Movie Ad of the Week: THE CHILD (1977) a.k.a. KILL AND GO HIDE! (1983)

The supernatural killer kid film THE CHILD opened in Austin, TX on March 4, 1977 through Harry Novak's Box-Office International. By September it was being paired with another Novak acquisition, Frederick Friedel's AXE (originally released in 1974 as LISA, LISA). Below is a review of THE CHILD when it played in Los Angeles with AXE in January 1978.

The title was changed to KILL AND GO HIDE! when released in the New York area (by Tim Kincaid & Cynthia DePaula's New American Films) on January 28, 1983.

Movie Ad of the Week: THE DARK SIDE OF TOMORROW (1970) a.k.a. JUST THE TWO OF US (1973)

THE DARK SIDE OF TOMORROW, "a tormentingly sensitive love story" co-written and directed by Barbara Peeters, opened in Philadelphia on December 2, 1970.

By the time Harry Novak's Box-Office International re-released the film in 1973 as JUST THE TWO OF US, Peeters was working for Roger Corman and had directed BURY ME AN ANGEL for his New World Pictures. The ad above is from the Montgomery, Alabama opening on July 6, 1973.

Movie Ads of the Week: Harry Novak in the mid '80s

By 1986, legendary exploitation distributor Harry Novak of Valiant International Pictures (nee Box-Office International) had been in business for over 20 years and still retained a theatrical presence, even if the "core" of his product had gone from soft to hard. Adults-only showcases like the Cinema Theatre in Madison, WI (now known as the Barrymore Theatre) were still running 35mm prints of Novak releases like JOHNNY DOES PARIS (1979), THE SEVEN SEDUCTIONS OF MADAME LAU (1981), THAT'S MY DAUGHTER (1983), INSPIRATIONS (1983) and MOMENTS OF LOVE (1984), the latter two directed by Novak himself under the pseudonym "H. Hershey."

October 25, 1985

January 31, 1986

February 7, 1986

February 14, 1986

April 4, 1986

The Szurek Zone: A SCREAM IN THE STREETS (1973)

A SCREAM IN THE STREETS (a.k.a. GIRLS IN THE STREETS) is a wild & wooly exercise in the outrageous that comes to us courtesy of Harry Novak’s Box-Office International. Well, it certainly looks as if shot on a low budget with a Kodak Brownie, although most of the acting is more acceptable than usual for this kind of thing. And it is fun in a weird way. The film may not be great art, and much of it looks put together by sick but harmless minds; it’s a sleazeaholic’s must-see, and at times, one can’t help but wonder if anybody intended it to be taken seriously. It does exude raw energy, and I absolutely dare you to call it boring.

The ultimate in lowbrow approach is thrown up at us as the opening credits are read aloud by an off-screen announcer. We then enter into a yarn about an apparently non-gay transvestite (shown ONLY in drag) with an unbalanced mind who goes first on a rape spree, then graduates to a “kill for kicks” spree and finally to a “kill for necrophilic kicks” one. Intercut with this is a fragmented “spanking” scene having nothing whatsoever to do with the rest of the story, featuring characters who never appear before or after. It’s just thrown at us out of the blue! It’s also the most brutal (belt on bare ass), graphic, realistic screen spanking I’ve seen; the female victim is convincing, but doesn’t give the impression of having a good time, which makes me wonder if it was unsimulated or even expected and ad-libbed. The shocker comes when the viewer realizes that the unbilled “spanker” closely resembles the drag queen out of costume.

While the killer transvestite runs around committing dirty deeds, a couple of right-wing Dirty Harry clones who keep running into varied and sundry sex deviates, have a remarkable tendency to stumble on robberies and dope deals in progress quite by accident, NEVER take a prisoner alive, and show no qualms about their casual, trigger-happy law enforcement techniques. They run around trying to track the transvestite down while single-handedly verifying the worst “police brutality” reports. Although I doubt it was meant that way, this is one of the most anti-cop movies I’ve seen in ages and will hardly do anything positive for public relations. Like I said, it’s not great art, but the non-stop absurdity will blow your mind.

The Szurek Zone: HITCHHIKE TO HELL (1978)

HITCHHIKE TO HELL starts off with a sense of raw enthusiasm, but someone apparently ran out of steam long before they ran out of film. After a hilariously campy song called "Hitchhike to Hell" opens the credits, we are treated to sleaze assault after sleaze assault for about a half an hour, and then things get rather boring as a string of unsympathetic extras are constantly introduced for the sole purpose of undergoing uninteresting deaths at the hands of an apathetic, uninteresting protagonist.

Howard is the socially klutzy, overtly neurotic delivery boy for the town laundry. Played by an idiot named Robert Gribbens, who looks like Garrison Keillor, Howard lives with his obviously unstable mother and is traumatized by his sister having run away a couple of years before. As a result of the trauma, he has developed homicidal Jekyll-Hyde tendencies, having black-outs to overly-theatrical background music during which he drives down the nearby highway, giving a life to underage female hitchhikers (and in one case, which is evidently supposed to be funny but emerges just crude and tasteless, a homosexual). Howard finds out if they’re runaways (apparently a hell of a lot pass through this area) and if they are, he offs them, usually with a total absence of gore.

Before long, local cop Russell Johnson (best remembered for GILLIGAN’S ISLAND) concludes that a serial killer is at large. He and partner Randy Echols supposedly investigate, although no one is really sure what they’re doing other than walking around delivering lectures on the dangers of thumbing. Howard, meanwhile, has his memory refreshed a tad when he reads newspaper accounts of the murders, and undergoes the predictable anguish. Still, his alter-ego keeps taking over, and before we know it, he’s on the road again, being put through his paces by an unimaginative scriptwriter who’s reluctant to stop composing but seems to have writer’s block.

HITCHHIKE TO HELL is about ninety minutes, but feels like two hours wherein virtually nothing of any consequence happens. Final moments come across with such a lack of zest that one gets the impression the filmmakers are just as relieved that it’s over as the viewers.