Black Devil Doll From Hell (1984)

Yes, I'm finally going to review it; you can stop holding your breath now.

Or better yet, maybe you better continue to hold your breath, since this is one of the stinkiest, most putrid examples of moving images committed to a camera.

And remember, this is the man talking who has seen Plan 9 from Outer Space, Jaws 3 and Starcrash - all in the same day. On more than one occasion.

If anyone else out there has ever heard of Chester Novell Turner, then they already know about Black Devil Doll from Hell, the more (in)famous of the movies he directed; the other was Tales from the Quadead Zone which is, after I actually come across it and watch it, another review for another time. ...and yes, I am just that sick and disturbed.

Down to it: devout church-going woman Helen Black (Shirley L. Jones) has a life full of church-going devoutness and a house full of crucifixes, Bibles, framed religious quotes and other holy bric-a-brac. And yet she still feels her life is missing...something. Maybe a man? Nah...her blank stare would come between them sooner or later anyway.

So, one day she goes to an antique store or small-scale rummage sale or maybe it's some sort of a flea market where she finds, much to her delight...a dread-locked darker version of Charlie McCarthy. It's supposed to be a doll (hence the title) but as anyone with a reasonably moderate IQ can tell, it's a ventriloquist dummy. Easier to make its eyes move and have it talk later on...or did I give away the big moment? Oh well...the shop owner/rummage sale manager/flea market overseer tells Helen that the dummy...uh, doll...always comes back to the store by itself after it is bought.

Oooohhh...foreshadowing is scaaaaary.

But Helen, with her patented blank stare, shrugs the warning off and shells out her hard-earned church money.

After Helen brings the little MacGuffin home, she brings it into the bathroom with her as she then strips down and takes a shower (in what has to be the most unsexy nude scene in a movie that doesn't involve Burgess Meredith). Which brings up the question as to why she would bring the dummy...doll, sorry...into the bathroom with her to begin with. Well, isn't it apparent? So we could then be treated to the scene where - GASP! - the doll opens its eyes and turns its head to watch Helen soap up and wet down.

It would be scary, if it weren't for the fact that there was a feeling that maybe the casual viewer shouldn't be watching what has every appearance of a dirty home movie, starring a spray-painted ventriloquist dummy.

What follows is a series of contrivances that end in Helen being taken advantage of physically, verbally, psychologically and spiritually by the BLACK DEVIL DOLL FROM HELL! Staring blankly all the while.

And yes, you actually watch a ventriloquist dummy sexually assault a woman for several minutes. Going as far as showing him give her oral sex - with a popsicle stick for a tongue.

Though not a female, I could only think of one word: splinters.

Please understand that as a general movie rule, I am against negative stereotypes of any race, creed or color; that is not entertainment. And I am also against humiliation against women in films; neither is that entertainment. But what about Chester Novell Turner? You have to wonder what his thoughts on women, let alone African-Americans in general, are. Apparently, he would believe that this is a good way to spend an hour or so - degrading women, reinforcing stereotypes and framing it all in low technical abilities. Real low technical abilities.

You see, Black Devil Doll from Hell (or BDDFH, for brevity) is an example of SOV (shot-on-video) movie-making, wherein regular old-fashioned camcorders (or camcorder, singular, in this case, since I seriously doubt that Turner had the budget for more than one camera) are used for filming, then the scenes edited together using a VCR. Yep, this kind of thing happened a lot back in the early days of SOV film-making. Unfortunately for Turner, that day was in the mid-to-late Seventies - about 5 years or so before he decided to film his inner-most thoughts.

Many people think Plan 9 From Outer Space is the worst film ever. Others think that title belongs to Gigli or any of your choice of Gamera movies. I say: it's all a matter of tone.

BDDFH could have been made with a lighter tone and the same effects, realize how silly the entire enterprise is, embrace its lower-than-low budget and been a goofily enjoyable romp. Turner, however, infused every scene with the grimy, unclean feel of a snuff film; there is no lightness, no fun. Oh, I'm sure this would be a joy-filled ride for those who would also belly-laugh at those "bum-fight" videos from a decade or so ago. But for the casual viewer, it's just too dirty.

And this sounds hypocritical coming from me, someone who lives for lousy films like this. But BDDFH crosses the line one too many times. I did NOT need to see Shirley Jones dry-humping a doorway; I did NOT need to see a ventriloquist dummy doing schtick best-suited to Andrew Dice Clay and Eddie Murphy, minus the comedy; I did NOT need to hear Turner play the same two notes over and over on his Casio and call that a movie score; and I most definitely did NOT need to feel so unclean watching a movie about a horny dummy...doll!...indulging himself.

Of course, I may have just sold BDDFH to you on these "virtues" alone. Fair enough - go for it; seek out BDDFH and watch the whole thing yourself. Let me know what you thought. Were you entertained? Amused? Excited? Did you go out and by your own Rastafarian doll? Or is there a specific audience for this kind of thing?

I believe there is and I can tell you who they are: they are the people who must see just what it takes to be the worst movie ever.

Late-night movie devotees.

Bad film festival attendees.

People who hear the names Jack Hill, Doris Wishman and Al Adamson and nod with a knowledgeable grin.

BDDFH was made for ridicule, plain and simple; nothing as easy as logic can explain this away - it must be confronted full steam ahead.

Who knows; you may indeed be that kind of person. God bless you if you are.

I'm sure Chester Novell Turner feels the same way, too.