Review of Deathmaster

***SPOILERS*** ***SPOILERS*** Ah, the 70's. A time of turmoil and contradiction. America was at war, both in and out of country. The Flower Children had become assimilated by the very society they protested against. Nowhere was this confusion of cultures more evident than in the movies. The 70's are primarily regarded as the "Grand Era of Exploitation," a title well-deserved if only for the quantity of films unleashed on the masses at this time. Both big and low budget productions utilized the conflicts of the generations and their concurrent heroes to milk profits from the movie-going public. Whenever ideas seemed to be drying up, society itself gave us new myths for our brave new world. In the 70's, one such myth was personified by Charles Manson. The crimes of Manson and his followers are well known, as is his manipulation of the media during and after his trial. He is a certified nut job, and, as anyone in the biz can tell you, that means he's box office gold. Don't believe me? Just look at the number of films made since 1969 involving a messianic character leading a counter-culture rabble. Also, think about how many of these flicks portray these types as anti-heroes done in by their own greed. Sizing up the prevailing conditions, and knowing a quick buck when they see it, Ray Danton and the gang at AIP hopped on the band wagon in '72 with "The Deathmaster." Made a year after "Count Yorga, Vampire," then rushed to release after that one started making unreal profits, this is the quaint little tale of hippies led astray by an ageless guru with a really bad wig. Of course, their hairpieces are nothing to sneeze at either. The film opens innocuously enough with vampire Khorda's coffin washing up on the shore. A curious surfer starts snooping around and runs into cliche numero uno, Barbado, the hulking, mute, ethnic and, therefore, unbelievably strong, servant. After dispatching the wimp ( and man did he look pale to be a surfer in SoCal), Barbado lugs the boss' box up to the local commune. In the next hilarious sequence, we are introduced to our hero 'Pico' (?!) and his girlfriend Rona. They rub biker dude Monk and his sleazy girlfriend Esslyn (where did they get these names?!) the wrong way. The ensuing fight makes Tom & Jerry look like "Crouching Tiger." As all good young folk do, they call a truce and hit the bricks when the cops show up ('cause cops hate bikers and hippies equally). Monk compliments 'Pico" on his fighting skills(?), whereupon 'Pico' informs him he is a master of "Gung Fu." Gung fu. Uh-huh. Joining the hippies for a groove-in, Monk and Esslyn are introduced to the commune as "new friends." A blackout during the daily chanting sessions gives Khorda the opportunity to make his entrance. he does so rather quietly, and introduces himself as a seeker and bearer of enlightenment. At this point, Monk has seen enough, and announces he is splitting the scene, getting away from these freaks and going into town for some whiskey and steak. His trip is cut short by Khorda's abrupt ambush, which the chanting flower children fail to see or hear (must be some serious chanting going on there). After a few more yarns about finding his center (or some such drivel), Khorda excuses himself, but has the sense to ask Esslyn to join him. The hippie gals and guys separate for the night and go to their respective gender sides of the house. Wait a minute! Hippies with morals? Egad! While the art school rejects are showering (?!), Khorda offers the aroused Esslyn (she really digs him, man) a brief history lesson. The lesson ends with her becoming a snack for the guru. Her screams are heard by the guys and gals, but since barbado locked the bathroom doors, they can't get out to help. The doors mysteriously unlock after a brief silence, and Khorda appears with the now-vampirized Esslyn. She puts the moves on 'Pico,' who rejects her toothsome advances and flees the scene. This is where it gets weird. 'Pico' gets Pops (a rightfully embarrassed John Fiedler) to accompany him on a "Save Rona" trek. They, of course, get sidetracked in a battle with Barbado (what about that Gung Fu crap, dude? It should've been easy to dispatch a lumbering ox like that) and assorted vamp-slayings (see ya, Esslyn). Pops disappears for a time, but winds up on the wrong end of 'Pico's' stake attempt. Khorda has the befuddled hippie watch as he initiates his girl to the cult. He snaps out of his reverie long enough to stake the Deathmaster, turning him to dust. However, the same fate befalls the now dead Rona. The film ends with our "hero" sobbing over his lost lady like a man who bet the farm on the Jets. Like so many of the exploitation films of the 70's, "The Deathmaster" suffers from the director and crews' desire to combine all of the great elements of cinema in a weak story with rotten actors. The result is a mish-mash of plot devices but no real coherent story. Lots of unanswered questions left hanging. The only real reason to see this film (outside of a desire to snicker at the inanities of a bygone era) is Robert Quarry. As in "Count Yorga, Vampire" and other films, he rises above all of the contrivances and the hideously untalented supporting cast. His turn as Khorda successfully combines Manson's charisma and the vampire mythos, which, when you think about it, is probably what the crew was aiming for.