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Some might remember if having seen the film Juno a scene where Ellen Page has a moment of praise for Dario Argento's Suspiria, her favorite horror film. Jason Bateman's character then asks if she's ever seen a Herschel Gordon Lewis film, and to wit he has a copy of a movie (I forget which at the moment) and shows it to her. At the time I saw Juno I had seen Suspiria and a few Argento films but not Lewis. Now I can see that it's not just another one of Diablo Cody's pop-culture "in" references, but something that actually is an indicator on the tastes of the characters and, maybe more subjectively, how to judge them based on their tastes. In other words, Herschel Gordon Lewis's reputation is maintained some many years after he ended making his gore films - and it's that of a schlock-Meister, no more no less. Actually, less.
It's interesting then to take Argento as a basis of comparison, because both filmmakers approach, at least in the case of The Gore Gore Girls and, well, any given Argento picture, similar material. Where Argento is extraordinarily conscious about his craft, getting an audience wrapped up in whatever little story there is by the power of the movement of camera and music and style, Lewis takes the easy route to get at an audience, which is with an immature script and (putting it lightly) lackluster direction. The Gore Gore Girls reveals a filmmaker who isn't interested in entertaining his audience in an actual compelling way as a horror film, but as a side-show or a brothel. He can't direct actors worth a damn, he lights like it's a porno movie, and for every one possibly clever or funny one-liner there's ten that either totally stink or are too clever by half or not clever nearly enough.
That being said, perhaps as the best substantive thing to say about The Gore Gore Girls, a mystery movie about a detective (2nd rate Sherlock Holmes guy played by somewhat amusing Frank Kress) and a newspaper reporter (dummie Amy Farrell) investigating a series of murders of go-go dancers, is that it serves as the template for countless more Troma-style pictures. Perhaps this is faint praise, however, and really the best thing that can truly be said is that Henny Youngman- "Take my wife, please!"- has a few scenes and steals every one of them without having to try much. It's sad, since it could be the kind of picture that could entertain on an awesomely-bad level. But even on that score one may laugh more out of embarrassment for the production, some of the actors (i.e. that guy who plays the cop, my God) than out of some guilty pleasure enjoyment.
Even the gore itself is somewhat of a letdown. At first one thinks that Lewis is at least delivering on this end, showing these women being murdered in crazy and vicious and exaggerated ways. But with the killings it all goes on longer than necessary; I don't mean this in terms of shock value, for that it's fine. But there needs to be something else to really make it "stick", that showing women's faces dissected and eyes gouged is fine if you're 12 and seeing this as one of you're first 'horror' films. It becomes, dare I say it, dull. Dangerously dull for such a "daring" so-called movie.
This was Lewis's last film until 30 years later an apparently worthy swan song came with a sequel to a film he made earlier brought him out of his retirement from movies and job in writing books on how to make it in business. However, whatever experience he had coming up to this one doesn't show. It's not a failure, but it could have been, and it's just simply... schlock. Take it or leave it.


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