his oversized book reproduces in vibrant colors 150 film posters from the author's personal collection. The posters have all been selected for their lowbrow, "xploitive" aesthetic, a mode of depiction that aims to highlight the most sensational aspect of whatever film is being touted. Most of the screen gems under consideration are what in olden days would have been called B movies (or even grades further down the scale), although a surprising number of generally acknowledged classics creep in as well. And the overall proportion of SF, fantasy and horror entries is high.
The author, who is co-founder with Scott Moffett of the Werepad, a San Francisco screening room, lays out his artistic credo and selection criteria in his introduction. Employing a prose style that is itself a lurid melange mixing the voices of bohemian, art critic, French deconstructionist and Hollywood flack, Boyreau makes a good case for the honesty and vital earthiness of these neglected films and their mad auteurs, especially in contrast to the sanitized corporate ad campaigns and gutless directors associated with current studio films. More of Boyreau's stimulating text also ushers in each section.
The first selections focus on "Sex Trash." Here we encounter The Playgirls and the Vampire, The Woman Hunt, Black Cobra, To the Devil ... a Daughter and Galaxina, among other fantastical vehicles. "Action Trash" brings us Escape from New York, The Ultimate Warrior, War Goddess, No Blade of Grass and Damnation Alley. The selection in "Horror Trash," of course, is entirely germane to lovers of the uncanny and supernatural. Pity poor H.P. Lovecraft, that he never got to see the writhing abominations depicted on the broadsheet for The Dunwich Horror.
Boyreau devotes a lot of text to explicating his guidelines for "Groovy Trash," but most of us will instinctively recognize the criteria: psychedelic imagery and determined far-outness, such as that depicted in the posters for Simon—King of the Witches and The Creation of the Humanoids. "Race Trash" deals with blaxploitation films and related genres, among which is the classic The Thing with Two Heads. Finally, "Docu Trash" illustrates both the now-forgotten realm of "mondo" films such as Macabro and more recent Von Daniken-inspired masterpieces like Mysteries from Beyond the Earth.
SF in the gutter where it belongs
Lowbrow culture—contemporary and historical—has enjoyed a renaissance of late, led by such book publishers as St. Martin's and by such magazines as Robert Williams's Juxtapoz. From Marvel comics to hot-rod 'zines, from lesbian novels of the '40s and '50s to hippie concert posters, every unsanctioned, unmonitored, unclassifiable gutter art form has gotten its illustrated guidebook. This is good news for those of us who enjoy such "bad taste" treats, as most of the original collectibles are now priced beyond average budgets. Thus we owe Jacques Boyreau great thanks for sharing his private collection of movie memorabilia with us.
His selection and presentation of these psychotronic diamonds in the rough is very intelligent and wide-ranging, with the exception of chronological distribution. There are fewest posters from the '50s, a slightly larger amount from the '60s, then a preponderance from the '70s and '80s. This arrangement—an unavoidable artifact of marketplace scarceness—skews the history of these posters. A more complete chronology would offer a clearer picture of the birth and development of this species of lobby advertisement.
But even given this small gripe, it's hard to complain about this spectacular assortment of goodies, presented in a beautiful palette. There's so much lurid glory here to feast the eyes on that you might be advised to parcel out your viewing over several days, lest you suffer an overdose like Michael J. Pollard in Jigsaw: "Take a 'trip' with a man who took L.S.D. by mistake!" What's really amazing about the artwork is how good much of it is. For instance, the stark lines of the poster for Pretty Poison with Anthony Perkins and Tuesday Weld could have graced the cover of, say, a classy Simenon mystery from the period. The fact that all of the artists remain anonymous is tragic. (The one recognizable byline is from Frank Frazetta, for Clint Eastwood's The Gauntlet.) And of course the wonderful catch-phrases are eminently repeatable. Don't be surprised if you find yourself inserting such maxims as "The one thing people hate more than a cop killer is the lawyer who gets him off!" (from Dean Martin's Mr. Ricco) into everyday conversation.
These posters show the ingenuity of a thousand anonymous hacks who, when presented with such films as Kingdom of the Spiders with William Shatner emoting his wig off, were equal to the challenge of conveying the full majesty of the performance to the eager moviegoer standing in the ticket line.
