Sledgehammer (1983)

It seems ludicrous to even imagine it. Let’s say you’re a gorehound living in the golden age of home video. For a number of fortunate souls, this may not even require fantastical thinking, but rather a fabulous trip down memory lane. You spy an evocative VHS cover featuring a scantily-clad person of the female persuasion draped across jagged titles, hovering above a pool of blood, while a creepy mask is partially shattered by a protruding tool most often seen wielded by construction workers towering above all. “Yes, yes, and more yes.” Say you pop that sucker in your VHS player, being sure to give the cassette a cursory blow to get any dust out of there beforehand, then you settle onto your couch, resting your beer on that loser mobile, the Betamax. What would you think after watching writer/director David A. Prior’s directorial debut, Sledgehammer (1983)? Would you ponder how anything like this could’ve been made available for rental to the general public? Perhaps you’d like to find the fellas who made this hunk of junk and give ‘em a piece of your mind? Then again, it’s not like no-talents like these’ll ever make any more movies, right?

Well, my hypothetical and imaginary (aren’t they all?) friend...you’d be wrong, because the thing you have to remember about a great deal of SOV filmmakers is this: They may lack the skills and/or equipment to make a proper movie, but they never, ever lack for ambition. Prior, along with Sledgehammer star and former Playgirl Playmate of the Month Ted Prior, would form Action International Pictures, which of course can easily be transformed into AIP, the semi-reputable company behind such great B-movies such as A Bucket of Blood, Burn, Witch, Burn, Foxy Brown, Sisters, and The Wild Angels. I’m reminded of nefarious Broadway producer David Merrick when he invited men whose names matched those of prominent New York theatre critics to one of his musicals and used their boozy compliments as quotes to fool readers into thinking the critics had loved his latest effort. Still, one can’t fault the Priors for trying, and shockingly enough, they went on to release a number of B-grade action and horror films featuring “real” actors. Oscar-nominee Sally Kirkland and great bad guy actors Michael Ironside and Robert Davi can all claim (or falsely deny) their involvement in David Prior films, and why not? Films like Night Trap, Killer Workout, and Double Threat are amusing little trifles which prove that one just has to take that first difficult step of actually making a film and the rest is just gravy. Whether or not these films are any good is a matter of taste, but there’s no denying that Sledgehammer’s extremely humble, very crappy-looking origins led its creators to slightly greener pastures.

The first one through the ceiling always suffers the worst and Sledgehammer was indeed one of the very first VHS-based Shot-On-Video releases that bypassed theaters and went straight to the shelves of your mom-and-pop store or, if you happened to be based in Texas around the mid-80's, that newfangled Blockbuster Video. The previous year's Boarding House (1982) was shot-on-video but actually released in theaters, with the filmmakers taking the audacious step of blowing it up to 35mm and projecting it in all its blurry, semi-coherent glory. At least tube TVs were probably a tad more forgiving toward Sledgehammer, which is most definitely meant for TVs. Just not mine.

Sledgehammer happens to have been made during The Slasher Golden Age, so technically it’s allowed in the same restaurant as the great late 70’s/early 80’s slashers, but not at the same table. It certainly follows its far-more successful predecessors by going for a bare minimum plot. Hard-partying morons head up to the mountains for a debaucherous weekend of killing brain cells, destroying their livers, and passing around STD’s. A masked killer with an unexpectedly supernatural twist is released and they’re taken out one-by-one. Rinse. Repeat. Cash the imaginary fucking check.

The inverted opening titles feature a color I’d categorize as “bloody asshole burgundy,” meaning that after hemorrhoid surgery the pad you’d pull out would have a similar hue. Although the special effects are credited to “Blood & Guts,” make no mistake, this film is quite tame compared to later SOV efforts, which echoes a similar statement Bart Simpson made in the first Treehouse of Horror regarding the first Friday the 13th. Shockingly, Sledgehammer's makeup artist Robin Beauchesne went on to great things - winning three Emmys, but she’d cut her teeth on Prior’s Killzone and even dip her toes into the Cannon pool with Masters of the Universe. The one absolute positive I’ll defend to the death is how strong composer Philip G. Slate’s title track is. In fact, the rest of the score by Ted Prior and Marc Adams deserves to be in a much scarier film. Slate’s work is still the best, with an eerie, tiptoe-like feel to it, as if something is following only a few steps behind. At least they have the good sense to have a smashable title, which is something I wanted to do to this movie.

In general, the main issue with Sledgehammer is the pacing, which goes hand in hand with Prior’s constant use of choppy slow-motion and predilection with filming inanimate objects for long stretches. It’s not a question of nothing happening, although very little does, but how shots which should only last a few seconds are stretched beyond the breaking point as the synth score plays a chord or two which lasts for days. The film runs a brisk 85 minutes, but considering its home video trajectory (although I’m sure the Priors dreamed of a gala theatrical premiere for their little home movie), it could easily stand to lose 10 minutes.

Beginning with an endless shot of a house we only see the front of, hence the mystery as to how big it really is (most of the film was shot in David Prior’s apartment), the camera zooms in to reveal an abusive and angry mother who must be a big Piper Laurie fan because she shoves her son into a closet. In a severely hazy living room (or that could be the camcorder) meant to evoke an erotic vibe, she entertains her lover. “Don’t worry about the kid. I took care of that little bastard!” she sneers. The shadow of a sledgehammer comes into view and we get a very fake blow to the lover’s head. It’s appreciably bloody and part of his scalp gets yanked back, but it’s nothing special.

Ten years roll by and the fresh meat arrives at the house. During a long, unbroken, and slightly-tilted shot, the group blathers on about nothing in particular in a clearly ad-libbed scene. The film tends to drag endlessly, but this group of people, idiots though they may be, actually have a certain infectious energy that makes the proceedings roll by fairly smoothly. A big burly chap named John (ex-Marine John Eastman) lets loose a Tarzan-yell and Tony Orlando lookalike Jimmy (Tim Aguilar) chides John’s girlfriend Mary (Janine Scheer) for getting a Coke instead of a beer: “We’re here to party!” Jimmy’s vivacious girlfriend Carol (Sandy Brooke, Nightmare Sisters) is practically throwing herself at him, but he’s too busy looking for a place to tie a yellow ribbon, I guess. Seriously, this subplot about Jimmy being...I’m not sure whether it’s impotence or a fear of intimacy...is just odd, to say the least. It’s one thing to be nervous, especially around a pretty girl, but she keeps giving him chance after chance, as if they’ve never even done it. There's a random third wheel goofball named Joey (Steven Wright) who’s just...there.

The main characters, if they can be called as such, are the aptly-named and eternally shirtless Chuck (Ted Prior) and Joni (Linda McGill), who are at odds regarding his two-year-old marriage proposal that as of yet has gone unfulfilled. Prior’s performance is incredibly choppy in this film. It's as if he literally forgets how to act in one scene, then all of a sudden, it comes back to him in the next. He’s quite good in another obviously ad-libbed scene as he flexes both his muscles and acting chops, but then we’re treated to a literal two-minute sequence, shot in slow-motion, where he and Joni walk from left to right in front of a field. It’s ponderous and boring. Meanwhile, John presumably yanks the sledgehammer out from under some junk, but we can’t tell because the film freezes as he does it, in yet another time-waster.

I’ll give these assholes credit: when they party, they party hard. There’s a shocking amount of booze and beer consumed and the men are pretty much animals. John licks Mary’s face, everybody’s trying out for the Chug-A-Lug frat house, and then John bites a can of beer in half before doing a homophobic impression and pretending to make out with Joey. These pricks are white, Reagan is running the country, and wasting food is the new hip thing to do. There’s an insane dinner scene that’s horrifying as John, the Belushi of the group, tries to shove an entire sandwich into his mouth then spits it into Joni’s face. Chuck thinks he’s fucking hilarious and pours mustard all over Joni, prompting an awful food fight. “You started this, you jagoffs!” Chuck says as the men at least clean it up since they fucking started it.

This is a slasher film, right? Well, yeah, but it’s a little different. And yet, it has very little logic. There are the usual ominous subjective camera shots of something staring into a window and roaming the grounds, indicating our villain’s presence. Then the sledgehammer just disappears. I mean, literally. It's there, then it fades away, in an easy dissolve effect I myself have used. It’s actually a very effective low-budget trick. Chuck and Joey like to pull macabre pranks, including Joey hanging himself in the shower, but their ultimate move is to fuck with the group by having Chuck perform a séance. This ostensibly summons the cursed spirit of the young boy who disappeared ten years earlier after the police found his mother and lover. “All that was left was a bloody heap of mangled flesh and shattered bones,” Chuck whispers. John nearly shits his pants when a voice that’s clearly Chuck’s starts talking back to all of them. The killer returns and he’s basically a big lumberjack type whose mask makes him look like Tony Danza and/or Ron Jeremy. It’s not an awful look, but it’s neither remarkable nor memorable.

While upstairs manning the recorder that's broadcasting the phony spirit voice, Joey’s knifed in the throat; pretty standard stuff. Chuck fucks with the others and doesn’t even wonder why Joey hasn’t come back down yet. He finally pops in and finds some blood on the floor. A lot of it, he claims, although we never see the floor since David Prior wanted to keep the security deposit on his apartment. Indicative of the lack of an Ittenbach or even a Polonia behind the camera, the next kill takes place during a very inert lovemaking scene featuring little-to-no thrusting. A strategically placed slip of blanket which still reveals Carol’s breasts but hides Jimmy’s ass crack is extremely clunky.

Two cutaways to a doorknob while Jimmy and Carol continue to make weird love. It finally opens, revealing the masked killer, who watches for a bit, then enters. This room must be a mile long, because they don’t see him at all and even find time to finish. After a cutaway to Joni discovering Joey’s body, we’re back in the room, where the killer finally attacks, giving Carol the gentlest neck snap I’ve ever seen while Jimmy lays back like he’s fucking stoned and gets a hammer to the chest, which merely leaves a smeared, bloody mark.

Joni rushes in and the killer goes after her down an endless staircase before literally disappearing again. We have no idea what the geography of this house is, so somehow, she ends up in the living room with the others, yet she doesn’t know this fucker can vanish into thin air, so how can they know they’re safe? Props to Chuck for suggesting they stay put instead of following John’s cliché idea of searching the house. I bet he’d’ve suggested they split up too. Idiot.

They wait, with John keeping watch and holding the sledgehammer he found while the rest manage to grab some shut-eye. There’s a bit of a Halloween reference as we see various empty rooms and areas in the house and a lame-o disappear/reappear shot of the killer coming down the same old hallway. John, probably trying to compensate for his weird, presumably red-haired little dick, goes off alone to search. He spots a little boy wearing the mask and he tries to catch him. Here’s where the film at least tries something unexpected. John can’t get into the room the boy ran into, but he’s suddenly transported there. Cobwebs are everywhere, the dead mother and lover are slumped over at a table, and a pentagram is drawn on the wall in blood. He encounters the killer and they fail to convince anyone their struggle is real, despite both men being pretty big. It’s as if they were told slow-motion didn’t exist so they’d have to provide it themselves.

John gets stabbed and stumbles back into reality. Mary rushes at the door and gets transported, while Chuck attempts to break it down. When he finally forces it open, they’re in the pentagram room. Soooo...it wasn’t some kind of gateway into another dimension or alternate reality? It was just a room with some cobwebs? Would’ve worked much better had it really leaned into an otherworldly place. The boy is stabbing Mary, which happens off-camera, so another blown opportunity for gore. Then we get a fabulously funny moment, where the kid slaps the shit out of Chuck. It’s the funniest slap I’ve seen since the original Invaders from Mars. He morphs back into the big killer and slams Chuck into the wall until he’s coughing up blood. Joni ambushes the killer and it’s once again very confusing. Can they kill him now? Is he a spirit or a man? She even pulls a Home Alone and somehow electrifies a door knob. Prior loves his doorknobs.

Cornered, she’s done for, but shirtless Chuck is here to save the day! There’s a nifty POV shot from behind the killer’s mask as Chuck pounds on him. He’s toast when Chuck snags the sledgehammer and pulverizes his face. Chuck and Joni escape, but the kid is still standing in the window, so I guess killing him was pointless, sort of like this film.

Sledgehammer is what you’d call modest, if you were being polite. I can’t bring myself to do that. I can see what Prior was attempting and although it’s gained a place solely based on its time of production, it’s a piss-poor film with rancid characters and rotten special effects that don’t have the decency to deliver on the destruction the title weapon could cause. It’s no surprise this thing was shot in a week, but it’ll take me much less time to forget it.