Editorials
Aliens, Love Triangles and Sexuality in British Sci-Fi Horror ‘Prey’ [Horrors Elsewhere]
Horrors Elsewhere is a recurring column that spotlights a variety of movies from all around the globe, particularly those not from the United States. Fears may not always be universal, but one thing is for sure — a scream is understood, always and everywhere.
Although the British film industry struggled to stay afloat throughout the 1970s, there was no shortage of creativity and bravado in the few homegrown movies coming out. A notable example of such cinematic boldness is Norman J. Warren’s 1977 film Prey—the hurriedly made and unofficial adaptation of D. H. Lawrence’s The Fox stands out when analyzing the decade’s genre offerings. The film is replete with depth and discussion about gender and sexuality. This peculiar story centers around couple Josephine (Sally Faulkner) and Jessica-Ann (Glory Annen) opening their pastoral home to a suspicious stranger (Barry Stokes). What the women do not realize is, their unexpected and very odd male guest is really Kator, an extraterrestrial scout sent to survey the planet.
Prey came together in a matter of weeks; outlining, pre-production, and shooting all happened over the course of one month. Max Cuff’s script was still a work in progress, so the actors were never completely sure what was in store for them until the day of filming. Satan’s Slave director Warren had little time to prepare before the 10-day shoot commenced on the bucolic backlot of Shepperton Studios. The crew—many of whom were coming straight off The Pink Panther Strikes Again—had to make do with a £60,000 budget, including having some of the cast provide its own wardrobe, letting stuntmen and non-actors play speaking parts, and using props and sets left behind by other productions.
A sequel called Human Prey was in the works at one point and would have picked up where the first movie left off. Now knowing Earth was overflowing with food “high in protein,” Anderson and his kind proceeded to round up humans like livestock in the follow-up. Stokes would have had the chance to play multiple roles since the other aliens also adapted Anderson’s appearance. On account of the original film’s meager success at the time, the sequel was ultimately abandoned.
This tinderbox of a movie begins with Jessica awakening one night to the mysterious sounds of Kator’s arrival on Earth. She instinctively rushes to Jo for comfort despite recently moving into her own room to evade a spell of recurring nightmares. What is happening nearby, however, is real; a parked couple is killed by Kator, who then assumes the dead man’s appearance. The next morning, Jo and Jessica find the alien, now humanlike and going by the name of Anders Anderson, limping around the manor.
The domineering Jo views Anderson as a threat to both her relationship and her own preconceived notions about the opposite sex. She immediately lumps their guest in with other men who she believes are all inherently weird and animalistic. The longer Anderson stays though, the more she becomes perplexed by his atypical behavior and obsessed with discovering what makes him tick. Her wretched need to find his Achilles heel is why she allows him to stay the night. Meanwhile, Jessica is equally bothered by Anderson; she is thrown off by his utter sexual apathy toward her. He is not aroused by either woman, and for the time being, Jo and Jessica let their guards down and behave openly as if he does not even exist. They make love—a protracted and tender scene largely ad-libbed by the uninstructed actors—with the door unlocked and ajar.
Things finally start to boil after Anderson kills Jo’s nuisant fox. The animal supposedly killed her beloved hens in the middle of the night—the only animals Jo showed any affection for in the film, possibly because they are female—and she flew into another fit of rage after discovering their grisly slaughter. Yet once Anderson presents the fox’s carcass, Jo softens for a moment. Perhaps her overstated antipathy toward men is based on choice rather than reason. As part of a celebratory dinner, they plaster Anderson’s face with makeup and put him in a full-length dress. What could be viewed as a form of acceptance—the women do not see Anderson as a man no longer and therefore, they can trust him—is also part of Jo’s test; she still wants to see Anderson’s soft underbelly, so to speak. While Anderson is unbothered by the dress because human gender norms do not exist where he comes from, Jo now sees him in a completely different light. She temporarily abandons her disdain for men and attempts to kiss Anderson while he is in full makeup and wearing a dress. Much to her own surprise though, Anderson recoils and effectively rejects Jo. She then soon resumes her previous stance on him and all men.
With a title like Prey, the movie undoubtedly looks to analyze its predatory relationships. The most obvious is Anderson, who dawns an admittedly goofy-looking and wolfish visage as he hunts down pesky coppers and foxes. The other discernible and pressing predator-prey relationship is Jo and Jessica’s. While the manor belongs to Jessica’s family, Jo has moved in and completely taken over. Further exerting her control over her latest dalliance, Jo disposed of Simon, a previous rival for Jessica’s affection. Annen’s character discovers the bloodied evidence, including a large and phallic switchblade, in Jo’s belongings and starts to question who she should really be afraid of now—her lover or the weird man in their house. The confusion worsens during a game of hide-and-seek as Jo plays the apt role of hunter; Anderson tells Jessica she’s “like a caged animal” while they are holed up in a closet. She claims she is free to do whatever and go wherever she pleases, but deep down, Jessica knows she is only kidding herself.
It is reasonable to believe Jessica invited Anderson into her home to satiate her longing for male companionship. Earlier, her request to go on a brief trip by herself is met with angry disapproval from Jo; she tells Jessica they “can’t risk it.” It is clear Annen’s character yearns to see other people, but Jo has since isolated Jessica from not only society—the two are local pariahs based on Jo’s “you know they talk about us” comment—but also her own sexuality. Jessica misses Simon, and as audiences have since learned, his sudden disappearance is deliberate. Jo literally eliminating the competition and denying Jessica the right to explore all sides of her sexuality is uncomfortable to watch. In its own unique way, though, the movie pegs the erasure that bisexual people endure.
There are mixed messages here about Jo and Jessica as well as sexuality in general. On one hand, the two women’s love is depicted frankly and without euphemism; Jo is blunt when expressing their status to Anderson. They also have problems other couples can relate to on some basic level—Jessica with her desire for independence and experience and Jo’s jealousy and control issues. Had Jo been swapped out with a male actor, though, the script would require only minor revisions. The stereotypic gender dynamics remain intact regardless of the fact there are two women in this relationship. In contrast to the way other queer folks were routinely represented by the media in those days—they were caricatures, mentally unsound, or criminals—Jo and Jessica are still handled with some thoughtful consideration in spite of the blatant toxicity in their relationship.
Prey is oppositely minimal and intimate in comparison to movies where alien invasions are often carried out on a grander scale. The story lacks big, external action and instead relies on the three main characters’ innermost disturbances and darkest natures manifesting under duress. In the meantime, this brooding thriller cooks on a low flame until the explosive denouement comes into view. Punctuated by violence and sexploitation, and made tenser with Ivor Slaney’s synthesized score, Warren’s radical and layered sci-fi-horror film earns its complicated legacy. It goes without saying, not everyone will take a liking to this uneasy ‘70s oddity, yet there is so much here for fans of experimental cinema to enjoy and analyze.
College kids, strippers and vampires—those were Donald P. Borchers’ only requirements when he approached Richard Wenk about writing and directing a movie for New World Pictures. As requested, Wenk cooked up Vamp (1986), a tailor-made blend of the decade’s teen movie craze as well as its horror boom.
Grim and earnest stories were still very much a part of the ’80s horror landscape, yet Vamp is something of a comedy. One difference between it and, say, Saturday the 14th, though, is the former avoids using schtick. Wenk’s movie proves that horror comedies also don’t have to subtract thrills from their recipes. Of course, it takes a minute before reaching that point; college antics and culture shocks preface this one macabre misadventure.
Vamp‘s initial setup is apt for a typical college-set, sex-driven comedy; to bribe their way into a fraternity house, two pledges (Chris Makepeace, Robert Rusler) go looking for some adult entertainment. Without wasting time on any further exposition, the characters embark on an all-in-one-night trip that quickly detours into terror.
To procure their elusive MacGuffin—a stripper willing to gyrate for some frat boys—Keith (Makepeace) and AJ (Rusler), plus a third wheel named Duncan (Gedee Watanabe), trade the safety of their remote college campus for the seediness of some unnamed city. The setting is recognizably L.A. by day, but as soon as night falls, downtown, along with the characters, slips into a kind of surreal universe. Director of photography Elliot Davis gave this early entry on his prolific résumé an unusual yet distinctive look; that Mario Bava-esque, magenta-green lighting is omnipresent, so much so that it’s almost its own character.
Chris Makepeace and Robert Rusler in Vamp
The faint comparisons to Martin Scorsese’s After Hours are merited, although not just because of Vamp’s distinguishing nighttime aesthetic. Save for the primary characters, the supporting roles in Wenk’s movie are also quite colorful and transactional in their behavior. The difference here, though, is the additional urge to ruin Keith and his friends at every turn. Some of that harm is humorous and tolerable enough, whereas the moment Vamp dishes out its first fatality, it’s abundantly clear how this movie qualifies as horror.
Vamp falls into that category of horror movie that reveals its genre with a scream rather than a series of whispers. The opening scene can function as a hint of what lies ahead—things are not at all what they appear to be—but otherwise, Wenk is more than happy to hold off on the horror. When that time does come, though, it catches the viewer off guard. In addition to the pure shock value is that sudden decision to upend the movie’s foremost feature. Or so it would seem.
If afraid of major spoilage, those new to Vamp would be wise to stop reading here. There’s just no skirting around the fact that the central fellowship in this buddy movie hits a serious snag when AJ is killed. That development causes the story to become more of a “long, bad night” journey for Keith and his romantic interest. So while Wenk scores points for subverting expectations, there is also a touch of sadness in his decision. Because if Vamp does anything well, it’s making the characters likable.
Something that comes easily to Vamp—and other teen horror movies from this same era—is its ability to invent young characters worth caring about, or at the very least, are interesting and not so immediately off-putting. More impressive is how Wenk did all this without actually fleshing out those characters. Still and all, Keith and his kind are a grade above cookie-cutter, and in some cases, aren’t completely devoid of growth.
Grace Jones in Vamp
Vamp appeals with an assorted cast of characters. No two are the same, nor are they operating on the same wavelength. The cinematically extroverted AJ, whose actor conveyed charm and vulnerability in near equal amounts, comes alive when he’s at his most undead. Makepeace then makes the chronically cautious Keith a sympathetic fellow, even as he’s more and more affected by the night’s bizarre events. Meanwhile, Duncan is indeed the designated loser of the whole bunch, but Watanabe still manages to humanize him. As a bonus, the role didn’t require him to pull a Long Duk Dong.
As for Dedee Pfeiffer, she is plain adorable as the mysterious After Dark server nicknamed “Amaretto”. She spends all night fixing her dress strap while at the same time trying to get Keith to remember how he knows her. As their offbeat romance grows, it becomes another highlight of this movie. Whether or not Pfeiffer’s character is really a vampire also creates some welcome tension in the story.
Like a lot of its contemporaries, Vamp went on to become a bit of a cult classic. That current status is determined by several factors, but without a doubt, the casting of Grace Jones is the most considerable. The image of her writhing on that unique-looking chair, a Keith Haring original, springs to mind whenever this movie is brought up.
Chris Makepeace, Billy Drago and Paunita Nichols in Vamp
Prior to that first display of unequivocal horror, local vampire queen Katrina (Jones) took to the stage and delivered a strip show like no other. One would expect nothing less from that renowned model and performance artist. By now reports of Jones’ tardiness on set are no secret, yet it’s also hard to deny her commitment to the part of Katrina. It was, in fact, Jones who took charge of her character’s appearance—on top of Haring painting her body and that now-iconic chair, she had Andy Warhol handle her costuming. And not too many actors could seize a room’s attention without saying a single line of dialogue.
In 2022, Vamp received a retrospective novelization from Encyclopocalypse. This literary union of preexisting source material—Wenk’s original screenplay—and new ideas from author Christian Francis amounts to a more comprehensive visit to the After Dark Club. The basic story there is no different than what’s shown on screen; however, Francis gets creative with the characters’ origins and designs, and he enhances a number of key scenes.
The novelization expands on the urban and social decay of the main setting, and supplies a background for the After Dark Club. Sandy Baron’s character, Katrina’s emcee and familiar, is given ample motivation for sticking around; up until the fiery end, he is loyal to his friend and former business partner “Squeak”, who looks like he was “fed through a combine harvester, and left as nothing more than a heap of mangled remains”. Then there is Billy Drago’s character Snow, the leader of a street gang called The Dragons. His reason for menacing Keith and AJ is more altruistic than in the movie; he and his peers act tough to scare off any potential food for the vampires.
Lisa Lyon in Vamp
If not for all the backstories, Francis’ Vamp would be a hell of a lot shorter. Instead, this tie-in read dives into how AJ met Keith—the orphaned Anthony Joseph hailed from a broken home back in Brooklyn—and how their friendship flourished over the years. Keith’s archership is no longer just an assumed part of his entire being; it’s a confidence-building extracurricular for a boy who got picked on before coming into the protection of the new kid in town. These supplemental, in-depth looks at the protagonists, plus their close connection, are maybe unnecessary. The movie already did a fair and concise job of addressing their platonic intimacy without the need for flashbacks and insights, specifically in that scene where AJ lays it all out as he sacrifices himself.
Where the novelization gets off course is its approach to the minor characters. Intermittently backstorying the likes of Katrina’s indentured servants, Seko (Leila Hee Olsen) and Vlad (Brad Logan), ends up disturbing the flow of the writing. Was it absolutely essential that readers know Vlad was the Grand Duke of the House of Romanov, or how Snow’s accomplice Maven (Paunita Nichols) became so dentally challenged? No, not really. However, one’s mileage with these random biographies may vary.
The novelization is a more substantial experience, but for a movie like Vamp, less is more. And as plentiful as they are, it never simply coasts on its campy charms, either. The character work sits comfortably in that realm between cursory and meticulous, the script is sharper than first realized, and Greg Cannom’s vampire makeup is straightforward yet effective. Most of all, the movie didn’t squander its out-of-the-box concept. Richard Wenk made his vision of a “comic nightmare in which just about anything that can go wrong does” come true, and it is very enjoyable.
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