Hedge Productions [1984] 70′
country: United States
director: NATHAN SCHIFF
cast: JOHN SMIHULA, ADAM BERKE,
cast: MARY SPADARO, LEANNA MANGIARANO
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When I was in junior high I had a few friends who made short action comedies starring their extensive collections of Star Wars action figures. While I’d hazard to call them films, the penny productions were certainly entertaining for all their creaky stop motion work and in-camera audio recording – and I’ll be damned if those kids didn’t have at least as much fun making them as the rest of us did watching them. I only ever made two shorts myself, both as parts of school projects [one regarding the Civil War and the other a dramatic rendition of the hypothetical trial of Montag from Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451 - the latter concluded with a showcase of my awesome model of the mechanical hound from the story, made by shoving pencils into a 2 liter soda bottle and covering the lot of it with aluminum foil]. Both have undoubtedly been lost to the sands of time, which I don’t consider unfortunate in the least.
I make this odd introduction to my past by way of an apology to the director of the film in question today – Nathan Schiff. It was only a few months ago that I was giving his debut feature WEASELS RIP MY FLESH a sound critical lashing, something I’ve come to regret [and, more importantly, intend to correct]. You see, Schiff’s film sprouted from the same youthful naivety that produces sitcoms starring Gammoreans and flying foil-covered soda bottle attack dogs. At the age of seventeen and with a ludicrously low $400 dollars at his disposal, Schiff wrote, directed, and edited a feature-length color sound Super 8mm film. More amazing still is the fact that the feature, originally circulated beyond regional screenings via Schiff’s own video masters, has since made its way to a legitimate special edition DVD [restored, no less!] from one of the biggest names in the home video business.
Whatever the end quality of WEASELS RIP MY FLESH may be, one has to admit that it’s quite an accomplishment. How many of us have lived to see a feature film we produced during our teens garner a cult following and official home video release?
THEY DON’T CUT THE GRASS ANYMORE is Schiff’s third film [after 1980's LONG ISLAND CANNIBAL MASSACRE], made when he was in his early twenties. While there is obvious improvement to be found in his technique, the nature of the beast is the same. GRASS is a gruesomely graphic do-it-yourself exploitationer produced for pennies on the dollar in all the visual majesty that Super 8 reversal film can provide. It’s certainly not for the faint hearted.
“What you are about to see is an indictment of all that we salaciously hold sacred – an indictment on a world gone mad!”
It is with that narration and a succession of pans over the mutilated remains of a Barbie doll that THEY DON’T CUT THE GRASS ANYMORE begins. Next we get an homage to THE TEXAS CHAIN SAW MASSACRE as a radio personality enumerates recent instances of murder, mayhem, and destruction before wishing us a nice day. We cut to a young couple making out in a yard, which the young man of the equation complements. The young woman takes a moment to credit the work to a hired hand, who promptly shows up [wearing an old man mask and a hood] to mutilate the both of them with a machete and his bare hands. After the psychopath gardener has hacked the man to bits and stripped every ounce of flesh from the woman’s face the title card crashes in – and the audience realizes what a fine exploitation title it is!
The remainder of the story is simple. Two demented migrant gardeners from Texas decide they’ve had enough with the crack-snorting port-swilling yuppie lifestyles of their employers and set out to kill as many upper-crusters as they can lay their saws, machetes, knives, and hands on. A number of citizens and one issue of Town and Country fall victim to the onslaught, their destruction lovingly detailed in lingering close ups. Bizarre comic interludes – an ode to 50′s scare films ["it takes very little to become . . . a statistic"] and a brief segment involving bumbling detectives – come and go, weaving an odd patchwork with the frequent moments of extreme graphic violence.
Then comes the utterly indescribable ending, which begins with an epic battle between two captive young women and the murderous gardeners, segues into They Don’t Cut the Grass Anymore – the song, and concludes with the ex-gardeners and now-businessmen donning suits and boarding mass transit. Make sense of that one if you dare.
THEY DON’T CUT THE GRASS ANYMORE is an ultra-violent ode to the movies Nathan Schiff loves and adores, and filled to the brim with home spun gore that would make even H. G. Lewis cringe. There are some genuinely disturbing moments to be had, and even a few where GRASS borders on a kind of absurd artiness [an odd film within a film segment shows the murderers paying to see some truly demented blaxploitation]. Wes Craven’s THE LAST HOUSE ON THE LEFT is an obvious inspiration, though I found Schiff’s effort to be more satisfying. The limits of the budget and brevity of the shooting schedule are obvious throughout, and blow-up dolls can be seen standing in for hapless female victims more than once. Not that it matters, as Schiff keeps the blood flowing and the film moving right along regardless.
In all respects, GRASS is an improvement in technique over the ineptly insane WEASELS RIP MY FLESH. The script is relatively focused , though the comic elements never quite gel with the often brutal horror. Dialogue is sparse and features more pontificating on the ills of society than most will like, but the frequent instances of unexpected wittiness make it all worthwhile. Schiff has a much better handle on shooting with this one as well, and while framing is loose it’s never very difficult to tell what’s going on. For a man with no professional training using a consumer grade Super 8 sound camera, he does pretty well here. Sound editing is where I noticed the biggest change for the better – stock cues [tracks used for BEAST OF YUCCA FLATS, NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD, and a whole host of genre offerings] are mixed well with the live recorded audio and the constant whirring of the camera motor is kept in the background.
Like the earlier WEASELS RIP MY FLESH and LONG ISLAND CANNIBAL MASSACRE, THEY DON’T CUT THE GRASS ANYMORE was released to DVD as a special edition in 2004. The disc presents the film as best as I imagine is possible given the source elements, in color and in the appropriate 1.33:1 framing. Extras are extensive and plentiful given the film in question, and include a feature length commentary with Schiff, brief interviews with him, John Smihula, and Fred Borges, and a gallery of production stills. Also included are four of Schiff’s early Super 8 short subjects.
I readily admit that I enjoyed THEY DON’T CUT THE GRASS ANYMORE more in response to the mentality behind it than because of its own merits, though it certainly has them. This is the way that insane underground exploitation should be made – it’s like watching someone’s depraved home movies [Hell, it is watching someone's depraved home movies] and I had a fine time. I’m recommending it, but with a few words of caution. Those sensitive to graphic violence and technological barbarism should definitely stick with something more mainstream instead.
