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Death Scenes 3: Los Angeles
DVD/APPROX. 86 MINS/1993/USA UNRATED
DVD/APPROX. 86 MINS/1993/USA UNRATED
3
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And actually the first of these benighted films to be made. This film was the only reason for me to watch these real-world nightmares in the first
place, being based on the Feral House book Death Scenes, edited by Katherine Dunn, a collection of 20s, 30s and 40s crime scene photos,
originally owned by a Hollywood detective of the day – peppered with moving picture footage from that time. The grim and graphic nature of these
photos becomes all the more emphasised by the fact that they are in black and white, so that the mind is not distracted by colour, and
concentrates on the image itself. Oddly enough, in Australia, this film was seized by Customs and refused a classification (for overseas readers,
read “banned” by the Office of Film and Literature Classification) – I bought the book the film was largely but not exclusively culled from in a
bookstore in Newtown, Sydney, eight years ago, with an R18+ sticker on the shrink-wrap, a la Bret Easton Ellis’s novel American Psycho some nine
years before that. Having experienced both, I really don’t see how the film is any more exploitative than the book.
There is a poignancy to these photos that is kind of stripped away by having them presented in what is little better than a PowerPoint or
PhotoStory fashion (with the occasional bit of moving image): still image of death replaced by still image of death, and yet, the undeniable power of
the pictures, assisted by Anton LaVey’s hard-boiled, matter-of-fact (and on occasion wildly inappropriate) voice-over make this an abjectly
depressing experience. While this is still nothing more than rank exploitation, it has an atmosphere that the other films in this crap-tastic, morally
objectionable and thoroughly repellent series lack. There is some sense at least of the why and of the consequence of the horrible actions – it
becomes understandable, at least, as to the motive of the killings, whether it be despair, vengeance, jealousy, greed – there is some kind of
human factor, a (very small, admittedly) comfort to be taken that most of the human monsters responsible for these crimes had to pay for their
transgressions. Now, I am not defending this never-ending carousel of human suffering, but looking objectively at it, as a person who has seen all
too many of this kind of film, this is the only one with any kind of spark of merit. Ultimately, though, it is still the kind of film that basically makes you
want to kill yourself instantly.
Some interesting points are raised about how the public seemed to crave violence in their entertainment – and an argument we’re all familiar with:
that watching, and being de-sensitised to, violence makes us commit violence, are also addressed. Quite cleverly, these notions are put forward
with reference to the untimely demises of a number of Hollywood celebrities, such as Thelma Todd, and Jean Harlow’s husband, which again is
where this film raises itself head and shoulders above its confreres. There’s some idea of violence in the media being somewhat cynically
addressed. I wish it had gone further – it may have helped remove some of the stigma from the kind of films we watch.
Then, of course, there’s the trickle-down effect, when we get a brief re-count of the Elizabeth Short (the Black Dahlia) murder – the death of she
who would be famous – and a grisly death it is, too. The images, as can be seen on the cover of power-electronic band Skincrime’s self-titled LP, or
read about in James Ellroy’s novel The Black Dahlia, a truly brilliant crime novel if there ever was one (he’s second only to Raymond Chandler, in
my opinion), are visceral and ugly, and amazingly difficult to look at.
One thing that struck me while watching Death Scenes 3: Los Angeles, was in the section dealing with John Dillinger, that after his death people
crowded around to see the corpse – it means that it’s not only people like us that have that kind of morbid curiosity. I don’t know about you, but I
often have people I associate with telling me I’m weird for wanting to see the kind of films I want to see; it would appear that this is an instinct
shared by a lot more people than we would naturally suggest. From my own personal context, I can tell you this story: I recently finished teaching
a course to a class of mine and I had some time to spare before exams, and, my students knowing I like horror films – although thankfully not
knowing which ones are my favourites - and wondering what they were going to be studying next – said to me: “Can we watch one of those gory
films you watch?” This, at seventeen. Worse yet; I had a thirteen year old I teach ask me what I made of Wolf Creek, The Hills Have Eyes (the
Aja re-make), and Hostel. Nice fuckin’ parenting. But it does show that we all do have this horrible voyeuristic urge to see the horror, the blood, the
awfulness.
The section about the killings of small children is one of the worst things I have ever seen. Probably made worse by the fact that I can hear kids
playing in the local park while I type this. Grim, grim, grim.
The way in which these images are shown is quite possibly what makes this DVD a taboo object – the shots (believe me – no pun intended)
practically trip over each other to be shown, and the, at times, carnival-esque music and passionless voiceovers combine to make this the kind of
film that makes you believe that humanity is little more than pond-scum. This is not the kind of film that you’d watch with your mates over a few
drinks, unless your mates were Hannibal Lecter, Henry Lee Lucas, Ted Bundy and Jeffrey Dahmer, and you were drinking blood.
Extras: Another extremely brief interview with Anton LaVey, albeit a different one this time, talking about his “involvement” with Marilyn Monroe
and Jane Mansfield – to, too short. This could have been an extremely illuminating extra, but ends up being nothing more than name-dropping. And
of course there are the trailers for the three DS movies; I couldn’t help but think while watching these random, un-narrated images of horror, of
the films Alex was made to watch while undergoing the Ludovico technique in A Clockwork Orange. The effect was much the same on me.
place, being based on the Feral House book Death Scenes, edited by Katherine Dunn, a collection of 20s, 30s and 40s crime scene photos,
originally owned by a Hollywood detective of the day – peppered with moving picture footage from that time. The grim and graphic nature of these
photos becomes all the more emphasised by the fact that they are in black and white, so that the mind is not distracted by colour, and
concentrates on the image itself. Oddly enough, in Australia, this film was seized by Customs and refused a classification (for overseas readers,
read “banned” by the Office of Film and Literature Classification) – I bought the book the film was largely but not exclusively culled from in a
bookstore in Newtown, Sydney, eight years ago, with an R18+ sticker on the shrink-wrap, a la Bret Easton Ellis’s novel American Psycho some nine
years before that. Having experienced both, I really don’t see how the film is any more exploitative than the book.
There is a poignancy to these photos that is kind of stripped away by having them presented in what is little better than a PowerPoint or
PhotoStory fashion (with the occasional bit of moving image): still image of death replaced by still image of death, and yet, the undeniable power of
the pictures, assisted by Anton LaVey’s hard-boiled, matter-of-fact (and on occasion wildly inappropriate) voice-over make this an abjectly
depressing experience. While this is still nothing more than rank exploitation, it has an atmosphere that the other films in this crap-tastic, morally
objectionable and thoroughly repellent series lack. There is some sense at least of the why and of the consequence of the horrible actions – it
becomes understandable, at least, as to the motive of the killings, whether it be despair, vengeance, jealousy, greed – there is some kind of
human factor, a (very small, admittedly) comfort to be taken that most of the human monsters responsible for these crimes had to pay for their
transgressions. Now, I am not defending this never-ending carousel of human suffering, but looking objectively at it, as a person who has seen all
too many of this kind of film, this is the only one with any kind of spark of merit. Ultimately, though, it is still the kind of film that basically makes you
want to kill yourself instantly.
Some interesting points are raised about how the public seemed to crave violence in their entertainment – and an argument we’re all familiar with:
that watching, and being de-sensitised to, violence makes us commit violence, are also addressed. Quite cleverly, these notions are put forward
with reference to the untimely demises of a number of Hollywood celebrities, such as Thelma Todd, and Jean Harlow’s husband, which again is
where this film raises itself head and shoulders above its confreres. There’s some idea of violence in the media being somewhat cynically
addressed. I wish it had gone further – it may have helped remove some of the stigma from the kind of films we watch.
Then, of course, there’s the trickle-down effect, when we get a brief re-count of the Elizabeth Short (the Black Dahlia) murder – the death of she
who would be famous – and a grisly death it is, too. The images, as can be seen on the cover of power-electronic band Skincrime’s self-titled LP, or
read about in James Ellroy’s novel The Black Dahlia, a truly brilliant crime novel if there ever was one (he’s second only to Raymond Chandler, in
my opinion), are visceral and ugly, and amazingly difficult to look at.
One thing that struck me while watching Death Scenes 3: Los Angeles, was in the section dealing with John Dillinger, that after his death people
crowded around to see the corpse – it means that it’s not only people like us that have that kind of morbid curiosity. I don’t know about you, but I
often have people I associate with telling me I’m weird for wanting to see the kind of films I want to see; it would appear that this is an instinct
shared by a lot more people than we would naturally suggest. From my own personal context, I can tell you this story: I recently finished teaching
a course to a class of mine and I had some time to spare before exams, and, my students knowing I like horror films – although thankfully not
knowing which ones are my favourites - and wondering what they were going to be studying next – said to me: “Can we watch one of those gory
films you watch?” This, at seventeen. Worse yet; I had a thirteen year old I teach ask me what I made of Wolf Creek, The Hills Have Eyes (the
Aja re-make), and Hostel. Nice fuckin’ parenting. But it does show that we all do have this horrible voyeuristic urge to see the horror, the blood, the
awfulness.
The section about the killings of small children is one of the worst things I have ever seen. Probably made worse by the fact that I can hear kids
playing in the local park while I type this. Grim, grim, grim.
The way in which these images are shown is quite possibly what makes this DVD a taboo object – the shots (believe me – no pun intended)
practically trip over each other to be shown, and the, at times, carnival-esque music and passionless voiceovers combine to make this the kind of
film that makes you believe that humanity is little more than pond-scum. This is not the kind of film that you’d watch with your mates over a few
drinks, unless your mates were Hannibal Lecter, Henry Lee Lucas, Ted Bundy and Jeffrey Dahmer, and you were drinking blood.
Extras: Another extremely brief interview with Anton LaVey, albeit a different one this time, talking about his “involvement” with Marilyn Monroe
and Jane Mansfield – to, too short. This could have been an extremely illuminating extra, but ends up being nothing more than name-dropping. And
of course there are the trailers for the three DS movies; I couldn’t help but think while watching these random, un-narrated images of horror, of
the films Alex was made to watch while undergoing the Ludovico technique in A Clockwork Orange. The effect was much the same on me.
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