Blood Song (Alan J. Levi, 1982)

posted in: Duane, Review | 0
An escaped flute-playing nutjob from a mental institution pursues a crippled girl who has a psychic link with him after receiving a transfusion of his blood.  He soon fixates on the girl and nothing will stand in the way of his relentless pursuit and shitty flute skills.

Frankie Avalon (yes, THAT Frankie Avalon) plays a hatchet-wielding maniac with a flute fetish due to a childhood trauma where he witnessed his father shooting his mom and the dude she was banging before ventilating the back of his head with a .45. You can’t just make this kind of stuff up; I don’t know what any of these people were thinking.

COSDS-Blood-Song00002Blood Song is a veritable cavalcade of people you’ve seen in other movies but can’t remember their names. You have the aforementioned Mr. Avalon (Grease, The Alamo) slumming it as Paul, the psychopath with the hatchet (and he does it surprisingly well. I’d SWEAR dude was unhinged as fuck in real life), Donna Wilkes (Jaws 2, Angel) as the angsty crippled jailbait Marion that is the apple of  Paul’s eye, Richard Jaeckel (The Dirty Dozen, Day of the Animals) as her drunken abusive father, the list goes on…
It’s hard to imagine Blood Song managed to fall through the cracks in many a genre fan’s memory considering the general quirkiness and “WTF” factor of the film itself. Frankie Avalon as this mentally damaged guy who has a proclivity for playing an ugly wooden flute at the most inopportune moments; when people are talking to him, trying to drive him somewhere, attempting to ignore his ridiculous ass, etc. and when they take exception to that shrill cacophony bellowing forth out of his face he gets all butthurt about it because his ”dad gave it to him right before he died” and proceeds to get really violent, with sometimes gory consequences. Coupled with the crippled girl’s ability to see what he’s doing during some weird psychedelic flashbacks it’s a bizarre premise – and it kind of works. The film doesn’t go too far into the supernatural angle with this psychic nonsense, and Avalon being an annoying prick with the flute seems to oddly fit somehow. Not to mention there’s something really special about a crazy fuck with a hatchet chasing a crippled girl through the woods eager to bury it in the back of her head as she screams and limps for her life.
To be fair there’s not a ton of killing in the film; a lot of it is Paul tooling around in his newly acquired rape van creeping on Marion and characteristically not getting along with the general populace. The killings that do occur are largely satisfying and bloody. Seriously, you haven’t lived until you’ve seen Frankie Avalon hack someone up with a hatchet; you’ll never look at Grease the same way again. Also be on the lookout for the only set of tits on display courtesy of some slut Paul picks up on the highway.  
The Portland Oregon setting lends a depressing, industrial feel to the film, bringing a distinct grittiness to the characters and their surroundings. You can really feel that these people live in the ass-end of an old logging community and have no future whatsoever except slaving away in that old lumber mill the rest of their miserable lives. Speaking of which, there’s an overly long pursuit in said mill where you are treated to Paul flipping the magic saw switch so you can see the inner workings of the plant processing logs or something. There’s absolutely no rhyme or reason for it other than sheer treesploitation.

Blood Song might not be the most solid slasher film out there, but it’s worth seeking out based on novelty alone. Those into ugly girls with leg braces will definitely want to add this to their sordid collections (let’s face it, it’s probably already there), and those horror fans looking for something a little different that’s just a peg higher than the so-bad-it’s-good category will likely be pleased.

Official COSDS Nunspank Rating: 


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Duane co-founded The Church of Splatter-Day Saints in 2005. When not immersed in film he's enjoying good whiskey, smoking meat in the backyard or thinking about sluts. He makes a damn fine habanero fire sauce.

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