Not only is Frank Henenlotter a prominent purveyor of jaw dropping, 80s, New York based, horror sleeze, but he’s pretty fucking funny to boot. But while such cult entries as Basket Case and Brain Damage layer their questionable chuckles with a crust of nihilism thicker than a cloud of Big Apple smog, Henenlotter delivered arguably his most accessible movie in the dying moments of the decade with Frankenhooker – a terrifying tale of sluts and bolts.
To describe something called Frankenhooker as “accessible” may suggest that I may gave lost touch with reality a tad thanks to one too many grime encrusted cult flicks making their way through my player; but in leaning more toward the comedy part of comedy/horror, Henenlotter’s somehow created a movie full of exploding prostitutes, lawnmower accidents and cartoonish body horror that not only is genuinely witty, but is weirdly endearing for those lookin’ for some action.
Jeffrey Franken is a quiet, nervy, New Jersey native who, not only is a skilled electrician, but also has potential to become a gifted surgeon if only he could tear his focus away from the weird, biological experiments he doodles with when he’s supposed to be out being social. However, disaster strikes one day when his beloved, pretzel loving, full figured financee, Elizabeth Shelley is shredded in a freak accident involving Jeffrey’s invention of a radio controlled lawnmower.
As time passes, Jeffrey’s grief not only refuses to dissipate, but instead turns inward, leading him to start seeing the line separating right from wrong get decidedly hazy and while there are numerous red flags advertising this, possibly the most obvious is that he’s managed to hide away his beau’s severed head with the intention of creating a new body so Elizabeth can live again. While in the midst of this deranged mania, Jeffrey reasons that there’s one place where women are positively crawling over themselves to give away their bodies at a price – Manhattan’s red light district – and so of he goes in order to supply himself with the proper materials to finish his ghoulish task.
Dealing with muscled pimp Zorro and planning to “harmlessly” kill his chosen victim with a fatal strain of “super-crack”, Jeffrey holds auditions to see which of the gathered whores meet the criteria to be the new Brody for his dismembered love, but when he finds he can’t go through with it, things start to get out of hand.
After the assembled prostitutes get into his super-crack with explosive results, Jeffrey finds that he now has more body parts than he needs and after finally constructing Elizabeth’s new body and finally giving her life, finds that his love has the minds of over a half dozen street walkers cluttering up her brain. Stomping off into the night in order to get more tricks, Jeffrey has to scour the shitholes of NY in order to bring Elizabeth home; but also on the hunt is the murderous Zorro, who is desperate to find out what happened to his exploded “bitches”.
If there was ever a more tempting excuse to judge a book by its cover than Frankenhooker, I’m yet to hear it – however, to write off Henenlotter’s gloriously OTT trash epic as an example of adolescent idiocy would mean that you’re missing out on a comedy whose edge is suprisingly sharp. Much like how Basket Case overcame its massive budgetary restrictions thanks to a suprisingly layered script that took sibling rivalry to biblical levels and Brain Damage took a remarkably original look at addiction by way of a garrulous parasite, Frankenhooker delivers all the severed limbs and splatstick chuckles you’d expect from such an outlandish concept, but underneath the expectedly nudity and gore beats the transplanted heart of a near pitch perfect comedy.
Henenlotter realises that if any of his ludicrous script is going to land, he’s going to have to deliver a cast of characters that you actually give a shit about before his titlular creature staggers into frame or the ‘hos start to explode. Step forward Jeffrey Franken, a jittery Jersey boy who creates cycloptic brain critters that lives in his fish tank and drills into pressure points into his own brain in order to reduce stress. Ably portrayed by the mumbling sarcasm of Street Trash’s James Lorenz, Jeffrey manages to walk a narrow line by being genuinely likeable despite obviously being a bolt or two short of a Frankenstein’s Monster. Whether scraping bunions of the sole of a severed foot with a file, having a romantic dinner for two with Elizabeth’s severed noggin or (possibly in the movie’s most outlandish moment) nonchalantly carrying round a plate of tits, Jeffrey remains stubbonly endearing, even when the script fully acknowledges that what he’s doing is crazier than a shithouse rat.
On the flip-side, former Penthouse Pet Patty Mullen nails the titular role perfectly, looking utterly magnificent with mismatched limbs, purple hair and great, clomping boots straight out of the classic, Boris Karloff version of the creature. In fact, watching her lurch through actual, New York locations while only being able to gratingly echo various “whore-isms” such as “Got a date?” or “Got any money” to terrifed/aroused passers by is a resplendent image that proves that trash cinema can have a sense of humour about itself outside the realms of Troma.
Of course, a remarkably solid script is something of a treat with movies like this (the pacing is spot on as Henelotter takes time to properly tell his story), but it’s nothing without some appropriately insane, psychotronic lunacy to fry the brain quicker than some of Jeffrey’s lethal super crack and thankfully, Henenlotter is eager to oblige – especially when concerning the central set piece where a roomful of hookers go boom. Dodging the obligatory rivers of gore in favor of more spectacular fireworks, the scene is simply amazing as a procession of drugged up and turned on street walkers suddenly go up one by one like the Fourth of July is wearing fuck me pumps and skimpy underwear.
Wisely avoiding becoming an excuse for a goofy porn parody, Frankenhooker has surprising amount of integrity for a movie that features climactic creatures made from fused together hooker body parts. There’s a potent message about Jeffrey trying to “perfect” his dumpy finance by altering her body into something fitting his idea of perfection and his eventual comeuppance ultimately reflects that thanks to some rather merciless irony – but most of all, what Frankenhooker does best is merely be a great comedy.
But hey, don’t take my word for it. Allegedly, an admirer of the movie during the editing process was none other than Bill freaking Murray who took time out of supervising the edit of Quick Change to laugh himself silly at Henenlotter’s dailies – so if a plate-full of severed boobs is good enough for the Murray-cane, it’s good enough for me.
You’ll be Frankenhooked.
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