aka The Single Girls
Directed by Ferd and Beverly Sebastian
Sebastian International Enterprises VHS
The ideal of The Cat Scream was demolished in the wake of Ferd and Beverly Sebastian’s Rocktober Blood. For in that film, this badge of machismo gallantry was propelled from mild amusement to what is, essentially, a criterion of man’s existence. Now, imagine the concept of sex. Then, imagine that concept in the hands of The Sebs.
If your libido remains intact, it’s clear that Bloody Friday has already been screened in your presence. And, it’s clear that Ferd ‘n’ Bev were just warming up in 1974. Still, it is Friday. Somewhere. But not in this movie.
In parts and days unknown, an island exists solely to populate the idea of “liberated living.” Liberated Living, as outlined in Bloody Friday, involves a congregation of sex-deficients for group sexual therapy, group talking at the bar, and group “milling” (lights out, clothes off, junk out). Claudia Jennings (Gator Bait) is there. The husband from Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman is there. And guess what — a black-gloved slasher is also there! Yet, before we celebrate, it must be noted that approximately 50 minutes of this film are devoted to discussions of inconsequential topics. Luckily, the other 25 minutes are awash with speedboats, trashed bedrooms, and one bloody boob. It’s the little things that count.
Light on blood, action, and swinging, Bloody Friday is not the trimmed down, feelgood redux of Swingers Massacre that we’d all hoped for. Rather, it’s a casual 70s proto-slasher with zero rationale, awkward stylings, plenty of pillow talk, and neat-edits-that-are-probably-mistakes. What’s that? You can’t stand it when the lips flap so much? Usually, I’m in the same boat. But in this case, the entire cast appears to be playing themselves. As we’ve learned from Blood Lake, any amount of reasonless dialogue can be appreciated, as long as it is delivered by actors who may not be acting. So, when a burly guy asks, “Aren’t you afraid with that maniac runnin’ loose?” before the film makes any effort to inform its characters of the madman’s appearance, The Sebastians are keeping it real. And that’s the kind of scrupulousness which keeps me glued. Unconditionally.
AUDIO AND VIDEO
It’s a real 1970s peach. Audio was somewhat muffled. But not enough to hide the fact that songwriter Bobby Hart, who sings “Miss America” in the film, had more than missed his last train to Clarksville by 1974.
“Edited by The Jamez”. I wish my name was Ferd Jamez.
It’s not Friday and blood is scarce. So what! The notably rare Bloody Friday does not demand your undivided attention. However, it’s tweaked enough to help an evening float by. If you see it, pick it up.