There are few directors who can walk the razor edge of nihilistic despair and goofy comedy quite like Frank Henenlotter, who’s dedication to wittily written sleaze gifted us a questionable masterpiece in the misshapen, low budget form of 1982s magnificently grotty Basket Case.
If you were wondering how exactly you follow up a movie where a boy and his lumpen, conjoined twin brave the grime of an early 80s Times Square in order to get bloody revenge on the doctors that separated them, then you need need to pay attention, because Frank’s sophomore story about a boy and his talking, hallucinogen dealing parasite may genuinely be the pinnacle of Henenlotter’s manical career and is turns shockingly violent, relentlessly funny, genuinely thoughtful and – at times – utterly devastating.
On top of all this, let’s not forget to mention the fact it has one of the greatest blow job jokes in cinema history – now, who are you to resist taking a hit, eh?
Brian is just your typical, 80s, New York dwelling, everyman, but while trying to kick a bout of illness while wrapped up in bed, he suffers an incredibly potent hallucination that utterly rocks his consciousness to the core. The reason for his impromptu trip is Aylmer, a sentient and very chatty slug-like parasite who has abandoned the weird, German neighbours who live down the hall and whose juice causes powerful, narcotic-style reactions who makes the eager Brian a seemingly innocent deal: place him on his body and take him out for a walk and he gets another hit.
However, what a tripped-out Brian doesn’t know is that Aylmer’s sole source of nourishment is human brains and everytime he and his new, eel-like buddy head out to sample the New York night life, Aylmer is preying on random people and boring into their skulls. Days pass and the change in Brian’s behavior aren’t lost on his flatmate brother and his worried girlfriend, Barbara. However, when the oblivious Brian finally catches on to what Aylmer is up to he’s understandably horrified, but after he attempts to set his little wormy pusher straight, things take a worryingly self destructive turn. You see, Aylmer isn’t just your average, drug dealing, talking parasite (if such a thing exists) and has been moving from host to host for hundreds of years and has been the cherished possession of everyone from paupers to kings and if Brian thinks he’s going to be the one to call the shots, he’s got another think coming.
Unable to go cold turkey due to his body chemistry having irrevocably changed, Brian can only do Aylmer’s bidding, get juiced out of his mind and just hope that the next victim to get their brains eaten out isn’t someone he loves… Don’t expect a happy ending from this one, folks.
Ok, let’s not beat around the bush here, not only is Brain Damage my favorite Frank Henenlotter movie, but it’s one of my favorite movies, period – there’s something about 80s cinematic sleeze that works on levels other than just skeevy repulsion that alters my brain chemistry to euphoric degrees and this doom laden comedy may be the best of them all. Henenlotter’s previous movie, the equally dread laden comedy, Basket Case, proved that the writer/director had a knack for creating layered scenarios while dealing with plots and characters so grimy you can taste it in the back of your throat and his debut tale of two brothers coming to the big city was much more than just exploitation and gore.
However, Brain Damage takes that twisted sophistication to another level, throwing in drug allegories, commentary about sexuality (Brian chats to an extremely phallic looking-being about putting its juice inside him), gruesome body horror and aspects of extreme codependency and all the while never letting up on outlandish gore or its viciously sardonic humor.
The secret to this is that Henenlotter chooses to play the main leads completely straight to the point of moribund, as Aylmer’s influence erodes every normal aspect of Brian’s life and yet the world they all live in – the crazy German neighbours, the oppressive Club Hell, the absurdly scummy hotel – are (hopefully) exaggerated to manic depressive degrees. Henenlotter’s vision of 80s New York is positively dystopian and somehow manages to make the urban hellscape of Scorsese’s Taxi Driver look like and episode of Friends by comparison and in retrospect, Aylmer’s juice actually does seem like an acceptable replacement for an urban underbelly so relentlessly grim.
And then there’s Aylmer. As verbose and conniving any pusher or pimp you’d find in an Iceberg Slim novel, his cheerful blue eyes and perky voice (delivered exuberantly by TV horror host John Zacherle) disguises a vicious streak a mile wide and in Brain Damage’s most audacious scene, Brian locks himself and Aylmer in a dilapidated hotel in a vain attempt to regain the power in their fucked-up relationship in order to see whose resolve will crumble first. It’s essentially a dramatic harrowing, two-hander between addict and dealer that’s instantly transformed into disturbing comedy gold by the fact that one of them can fit in the sink. In fact, the moment when Brian finally breaks and begs Aylmer for his juice only for the parasite to simply a jaunty little tune to torment him a little more may be the greatest, most absurd moment in nihilistic cinema I’ve ever seen.
Of course, all this doesn’t mean that Henenlotter doesn’t also engage in some of the outlandish gore that made his name and here he unleashes a torrent of grue and spilled grey matter to delight any and all lovers of the red stuff. Not only are we treated to numerous scenes of Aylmer indulging in his favorite food stuffs as he tears them out of victim’s skulls, but we get some pretty far out hallucinations that sees Brian, in the throes of cold turkey, imagine that he’s pulling out ribbons of flesh from his ear like a magician pulling endless scarves from his pocket. However, all pale into insignificance in the face of an astounding gore pun that sees Aylmer erupt from the zipper of a catatonic Brian to enter her mouth in a grotesque parody of an enthusiastic hummer that even rivals Re-Animator’s head-giving-head scene a major run for its money in the astonishingly messed-up sex act stakes.
Wickedly funny while it good naturedly deconstructs every happy feeling you’ve ever had, Brain Damage is way more intelligent than its awesomely tawdry setup suggests and its gold-tier levels of sleeze means that it’s an example of 80s cult filmmaking that’ll definitely have you singing Aylmer’s tune.
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