Saturday, February 19, 2011

BLOOD TRACKS (1985) - a hair metal band and their groupies versus a family of cannibals, or, finally, a Swedish movie for the drunk and the stupid

Film, amongst many other miracles, allows us to empathize with other cultures. A family living in rural Sweden may indeed seem strange and foreign to a yankee pig. However, spending time with these people, we learn that they are, in fact, not that different from us. Money sure is tight, but luckily, they have each other to lean on, to help them get through any rough patches. They too have simple needs, and wants, like the desire to be loved and be accepted. And they, like us, have a drunken asshole of a father that beats the shit out of mommy. Well, the wife has had enough, and decides to take matters into her own hands. She knocks off the man of the house and flees with the kids to the comforting refuge of a deserted mine shaft that rests in the side of a snow covered mountain, where they spend the next forty years training themselves to become mongoloid retard killers.

Food sure is scarce during the winter months, but, luckily, culinary salvation comes screeching along in the form of Sweden’s foremost glam metal band, Easy Action, and their various hangers-on. Here they perform under the alias “Solid Gold” (presumably to prevent litigation from themselves), and sound a bit like a cross between Motley Crue and ABBA. They’re looking to invade the music scene outside of Stockholm, so they decide to shoot a video for the surefire smash single “Blood Tracks”. They head to a ski resort town with the usual crew, roadies, and “video dancers” (who conveniently double as groupies), and, quite surprisingly, the local community is overjoyed that these turkeys are invading their local town. I guess you take whatever role models you can get post Evel Kneivel.

The “dancer/model/whores” that accompany the group are an incredibly smoking conglomerate of tiger stripes, bustiers, careening eyeliner, studs, meshy lace, g-strings, teased hair, and stuff I don’t know the name of (the “musicians” are sort of like male versions of these girls). Admittedly, this attire is not particularly suitable for the snow covered mountains of Sweden. This is illustrated with dialogue like "I'm gonna freeze my tits off!”, revealing the sort of angst not hinted at since Persona.

Naturally, the first video shoot, on top of being totally uninspired, starts a fucking avalanche. Hopefully, this will eventually lead to a change in the resort’s safety policy (perhaps a sign stating - WARNING! LOUD, POINTLESS GUITAR SOLOS MAY RESULT IN YOUR FRIZZY, RUM SOAKED NOGGIN BEING PELTED WITH 12 TONS OF ICE… ASSHOLE!!!). This leads to an incredible scene in which several of our glam rockers rescue a naked guy and girl who were doing the backseat boogie in a car now buried by snow. Admittedly, I lost track of who was who during the scene. I guess when a Swedish hair metal rocker dude gets it on with a Swedish hair metal groupie, discerning who in the group has the penis is nigh impossible.

The video director keenly moves the shoot to the local abandoned mine shaft, and people start to fall prey to various booby traps. A couple of the mongoloids even make it up to their ski cabin, where they make quick work of their victims, dispatching them in vague frosty darkness. Some of the bodies get dragged back to the mine, hoarded for late night snacking (this was before Scandinavia was littered with 24-hour Taco Bells). In the end, two characters escape and are rescued by helicopter, which gently segues into an Easy Action power ballad. The sadness and despair of this bleak landscape (and the realization that becoming the next Poison is now out of the question) is exemplified by the lyric "I’m all on my own, far far away, in the middle of nowhere" (which is coincidently the entire plot for Bergman’s The Silence).

Despite the non-stop svenkyness on display, the movie tries to pass itself off as American, as the U.S.A. is apparently stuck in its ways, unable to accept the hair metal of other cultures. Fittingly, full blooded Swede Mats Helge directs under the pseudonym of “Mike Jackson”. Helge’s previous film was the semi-brilliant The Ninja Mission, a story about some ninjas teaming up with the CIA to stop evil Russians from securing nuclear weapons. It is truly The Wild Bunch of the Swedish ninja sub-genre (or maybe more like The Killer Elite of Swedish ninja movies, but still).

The tagline for Blood Tracks is “Terror on the Slopes!”, which would leave one to believe the movie is of the “ski slasher” genre. However, there is no actual skiing, but there indeed are some terrible goings on related to the surrounding slopes of the ski resort, so technically it isn’t false advertising. I’m sure these teased knuckleheads would have gotten around to some sort of skiing if the group didn’t encounter an unfortunate avalanche/asshole cannibal family combo. So yes, Blood Tracks does indeed qualify to be included (along with Iced and Satan’s Blade) in the borderline esteemed “ski slasher” sub-sub-genre, if for no better reason than I give less than a shit about skiing.

No comments:

Post a Comment