Demented Death Farm Massacre

Title: Demented Death Farm Massacre (1972)
Rating: 1.5/5
Genre: Drama, Thriller
Starring: Ashley Brooks, George Ellis, John Carradine
Directors: Fred Olen Ray, Donn Davison

Four jewel thieves (a scholarly British man, a misogynistic stud, a Cher-a-like, and a bimbo girlfriend) high-tail it from a heist in NYC and end up breaking down in the sticks. They decide to lay low at a local backwoods whiskey still inhabited by Bible-spoutin’ Harlan Cravens, his buxom bumpkin wife Reba Sue, and handyman Tobe. It doesn’t take very long before the thieves overstay their welcome and butt heads with the man of the house. Jealousies and betrayal ensue, building up to a, well, massacre.

Now, let me be up-front with my biggest peeve of the film: the marketing. I understand that when Troma Entertainment bought this film they also bought the rights to market it any way they want. But just take a look at the poster. Nothing in that appealing illustration is accurate, not one bit. There is no scythe-wielding, cowboy-boot wearing, Julie Strain-lookin’ chick that is cutting heads off people buried in the dirt. There are no chickens pecking at any bloody corpses. No one is lynched. And here’s this big one: THERE IS NO FARM! You’d think with a title like Demented Death Farm Massacre and a poster like this that there’d be a farm somewhere, anywhere. There are dozens of names this film has gone by (Honey Britches, Shantytown Honeymoon, Hillbilly Hooker,…) and a few different versions this film exists in, but none of them are as misrepresentative as this. Shame on you Lloyd Kaufman, you sly fox you.

Let’s move onto the characters. The jewel thieves seem to be a strange assortment of people. We have the intellectual, well-dressed Englishman, the young chauvinist asshole, a very tall and busty woman with go-go boots, miniskirts, and no personality, and the dumb blonde who happens to be brunette. None of these folks are very likeable in the least, but then again they are the antagonists, aren’t they? On the other hand we have the redneck couple. Harlan Cravens is a preachy, holier-than-thou man of God who is quick to judge the harlots and sinners of the world, but he’s also a bootlegger and has an eye for the ladies’ rear ends. If anything, George Ellis plays a convincing boisterous, simpleton redneck, so I guess kudos to him. Reba Sue is a hilarious exaggeration of the stereotypical country girl. The emphasis on her cartoonish Southern accent and expressions are the reasons people in Australia think all Americans talk like hicks. Seeing these characters all in one movie is surreal enough, but we also get an old and grey John Carradine narrating this feature as the “Judge of Hell.” Yes, you can all facepalm now.

There is, however, a moral to the film’s story: the evil of greed. Not that this film is too concerned with morality (according to IMDb, there is a softcore porn edit of this out there), but there is a point to be made amongst all this drivel, which should count for something. Right? You can also expect an abundance of cleavage. DDFM may not be a Russ Meyer movie, but there are still plenty of jugs bouncing around in this moonshine distillery. As far as the “massacre” is concerned, there isn’t much to write home about. Some pitchfork and bear trap violence is to be had along with a bluegrass-themed car chase, but only a few ounces of that bright 70’s blood we all love is shed. Nothing to appease the horror fans who got suckered into the hillbilly happenings of the demented death farm.

One could say that this is a cross between Last House On The Left and White Lightning, but what it really boils down to is a lame Southern melodrama with too much inane dialog and side-splitting attempts at misogyny. Risqué and shocking? Maybe it’s supposed to be, but you won’t find much on this farm.