The Disco Exorcist
For now on, you’re the
only devil I want coming inside me.
With names like Rex Romanski and Amoreena Jones, a disco
variation on Tubular Bells, a voodoo doll used to twist a victim in ways the
human body isn’t prepared, demonic possession that must be ceased through the
exorcism of a disco-dancing Lothario with plenty of bravado and cocky assurance
(and a cocksure grin to reassure us that his confidence in landing babe after
babe in disco ball clubs is through the roof), scratches and lines superimposed
throughout to imitate a cheesy cult flick that has languished in obscurity
(presented as some oddity that must have been re-discovered by Something Weird
Video), and plenty of sex and nudity to emulate the swinging 70s in all its
decadent glory, The Disco Exorcist (2011) is the afterbirth of Tarantino
Grindhouse where filmmakers are determined to mimic, pay homage, and declare
tribute to films that frequented drive-ins during a decade that featured a
little bit of everything made on the cheap or were popular at the time,
continuing to this day to remain alive in the culture of horror/sci-fi/cult. It
is no secret that there’s an affinity and desire to contribute in the cycle of
films that want to closely resemble films from the 70s (and the 60s which fed
into the next decade’s uprising in sex and violence, motivated by the damage
left in the wake of Vietnam, massive drug use, and the sexual revolution). Many
are more happy-go-lucky and tonally wink-wink, while a few (like Hobo with a
Shotgun and Nuns with Guns) were willing to push the envelope in all areas for
pure shock value. This film is pretty much good-natured and silly. It doesn’t
have the “journey into hell” grimness of certain films that came out in the 70s
but opts to glamorize the appeal in snorting coke, getting jiggy with it, and
dancing the night away.
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