 Summary: Radical plastic surgery technique c/o The Keloid Clinic turns woman into blood-crazed monster who proceeds to spread a fatal virus via her "penis". While the mainstream world retains it's (inexplicable) infatuation with a certain Marilyn Monroe, a somewhat smaller audience has it's own Marilyn deemed worthy of reverence, namely Ms Marilyn Chambers. Golden Age pornstar Chambers takes her first tentative steps into the legit world of cinema courtesy of Canuck strangeman Cronenberg. As a follow-up to Shivers, Rabid can be seen as a continuation of similar themes: paranoia ("you can't trust your mother... your best friend... the neighbour next door"), scientific rationality vs The (new) Flesh & a definitive statement of "Body Horror"; an almost clinical disgust with anatomy and it's negative possibilities. Curiously enough, Rabid anticipates horrorpeer Romero's Dawn Of The Dead & features (unintentional??) parallels with Night Of The Living Dead & The Crazies. Sure, it's often a crude, slapped together illogical mess, complete with performances that threaten to turn the film into a bottom-rung laugh-piece, BUT, Rabid should be appreciated as an unnerving collection of scenes & moments: the banal dialogue heard during the screening of some pornflick, a trickle of blood running down the cheek of an infected farmer, the Organic Syringe that dwells within the analesque opening in Ms Chambers' armpit (yeah!!), striking hardhats attacking a car, a middle-aged woman going ballistic aboard a train & Chambers in convulsions on the floor of a bathroom. Whilst a "media literate" postmodern devotee could deconstruct Rabid to the point where the whole venture could be seen as an extensive foray into the psychopathology of sexual desire (and probably wouldn't be too far off the mark), the film leaves itself open to much "academic" rumination as it presents a world of confrontation realized within a limited budget; capturing a city under siege (via Chambers' virus) by concentrating on sporadic outbreaks of mayhem rather than the kitchen sink mentality of a "blockbuster". Into: Ms Chambers' armpits. Out Of: Inappropriate soundtrack more suited to a made for television melodrama. See Also: Shivers, The Brood, I Drink Your Blood, Insatiable. About the author: Chris D. is a deeply flawed human being who collects Betty Boop cartoons, "sings" for useless punk band The Cut-Offs, writes/edits Headcleaner Fanzine ("The Alternative To The Alternative") & is addicted to The House Of The Dead 2 (Dreamcast reigns...). Current Fave LP: "Disco Train" by Donny Osmond. I'm Very Bored, so please write: unpop@bigpond.com You may read another review, submit your own, or return home. |
