‘Bloodstream’ (1985) – Michael J Murphy.

It's certainly frustrating to think about how so few no-budget horror films have the towering tenacity, the overarching ambition of glass-ceiling smashing splatter mad-hatter Michael J. Murphy's quixotic, pseudo-legendary psychodrama, 'Bloodstream' (1985) a feral, celluloid creep-out for the discerning, late-night curry crowd, a righteously frenetic cinephile wet dream, while demonstratively lacking the polish and production value the extra 75 quid might have given the final product; bravely defying logic, the narratively febrile filmmaker Michael J. Murphy goes off-piste, frequently taking the road less travelled and proceeds to up the cinematic ante at any given opportunity, not only shooting the main story arc of disgruntled director Alistair Bailey's grisly, not entirely unjustified revenge, the hyperbolic 'film-within-a-film' milieu works tremendously well for much of the film's 1 hr 23 minutes duration, an especially laudable feat considering the profound budgetary privations he would have to so consistently surmount.

The penurious, perhaps naive, eternally hopeful neophyte horror impresario Alistair Bailey is a marvellous cipher for any number of equally frustrated genre filmmakers similarly thwarted by the malign machinations of a duplicitous producer, in this case the fabulously despotic William King who contrives by wholly devious means to contractually steal the film away from the apoplectic Alistair and later release 'Bloodstream' for a considerably increased financial reward, the ceaselessly ruthless and entirely parasitical King making for an eminently despicable nemesis!

Without pausing for B-movie breath we are headily plunged into a vibrant kaleidoscopic craziness which proves singularly fascinating, this fractured, chaotically macabre movie mélange, brusquely cutting from one lurid, gore-spattered non sequitur colourfully represents the increasingly disturbed mind of paranoid filmmaker Alistair Bailey, uncomfortably bringing Peeping Tom's equally deranged 16 mm camera wielding maniac Carl Boehm to mind as he so methodically undertakes his brutal retribution, every grim, bloody detail of his transgressors death being captured unflinchingly on film.

There's a coruscating rawness to Michael J Murphy's 'Bloodstream' which evokes the very ragged best, or delirious worst of Roberta Findlay/Ted V. Mikels psychotronic drive-in madness, its low brow, high cholesterol celluloid is blissfully bad for your health! The 'acting' is deliciously monotonous and frequently hilarious which merely increases the illicit frisson of watching an unrepentantly trashy film replete with such a withering disdain for good taste, outsider cinema like this by all rights should be celebrated for their idiosyncrasy and rewarded with a lovingly restored Blu-ray/DVD.

‘A relentlessly bizarre phantasmagoria that frequently packs in more outré moments in 5 minutes of scream time than a wasted weekend in Marilyn Manson’s Rohypnol-steeped romper room!' - Weirdling Wolf.

'I'm diabolical David Cassidy the Bostik strangler!!!!!'

'Be honest, do my fingers look weird to you!'

'Either the drugs got bigger, or I got smaller, dude!!???

'I'm gonna Hitchcock in that rear Window, baby!'

'I'm way high maintenance but sick skillz in the sack!' 

'50 shades of cray!'

'When I said I only have eyes for you....

'VHS blew dead ass!'

'Homeopathic remedies suck!'

'Butterfly metal!!!'

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'I'm a dungeon masturbator!' 

'Nooooo!!! Not patchouli oil scented candles!!!'

'My Space was my jam!' 

'Even hypochondriacs get sick sometimes!'