Death Bed: The Bed That Eats (1977)
Review by the Film Fiend
Campy low-budget 70′s horror movies are always good for a random giggle or two, especially those which try their Spartan best to toss mainstream Hollywood convention into the breezy northern winds. Of course, for every genre masterpiece violently conceived during this era of tweed bell bottoms and hairy psychedelic prog-rockers, there’s a Demon Witch Child, Messiah of Evil, or Devil’s Nightmare lurking just around the cobweb-covered corner, patiently awaiting those unfortunate enough to spend their hard-earned wad of entertainment cash on something cheap, silly, and stagnant. In fact, there might be one or two of these cinematic weirdos hidden within your own extensive DVD collection right now…
Perhaps one of the more unusual failures to come roaring out of this otherwise forgettable decade is the surreal 1977 chiller Death Bed, a film so mind-numbingly bizarre that it comes packaged with a subtitle that further illustrates the madness you’ll uncover once it creeps its way into your innocent unsuspecting abode. “The Bed That Eats,” the title card boldly proclaims, savagely setting the stage for the blushingly stupid nonsense that quickly ensues. Unabashed fans of silly 70′s drive-in cinema will have more than enough to keep their attention spans locked for the duration, though I suspect the rest of us will feel as if we’ve somehow become the butt of a very strange, very unusual joke. If you’re brave enough to tackle this dodgy film on your own, I’m sure you’ll feel the same way.
Assuming, of course, you’re not currently wearing an ELO t-shirt.
What’s that, you say? What should you expect when and if this bloated disease-ridden whore of a movie finds its way into your trashy downtown one-bedroom apartment? Not much, I’m afraid. In terms of plot, you get a fresh batch of absolutely nothing. Just a handful of randy 70′s cliches wandering around the outskirts of what appears to be a typical abandoned mansion, complete with spooky sculptures, broken windows, creaky doors, and a bizarre four-poster bed decked out in lush fabrics and impossibly clean sheets. People will eat, people will screw, and people will die. If it’s depth your looking for, dear readers, I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong place. And unfortunately for you and your companions, Death Bed isn’t the type of luxurious furniture that offers refunds to dissatisfied customers.
Thankfully, director George Barry has given us plenty of informative voice overs to guide us through the proceedings, most of which are delivered by a charming artistic fellow who lives behind a painting hanging just a few feet from where this monstrous entity currently resides. Without this questionable filmmaking device, Death Bed would have otherwise been a largely silent affair, peppered with the occasional slathering of inane dialogue to break up the monotony of watching unattractive individuals wander and die, wander and die. It’s not that I have anything against either wandering or dying, mind you, but sometimes it helps to know why the cattle are stumbling blindly towards the proverbial slaughter.
Regarding the bed’s unusual ability to yummy down on living, breathing human beings, I issue this warning: Do not be fooled by the opening sounds of someone biting into what could only be described as a delicious Granny Smith apple. Death Bed’s method of consumption is more of a slow, chemical-based gumming as opposed to a full-on flesh-ripping method of ingestion. Whenever its enormous belly begins to rumble and grumble and beg for tender fleshy mortals, the bed secretes a yellowish fluid which slowly breaks down whatever happens to be lying upon its mattress at the time. The victim then descends into a pit of bubbling stomach juices, where they gradually become food for the eternally damned.
Nifty? Not really.
The rich, creamy icing on this high-calorie slice of cheese cake, of course, is the ham-fisted, lazy-eyed acting. Everyone on-board is either wooden, constipated, or medicated to within an inch of functioning consciousness. Most of the narration is serviceable, I suppose, but it’s certainly not going to leave a lasting impression on anyone who embarks on this dull, slow-moving adventure through time, space, and stinky gastric processes. I’m sure the only heavy glass doors this cinematic experience opened for its cast of painfully amateur thespians was to the local unemployment office. Feel free to correct me if I’ve misspoken, but considering the film didn’t have a proper release until 2003, its easy to assume I’m not too far from the unholy truth.
Unless you happen to be in the market for something slow, dull, and surreal, there’s no reason whatsoever to waste an afternoon with Death Bed. The film exists solely as an obscure late 70′s curiosity, nothing more. I’m sure there are those who will vehemently disagree with every word I’ve just belched, and they’re certainly entitled to their opinion. However, even they must concede that one-off Detroit director George Barry’s silly picture will only appeal to a very small, very select group of individuals who, I might add, may actually have worse taste in cinema than yours truly. Death Bed definitely ranks as one of the weirdest movies I’ve seen all year, but being strange and unusual doesn’t automatically deem it worthy of your precious time.
Stuff this goofiness under the mattress and forget about it.
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