NIGHTWING (1979)

The ‘70s saw the return of lot of environmental horror. Not just the mutated monster insects borne of atomic testing, but the twisted and nasty things that can come about when man mucks about with nature and nature decides to fight back. Most notorious among these may be John Frankenheimer’s Prophecy involving mutant bears going Jason Voorhees on campers and scientists. On the far end of this spectrum comes the Ray Milland as industrialist eaten by amphibians in Frogs. Somewhere in the middle lies Nightwing because, like the vampire bat referred to in the title, the movie is neither fish nor fowl.

While investigating a series of unusual cattle mutilations, Deputy Youngman Duran of Hopi Maskai Tribe (played by a still-Italian and not-fooling-anybody Nick Mancuso) runs up against tribal councilman Walker Chee, who wants to sell the holiest of holy land to an oil company after shale has been discovered there. Because of this, tribal medicine man Abner tells Duran that he’s decided to end the world and will be dead that very night. With enough on his plate already, Duran, raised by Abner and used to this sort of talk, dismisses his claims and returns home.

The next morning, Abner is dead on the floor of his cabin. A few miles away, a shepherd is found trampled and some of his flock have been mutilated in the same way as the cattle. Duran fights against his own ingrained tribal superstitions that the deaths may be in some way connected to Abner’s curse. But it doesn’t help that, as Duran buries Abner, the corpse begins to bleed through the shroud. Meanwhile, a scientist named Philip Payne arrives on the reservation after tracking a species of South American vampire bats to the same Maskai Canyon where drilling is to begin. The bats are carrying bubonic plague, which is what has been killing off not only livestock, but a missionary group as well. This leads to a harrowing climax tying science and religion together as Duran and Payne team with local Doctor Anne Dillon to exterminate the bats and stop the spread of the disease through the species’ migration.

Based on the novel by Martin Cruz Smith (who also co-wrote the screenplay with Steve Shagan and Bud Shrake) and directed by Arthur Hiller, is at times poignant, disturbing, beautiful and ludicrous. There are even moments when it achieves “all of the aboveness”.

By the end, Duran isn’t fighting just nature, but peyote-induced visions of Abner and other departed Maskai who want to see the world ended before the White Man eliminates all “humanity” (referring to all American Indians). Wrapped in trappings of environmental horror, Nightwing explores some heady subjects including the subjugation of the Native Americans by both whites and their own kind and just how strong superstition can be in even the most rational of men.

But chances are, if you stay for the debate, you’ve come for the bats and let me tell you… the years have not been kind to Nightwing. Created by Carlo Rambaldi, the man behind the naked monkey look of E.T., the fledermauses are okay en mass in the air via front and rear projection, swarming around shrieking Bible thumpers like flapping piranha, but in the frequent close-ups, where a single bat hangs in mid-air screeching at the camera, you expect the animation to kick in and transform said bat into Bela Lugosi. If you have a phobia about the spasmy little disease-ridden mosquito-eaters, then the swarming scenes may prompt you to put a box over your head, otherwise, they alternate between cute, silly, and fluttery masses. When tribal politics becomes more fascinating than a bat attack, you know you’re in some serious guano (which is primarily ammonia: fun fact learned from watching Nightwing!).

The cast is very game for the story—which is helped by Henry Mancini’s score—elevating it beyond such latter-day tepid fare as, say, Bats with Lou Diamond Phillips. While you may think that Mancuso is the sore thumb sticking out in Nightwing, the surprise is that it’s really Warner. He gives lines like, “I live to kill bats,” a little too much gravity. Most of the time he comes off like a mad scientist about to put Schlermy Beckerman’s brain into the body of a gorilla (see The Man With Two Brains for that reference). He’s a freelance bat exterminator with endless funding and kudos to Duran for pegging him as a madman during their initial meetings, though the plot demands that they team up for the climax despite all logical conclusions.

Still, it’s well-worth your time to seek out, if only for Hiller’s sweeping shots of the New Mexico deserts and mesas and the admittedly nail-biting sequence inside an electrified mesh cage. Columbia Pictures had high hopes for the production, releasing a photo-novel along with Cruz Smith’s source book, Nightwing didn’t fare too well at the box office (notoriously bitchy Vincent Canby referred to it as “third rate”) but became an HBO staple during the early ‘80s. Oddly, the generation that grew up with it screamed louder for a DVD release of Flash Gordon, so Nightwing can only be had in full-frame VHS, though a nicely-letterboxed print does show up occasionally on cable, but then it’s arbitrarily mutilated to accommodate commercials. But if you run across it, give it a shot. I promise you that Mancuso is no worse an Indian than Mel Brooks in Blazing Saddles. Isn’t that good enough?

RAZORBACK (1984)

As we have all learned from watching The Crocodile Hunter, everything in Australia is big and sharp and wants to kill you. Reptiles, dust storms, Paul Hogan. Kangaroos will kick you to death for your lunch money and Koalas, the scourge of the Outback, want nothing more to suffocate you with their overpowering stench of shit and cough drops. In Razorback, Highlander’s Russell Mulcahy, adapts Petet Brennan’s novel which posits that, given the opportunity, even feral pigs will grow to the size of Volkswagons and go Animal Farm on your ass.

The titular be-tusked critter introduces itself before the opening credits have finished by running straight through Jake Cullen’s house, killing his toddler grandson. Unable to convince anyone that a giant boar wrecked his house and his life, Jake is accused of murder, even his own family turns their backs on him. Crafty pig, this razorback, able to feast on human flesh and frame people for the crime! Two years later, an American wildlife reporter, in Australia to do an expose on wild pigs and kangaroos used as food, is attacked by the same pair of grimy psycho Aussies found in most Ozsploitation pics and is left to die at the hoofs of the murderous, overcompensating Arnold. This just brings her intrepid husband to the land downunder to suss out the details of his wife’s death. During his search, he meets said psychos and the giant pig and much, much violence ensues.

For a variety of reasons, Razorback is one of those movies I’d more or less avoided for years, despite having ample opportunity to pop it in. Jaws being the obvious exception, I’ve just never been hip to the “man vs. ugly, angry nature” subgenre of survival horror. It wan’t until seeing clips of it on the gloriously-wonderful Ozsploitation documentary, Not Quite Hollywood, that I decided to seek it out. And, of course, as soon as I wanted to see it, copies vanished off the face of the Earth. Finally running down a PAL DVD, I found Razorback to be an unpretentious treat. Mulcahy overcomes his low budget with stylish camera work and an alternating pace of suspense and rapid-fire action.

The title character is mostly glimpsed speeding past the camera, with extreme close ups on eyes and bloody tusks, and that’s fine. Obviously a mechanical rodeo bull on a track, Mulcahy does his best to masquerade the puppet’s shortcomings and pulls off a nice homage to the aforementioned Jaws at the same time. As far as our hero goes, husband “Carl” is unfortunately played by Gregory Harrison. We of the ‘80s childhood remember him from Trapper John, M.D. and have fond memories of rooting for his death at the hands of anyone or anything, be them giant pigs or Pernell Roberts. There’s just something smarmy about him that removes all sympathy. His manner seems to say, “Hi, Gregory Harrison. I’m superior to you and my teeth are very white.” Seeing him eaten by an enormous mechanical pig wouldn’t be the worst thing I’d ever witness.

Personal bias aside, I suppose he’s as good as anyone else would be in the role. You’re not seeking out Razorback because it’s a Gregory Harrison movie anyway. You’re watching because you’re in the mood for a killer pig movie! In short, Razorback is stylish, violent and very satisfying. If the idea of “killer pig movie” turns you off, try to think of it as a western rife with nasty nature. 

While VHS copies used to blacken the sky once upon a time, they can be pretty pricey to obtain nowadays. The Warner Archive Collection finally released a movie-only DVD last summer, so it can be had. If I haven’t said it enough already, you could do far worse and have much less fun.