United States, 1984
Cast: Shirley L. Jones, Ricky Roach, Marie Sinvilvs, Chester Tankersley, Jeanine Johnican, Thalia Holloway and the Reverend Obie Dunson
Directed by: Chester N. Turner

SEX:
VIOLENCE:

THE PLOT:
Helen (Shirley Jones), a plump, God-fearing woman, is intrigued by a ventriloquist´s dummy she finds in a thrift shop. The owner warns her that the dummy belonged to an East Indian man who was something of a sorcerer and the doll has the ability to fulfill the dreams of its owner, but it has a habit of returning to the store on its own. Helen dismisses the story as superstition and takes the doll home. Before she knows it, the doll comes to life and assaults her, knocking her unconscious. She awakens only to find the dummy has tied her up to the bed and after some taunting and foul language, has its way with her and then mysteriously disappears. Somehow, being degraded by a dreadlocked and anatomically correct puppet is enough for Helen to embark in a life of debauchery. The once prudish woman rids her house of religious paraphernalia and devotes herself to quenching her unspeakable urges. This involves picking up strangers at Elmo´s Lounge, seducing two-bit thiefs and shopping for crotchless panties large enough to wrap around her phat ass. Still not satisfied, Helen returns to the store and, sure enough, notices the doll has found its way back, just like the owner said it would. Unphased by this eerie turn of events, Helen hurries back home to get it on with her wooden dick-slinger. You´ll never guess the shocking twist ending where Helen is punished for straying from the path of the Lord or the wholly unexpected scene right after that where another girl gets home carrying the same doll, thus setting the stage for a sequel.

THE VERDICT:
Right away you know you´re in for something special when the credits slowly appear while a lousy "rock" song wails in the background... for 6 straight minutes. Even a hardened b-movie fan will cringe the moment Chester N. Turner is credited for writing, directing, producing and scoring this demented tale of sadistic lust and supernatural hijinks. Whenever a filmmaker tries to pull a stunt like that you can bet the result will be unwatchable.

By the time the song finally ends and we get a look at the heroine of the story, all hope is gone. Shirley Jones, who is also credited as "assistant" to Chester Turner, is far from being a fine thespian and she´s also homely as hell. I don´t suppose there are too many actresses who look like Vivica Fox and are willing to appear in a movie where they are ravished by a ventriloquist´s dummy, but Chester N. Turner should have kept looking. At the very least he could have told his leading lady to do something about that goofy hair or to get rid of the garish coats and the oversized glasses. More importantly, he could have told her to lose a few pounds before baring it all for the camcorder. Slender she ain´t.

I was going to write that it all goes downhill from there, but that would imply there´s something worthwhile about this mess. If you´ve ever sat through any other shot-on-video epic, you know what to expect: blurry and out of focus shots, snail paced editing, horrendous acting and a soundtrack that will make your ears bleed. While most shot-on-video flicks are merely boring, Black Devil Doll From Hell stands out in the way it gleefully crosses the line into bad taste territory and never looks back.

I would pay good money to know what exactly was Chester Turner thinking when he came up with the now famous rape scene. Picture your neighbor´s dumpy wife being serviced by a Rastafarian midget and you´ll realize just how wrong the premise of the movie is. What I find amazing is not that anyone would dream up something like that, but that they would go to all the trouble to bring their vision to the screen. The sad part is that Turner made this insane scenario the centerpiece of his movie. Indeed, the protracted rape, all ten minutes of it, is really the only reason this film was made. How Turner managed to con the cast and crew into dedicating their time and effort to bring his puppet fetish to life is probably a better story than the movie itself.

As if that weren´t enough, there´s dialogue that alternates between retarded ("I´ve been with men. Several, to be exact") and overwrought ("I was only trying to satisfy my sexual needs that I have been suppressing foolishly for all these years"), a soundtrack produced entirely by fooling around with a Casio keyboard and special effects accomplished by keeping the puppeteer out of the frame and by dressing up a little boy like the title character (George Lucas, eat your heart out!). If you´re still not impressed, Chester Turner goes for broke by including pulse-pounding scenes of Helen doing household chores. Are you excited yet?

And what better way to bring closure to this mind-bending malarkey than a reprise of the opening song, which adds another 6 minutes of pain to an already grueling experience. Masochists and perverts everywhere will want to add this one to their collection, along with Black Devil Doll From Hell 2: Back At Yo Ass, if it ever gets made. For everyone else, this can only be considered an endurance test.

You don´t think so? Let me know: [email protected]

The other Rogue Reviewers and their contributions to this roundtable:

B-Hive sidles up next to Leprechaun 2
Monkeyhouse Lounge tries the nipple clips on An American Werewolf in Paris
Mutant Orange gets wood when Hell Comes to Frogtown
Severen's World of Really Awful Movies does it doggie style on The Island of Dr. Moreau
The Netherworld goes down and swallows Black Devil Doll From Hell
The B-movie Film Vault whacks off behind the bushes of The Terror Within and The Beast Within)
Painful Cinema wakes up missing a kidney after The Vampire Lovers
Dante´s Inferno and All Night Video Store takes a nap after sodomizing the Breeders
B-Movie Central lights up a cigarette after Robot Monster
and The Dungeon applies the lubricant for I, Zombie

© 2001-2002 Marco Gonzalez