American Hammer

“Some call me producer, director, filmmaker. I prefer to call myself pube-king.”

- John Waters

“Nothing is obscene, providing it is done in bad taste.”

- Russ Meyer

“I think people are perverts. I’ve maintained that, that’s been…that’s the foundation of my career.”

- David Fincher

“The camera is rolling.” 

“This isn’t, like, a porno or anything?”

“No. No, this is a legitimate role – though it is rather…Grindhouse”

“Great. I love schlock. The pulpier the better.”

“Any favorites? From the Grindhouse era, I mean.”

“Sure. Faster pussycat! Kill! Kill! – Blacula - Ilsa: She-Wolf of the SS… Pink Flamingos - Cannibal Holocaust…”

“Great! Excellent.

…As I said over the phone, your friend Leonard gave us your contact info. Says you’re not all that interested in acting, but that you did a great ‘Janet’ in your college’s production of Rocky Horror.”

“He’s way too nice.”

“I’ll be honest – you don’t have to be the best actor. We’re on a two-week shoot to churn out a slasher for the Fangoria crowd. So long as the Razzies don’t get wind of this, you don’t got much to worry about. Honestly, I like your look, so at this point, the casting call is just a formality.”

“Cool.”

“Here. The movie we’re doing is called ‘American Hammer’. It’s an ultra low-budget homage to the Hammer Horrors of the ’70’s.”

“Right on. So am I the final girl, or some big-titted scream-queen bimbo who’s just eye-candy before Christopher Lee’s corpse pops out the crypt and bites into her neck?”  

“You’re not blonde enough to be the final girl, and you’re not blonde enough to be first on the chopping block - brunettes usually get relegated to the middle.”

“Aw, I’m just another tally in the body count?”

“It’s not the part, it’s the pair of lungs.”  

“That’s fine. Just come as you are. Our whole wardrobe budget is, like, roughly five bucks, and we couldn’t be arsed to dig up Jay Sebring’s corpse, so the hair styling is totally DIY.”

“Is that…?”

“Yeah, that’s Brandi Belle. She’s not in the movie, we just keep her on set as a formality. We can’t afford to hire union crew, so we told them we were shooting a porno to keep’m off our backs.”

“love the set design, it’s very…Beyond the Valley of the Dolls.”

“That-that’s exactly what we were going for! Yes! Speaking of, this is what we’re doing: remember the ending of Beyond the Valley, when the tranny dressed as Wonder Woman chases the Nazi onto the beach and impales him after decapitating the hunk in the leopard-print speedos?”

“Hard to forget.”

“That’s kinda what we’re going for here.”

“Thought you said it’s a homage to Brit movies.”

“It’s a clusterfuck. Hammer Studios, Charlie Manson, Kenneth Anger, Troma, Giallo, Lloyd Kaufman, Argento, Waters, Russ Meyer – we lay it on thick with Russ Meyer…It’s everything.”

“Right on.”

“Cheer up, darling, just because you get knocked off before the story’s finished doesn’t mean you’re not a star. Know who coined the phrase ‘Superstar’?”

“Uh…Andy Warhol?”

“Close. Andy popularized it. It was his very good friend Jack Smith, who made Flaming Creatures on $300. It was one of the first ever out-and-out tranny movies and it scared the shit out of people.”

“How inspiring.”

“Point is, if Jack Smith can bend all the squares with a mere three-hundred bucks, imagine what we can do with ten times that amount!”

“We could set the world on fire.”

“’Our love can destroy this whole fucking world.’ – Shin’ya Tsukamoto; Tetsuo, the Iron Man.”

[Girl chuckles. Stops.]  

“What’re those seagulls doing?”

“Not again. Guys! The gulls!

Those plastic bags they’re attacking are full of gizzards. We can’t afford our own Tom Savini, so we raid the butcher shops. It’s cheaper that way.” 

“Okay. Your final day of shooting. Sorry so much of the dialogue has been garbage, but the bald-headed cunt we got to demonstrate the Infinite Monkey Theorem isn’t exactly David Mamet.”

“Uh, where’s the blood packs? Or are you gonna use some sorta rubber mold of my head?”

“No, see, we’re gonna run this tube along the side of the rubber ‘hammer’ which will squirt blood when it pulls away from your head.”

“Clever.”

“We gotta do this now. The weather’s perfect. Windy. Grey. Dramatic.”

“I think this is the most cameras you’ve had trained on me since we started this thing.”

“This is your starring moment. We need it to be gruesome and glorious. We’ll do some close-ups too, later on. After we apply the gore make-up.”

“Sweet.”

“Alright. Run right along the edge of the surf, kick up some splashes, if you get some on the lense, that’s fine – we covered it, in fact, do that – I want it to be gritty - and trip and fall once or twice; the cliches are what gets the audience off.”  

“…And we’re rolling.”

“American Hammer. Scene 12. Take 1.”

Splash. Trip. Hit the mark. Perfect.

Next set-up.

“Uh, no, let’s try this – you scramble over the bluff, that gives him a chance to catch up to you – you reach out straight for the camera, then he pulls you back and goes to town.”

Rolling.

“Uh, are you sure? I don’t see a tube along the hammer.”

“Well duh, It’s well-hidden.”

“Can I see that?”

“Action!”

“I said can I se-“

“What’s happening?! What the fuck -- my left eye-“

“It popped out. It’s cheaper this way.”

The camera is rolling.

Smile bitch.

Twitch bitch.

You nose is sideways on your face bitch.

Close one eye – see the world dangling wildly by a thread. Your chest isn’t the only thing that’s bouncing.  

Seizure in the sand.

Tenderize the skull. An egg cracking, waiting for great things to come out.

Run. Bitch. Run.

It’s not a beating, it’s a kiss from Ted Bundy.

Naked scalp. Grit. Rake your nails through. Pull your fingers away. Grit and fluid cling under your nails.  

Run. Sand in the socket. Run. 

So far. So good.

So far. So good.

So far. So