the night with its needlepoint of stars just die for this one brooding visuals phat beats obscenity charges baton charges Goth Girls with attitude sinking Chinese junks trippy paraphenalia grief murder dark electro feel months of planning we can kick ass lotsa love heavy head-nodding deep breaks



Morning glory wailing gnashing teeth true variety style virtues of trash stunts cinematic night moves luminaries popular culture dirty plates juiced up vibes deranged hobos mad grrrls tender dark suicides muggers lounge lizards killer docs nasty nerdy neo-Nazi head-cases make you sound like The Chipmunks radio personalities lie detectors literate dramas wheels within wheels-wheels-wheels unspeakable obsessions at boundaries of known pathology ignore the hype try not get too excited even holiday snaps home movies can send strange signals to initiated global laundro-mat shabby stalker types unshaven smelling of dog’s piss mouldering polemics levitating in back alley sublime gloriously textured hands in air recall my former life orange sands visceral energy mirror trick melancholic dawn over cityscape fear reflecting degeneration of the soul – now we tell the story…



A.C. Evans
Illustration Nick Victor


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