DELIRIUM (1979, 88:06) Severin Films BD
If I understood what director Peter Maris was saying in his supplementary interview, DELIRIUM (in the UK, one of the original Section 2 Video Nasties) started out as a salvaging job. He had been in the running to direct a feature film for St. Louis-based Worldwide Productions, they decided to go with a less competent director who made a mess of things, and he was subsequently invited back to make something releasable of it.
The result is indeed a somewhat schizophrenic film; it starts out to be the story of Charlie (Nick Panouzis), a Vietnam vet who returns home with a psychopathic streak and goes on a murder binge with a series of almost obliging young ladies: the first one gets impaled despite an obvious opportunity to defend herself with an ornamental spear wall-hanging; the second is a hitchhiker who is scared witless by his tendency to exceed the speed limit, but when he pulls over, she doesn't seize the opportunity to clear out—she decides to skinny-dip in front of him; when he assaults a farm girl before impaling her with a pitchfork, they fall to the ground near some neighboring dogs, who don't even bark—they just amble offscreen, bored to tears; and then there's the woman taking an inopportune bath, who shrugs off every downstairs noise he makes in the otherwise empty house. This main branch of the scenario bracket DELIRIUM thematically somewhere between Bob Clark's DEATHDREAM (1974) and Buddy Giovannazo's COMBAT SHOCK (1984). The scenes of homecoming mayhem, which are punctuated with flashback shots that attempt to pass off a wooded area in St. Louis as a Southeast Asian jungle (never mind the telephone poles), are the weakest in the film but nevertheless, it's competently assembled and modestly ahead of the turning point that would come along in the following year with FRIDAY THE 13th.
This story—and the ongoing police investigation of the murders—is the film's primary point of focus, so it comes as quite a surprise when it wraps up slightly less than an hour into the running time. A parallel storyline, which is where the movie really snares our interest, concerns a secret underground committee of "good Americans" (a board of the city's top businessmen, led by yet another Vietnam vet, played by Barron Winchester) who have dedicated themselves to ridding St. Louis of its street trash. How the two narrative threads eventually link I'll leave for you to discover, but it represents a clever and valid save of the unfinished picture.
I came to DELIRIUM (also known in some quarters as PSYCHO PUPPET) expecting no more than a graphic, grassroots psycho-thriller, but it surprised me. It was shot entirely on location in St. Louis on 16mm for $40,000 with a cast of locals, several of them without prior dramatic experience, yet it's a surprisingly functional film, competently shot (by Bill Mensch) and briskly edited (by HITCHHIKE TO HELL's Dan Perry). While no one would ever call it major league, the level of ambition and creativity it brings to a generally thankless task is impressive. In addition to the so-so psycho thriller, you get a chewable political subplot, a fairly persuasive police procedural (hard to pull off on this budget), lots of wince-worthy sexism, and a surprising number of downright impressive explosions, bullet squibs, and gore effects. There's even a romantic sidebar involving the assistant detective (Terrry TenBroek) and a murder victim's roommate (Debi Chaney), both of whom wear some preposterous 1970s fashions and look like Mr. and Mrs. High School Quarterback and Cheerleader. The gore effects by Bob Shelley, who subsequently went on to such projects as Oliver Stone's JFK and Robert Rodriguez' DESPERADO, are Savini-like (based on magician tricks and illusions) at a time when he was just beginning to break through as a celebrity in his own right.
The film's score is credited to composer David C. Williams, his first assignment in a screen career that has now amounted to more than 50 pictures, including CHILDREN OF THE CORN: THE GATHERING, THE PROPHECY II, WISHMASTER 2: EVIL NEVER DIES, and PHANTOMS. A good deal of the soundtrack makes use of library tracks, a couple of them pretty familiar—such as the alternately tense and sparkling keyboard cue that was often heard in '70s film and TV, from David Cronenberg's RABID to an Excedrin headache commercial. However, a few scattered cues sound homegrown, such as the one heard during the pitchfork attack, and briefly enliven the film with a synth-heavy, Goblin-like zest.
DELIRIUM (needless to say, not to be confused with Lamberto Bava's LE FOTO DI GIOIA, which now shares its title here in the States) isn't what anyone would call a horror sleeper; indeed, it's questionable whether or not this entirely qualifies as a horror film, on balance. Nevertheless, had you seen it as a drive-in co-feature in the '70s or early '80s, I suspect you would have sat it out, been reasonably entertained by it, and later perhaps felt some quirky sentimental attachment toward it. Seeing it fresh off the rack in 2022, I'd have to say it held my interest as a relic of a very creative time in American filmmaking.
Severin Films' Region Free BD represents the movie's first appearance on a home video disc and, according to their web page, it has been restored "from the only known 35mm print in existence." Being a blow-up from the 16mm camera negative, the 1.85:1 presentation carries some understandable grain, especially during the darker sequences, but it all goes toward reminding us of the technical limitations the film managed to overcome. There is an English mono soundtrack with closed captioning. There is no audio commentary but there are two extras, the first offering director Peter Maris' recollections of the production, and the other interviewing Atlanta-based special effects designer Bob Shelley, who revels in the art of blowing things up real good.
(c) 2022 by Tim Lucas. All rights reserved.
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