Rainey Dawn WOW a blast from the past - and a pleasant surprise. I got this gem in the Drive-in 50-pack collection. I remember this one from quite a few years ago. I am glad to have this one in the 50-pack. It's definitely one of the better films in the Drive-in 50-pack. This is a very bizarre film where Mickey Rooney plays B.J. Lang a psycho that is holding Carlotta hostage in his basement. He is creating a movie in his mind and forces Carlotta to participate. Mr. Lang gives us quite a show while "teaching" Carlotta all about the theater. To add to the weirdness, we have Old Charlie in the basement who is dead. It's not the greatest horror film but it is one of the better one's from the 1970s and in the Drive-in collection. 6/10

Bloodwank There's a not insignificant realm of cinema where art unbound roams raging into madness. But less in number are the films that cross into this maelstrom and there not only find meaning but grasp quintessence, and The Manipulator is one of these films. As uncompromising a study of madness as I've ever seen, it tells the story of ageing film-maker BJ Lang and his captive Carlotta who he forces to play Roxanne to his Cyrano in scenes from the Rostand play. The story is barely skeletal, mostly a two handed piece with a short appearance from a wino, its flesh is its dialogue and technique and the two entwine remarkably well, not that you would guess from the average reviewer here, most of whom seem to be hung up on not understanding (nor even attempting to) what they were seeing. Essentially The Manipulator looks at the processes of art in abstraction, removed from their connection to the creation of a cohesive work, and treats them as means of psyche infection, a force that has entirely infested poor BJ Lang, breaking down all the structures that hold him together. In his shadowy and cobwebbed studio he acts the role of director, talks to mannequins as his crew, adopts their voices to talk to himself, plays Cyrano, plays actor, even self aware mad old man. With nothing to hold his notions separate he skips wildly between fiction and reality, artifice and insanity, self knowledge and deceit, even touching on legitimate insights along the way. And in the process slowly but surely a picture of art run to its terrible potential emerges, the manipulations of creating fiction, the manipulations of crafting an actual artwork, these processes of one wielding control over many, we see that complete control, to some the loftiest goal, means the collapse of the individual and rebuilding as collective consciousness, consciousness oh so difficult to hold in any kind of check once developed. It is as you might guess, not exactly an easy film. That it works so well is to a great extent down to Mickey Rooney as BJ Lang, giving an extraordinarily uninhibited performance. Every shade of pathos and mania, even strange grandeur, singing, dancing, physical comedy, there are scarce few other turns in film so free and wild. He is utterly, bizarrely compelling, hateful at times and sympathetic at others, simply superb. Luana Anders does a good job as his foil Carlotta, she mostly has to react, growing steadily more and more desperate and unhinged herself, not quite as showy a turn but still playing very well of Rooney, rather chilling in her plight. Keenan Wynn is good too as a wino, though he has really to do except shifting the plot and sense of reality for a spell. The technique matches the acting in outlandishness, deploying all manner of unbalanced angles, close ups, speedy edits, colored lenses, strobe lighting, hallucinatory sound design, hazy phantasms, all this piled on relentlessly to disturb the viewer as much as the characters on screen. The terrific art direction (by Larry Cohen) goes well with the directorial flourishes too, all manner of mannequins, both whole and in parts alone, free standing or hanging, and an array of beasts as well. And not surprisingly the score is unusual too, ranging from piano and sawing strings to strange noisy burbles. So altogether its a dense film, by the end almost an exhausting one, and most certainly not to all tastes. But for those interested in the intersection of madness and art, of truly bizarre art-house horror or just of unfettered acting exercises this is most certainly a worthy watch. 8/10

Tony Benedetti One of the worst pieces of poop I have ever witnessed in my entire life. I fell asleep while watching it and never saw the ending, nor do I want to waste time watching it again. It's pretty boring, because most of the movie takes place in the dressing room. It only has three characters which also makes it torture to sit through. I found Mickey Rooney pretty annoying throughout. Not to mention,the movie stinks so bad, all the Oust in the world won't get rid of the stench. I'd rather watch paint dry. Avoid all all costs, unless you need something to help you fall asleep. This was included in Mill Creek's "Drive In Classics" 50 pack. This being one of the worst in the entire set.

Woodyanders The legendary Mickey Rooney gives an incredibly wild, hammy and over-the-top full-tilt insane, inspired and uninhibited performance as B.J. Lang, a deranged and delusional psychotic washed-up Hollywood has-been who thinks he's a great successful big-time film director ala Orson Welles. Lang relentlessly torments and terrorizes hapless lovely aspiring actress Carlotta (the beautiful Luana Anders) on a dingy and decrepit abandoned studio back lot: he rants and raves to himself with rip-snorting gonzo aplomb, spoon feeds her baby food, impersonates an effeminate make-up artist (Rooney sports bright red lipstick and gaudy blue eye shadow!), pretends to have a fatal massive heart attack, and occasionally breaks into these astounding impromptu a cappella renditions of "Chattanooga Choo Choo" which he heartily belts out in this pained hoarse'n'wheezy croak of a voice.Writer/director Yabo Yablonsky whips up one awesomely aberrant and idiosyncratic marvel of an outré indie avant garde experimental cinematic meditation on dreams, delusions, dementia and the fine line between unattainable fantasy and bitter reality. Yablonsky deftly creates and maintains a clammy, creepy and claustrophobic weirded-out mood that sucks the viewer into the stunningly surreal and suffocating anything-goes nightmarish atmosphere which proves to be both jarring and riveting in comparable measure. Baird Bryant's garishly stylized cinematography uses every fancy artsy trick in the book: crazily tilted camera angles, distorted fish-eye lens, strenuous slow motion, artificially sped up film, wonky zoom-in close-ups and startling freeze frames. Gil Melle's groovy, droning, atonal psychedelic acid jazz score constitutes as another significant asset. Keenan Wynn briefly pops up in an embarrassingly thankless bit part as a mumbling drunken bum who Rooney runs through with a rapier. While Rooney clearly dominates the picture with his bracingly berserk and bravura acting, Anders still nonetheless holds her own quite well and gets to perform a major crack-up scene where she really cranks up the astonishing eye-rolling histrionics to 10 plus. A splendidly screwy and singular one-of-a-kind piece of sheer celluloid lunacy.