Blood Freak (

1972

)

I cover a lot of strange movies on this site. We have movies about killer snowmen (Jack Frost (1997)), movies that pit a James Bond wannabe against Dracula (The Satanic Rites of Dracula (1973)), and films about gigantic killer crabs (Island Claws (1980)). Yet for the most part, I’ve learned to be wary of any movie that promises a zany far-out premise, as by and large these just turn out to be lame marketing gimmicks. The far-out zany idea is more often than not, just a cheap attempt to stand out from the sea of other cynically made and poorly-fashioned junk. Fortunately, for every few dozen insane premises composed by a mercenary filmmaker looking to cash in, there is one or two genuinely insane ideas made by lunatics who believe in them with every fiber of their being. So, don’t worry, today’s film about a killer were-turkey is not some idiotic piece of tripe al la Thakskilling (2008), it’s a serious attempt made in all good faith by a filmmaker passionate about the story he’s trying to tell. It just so happens that the work of art writer/director/narrator Brad F. Grinter was trying to make is a religious, anti-drug movie about a were-turkey.

We begin with the man himself, Brad F. Grinter, smoking a cigarette and reading the introductory narration from a sheet of paper that is just off-camera, like a hippy, silver fox version of Walter Cronkite. I hope you like Grinter’s performance as the narrator because he’s not just going to be here for the start and again at the end, but rather a recurring character who pops back in every now and then to explain/comment on the events of the film’s plot. It reminds me a bit of The Beast of Yucca Flats (1961) or The Creeping Terror (1964), where the directors didn’t know how to record dialogue so they just slapped a narration over the entire film and called it a day. However, here Grinter is more than able to actually record his actors (at least once we finish up the first scene on the highway and move into more conventional interiors). So, viewers are left to wonder just who this weirdo in the psychedelic shirt is and why does the film keep cutting back to him. It may be just to help bulk the film up to feature-length, or it may be a chance for Ginter to add a level of poetry to the film’s proceedings. I’ll be damned if I know, though the fact that Blood Freak has already managed to confuse me this much before even the title card is a damn good prospect for the things to come.

In short order we’re introduced to our protagonist, Herschell, a Vietnam veteran turned biker-bum who is wandering across the country with no particular destination or even direction in mind. He comes across Angel, a young woman whose car has broken down on the highway, and after helping her out she takes him back home to give him a place to stay and a job on her father’s turkey farm. When they get home though, Herschell and Angel find the living room occupied by Angel’s sister Anne and her cadre of no-goodnik druggie friends. Anne wastes no time in putting the moves on Herschell, while her cuck boyfriend Guy just sits nearby watching indifferently. However, Herschell is adamant about not taking any dope because contrary to the stereotype about biker thugs, Herschell is 100% straight edge.

Now, you may think you understand where this is going now, there’s going to be a love triangle as Herschell is pulled back and forth between the virtuous Angel and the licentious Anne. Maybe Herschell will be tempted to use dope, his straight-edge values gradually being eroded by Anne’s considerable sex appeal. It seems likely that he’ll make a move on Angel, but her being a goody-goody virgin will probably mean he’ll be left wanting what Anne is more than willing and more than able to provide. Maybe this rejection will send him into her arms, and into some heavy drug use. You could think that but you’d be wrong.

Indeed, it's remarkable how dramatically the film diverges from the premise it's apparently setting up. Angel is going to promptly vanish from the movie (returning only in the moments before the credits) and Anne will immediately become Herschell’s love interest apropos of nothing. Then Herschell will become addicted to drugs just as quickly because after he refuses to toke up with Anne, she asks “How can such a big hunk of man be such a damn coward?” Apparently, Herschell is a good deal less confident than I expected, because this schoolyard chide not only makes him light up but turns him immediately into a raging addict o boot. This is all before Herschell volunteers for the human trials at the turkey farm, where he eats some experimental fowl and transforms into a blood-drinking were-turkey. I’ve got to give some credit to Blood Feast, at least the plot isn’t predictable!

For the bulk of the remaining runtime, Herschell, now a turkey monster will stalk the streets of his town capturing and exsanguinating women, mostly junkies. The scenes of actual murder seem strangely perfunctory as if the film was originally conceived as a strictly religious parable, and all the gore and violence was bolted on after the fact for marketing reasons. Now this could certainly be the case, but again when dealing with Blood Freak it's hard to say for certain. After all, the pacing of the murder scenes is no stranger than what we see before Herschell is transformed into a turkey monster, so his might just be Brad F. Ginter’s directorial style.  

Oddly enough, Anne sticks by Herschell through this ordeal, when you think the mere fact that he’s been turned into a half-fowl abomination would be sufficient to cool their relationship. Never mind the fact that he now hungers for human blood. Yet when she discovers Hershel’s newly avian form, she seems strangely enthusiastic. I fear that this film might dog-pill (or turkey-pill rather) a few of my naïve readers about the nature of female desires. To wit, a hunk wearing a turkey mask is still a hunk nonetheless.

While the main characters are certainly a strange lot, I think one of the most interesting figures of all may well be Anne’s nominal boyfriend Guy. We’re introduced to him while he’s indifferently watching Anne hit on Herschell. In the next scene, he offers her some especially potent pot that will get Herschell completely addicted provided he smokes it five times. At this point, I was prepared to just write him off as an early example of a SIMP but then Guy offers to let his supplier rape Anne in exchange for some money he owes. Guy apparently has little concern about who screws his girlfriend, perhaps I was right on the money when I called him a cuck earlier. Naturally, Herschell isn’t going to stand for this, especially not after he’s become a blood-drinking Turkey monster. So, he interrupts the attempted rape, and hacks off the would-be rapist’s leg with a table saw in what is probably the most impressive special effect in the entire film. At least one of these guys gives a shit about monogamy. 

Then the movie takes a turn for the surreal. As we see Herschell ambushed and killed. Rather than just showing us the turkey monster keeling over, the film cuts to footage of a real-life turkey having its head chopped off, and it sputtering about running in circles as its body slowly starts to realize that it’s already dead. Then cut to a turkey dinner, where Hershell’s turkey corpse is cooked up and promptly devoured by a crowd of people that announce just how happy they are that he’s dead and how delicious he tastes. I know that I’m supposed to attempt to analyze films as I review them, but for once even I’m left at a loss for words. What the hell is going on here?

The film ends the way it began, with Brad F. Grinter seated at his desk reading a sheet of paper while the camera rolls. However, it bears noting that midway through his speech, Grinter starts to have a coughing fit. Are you sure you don’t want to try another take Grinter? You’re just sitting in a room in what I can only assume is your own house. We’re not exactly talking about huge production values at stake here.

Beyond the obviously risible premise and the strange decisions in how to handle the plot progression, Blood Freak is also a catalog of lesser cinematic errors. We have shots that are out of focus, scenes where audio is completely indecipherable, and acting talent that runs the gamut from bad to comically bad. Yet, there is something strangely hypnotic about the film, if only because we never rarely know where it’s going to go next. An incompetent film made by a lunatic never loses its ability to surprise you. Just keep that in mind the next time somebody tells you the latest Hollywood blockbuster is great because it “subverts expectations.”