After the lumpy, deranged antics of Basket Case 3 landed in 1991, the cinematic career of sleeze auteur Frank Henenlotter seemed to have stopped deader than one of Belial Bradley’s torn apart victims as he moved on to becoming more of a champion of other, low budget oddities as he oversaw restorations of forgotten exploitation movies onto new formats.
It had been one hell of ride for anyone who had grown incredibly fond of his hugely twisted output, but Henenlotter devotees could nevertheless take solice that with only a mere five titles, we had more quality trash from one man than the majority of directors had managed since.
However, in 2008, Henelotter teamed with rapper and hopeful movie mogul R.A. the Rugged Man for a comeback that would ultimately be possibly the most far-out and wild entry yet from the man that previously introduced us to a hallucinogen producing parasite, a woman pieced together from exploded prostitutes or a murderous team of separated conjoined twins.
Jennifer is a professional photographer who owns a rather unique mutation of her reproductive system – simply put, she was born with seven clitoris (at least) which not only leaves her in a permanent state of arousal, but also gives her a sexual drive that constantly causes her to be uncontrollably violent, often leading to the deaths of her latest, disposable conquest. However, the messed up details doesn’t end there as after every bout of uncontrolled rutting, Jennifer’s condition grows and gives birth to half-formed, squawling mutant babies in mere minutes that she abandons scattered in her wake.
Elsewhere, we’re also introduced to Batz, a young man who, after an accident at birth, had his penis severed as an infant and even though it was sewn back on, it had never worked right. However, years after treating it with various drugs and steroids, not only did it grow to an abnormal size that would make John Holmes blush, but it also has gained sentience and Batz has been forced to get it (and subsequently himzelf) addicted to drugs in order to subdue its urges.
After arranging a provocative photoshoot in his dilapidated home, Jennifer gets wind of Batz’s monster dong and finally realises that she may have found a suitor that will finally be worthy of her unique biology and makes plans to spend some quality time with that monstrous member.
However, Batz and his penis aren’t exactly on the same page these days and the increasingly dangerous amount of drugs he’s been injecting into it simply don’t have the desired effect anymore and when Jennifer finally makes her move, she finds that the dexterous dick has already made the decision to abandon its host and go on a disturbingly amorous rampage.
Frank Henenlotter could hardly be described as a filmmaker who exercises restraint; and yet after a filmography that includes Brain Damage, Frankenhooker and the Basket Case trilogy, it’s a fair statement to say that Bad Biology may be the most extreme movie the director has ever made. In past films, Henenlotter had made a great use of subtext, making his various rubbery monsters metaphors for the various issues his scripts explored including themes of sexual repression, violence and addiction. However, you can’t really call the monsters of Bad Biology subtext when they actually are a hyper volatile vagina and an insatiable, rampaging cock that breathes heavily and even has POV shots when it ultimately detached and goes on a rampage.
However, while it was truly magnificent to see Henenlotter back, trying to enact his particular brand of degenerate sleeze to modern filmmaking, Bad Biology is somewhat marred by a couple of issues that stop it short from equalling the best of his past efforts. While all the credit in the world has to go to R.A. the Rugged Man (who also co-wrote) for getting good old Frank back in a directors chair, but the production suffers somewhat from not having that colourful, 80s, veneer, with the digital cinematography showing the lack of funds the film has to work with. Yes, I realise that Basket Case in particular was probably made for less than Titanic’s cutlery budget (and it fucking shows), but there’s something far more warm and endearing about a no budget movie made in the 80s than one made in the 00s. Also, those unfamiliar with these kinds of productions may find the somewhat wooden performances a mite distracting, but on the other hand, while both Charlee Danielson and Anthony Sneed may not be collecting Oscars anytime soon, for a movie like this, find someone who is willing to actually enact all the deranged crap found in the script is often far more important than it is to putting in a perfect performance.
However, while Bad Biology lacks the balance of, say, Brain Damage or Frankenhooker, its probably still one of the more orginal, modern exploitation movies ever made as the script really rolls its sleeves up when it comes to the world building of its misshapen genitalia. Some of Henenlotter’s better ideas are delivered in the dialogue as he lays out the history of our two “protagonists” (Jennifer lost 1/5 of the blood in her body eighth birthday after her first period), or when the film merely focuses on the day to day tribulations of living with a phallus that’s all impatient id (Batz relieves himself with an industrial masterbation device). Also, the script neatly reverses the sexual politics at play here with Batz being the one ashamed of his super huge prehencile prick while Jennifer has fully accepted her condition and glorifies in the empowerment of it all.
However, despite the occasion birth of a mutant baby, the odd moment of Jennifer’s fluctuating emotions leading her to cave in the head of her latest screw, or a moment when Batz’s lovemaking gives a prostitute a never ending orgasm that leads him to dump her writhing in an alley, it’s in the final reel where Bad Biology finally goes for broke.
Whether you condemn the ending as a bad taste rape joke taken to ridiculous extremes, or the natural progression of a story about violent, chaotic, uncontrollable sexual urges, the scene where Batz’s privates go public and breaks into the houses of a succession of neighbourhood women is certainly jaw dropping – as is the sight of a panicked Jennifer desperately trying to resurrect the dying dick with chest compressions and mouth to mouth. However, Henenlotter, ever the showman, leaves us with a final, fucked up image for the ages as – Spoiler Warning – the union of the penis and Jennifer’s unique reproductive systems produces a screaming infant you’ll wish you could unsee.
Not even close to Henelotter’s best, it’s still perversely warming to see him make one more movie that’s strives to be as perverted, offensive filthy and oddly savvy as the good old days.
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