Two William Grefé Monster Films: Sting of Death/Death Curse of Tartu (1966)

 

Director: William Grefé

A Night of a Thousand Horror (Movies) #216-217

 

Sting of Death

Screenplay: William Kerwin

Cast: Joe Morrison as Dr. John Hoyt; Valerie Hawkins as Karen Richardson; John Vella as Egon; Jack Nagle as Dr. Richardson

 

Do the Jella...Jellafish...

Sting of Death was my introduction to William Grefé. As Herschell Gordon Lewis was making exploitation films in Florida, so was Grefé, prolific through the sixties to the eighties. Ironically, the two films being covered feel like they were transported from the fifties and just happen to have eye popping (Arrow restored) colour aesthetic. And if anyone wants to cross the two directors' timelines together, I do think it is that William Kerwin of Blood Feast (1963) that wrote the script, especially as he has an onscreen role, briefly, in the future production Impulse (1974).

Sting of Death is definitely out of time, of a jellyfish man monster, though one smarter then his peers as, unseen, his first scene is going for a screwdriver to kill the radio on the island home of a marine biologist, killing and dragging off a female victim in one of the many arguably impressive underwater sequences. Grefé has to put with a lot of stress making this film, shot in the middle of the Florida countryside on the water¹, so I am softer to Sting of Death in spite of what is a very cheesy film undercut by its pacing issues. The set up is simple, where a group of people come on the island - the marine biologist himself, a doctor, some relatives and friends including the biologist's daughter, and a group of biology students wishing to party. And then there is Egon, the facially disfigured assistant who is attracted to the biologist's daughter but is shunned for his appearance.

Restored, this is a striking film even if a low budget one. Grefé is different from Herschell Gordon Lewis, which can be argued even in terms of some auteurist theory, because whilst Gordon really rested upon very heightened and absurd humour, alongside his garish colours and stark floodlight, Grefé's aesthetic is found in itself in the down-and-dirty nature of the films being shot quickly and in the environments he used, even a film closer inland like Impulse (1974) with William Shatner not embracing camp in spite of Shatner's costumes. Only the fashions, including striped shirts and jumpers, feel closer to the multicolour of his compatriot, and even then, I suspect that dissipates when he moves away from this type of monster film.  The two horror films being covered today were also shot in the Florida Everglades, which has a distinct aesthetic in itself of the naturally countryside and isolation.

This still feels part of the early years of the decade, or the fifties, where even the first corpse found, stung by what appears to be a giant Portuguese Man-o-War, has practical effects on it that whilst gristly could have been gotten away with back then. That is not a dismissal of the film but does stand out when, at this time, sexploitation existed and Lewis was gory until the censors started biting at his ankles. Then there is the tangent, if brief, into a little sub-genre of rock 'n' roll beach movies, which also started sneaking in haunted house and horror tropes, even old horror icons like Boris Karloff, among the hijinks. It is a weird culturally distinct world, one I have touched upon with this film, one which even brought Elvis a success with Tickle Me (1965), a film with a haunted house as a plot point, the beach and naturally songs in what sounds like a bizarre psychotronic brew. It is an odd tangent here, shimming to a new dance called the Jellyfish, which feels so alien to a world two years later which would embrace the psychedelic movement which Grefé himself would hitch his tent to, the irony not lost that these films were made year by year as cultural shifts, especially the sixties, would change one half of the decade to the other half. This scene also leads to poor Egon being tormented by the biology students, talking as if they are pirates as they ostracize him for some reason. This will come into play not long afterwards for the plot.

The monster itself is definitely from a decade before, beyond not seeing its head until later visibly wearing a scuba costume below the waist, though that is more logical then that sounds in the narrative. He is a rare b-movie monster too, as mentioned, with intelligence and an ability to weld tools like an axe, but he still wanders towards victims slowly which few ever take advantage of. It is admittedly a creature, when we see its head, with the actor's visible through what can only be described as a giant plastic bag on top of his shoulders. It is ridiculous yet weirdly compelling.

The bigger problem than the look of the creature is that, in the connective tissue between the middle of the narrative to the finale, you have a tedious stretch of padding which mars the film. This is unfortunately a common issue with many films, and this is no exception, and Sting of Death sadly does feel its length and predictability, a bane of so many of these type of films but one I have found especially in the older lot of them. It is a film that could have been trimmed, as your pleasures will come from its pulpy silliness than a compelling story. One scene has won me over with this in mind, when a boat is capsized and the people in the water are being terrorised by a mass of jellyfish...all visibly played by plastic bags with strings attached to them floating on the water. It is ridiculous yet, again, charming and also cute even when actors have to pretend being stung by them.

Most of the pleasure of Sting of Death for me was its silly nature, little details which delighted more than the plot itself. An obsession with airboats which will appear in other films; the oddly funny image of a jellyfish person's feet on bath mats of multiple colours in close-up; that the underwater cave the film ends in is full to prop bones, including a plastic skull on  a stalagmite, and pink and green lighting like a special nautical themed Halloween horror house. It is a film in spite of itself, charming for these little quirks, and this is to bear in mind for the next film made this year by Grefé....

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Death Curse of Tartu

Screenplay: William Grefé

Cast: Fred Pinero as Ed Tison; Babette Sherrill as Julie Tison; Bill Marcus as Billy; Mayra Gómez Kemp as Cindy; Sherman Hayes as Johnny; Gary Holtz as Tommy; Maurice Stewart as Joann; Doug Hobart as Tartu; Frank Weed as Sam Gunter

...sharks don't live in fresh water...

This is why I prefer Death Curse of Tartu, which Grefé openly admits was a script he wrote within twenty four hours by himself originally². A film which still has the flair, to induce a chef's kiss hand gesture, to have the opening credits on a scroll taken from a victim, page after page turned, but very much made from such a swift and hastily produced work schedule. The film does stray into a territory, let alone feeling a film from an older decade, back when we exotisied cultures in problematic ways, about a cursed Native American burial ground of a witch doctor who could turn into an alligator and other animals. This is worth bringing up from the get-go as, even if this is definitely the audience rewriting the script the author created, how I got into the film was the unintentional humours of an alternative take on the subject matter.

The film follows the trope that there is a Native American guide, named Billy, we briefly meet not stupid enough like the white people who are the leads, leaving as soon as possible after he has brought them to the burial ground of Tartu on an island to stay. Many old stories, even in turn of the century pulp literature, have a lot about the sceptic facing things beyond their comprehension, after dismissing belief in ghosts and goblins³, a holdover of faith which even finds its way here as a well worn genre plot, one of the many old shoes which still fit for a b-movie premise. The other aspect, barring that he sabotages the boat to leave the island and openly terrorises the survivors in the ending, is that you could watch this with Tartu as the anti-hero. It may be weird to transcribe a mobile phone text to a family member in the middle of a review, but this encapsulates what I thought the actual plot was:

Death Curse of [Tartu]. Someone is being eaten by a shark currently as people have disturbed a witch doctor on his burial ground by playing rock n roll music whilst he was sleeping.

Whilst it feels like another film more likely to be shot in the fifties and even forties in content, barring the stop for a bikini rock n roll dance sequence, Tartu just wants to sleep in his burial ground in peace, not have bland white adults prat about nearby and blast out music on high volume in the middle of the Everglade. Sadly, it still turns into a film which vilifies non-suburban white culture whilst championing truly white bread leads, something Grefé never likely thought about, but it helps that one that is considerably better paced and more entertaining than Sting of Death, both in terms of entertainment but also this accidentally shade to it. Alongside curious details like quicksand apparently existing in Florida, unintentionally this comes off as the Something Weird Video approved take of ignorance of white suburbanites or people from the metropolis wandering outside their territories, without commonsense and listening to the locals. Billy for one, even if superstitious, had childhood memories of bodies of tribesmen being brought back from the island as evidence, something which even a materialist atheist would be wary of, the film gleefully embracing its premise of what happens when said leads do take this warning and land on the island regardless.

Namely, that Tartu picks them off as various animals. Whilst this leads to a plastic snake for close-ups in one scene, it also includes an actor play wrestling a real giant snake worthy of Bela Lugosi against the fake squid from Bride of the Monster (1955). We can only hope there was no animal cruelty on set, but that the special effects are real snakes and alligators wrangled by a trainer adds a great deal. As much an accidental nature documentary transpires as a result, as we see a big alligator mind its own business as an actress has to act being fearful for her life, or a giant snake navigates around camp props and jostle past a metal kettle. If the shark is just a fake fin in the water, well they were not cruel to realistically have a shark swimming out of its natural habitat in fresh water like the magical one here does. Probably the only thing which might make people uncomfortable is the real alligator skulls, contrasting the plastic human ones, but considering Florida has a lot of alligators, and gator farms, those might be easy to come by.

The film does have a dull extended chase scene at the end, emphasising my belief that trying to have extended scenes of action is just padding in any film, but with complete understanding of this film's origins, this was a fun piece which, most importantly, showed that a lot of potential was to be found in delving into William Grefé's filmography. Poignantly, beyond this production you would have him move with the times, to the psychedelic era and even Jawsploitation to capitalise on Jaws (1975), making his a fascinating career up the eighties, when his filmography slows down, to investigate. These as a throwback to an older era, before Grefé would go on to darker subject matter, offer a nice moment of cheesy light heartedness beforehand. As they are also not that long into his career either, after just two films before, this is very early in a career gathering moss on its rolling boulder, leaving a lot to progress as he did.

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1) As documented in his brief, but rewarding, introduction to the film for the 2020 Arrow Video release.

2) Also from the Arrow Blu Ray film introductions.

3) Why always goblins?