A Bay of Blood (1971)

1971! It's pretty clear how this film influenced the book that sent me to it, Stephen Graham Jones' My Heart Is a Chainsaw. My second time through that book, after reading its follow-up in the Indian Lake Trilogy, Don’t Fear the Reaper, was that impossible homecoming. We’ve seen Jade a few years later, no longer the horror chick (as the 17 year old outcast in the first book called herself), no longer even going by Jade for most of the novel, coming to peace with her old self the hardest way, doing battle with another slasher. So it’s a beautiful thing to go back in time and meet Jade again, and remember how much she taught us, is still teaching us, as the final volume in the trilogy, The Angel of Indian Lake, arrives. (As of writing, we are about halfway through this dark swan song, savoring every last page with Jade.)

One thing Jade’s been telling us all this time is to watch A Bay of Blood already. If you’re tired of arguing about which movie is the first slasher, check out this predecessor. It has elements of Giallo; a Fantasy Island format, with multiple casts of characters thirsty for that bay; and it has the recipe for slashers to come. Once it gets going, after some scrumptious cinematic witchery from Mario Bava, once the characters are established and the playing pieces are set up, it’s fucking whack-a-mole until the bay is frothing with red stuff (and tentacles). And, as with Chainsaw, everybody gets into the fun. They all want something: half of them are out of their minds horny, others have dollar signs for eyes, and pretty much everyone eats shit eventually. OK, Chainsaw isn’t particularly horny, but SGJ does borrow the move where Anyone Could Be the Killer kind of becomes Everyone Is the Killer.

On first watch, this film is a lot to take in, with overstuffed plot shenanigans and character names flying all over the place. Even with its delirious hyperactivity, though, the film doesn’t lose us, and the characters are distinct enough to hold up scattered dynamics. But the work we have to do along the way might distract from all the neat little details, wicked set pieces, and gross glimpses of gore Bava packs into the movie. Which makes sense of the relatively languorous opening section of the film: it’s a ramp-up to the chaos that follows. No doubt this is a good rewatch: there’s much to anticipate and rediscover.

And here’s something to put the lie to false distinctions like Elevated Horror: A Bay of Blood is both film and movie. It celebrates the screen while burying us in trash. Like the other dichotomies that make horror go (scary/sexy, funny/horrific, stressful/fun), this filthy glamour hits like a spear in the back during a good fuck. 5 out of 5 sacs of blood.

—J †Johnson