THE
DEVIL MASTER (1976)
Directed by Donald G. Jackson
Regal Video VHS
Reviewed 10.23.04
Review by Joseph A. Ziemba
THE FILM
The room has grown silent. It’s
two in the morning and I sit completely
entranced, staring at the blankness
of the TV screen. My bare feet are
getting chilly, as my socks have
shot clear across the room. I guess
that’s what happens when you
partake of an absolute classic.
The Devil Master is a detatched
regional mess. Shot on the cheap
(capitalize that “C”)
somewhere in Michigan, this completely
obscure exercise in thick Midwest
accents and erratic nonsense will
knock your block off. The technical
aspects are so inept that they borderline
on artsy, sealing the deal for a
perfect exercise in trashy film
surreality. Horribly composed shots?
Naturally. Sparse synth score? Glad
to have it. Greatest mugs in the
history of the world? Check. Cop
shooting a girl in the ass with
a rubber band? Double check.
Lavall Blessing is a gigantic man
with a half-goatee, flowing goldilocks,
and one fierce butt chin. He practices
the mystic arts, inexplicably wears
a black leather glove, and tries
to get all of the girls at his castle
party to partake of an orgy. Like
that’ll ever happen! A little
guy named Charlie dances with a
tall woman. Everybody gets upset
with Levall after he says, “Charlie,
get the candles out of the trunk
-- where we keep the magic paraphenalia.”
One “missed by a mile”
punch later, everybody splits. Levall
conjures up a totally nude woman
and a devil monster. The devil monster
has lighted red eyes, horns, and
wears a cheap ape suit. Bloody murders
begin, people get possessed, the
local detective balks, and characters
come and go, returning at random.
As the film continues to unwind
into a snowball of blood and oddness,
Lavall hangs out in a karate dojo
and decides to whoop it up during
a hysterical bar fight. A group
of teenagers pull away from a gas
station, as the camera pans up to
a velvet painting of the last supper.
The somewhat unsettling finale will
make you shudder at the thought
of ever getting near a crossbow
again. If your eyes are dry and
your face doesn’t hurt by
this point, then buddy, you need
some help.
Every patchwork plot needs a fitting,
literal complement, right? Try some
of this on for size: a severe case
of camera shakes, sudden obtrusive
close-ups, poorly placed cuts, and
shots that linger for minutes on
end. In other words, a total lack
of technical know-how, which only
makes things better. On top of that,
we get some closet-sized sets (everybody
knows to place couches directly
in front of doorways for maximum
efficiency) and the greatest examples
of non-acting since Damballa ravaged
the swamps in Jack Weis’s
Crypt
Of Dark Secrets.
As I cross the room to pick up my
socks, a thought lingers. Have I
just witnessed a distilling moment
of obscure junk perfection? Yes.
Yes, I have. These moments are few
and far between, so I have no choice
but to soak it all up.
AUDIO AND VIDEO
The full frame cropped print was
crude and gritty, with muted colors
and grain for miles. The mono sound
fluctuated and was mostly full of
hiss and cracks. To answer your
question -- no, I wouldn’t
want it any other way.
EXTRAS
The Regal title screen holds its
own against the best of ‘em.
They even include a four-way split
on the FBI warning. Whoa! Embassy,
watch your back.
FINAL THOUGHTS
The Devil Master strikes
the perfect balance between hilarity,
chills, and utter nonsense. I loved
it. It’s a slice of unknowing
ineptitude that demands your undivided
attention. This one can be hard
to track down, so godspeed. |
Just doin' it
Best apartment ever
On duty civies
When Lavall speaks, people listen
|
