Review of Eaten Alive (1976) by Kevin M — 31 Oct 2009

Given its reputation as an inferior followup to the epochal "Texas Chain Saw Massacre", I was very much taken aback when "Eaten Alive" began to transform from scuzzy hicksploitation into a profoundly disturbing commentary on southern Conservative morality. Its palpable atmosphere of oppressive sleaze kicks in from the very first shot of the film: a crotch-level closeup of Robert Englund's white trash Lothario character, followed by his legendary entrance line: "My name's Buck, and I'm rarin' to fuck.".

In any other film, Buck would be the hero; if not for his yen for anal intercourse, he would be an out-and-out heroic figure. But this is Tobe Hooper's acidic view of Bible Belt culture, where all men are either drunken horndogs or scripture-spewing lunatics. It's not a desirable environment for any discerning woman, less so for the castoff Working Girl thrown to the wilds after her refusal to comply with Buck's friendly request.

Salvation is seemingly found within the crumbling walls of the Starlight Hotel, a rickety old fire hazard maintained by a nutjob named Judd. Judd's a man of simple tastes; he loves the great outdoors, his pet monkeys, purdy blond women, and his best friend: a large reptile with teeth that is either an alligator or a crocodile. Judd can't make up his mind, so why should we? The only stable aspect of Judd's personality is his severely twisted standards of sexual purity. Though the "loose woman of the night" who literally falls into his lap would be a prime candidate for Catholic conversion, she's already been despoiled by the ugly "normal" world from which Judd prefers to isolate himself.

Though he's an unhinged redneck misogynist, we're kind of ambivalent about the fellow 'til he starts gettin' cozy with his guest while he's trying to show her to her room. When his "kindness" isn't reciprocated, his lust turns into furious, misdirected anger; grabbing his trusty scythe (looking much like the Grim Reaper), he uses this fearsome artificial phallus to penetrate his guest, over and over, in one of the most genuinely uncomfortable scenes in the annals of horror. Then it's time for a gator/croc snack!

"Eaten Alive" feels very episodic for a good stretch, until the missing prostitute brings the Law sniffing around, and a middle class family stops by for a rather extended visit. Joe Zito's "Maniac" gets a lot of unnecessary acclaim when it comes to its story construction, but where's the credit for this film pioneering the idea of a "slasher" from the killer's perspective? Neville Brand's performance is quite creepy, and he gets perhaps too comfortable in the shoes of his character. Allegedly, Brand was an alcoholic who went through a relapse sometime while making this film, and this gives Judd's character an entirely new layer of dementia not even hinted at in the dense screenplay.

Yes, this movie gets quite ideologically complex once Buck stops by for Act 3 and we're cutting at one point between "normal" intercourse in one room, a gagged lady who is chained up to a bed (making sexual sounds while she attempts to escape, drawing no suspicion), a little girl trapped in a miniature House of Horrors beneath the hotel, and Judd in the living room, dead center of the frame, attempting to keep it together. The art direction of the Starlight Hotel is a wonderful externalization of Judd's decaying mental status, as well as an all-too-realistic tribute to the mom-and-pop fleabag hotels in deep rural areas. You can practically smell the mildew and Pine-Sol working together in concert.

Not recommended for staunch Catholics, Good Ol' Boys, women or children under the age of 26.