Dear Dead Delilah

Dear Dead Delilah Directed By John Farris (1972).

I saw "Shakespeare Was a Big George Jones Fan", an insanely fun documentary on the Shout Factory app about Cowboy Jack Clement. Clement worked with most of the famed artists of Sun Records and discovered Charley Pride. He was close friends with Johnny Cash, George Jones,Waylon Jennings and wrote shit that rocketed them all to superstardom in the real deal country heyday of Nashville before it was all ruined by the pop country swill. Clement mistakenly decided to delve into the sleazy world of film production. He even mentions this movie in the documentary and seems slightly embarrassed by it. As he should because it totally sucks, but it's not like he wrote it. The writer and director of this John Farris, penned The Fury for Brian DePalma and one of my favorite Masters of Horror episodes about the ice cream clown played by William Forsythe.

This one is on a double feature with Savage Intruder (which we reviewed before from j4HI.com). If you like hillbilly weirdos and Agnes Moorhead than you'll be as thrilled as a cornpone hick at a Cracker Barrel buffet.

I always get the IGNORMOOSE in that Cracker barrel peg game.

It begins with a swollen eyed gal who must've slaughtered her mother, because she talks to a corpse, stunned and rotting on the stove covered in blood. Then a girl with 2 black eyes and a soiled wig gets into some shenanigans. The whole flick is scratchy, strewn with film lines and cigarette burns. It all plays out like an even duller Tennessee Williams rejected play. Sometimes the tubby blonde who wears all white blends into the bedsheets which are also white and it looks like those 2 black eyes and teeth are hovering around. The Ormonds knew what they were doing with technicolor and music, you'd think Cowboy Jack would've joined forces with them and not gone out of his way to make Trashville look so fucking mundane and uneventful.

The main actress looks sort of like Meg Whitman, that Benjamin Franklin looking candidate who lost to Jerry Brown. If you're craving to see Agnes Moorehead on a rampage you're shit outta luck, watch that episode of the Twilight Zone where she beats the tar out of those robots instead. Everyone drinks then stares at the camera and does a little dull soliloquy. Seriously, I have no idea who or what these people are doing or what's going on. So like Veronica Lake in Flesh Feast, this is that bitchy Mother-in-law you know and love's from Bewitched and Citizen Kane's swan song.

I'm a bargain basement Rebel Wilson.

I was happy to see Michael Ansara, the Indian medicine man from my all time favorite stoner film The Manitou. One dude has the same hair as Dirk Benedict from the A-Team and Battlestar Galactica. I can't believe it, but I swear to God, Hillbillies in a Haunted House is a better movie than this piece of shit! I'm starting to think this is just a lost episode of Mama's Family with less interesting results. After watching that documentary you'd think Cowboy Jack would have more sense but maybe he was just trying to lull people into a deep sleep, for whatever unknown reason!
This one is rough but not as painful as another Guinea Pig sequel or root canal, that's a positive right? Kindertrauma dug it and I almost always side with them, they compared it to S.F. Brownrigg who I despise and Blood and Lace, which is a bazillion times better than this dreck. Don't take my opinion though.

In the XXX version of Bewitched they felt my actual name was porny enough.

I like my Manitou'd broiled and topped with gorgonzola.