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“Terror is a Man” * (1959, Severin Films) A shipwreck brings Richard Derr to remote Isla de Sangre — Blood Island — where scientist Francis Lederer claims to be conducting experiments on a panther, but the bandage-swathed creature slaughtering the locals appears more human than feline. Low-budget Filipino creature feature plays in part to the grindhouse crowd with its marauding monster and amusing/aggravating gimmick: A bell that rings to warn audiences of (very mild) gory scenes. But Emmanuel Rojas’s B&W photography is appreciably eerie and the film refuses to paint Lederer and his creation as solely mad scientist and monster; in doing so, “Terror” becomes one of the more solid adaptations of “The Island of Dr. Moreau,” even without acknowledging its source material. Co-directors Gerardo de Leon and Eddie Romero returned to Blood Island for three more films (“Brides of Blood,” “Mad Doctor of Blood Island,” and “Beast of Blood”), all far less subtle but enjoyably pulpy shockers, and all compiled in Severin’s “Fear in the Philippines: The Complete Blood Island” Blu-ray set. Its “Terror” presentation offers an uncut scan from newly discovered film elements, promotional material, and interviews with Romero, Mondo Macabro chief/author Pete Tombs, critic Mark Holcomb, and Stateside distributor/Independent-International boss Sam Sherman.
“The Cell” * (2000, Arrow Video) FBI agent Vince Vaughn uses virtual reality to send child psychologist Jennifer Lopez into the mind of comatose serial killer Vincent D’Onofrio in order to find the location of his last victim. The plot is trite but its sympathy for victims of childhood abuse so horrific that it turns them towards crime is notable for a Hollywood feature; its visual components (cinematography by Paul Laufer, production design by Tom Foden, visual effects by Kevin Tod Haug and Clay Pinney, Oscar-nominated makeup by Michele Burke, and costumes by Eiko Isioka), which are its chief selling point, draw heavily on a wide array of influences, including H.R. Giger, Bruegel, fetish culture, and the music videos on which director Tarsem Singh began his career, will play as either striking or silly, depending on your perspective, but again, are unquestionably bold for a studio feature. Arrow’s 2-Disc Limited Edition 4k/Blu-ray includes three versions of the film — the theatrical cult, a slightly longer director’s cut, and an alternate version created by Laufer — multiple commentaries, including ones with Singh, screenwriter Mark Protosevich, interviews with all the major production entities, extensive visual and written essays, deleted scenes, and numerous vintage featurettes.
“Tommy” * (1975, Shout! Select) Ken Russell (“The Devils”) directed this audacious film version of the Who’s 1969 rock opera about a British boy who endures abuse in one form or another at the hands of virtually everyone in his life — his mother (Ann-Margret), stepfather (Oliver Reed), cousin Kevin (Paul Nicholas), his stepfather’s deranged friend (Keith Moon), a faith healer (Eric Clapton, backed by Arthur Brown), and a drug-dealing sex worker (Tina Turner) — which leaves him deaf, mute, and blind, but also transforms him into a sort of savant/messiah (in the beatific form of Who frontman Roger Daltrey). I cannot say how 21st-century, 4K Ultra HD-minded audiences will respond to “Tommy,” though I imagine that it may echo how many felt back in 1975: Yes, it’s overproduced and willfully bizarre and the choice of having the actors sing the material (including non-vocalists like Reed and Jack Nicholson as the Specialist) is polarizing, and Who scholars will note the differences between the album and film versions (several new songs, others, like “Amazing Journey” shortened, track order shifts), but Russell’s “Tommy” is, in its best moments, appropriately psychedelic and thrilling, if without much of the emotional impact of the source material. Shout! Select’s 50th Anniversary 4K/Blu-ray set includes transfers sourced from the original negative, which look and sound great, but curiously, no extras.
“The Mad Bomber” * (1972, Severin Films) Not one but two deranged criminals are loose in Los Angeles: rigid, grief-maddened bomber Chuck Connors and sex offender Neville Brand, whose unwitting connection makes them both the target of loose cannon cop Vince Edwards. Co-writer/director Bert I. Gordon (of “Amazing Colossal Man” fame) leans hard into the Urban Jungle myth for this unrepentantly violent and tawdry thriller, though in true exploitation fashion, he’s content to showcase ever vice in graphic detail before calling in Edwards to clean up the town with some high-caliber justice. The presence of TV vets Connors, Brand, and Edwards, all playing far afield of their small-screen personas, lends some dramatic heft to the material, and Gordon’s script (expanding a story by crime writer Marc Behm) strikes a paperback potboiler’s tonal balance of cynicism, knee-jerk conservatism, and lurid/morbid detail. Severin’s Special Edition Blu-ray features a 4K, properly scanned image that’s a vast improvement over previous presentations; historian Kier-La Janisse provides a detailed commentary track which includes a conversation with writer and former bomb squad detective Mike Digby, who discusses numerous real bombing cases in Los Angeles, as well as an archival interview with Gordon and new conversations with his daughter, Susan, and co-star Cynthia McAdams (now a celebrated photographer). A tour of the film’s Valley and Westside locations, the TV version of the film (trimmed of mature content but featuring alternate footage) and trailers which sell the film as a straight police procedural round out the disc.
“Crawlspace” * (1986, Kino Lorber) Former doctor and certifiable lunatic Klaus Kinski oversees an apartment building in Los Angeles (played by Empire Pictures’ Italian studio) with a warren-like maze of crawlspaces, from which he spies on and occasionally preys upon the female tenants. Kinski’s full-throttle performance, which at various times requires him to don eye makeup and lipstick, preen before a mirror in his father’s Nazi regalia, and play Russian Roulette, is the chief selling point of this low-budget exploitation thriller, but writer-director David Schmoeller (the underrated “Tourist Trap” and “Puppet Master”) manages to also invest the film with an impressive amount of suspenseful energy and grisly shocks, which are aided considerably by top-shelf cinematography from Sergio Salvati (“The Beyond”) and score by Pino Donaggio. That he was able to complete the film under a constant torrent of verbal abuse and deranged behavior from Kinski — which is detailed in his audio commentary and documentary short “Please Kill Mr. Kinski,” both of which are included on the Kino Blu-ray — is also notable and probably worthy of combat pay. The Blu-ray also features new commentary by historian John Harrison, an interview with makeup effects designer John Vulich, and TV and theatrical trailers.
