Editorials
Exploiting the Canadian Tax Shelter for ‘Death Weekend’ [Maple Syrup Massacre]
Maple Syrup Massacre is an editorial series where Joe Lipsett dissects the themes, conventions and contributions of new and classic Canadian horror films. Spoilers follow…
William Fruet is one of Canada’s most important directors. He’s renowned for not only his contributions to ‘realist social dramas’ such as 1970’s Goin’ Down The Road (one of Canada’s first English language fiction feature films) and 1972’s Wedding in White, but also for his Canuxploitation films of the 70s.
Death Weekend – or The House by the Lake as it was known in the United States – was made in 1976 in an effort to capitalize on a unique Canadian funding model at the time.
As previously explored in this editorial series, as well as my David Cronenberg podcast Sexy & Surreal, Canadian films are funded by the public via governmental organizations. In the 1970s, the government created the Canadian Film Development Council (CFDC) in an effort to spur the creation of more fiction feature films (as opposed to documentaries, which had until that time been the dominant mode of filmmaking in Canada).
This led to what has become known as the Tax Shelter Era of the late-70s through the 80s, when a ludicrously generous 100% capital cost allowance (CCA) write-off on all Canadian film investment was allowed and the CCA became the carrot used to lure Americans to invest in Canadian films. Many of the films produced during the Tax Shelter Era were genre films due to the low production cost, high return on investment, and ease of sale to foreign markets (ie: back to the US) although there were few, if any, “quality control” mechanisms in place to ensure the resulting films were commercial or even watchable.
This meant that many terrible films were made, as well as several classics. In fact, it was during this period that Cronenberg established himself via his early body horror films, and a number of low-budget slasher films such as Prom Night, Happy Birthday to Me, Terror Train and My Bloody Valentine were made in Toronto, Montreal, and the Maritimes.

Canadian filmmakers like William Fruet saw the writing on the wall. After scraping and begging to secure the $250K budget for his realist period drama Wedding in White, Fruet turned to horror/exploitation to make a quick buck with his next project, Death Weekend.
Much like Shivers, the film stirred up a great deal of controversy. The Canadian public was already up in arms about public funds being used to fund David Cronenberg’s Shivers the year before; that film was famously used in a Canadian Parliamentary debate about the perceived worth of genre fare. (Canadians are wild, y’all).
Both Death Weekend and Shivers hail from Cinépix Film Properties, a Montreal-based producer known for their so-called “maple syrup porn” aka French Canadian softcore porn films (FYI: this is where this editorial series gets its name!).

Fruet’s film follows Harry (Chuck Shamata) a wealthy, entitled dentist who takes a rotating roster of female lovers to his massive lake house property each weekend throughout the summer. When the film opens, it’s Diane (Brenda Vaccaro)’s turn, though almost immediately the fashion model distinguishes herself from Harry’s usual conquest through her love of fast cars and fixing motors (and later, dispatching murderers and rapists).
All of these skills come in handy when she and Harry run afoul of four local thugs after Diane humiliates leader Lep (Don Stroud) with her high-speed driving abilities. This leads Lep, as well as spectacled Runt (Richard Ayres), long-haired Frankie (Kyle Edwards) and Stanley (Don Granberry) to seek Diane and Harry out and terrorize them for the rest of the film.
Based partially on a real-life experience Fruet had while driving in Alberta, as well as Sam Peckinpah’s recently released Straw Dogs, Death Weekend bears all of the familiar narrative and stylistic conventions of home invasion, “hillbilly horror,” and rape revenge films. As Bloody’s Paul Le explains in his own editorial, Death Weekend was unfavourably compared to both Straw Dogs and The Last House of the Left, and it was eventually packaged by the film’s producer Ivan Reitman (Ghostbusters, Porky’s) on a drive-in double bill with I Spit on Your Grave in the US.

Ironically the film was derided by Canadian critics for its crass commercialization and its perceived lack of Canadian themes. This despite the fact that the film features no less than two characters – Harry and Lep – who closely adhere to what Canuxploitation founder Paul Corupe identifies as a trend of “marginalized, ineffective male characters whose insecurity…leads them to a tragic end.” Corupe lists multiple examples from Canadian films of the time, including Fruet’s own Goin’ Down The Road, as well as The Rowdyman (1972) and Paperback Hero (1973), that employ the same archetypes and narrative arcs.
Fruet’s film “also touches on related issues of class and urbanism, highlighting the dis-parity between rich, ‘sophisticated’ city dwellers and the crude rural inhabitants” (Corupe, 101). There’s the backwater seediness of the villains, as well as the ‘stupid hillbilly’ depiction of a pair of drunkard garage employees who are drowned in a lake. Lastly, in yet another example of a Canadian slasher precursor (see: 1974’s Black Christmas) Diane adheres to the characteristics of an early Final Girl who must defend herself when Harry is first emasculated, then murdered by Lep and his flunkies.
All in all, William Fruet’s Death Weekend is an intriguing addition to the Canuxploitation canon of the late 70s and 80s. While it’s not an easy watch, it is another worthwhile example of Canada’s genre output during the heyday of the Tax Shelter Era.
References:
Paul Corupe. “Who’s in the Driver’s Seat: The Canadian Brute Unleashed in Death Weekend.” The Canadian Horror Film: Terror of the Soul, 2015 (eds: Gina Freitag and Andre Loiselle)
Editorials
Before ‘The Blair Witch Project’, ‘Alien Autopsy’ Showed How Real Found Footage Could Feel
The line separating artist from con man is a lot thinner than you might initially believe. While I think we can all agree that lying for the sake of profit is actively malicious behavior, isn’t it also true that the faux documentary aspect of The Blair Witch Project is half the reason why that film became such a cultural phenomenon? After all, if there’s one thing filmmakers have in common with stage magicians, it’s that misleading and misdirecting audiences is simply part of the job.
That’s why I’ve developed a habit of mostly ignoring the moral quandaries behind many of film and television’s biggest “hoaxes” in favor of appreciating the narrative elements that drive productions like Mermaids: The Body Found and even Animal Planet’s highly underrated The Cannibal in the Jungle. However, if there’s a definitive case of a highly publicized broadcast fooling the world into taking it seriously, it has to be Fox’s infamous 1995 TV special Alien Autopsy: Fact or Fiction.
It’s been over three decades since that eerie footage first haunted television screens right at the peak of the ’90s ufology craze, and in that time, the video has taken on a life of its own. From countless parodies and references in everything from The X-Files to Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater (as well as John Dower’s recently released tell-all documentary The Alien Autopsy Scandal, which I’d highly recommend to genre fans everywhere), there’s no denying the legacy of the Alien Autopsy video. However, I rarely see the tape discussed as what it truly is: a highly convincing found footage film directed by a passionate stage magician and brought to life by masterful practical effects work.
That’s why I’d like to invite readers to join me on a deep dive into one of the most infamous broadcasts of all time in an attempt to reevaluate the footage as a fascinating narrative experience rather than a complete hoax.
The TV Special That Convinced Millions It Was Real

Ray Santilli next to Extraterrestrial replica in ‘The Alien Autopsy Scandal’
For starters, regardless of whether or not you believe that there was in fact an extraterrestrial crash in Roswell during the summer of 1947 and that some form of autopsy was performed on the victims, the producers behind the black & white recordings, Ray Santilli and Gary Shoefield, insist that their video was a “restoration.” Though I’d argue that the proper word is “remake”of genuine footage that was too damaged to air on television. That’s why the duo went on to recruit filmmaker and eccentric magician Spyros Melaris and sculptor/monster designer John Humphreys to bring their version of the autopsy to life and sell it to the highest bidder.
This is where the story of the Alien Autopsy as a narrative experience really begins. Melaris claims that his approach to the faux recording consisted of striving for extreme period accuracy in both shooting equipment and setting while also planting subtle details that would initially seem like mistakes but could later be revealed to actually fit the time period. That being said, the filmmaker was under the impression that the short would be released for free as a PR stunt, with the team later producing and selling an informative documentary chronicling exactly how the footage was faked and commenting on how easy it is to manipulate public perception with a good old-fashioned magic trick.
This obviously isn’t how things went down, and that’s likely the reason why Melaris has since distanced himself from everyone else involved with the project. Yet, no amount of behind-the-scenes drama can undermine the genuine effort that went into making the short as impressive as it is. From the sourcing of real animal organs from a local butcher to make the organic part of the creature more lifelike to the highly detailed sculpt that made use of a hollowed-out underlayer that could be filled with fake blood and assorted viscera, there’s a reason why so many Hollywood specialists are still impressed with the artistry on display here.
Of course, the believability is only half the story, as I think that the best part of the autopsy is how Melaris builds on the existing tension by obscuring certain details and often embracing the chaos of what a real examination of extraterrestrial life could feel like. The camera often goes out of focus at just the right time to make certain effects hit even harder, and we can only speculate as to what the hazmat-suited doctors are gesticulating about during the operation. There’s a real air of mystery to the whole thing that almost makes it feel like a cosmically terrifying, cursed film containing forbidden knowledge that civilians were never meant to see.
So when Fox’s Fact or Fiction brings in the specialists to comment on the film and its otherworldly subject, it’s no surprise that we end up with one of the most memorable mockumentaries of all time – albeit one where the participants are unaware that the footage they’re commenting on is basically a large-scale practical joke. A joke that the network was obviously in on, as many participants claim that the TV special cut out significant portions where guests point out that they believe the footage to be an elaborate hoax.
The Lasting Impact of the Hoax Turned Cultural Event

Regardless, I remember going to bed terrified after watching reruns of the special and thinking about the respected pathologist who claimed that the body was almost certainly inhuman, with even effects maestro Stan Winston commenting on how difficult it would be to recreate some of these visuals through practical puppetry. That’s not even mentioning Jonathan Frakes’ dramatic hyping up of the disturbing imagery as if he was talking about the tape from The Ring, with his spooky demeanor here likely being responsible for his later role as the host of Beyond Belief: Fact or Fiction a few years later.
Personally, I’d argue that the Alien Autopsy phenomenon had just as much of an impact on me as a horror fan as The Blair Witch Project, a film that was almost certainly influenced by the success of this immensely popular hoax (to the point where they even produced their own TV special commenting on Heather’s found footage). Even if Fox didn’t intend to produce a narrative feature about the aftermath of the Roswell crash, the end product still holds up remarkably well as a highly entertaining mockumentary exploring the idea that we may not be alone in the universe.
While neither Santilli nor the rest of the production team has ever commented on this, I also think it’s very likely that the idea of a faux Alien Autopsy could have been influenced by Dean Alioto’s The McPherson Tape/UFO Abduction. I’ve already written about how this granddaddy of found footage was co-opted by rogue ufologists who began selling bootlegs of the tape at conventions as if it were real evidence of a close encounter, so it’s not that much of a stretch to imagine that Santilli and company could have heard about this phenomenon and been inspired to come up with their own highly profitable hoax.
At the end of the day, it’s unlikely that the Alien Autopsy film is recreating any real footage from Roswell, but I can still appreciate the short and the accompanying television event as a standalone horror story that still influences the way we see found footage to this very day.
After all, the possibility that something could be real is often much scarier than finding out for sure – and that’s why I think Alien Autopsy: Fact or Fiction is still worth revisiting three decades down the line.
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