The term ‘grindhouse’ once referred to a type of theater that would run movies continuously, but it has since become synonymous with the cheaply made, sensationalistic, and often just plain weird films typically shown in these theaters. In other words, exploitation films. Although American Grindhouse opens with a brief discussion of the grindhouse theater phenomenon, the documentary’s real subject is the umbrella of disreputable subgenres the term signifies in its broader sense. Director Elijah Drenner traces the history of American exploitation cinema from its origins to its (partial) absorption into the mainstream.
This history, Drenner argues, corresponds with every major development of cinema in general and has evolved in concert with changes in American society. He divides his films into 14 chapters, most of which are devoted to particular periods or subgenres, to trace the way B-movies have exploited popular obsessions from white slavery to nudist colonies to the counterculture. Exploitation depends on an exploitable hook — usually sex, nudity, violence, or drugs — but sometimes on simple outlandishness. American Grindhouse celebrates low-budget impresarios who, lacking bankable stars or lavish sets and special effects, turned profits by relying on good old American hucksterism, often promising more sensation than they could deliver. Nearly every interviewee emphasizes that the purpose of exploitation films has always been to make money. But because they are made fast and engage taboo subject directly, they often reflect their times more accurately than mainstream films, and occasionally have genuine social and even educational value.
None of this should come as news to diligent students of popular culture. American Grindhouse travels a few byroads of exploitation that may prove unfamiliar even to film geeks, but it doesn’t venture too far in any direction. Almost every subgenre covered could support a whole documentary of its own — indeed, some already have. Drenner, in his first feature-length documentary after a dozen or so more narrowly focused shorts, has instead fashioned a broad overview. To this end, he relies on a galaxy of wittily chosen clips (from not just films but advertisements, outtakes, public-service announcements, and stock footage), with two stunning montages at the beginning and end. He has also assembled an impressive cast of interview subjects, including critics and historians for context and analysis, and filmmakers and actors for field reports.
Bridging theory and practice are John Landis (An American Werewolf in London) and Joe Dante (Piranha), both of whom grew up watching exploitation films and began their careers making them before graduating to big-budget Hollywood productions. Drenner draws astute observations from many of his interview subjects, though I longed for more moments as funny and entertaining as Fred Williamson’s anecdote about shooting a New York street scene for Larry Cohen’s Black Caesar without a permit. With a documentary of this sort, one can always quibble that this or that figure should have been featured or interviewed, but I must note the conspicuous absence of Roger Corman, who is not interviewed or even mentioned by name (although films he produced or directed are featured in clips, and several of his associates are discussed).
Robert Forster’s narration strikes the right balance of commanding and casual for an authoritative study of sleaze, and as an actor who has appeared in vintage B-movies such as Alligator (featured in clips) as well as modern homages like Jackie Brown, Forster provides a direct link to the subject. In some places, however, Drenner allows the narration to continue over printed text, making it difficult for the viewer to listen and read at the same time. And while Jason Brandt’s playful, flexible score suits whatever mood is required, the stock classical music cues vary in appropriateness.
Drenner is an avid student of exploitation cinema, and the hard work and care he has put into this labor of love is evident. American Grindhouse may not please seasoned fans of exploitation films or those expecting deeper explorations of their favorite subgenres, but for the neophyte — or the specialist seeking to branch out — it’s a worthy overview. If your curiosity is piqued, you may wish to learn more about a specific subgenre by seeking out books, websites, or documentaries devoted to that niche. Or, better yet, just go watch the original films themselves. As Landis says, “Most of them are shit. But every so often, there’s a good one.”
