First came video and more recently high definition home entertainment, through to the internet with its streaming videos and not strictly legal peer-to-peer capabilities. With so many sources available, today’s fan of horror and exploitation movies isn’t necessarily educated on paths well-trodden — Universal classics, 1950s monster movies, Hammer — as once they were. They may not even be born and bred on DAWN OF THE DEAD. In fact, anyone with a bit of technical savvy (quickly becoming second nature for the born-clicking generation) may be viewing MYSTICS IN BALI and S.S. EXPERIMENT CAMP long before ever hearing of Bela Lugosi or watching a movie directed by Dario Argento. In this world, H.G. Lewis, so-called “godfather of gore,†carries the same stripes as Alfred Hitchcock, “master of suspense.†SPINEGRINDER is one man’s ambitious, exhaustive and utterly obsessive attempt to make sense of over a century of exploitation and cult cinema, of a sort that most critics won’t care to write about. One opinion; 8,000 reviews (or thereabouts.
Review
"Sure, this hard to believe oddity is slow and boring in parts, but how many anti-drug turkey monster movies are there?" --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.
About the Author
Clive Davies was born and raised in South Wales. A movie and horror fan from a young age, a relocation to Tokyo in 1999 left him with enough spare time to see all those movies he had always wanted to see, and to start writing reviews of them. This became the core of the Spinegrinder movie guide. Other than that, Clive amuses himself by overacting shamelessly for reconstruction dramas on Japanese tv, teaching English, collecting paperbacks, making music and battling the modern diseases that plague so many people: comfort eating, alcohol abuse and pornography addiction. He also likes cats. --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.
FOREWORD I first met the author of this volume while attending a lecture on yakuza films held in a cluttered Tokyo bookshop. As film critic Mark Schilling did his best to explain the history of the genre to a roomful of clueless expat weirdoes, I couldn't help noticing the gregarious Welshman sitting next to me. His direct and pertinent questions on classic ninkyo films, the rise of the jitsuroku genre and the life of real-life gangster turned movie star Ando Nobaru were in stark contrast to the general confusion of the rest of the audience. Could it be? I thought, with some excitement. Halfway eround the world, here in the land of the rising sun, have I found another trashfilm fanatic? And a fellow Celt no less?
After the lecture, I decided to test the waters. This guy seemed to know his samurai and yakuza films. But how would he fare with a question on Euro-horror? I threw out a casual reference to Umberto Lenzi's sprinting zombie flick, Nightmare City. Without missing a beat the grinning Welshman (whom I noted with admiration possessed the barrel-chested physique of a young Paul Naschy) made a crack about Hugo Stiglitz' patchy beard. I was impressed. Not only did he know Nightmare City, he even knew the name of its wooden Mexican lead! It was like that scene in Hemingway's The Sun Also Rises, where the cagey old Spaniard tests the protagonist's knowledge of matadors, and with surprised delight finds him truly simpatico. Except that I'm not that much older than Clive. And, as I'd soon find out, I know a hell of a lot less about film than he does!
But it wasn't until a few months later, over a lunch of Kirin beer and pasta arriabiata, that I realized how truly out of my depth I was. After an exhausting and embarrassing hour of trying to keep up with Mr. Davies apparently limitless knowledge of genre cinema, I retreated to the one area where I felt sure he couldn't possibly know more than me. Zero-budget Canadian shot-on-super-8 horror films. Films made by people I know personally. Movies that no one who'd grown up in a rural Welsh town and then moved to Japan could ever have seen. Things like, uh, Things.
"Things, right," said Clive, through a mouthful of spaghetti. "Barry J. Gillis. I haven't seen it yet. But I've seen the other film he made. Wicked World."
My jaw hit the table. Things (strong contender for title of 'best worst film' ever) though little known outside its rabid cult following, was at least released on video in North Amer --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.
Description:
First came video and more recently high definition home entertainment, through to the internet with its streaming videos and not strictly legal peer-to-peer capabilities. With so many sources available, today’s fan of horror and exploitation movies isn’t necessarily educated on paths well-trodden — Universal classics, 1950s monster movies, Hammer — as once they were. They may not even be born and bred on DAWN OF THE DEAD. In fact, anyone with a bit of technical savvy (quickly becoming second nature for the born-clicking generation) may be viewing MYSTICS IN BALI and S.S. EXPERIMENT CAMP long before ever hearing of Bela Lugosi or watching a movie directed by Dario Argento. In this world, H.G. Lewis, so-called “godfather of gore,†carries the same stripes as Alfred Hitchcock, “master of suspense.†SPINEGRINDER is one man’s ambitious, exhaustive and utterly obsessive attempt to make sense of over a century of exploitation and cult cinema, of a sort that most critics won’t care to write about. One opinion; 8,000 reviews (or thereabouts.
Review
"Sure, this hard to believe oddity is slow and boring in parts, but how many anti-drug turkey monster movies are there?" --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.
About the Author
Clive Davies was born and raised in South Wales. A movie and horror fan from a young age, a relocation to Tokyo in 1999 left him with enough spare time to see all those movies he had always wanted to see, and to start writing reviews of them. This became the core of the Spinegrinder movie guide. Other than that, Clive amuses himself by overacting shamelessly for reconstruction dramas on Japanese tv, teaching English, collecting paperbacks, making music and battling the modern diseases that plague so many people: comfort eating, alcohol abuse and pornography addiction. He also likes cats. --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
FOREWORD I first met the author of this volume while attending a lecture on yakuza films held in a cluttered Tokyo bookshop. As film critic Mark Schilling did his best to explain the history of the genre to a roomful of clueless expat weirdoes, I couldn't help noticing the gregarious Welshman sitting next to me. His direct and pertinent questions on classic ninkyo films, the rise of the jitsuroku genre and the life of real-life gangster turned movie star Ando Nobaru were in stark contrast to the general confusion of the rest of the audience. Could it be? I thought, with some excitement. Halfway eround the world, here in the land of the rising sun, have I found another trashfilm fanatic? And a fellow Celt no less?
After the lecture, I decided to test the waters. This guy seemed to know his samurai and yakuza films. But how would he fare with a question on Euro-horror? I threw out a casual reference to Umberto Lenzi's sprinting zombie flick, Nightmare City. Without missing a beat the grinning Welshman (whom I noted with admiration possessed the barrel-chested physique of a young Paul Naschy) made a crack about Hugo Stiglitz' patchy beard. I was impressed. Not only did he know Nightmare City, he even knew the name of its wooden Mexican lead! It was like that scene in Hemingway's The Sun Also Rises, where the cagey old Spaniard tests the protagonist's knowledge of matadors, and with surprised delight finds him truly simpatico. Except that I'm not that much older than Clive. And, as I'd soon find out, I know a hell of a lot less about film than he does!
But it wasn't until a few months later, over a lunch of Kirin beer and pasta arriabiata, that I realized how truly out of my depth I was. After an exhausting and embarrassing hour of trying to keep up with Mr. Davies apparently limitless knowledge of genre cinema, I retreated to the one area where I felt sure he couldn't possibly know more than me. Zero-budget Canadian shot-on-super-8 horror films. Films made by people I know personally. Movies that no one who'd grown up in a rural Welsh town and then moved to Japan could ever have seen. Things like, uh, Things.
"Things, right," said Clive, through a mouthful of spaghetti. "Barry J. Gillis. I haven't seen it yet. But I've seen the other film he made. Wicked World."
My jaw hit the table. Things (strong contender for title of 'best worst film' ever) though little known outside its rabid cult following, was at least released on video in North Amer --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.