By JACQUES BOYREAU (Fantagraphics; 2009)
Given that movie posters are widely treated as high art, I say it’s past time VHS boxes were afforded the same esteem. The allure of VHS covers was amply demonstrated by Thomas Hodge’s VHS VIDEO COVER ART, a coffee table art book from the UK, and its American equivalent PORTABLE GRINDHOUSE by Jacques Boyreau, a gorgeously designed trade paperback that comes complete with a slipcover mimicking the VHS boxes of old.
Those looking for a historical account of the VHS era and the stores that flourished then are advised to look elsewhere, as PORTABLE GRINDHOUSE is focused solely on VHS cover art, which in its decadent majesty is entirely worthy of the full page scans found in these pages. Included are rarities from tawdry outfits like Magnum, Unicorn, Paragon and United (names that should be familiar to any semi-serious video collector), along with more mainstream labels like Warner, Paramount and CBS Fox. The titles on display encompass the grade-z likes of VIDEO VIOLENCE, SLAVE GIRLS FROM BEYOND INFINITY, TERROR CIRCUS and DRIVE-IN MASSACRE, as well as more respectable selections like STREETS OF FIRE, NETWORK and THE NAKED PREY (rendering the “Grindhouse” part of the title inaccurate).
What truly renders this book unique is its focus on the backs of the video box covers, with approximately ninety percent of its text consisting of gloriously overheated descriptions, the authors of which deserve to have been credited but aren’t. From ALIEN MASSACRE: “A father and daughter scientific team are brutally attacked by an alien craft containing a band of bloodthirsty mutants who attack and force the scientists to flee into a twisted time warp.” From NIGHT OF BLOODY HORROR: “Eerie tale of monstrous creatures that feed off human flesh. A rage of terror from which there is no escape…except DEATH. From ONE-ARMED EXECUTIONER: “A young Interpol agent’s rage for life has but one meaning: REVENGE, REVENGE AND REVENGE.”
Obviously those of us who lived through the VHS era will be the most receptive audience for PORTABLE GRINDHOUSE. Yet there’s a bit more than mere nostalgia to be found here, as by rubbing our noses in the minutiae of all things VHS-related (yes, there are prominent video store stickers affixed to most of the boxes on display) Jacques Boyreau offers a provocative visual dissertation on high and low art. Flipping through this book it’s hard not to notice the telling similarities between, say, the unabashedly trashy SATAN’S BLACK WEDDING (“Vampires and ghouls prey on the innocent, until the most diabolical ritual imaginable takes place—a black wedding!”) and the supposedly more upscale MAGIC (“A terrifying love story of two people caught in a bizarre web of circumstances, MAGIC creates an atmosphere of pulse-stopping horror from the first frame of the film”). It suggests that schlock and prestige are more closely aligned than most of us would like to believe.
The biggest complaint this book tends to get is that it’s lacking in historical context, and I’ll have to concur. The introduction by Jacques Boyreau is taken up largely with his not-very-stimulating video store recollections (“I enter. Inside this room is a pretty girl standing behind a counter. Two full walls are lined in exact shelving with dense rows of video in homogenous black cases. I ask about them.”) and his feelings about video versus digital media. As you might guess, he finds video superior, as “VHS is a part of film, a Samaritan-format, not a digital changeling out to usurp.” Quentin Tarantino, at least, would surely approve.