BLOODSTREAM

Directed by Michael J. Murphy. United Kingdom. 1985.

For every Christopher Nolan, there are fifteen Michael J. Murphys: low-budget filmmakers with big ambition but no artistic ability to pull it off. Murphy made post-apocalyptic films, historical dramas, murder mysteries, sword-and-sandal fantasy flicks, exploitation thrillers, and bog-standard horror movies, all in the same tone of voice. He never demonstrated a particular talent for any one genre or mood. They shared the same kind of lackadaisical energy, only held afloat by Murphy’s obvious love for making movies.

It would be revisionist history to look at Murphy as a low-budget wunderkind working furiously just beneath the surface of mainstream recognition. He was, like Andy Milligan and Ted Mikels, someone only known to the kinds of people interested in poverty row schlock. Genre film is full of folks you had to work hard to avoid, guys like John Carpenter or Wes Craven. Guys like Murphy? Well, you had to work extra hard to find them… and even harder to enjoy them.

As someone who has flirted with the independent film industry, I can assure you that it is something only a psychopath or masochist enjoys to any real degree. Yes, it’s nice when things work, but things rarely do. Problems compound, and without money or contacts to fix them, those little leaks become gushing rivers of misery. It’s exhausting and not for the weak of heart, which is why I jumped ship a while ago and never looked back. So, I would be remiss if I didn’t say that I admire Murphy to a not insignificant degree, even if I would rather rub Borax into my dick hole than watch his movies. You can tell Murphy loved filmmaking, even if filmmaking never loved him back.

BLOODSTREAM, an obnoxiously cheap little slasher movie, feels like it was written by a man whose love for independent film frequently clashed with his frustration with the industry side of things. It tells the story of Alistair Bailey, a genre filmmaker who has recently finished his masterpiece, a low-budget horror flick called, you guessed it, Bloodstream. His producer/distributor, William King, doesn’t share Alistair’s enthusiasm. He proclaims it “a piece of shit” that “wouldn’t frighten a four-year-old”. King points out the fine print in their production agreement. In particular, the clause that allows King to void the agreement completely if he’s unsatisfied with the quality of Alistair’s film. King tells Alistair to piss off, that he’ll never work in this town again, yadda yadda yadda. Just like that, Alistair is kicked to the curb, and King, the absolute swine, gets down to business. Now that's he's free to keep all the profits for himself, he sells the film to American distributors.

Unbeknownst to King, one of his assistants, Nikki, has had enough of his underhanded business dealings and decides to take matters into her own hands, stealing documents, raiding safes, and forging contracts. Oh, and convincing the despondent Alistair to kill King and everyone close to him. And why not film it too? Sounds like a great idea. Before you can say LAST HOUSE ON DEAD END STREET, Alistair has decked himself out in a grim reaper outfit and is laying waste to King’s friends, family, and wife, all in plain view of a camera, à la PEEPING TOM. Oh, and he sets a dog on fire for good measure.

“Blood and tits, a few scares, a few thrills, nothing too demanding.” That’s how King described Bloodstream, the in-universe film, but it’s a perfectly apt description of BLOODSTREAM itself. This isn’t really a movie with a plot. It’s more like a string of scenes held together by a loose concept of a plot. Much of Alistair’s screen time is spent sitting in front of a TV, endlessly watching a variety of horror films, all of which look like a helluva lot more fun than the one we’re currently watching. Our lead character is mostly immobile, eating sandwiches and chain-smoking as he watches tape after tape. This is what he does instead of, anything important.

We get to see snippets of what he’s watching. A zombie movie. A slasher in the woods. A mummy flick. A post-apocalypse biker movie that seems to take place entirely in an empty department store building. That one has fist fights, strangulations, actual stunts, a decapitation, and even a chest cleaved open with a giant cartoon axe. Fuck, I wish I was watching that movie, but alas, I’m watching someone watch it instead. Look, this one’s a cannibal movie! Now it’s a vampire movie! Hey, this one’s an EXORCIST 2 rip-off! Man, it would be nice if our lead character was actually involved in the story, huh?

Instead, most of the revenge stuff revolves around Nikki committing low-budget corporate espionage. Is this her revenge story or Alistair’s? With all the evidence of fraud, why not sue him? That’s certainly an easier option than making snuff movies, right? But alas, that wouldn’t be lame enough, so instead Nikki steals more papers, eavesdrops on more phone calls, and then heads to Alistair’s house to ply him with more sex and videotapes, whispering into his ear like a bitter schoolgirl, egging him on to commit violence.

I thought the film would be clever. I thought Nikki would be the real villain, yet another industry figure exploiting poor Alistair. I thought maybe Alistair would begin committing murders based on the films he’s been watching. That would be neat, right? It would tie in all the passive bullshit with some active, story-motivated action. I thought that maybe Nikki wanted him to film all the murders so she could run to the cops and turn him in when it was all said and done. Frame Alistair for everything so she could run away with the proceeds from all the movie sales. I mean, we saw her forge a contract, but we never saw the actual contract itself. What a backstab that would be! But no, King leaves town for the weekend, and Alistair starts bumping people off left and right in drab, unconvincing fashion. It’s like watching a robot bowl.

Thankfully for Alistair, all of these victims have horrible eyesight because every single one of them should have seen a tall man in a black gown and Halloween mask setting up a camera four fucking feet in front of them. None of them ever do. Alistair finds his first victim lifting weights. He drops a weight plate on the guy’s balls before slamming a barbell on his throat. Alistair then electrocutes King’s daughter in the bathtub, shoots and dismembers his brother-in-law with a chainsaw, and in the film’s most hilariously gruesome scene, rams a knife down his mistress’s throat. He’s also attacked by the most deadly breed of dog around: the Old English Sheepdog. Real vicious bastards. That’s why he ties it to a tree, douses it in gasoline, and sets it ablaze, thankfully off-screen. No one ever fellates a deer hoof, though. Bummer.

As I said, I was expecting some ironic or satisfying twist, but none ever came. Alistair and Nikki achieve their goal, leaving a half dozen dead bodies in their wake, before Alistair, driven to hysteria by horror movies, attacks his partner in crime and gets himself institutionalized, all while we hear news reporters talking about how this was all caused by exposure to violent media. Is that what this was really about? Did Murphy make a message movie, or was it a simple knock against the British moral majority that was, at the time, busy making renting out uncensored VHS tapes a criminal offense? BLOODSTREAM was made in 1985, after all, smack dab in the middle of the Video Nasty panic.

BLOODSTREAM doesn’t work as a serious-minded bit of philosophical thought on the nature of violence or the way media exploits it for entertainment. It is impossible to take this film seriously enough for that to work. It’s simultaneously corny and humorless. There is no skill in how it conducts itself, just lurching from scene to scene. The murder set-pieces are atmosphere-free affairs. The entire film is flatly lit, the cinematography dull, the framing usually head-on and shoulder height. It’s utterly lifeless, as sedentary and listless as its lead character. We’ve had plenty of movie-obsessed murderers over the years. There’s a reason no one ever mentions the name Alistair Bailey in conversation about that particular topic. People would collapse into comas at the mere mention of that name.

From what I understand, Murphy considered BLOODSTREAM to be his worst film. Having sat through the entire Michael J. Murphy boxed set that Indicator released a couple of years back, I’m not entirely sure I agree with that assessment, but I’m also not inclined to fight about it. This is now the second time I’ve watched this film. That borax is looking real good right now.