NS: Absolutely. With LICM, it was a conscious decision to not have any monsters except for the creature at the end. Let’s put it this way—he’s bipedal, so that helped enormously. It was going to be an out-and-out psycho-horror movie with crazy characters.

PG: Is John playing the same Detective Cameron from Weasels?

NS: Absolutely not…this is another first. No one’s every asked that. People have mentioned that it’s the same name, but never if it’s the same character. The reason that we called him James Cameron again (laughs) is because I never thought that anyone would see Weasels. So let’s just call him James Cameron. What’s the point in thinking up a new name?

PG: None of your classmates ever called up and said, “Hey, that’s the same guy!”

NS: (laughs) No—school was over. They were never going to remember the movie.

PG: I thought to myself as I was watching the movie, “If I was really going to dig deep, you could say that Detective Cameron was so scarred by what happened in Weasels that it made him insane!”

NS: (laughs) Yeah, and we could go on step further and say that he really doesn’t die at the end but went even more insane and became Billy Buck.

PG: Sure. That’s his third personality.

NS: That’s correct. And finally, his ultimate transformation—

PG: Right. In a special box.

NS: Yes, and then McFarlane could start making Detective Cameron figures. And then the director James Cameron could sue me.

PG: Then you make it Cameron with two M’s. So where did the story for LICM come from? It’s so convoluted.

NS: It basically grew out of my head.

PG: What was the starting point?

NS: I had written a full-length screenplay for a legitimate movie long before I made LICM. It was called The Horror of Twilight Quarry. It’s a great script—if it had been made into a legitimate feature, it would have been incredible, but Hollywood was not beckoning back in 1980. The script was about this guy who lived in an isolated house with his father, who had mutated due to chemical warfare in Vietnam. His father was exposed to chemicals and turned into this insane, mutated creature, and during his insanity, thought he had to eat human flesh. So I cribbed a lot of that for LICM. There were no Burke and Hare bikers in the original—it was basically this Texas Chainsaw Massacre thing where these teenagers end up at the house with the crazy family—but not crazy like Texas Chainsaw. They’re actually sophisticated, but murderers. The crazy father is in a cave, which is where the climax takes place.

So I drew a lot from that, but with the restraints of budget and time and people, I had to work it out to do as much as I could under the circumstances. It’s amazing that I was able to make that film as good as it is considering how limited things were.

PG: How much money did you have to make it?

PG: Basically, twice as much as Weasels.

NS: Yeah, Weasels was the cheapest. But then it went down again for They Don’t Cut the Grass Anymore—that was cheaper than LICM. Vermilion Eyes was the most expensive.

PG: I thought I caught some references to other horror movies here and there—were the two bikers a reference to The Undertaker and His Pals?

NS: I hadn’t seen Undertaker.

PG: Had you seen Barn of the Naked Dead (which shares the mutant father idea)?

NS: I hadn’t seen anything. When I made LICM, I hadn’t even seen a Herschell Gordon Lewis movie yet. First time I saw one of his was in 1982. I hadn’t even seen The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. The only thing that had a terrific effect on me consciously was Night of the Living Dead.

PG: Which you don’t see in this movie. When you got to see some of these films, especially Undertaker and His Pals, did you feel like, “Hey, I’ve done this”?

NS: No, actually. Even though I like all of these movies—I wish someone would find the uncut version of Undertaker and His Pals—I was more taken aback by how inept they were. I enjoyed them, but I just couldn’t believe how bad they were. I knew they were going to be bad, but I just never knew how bad. So I never really thought of any parallels to any of the films I saw. I didn’t see anything similar.

PG: Those parallels leapt to mind only because I’d seen those films before your films--

NS: --but now that you say it and you’re bringing it to my attention—yes, you’re right. It does sound similar, having these two bikers going out and killing people and bringing it to the son to bring to his father. So you’re right, it is similar.

PG: But it’s unconsciously so, since you didn’t see these movies before you made this one, which is interesting.

NS: Even after I saw it, the similarities didn’t occur to me. So many other things were different. The two bikers [in LICM] were very upfront—they weren’t hidden. And actually, the guy in the mask isn’t a biker. But the two Burke and Hare guys [in Undertaker] are very in the background—they’re very ominous and you don’t know much about them, and then they disappear.

PG: Okay, I’m gonna reach again here. The guy in the mask—was his disguise based at all on the one that the Zodiac Killer wore?

NS: It’s amazing that you would say that, because I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about (laughs).

PG: There was a killer out here in California in the ‘70s—

NS: No, I know who the Zodiac Killer was—did he wear a mask like that? Which guy are we talking about?

PG: Zed.

NS: Did the Zodiac Killer wear that?

PG: Pretty much. He had a pillowcase-style hood—he didn’t have the goggles.

NS: I never knew that to this moment.

PG: Well, I’m glad to bring that to your attention (both laugh). Your effects in this movie are more elaborate. How did them and how much did they cost?

NS: I did them, and they cost as much as a leg of lamb. They look good because I went out of my way to make them look good. I said, “In this movie, I’m going to go out of the way to make the effects look convincing. There were a couple that didn’t go well—I was inexperienced as a special effects person, and I really didn’t like doing special effects, but I did them because no one else knew how to do them.

For instance, when the girl is disemboweled, I painted a female torso’s mannequin with latex rubber, but I didn’t give it enough coats. So when I peeled it off, it was wobbly and I didn’t have time to make another one. That’s the one I used, and I was very disappointed.

PG: Well, you notice it, but it’s such a gruesome scene that the viewer doesn’t really catch that. At least I didn’t.

NS: Well, I’m glad that you didn’t. That was a failed effect for me, but everything else, like the chainsaw effect, I really worked hard on them. I really thought that one out. I wanted to see the chainsaw cut through the clothes, the flesh, and I wanted the blood to come out all in one shoot—no cutaways, no cheating. That’s the only way it could work.

PG: So how did you pull it off?

NS: Fred Borges worked for a company that made bulletproof vests, so we were able to obtain Kevlar. We wrapped the Kevlar around a log and put the chainsaw against it as hard as we could, but it would not cut through the Kevlar. So we wrapped the Kevlar around the person’s arm, and then wrapped a slab of meat around the Kevlar, and then taped a prophylactic to the meat, and then put the clothing over the whole thing. The chainsaw would cut through the clothing, through the prophylactic and made the blood spurt out, and then cut through the meat, so you would see the chunks and bits of flesh. And that worked wonderfully. I was very, very happy with the attack on the father, and of course, the ultimate attack on the son.

The funny thing was that when he gets his fingers cut off, the chainsaw would not cut through the fingers. They kept wiggling like snakes, and I kept saying, “I can’t believe this! I’ve got to have a scene of the fingers coming off!” So I took a saw and cut the rubber fingers until they were only attached by a thread, and then we took the saw to it, and the fingers flew off!

PG: You should teach classes on how to do this. I’ve got to ask you: how did you get those little girls to participate in that ending?

NS: That’s an incredible thing. That just shows you what different worlds we’re living in. I don’t know how it happened—it’s almost as though it was pre-ordained, but…two of the little girls we knew. One of them lived down the street, and the other was a friend of the family. We said to both of them, “Could you get a couple of your friends to come over in nightgowns?” Do you realize how insane that is?

PG: Completely insane.

NS: Remember, we’re not thinking like perverts. We’re not even thinking, “Can you imagine what their parents would say?”

PG: No, you’re thinking, “I need a bunch of little girls in nightgowns for the end of this movie, no matter what!”

NS: Exactly. So they go home, and you would assume that they’d tell their parents, “I’ve gotta have a nightgown—I’m going to be in a movie,” and that would be it. These girls showed up in nightgowns—no parents coming to check. “Okay, Mom, I’m going to this older guy’s house—“

PG: “I’m going in the woods in my nightgown with some strange guy—see you later!”

NS: “Okay, honey, be back for dinner!” So all these girls show up with no parents. When they had to do the flesh-eating, I had to lie to them about the intestines, because they were getting squeamish.

PG: Yeah, one of them looks like she’s about to be sick.

NS: This was the only nasty thing I did. I told them that they weren’t real intestines—they were balloons. And they said, “Oh, balloons!” So they pulled them out of the body. And when you actually see them biting in the flesh, that was raw chicken.

PG: Oh my God…

NS: Chicken with Karo syrup. And these little girls actually bit into it, and as you can see, they were getting nauseous. I had to cut away from one girl going (makes sickened groan). But they were all good.

PG: Yeah, they were very spooky.

NS: They actually spooked me when I cut the film. But today, you could never get a bunch of little girls, like ages 7-10 to come to your place without parents saying, “What?!” And even if they did come, they would never allow them to go through with what they did. “You’re going to have them eat a body?” But no one cared.

PG: I think even if you hadn’t mentioned the chicken or the intestines, I think your biggest stumbling block would have been telling their parents that the girls were eating a body in the scene.

NS: And nobody got salmonella. We did have one problem, though, in They Don’t Cut the Grass Anymore, with the blood concoction. It was the typical concoction—Karo syrup and dyes and such. One of the girls who was getting her face ripped apart—she called me up the next day and says, “Nathan, my face is completely broken out.” Apparently, something in the blood—probably the dye—she was allergic to it, and she said her whole face was red and itchy. The last thing we ever thought was that we’d ever have a problem with our blood concoction.

PG: Did you ever hear from these little girls later?

NS: We knew two of them, and the rest were their friends, and we never saw them again. One of them—the one carrying the doll—is a stunningly beautiful woman now, and has a kid.

PG: Have you ever talked about this scene with her?

NS: Nope. They’re totally divorced from the whole thing. The other one was the sister of a friend of my brother. I’ve heard that she occasionally talks about being in the movie.

PG: You mention in the DVD for They Don’t Cut the Grass Anymore that occasionally, you didn’t have a complete script before you began shooting?

NS: For none of them. I wrote a basic outline and dialogue, but we learned early on, especially on LICM, that there was no way that we could shoot what was on the page. The people couldn’t read the lines, or the time they could afford us wasn’t enough time for us to shoot, so basically I learned that I had to write for the day. I’d see who was going to show up—I never knew who was going to show up, which was why it took so long to make a lot of these movies. Many times, people who promised to come never came. No one was being paid. People would be very optimistic—“Yeah, yeah, I’d love to do the movie!” And then when the day came, they weren’t there. That happened a lot.

So you never knew who was going to show up, and even when they showed up, you never knew how much time they were able to give you. One girl will say, “Oh, I have to go on a skiing trip in two hours—gotta hurry!”

There was never a day of pure ease with any of these movies, and again, John and I can’t believe that any of them exist.

PG: Because you had to cobble together everything piece by piece?

NS: I wouldn’t say that, because even though the organization was crazy, I knew what I wanted. It took longer to get it done, but when people were there, I did what I wanted to do. But the limitations still hurt things.

PG: Sure. By cobble, I mean that the films were put together in short sessions.

NS: Absolutely. And the dead giveaway for that is that you’ll notice how that other than John and Fred, there are no other main characters throughout LICM. Like his love interest? She’s only in two scenes—or three. Two scenes and one short flashback. Same thing with Weasels—you only have the two main characters, and in They Don’t Cut the Grass Anymore, you only have Billy Buck and Jacob. Everyone else is peripheral.

And it was because it was hard enough to get Fred Borges there, much less anyone else. You couldn’t get him there if you told him there was a million dollar lottery ticket on the set. It was impossible—I love him, he’s terrific, but the guy was never on time. And sometimes, even he wouldn’t show up. He was one of those people who had an excuse every day for not showing up on time—for a year, he had an excuse. And you couldn’t argue with it, because he had legitimate excuses.

PG: But despite that, Fred is great in the movies.

NS: When Fred was there and committed to the shooting, he was incredible. There wasn’t anyone better or more devoted to making the movie. But just getting him to be there was impossible. The funny thing was that when we were making Weasels, John was right at the door in his costume on time every day. He was the greatest person in the world, which is why I always say the movies wouldn’t exist if John and I weren’t partners. He was also the location scout—he found a lot of the locations for us, especially on Vermilion Eyes, which are all over the place. That thing was shot all over Long Island.

PG: LICM seems to have been shot all over as well.

NS: Yes, LICM has some stunningly beautiful wastelands. I love that marshland. I wanted that to be the atmosphere of the movie and really define the look.

PG: And it does. It’s really lonely and contributes a lot to the film.

NS: You know, I haven’t really talked about what you’re talking about—the eeriness and the moodiness of the film—in a long time, but now, it’s bringing back memories of when I first showed the film. And that was the reaction people had—the eeriness, the foreboding that the film evoked. We were very happy about how effective LICM turned out, considering it is a miracle that the film exists. It’s under $1000, and it’s more effective than some Hollywood horror films.

When I look back on LICM, I think its weakness is that I tried to use too many conventions—I wish the sidekick cop and the girlfriend weren’t there. Those stop the movie dead, I think.

PG: I think there’s enough payoff in the rest of the movie so that you’re not thinking, “Jesus, just get back to the action.”

NS: I guess the reason I’m saying that is because they weren’t real actors, so you have scenes that aren’t compelling on a performance level. Modern audiences say, “Oh, look how amateurish it is.”

PG: But they don’t understand the story behind the film.

NS: No, and I think for these films to succeed with viewers today is to have an open mind. No one is expecting something this low budget.

PG: It is a surprise if you’re stumbling across it for the first time and pulling it off the shelves, thinking, “Hey, LICM —this will have some gore.”

NS: I think that the opening is a grabber, but today there’s a sense of urgency, and something has to be happening every five minutes—or every other minute—or they lose interest, because the attention spans are totally gone today. LICM has a build-up, which I always liked—look at Texas Chainsaw Massacre, which has an astonishing build-up. And then today’s generation thinks is boring. “You don’t see any blood…” Imagine what they’d say about Psycho today.

PG: I’m glad you mentioned your actors and dialogue, because there’s a lot of it in LICM. I know you mentioned that you wrote for the particular shooting day, but I’m wondering if in this case, you wrote everything out?

NS: Not all the scenes. In many cases, I would start with the scene and then go into improv.

PG: That was my next question.

NS: The scene where John and Fred meet on the beach and find the head—that entire scene is improvisation, except for a couple of lines, like when John says, “Who is she?” and Fred says, “Oh, a she? I couldn’t tell.” I wrote that. But their whole argument about whose beach it is—I said, “Just improvise. You want to get him off the beach.” I wasn’t too happy with that, because if they were real actors, they could have pulled it off. I guess I’m asking for too much. I sound like detractors of the film. How could they have done better? They didn’t know how.

PG: They do what people with a small amount of improvisational ability can do.

NS: The only other improvisation in the movie is in the scene with his girlfriend at the beginning. They improvised the whole skinny-dipping business. I guess she was pretty wild—she goes, “Let’s go skinny-dipping!” And I go, “Oh my God…” John didn’t know what to say. He was nervous as hell. So he said, (deep Smihula voice) “Not now—let’s wait until July.” Great dialogue (laughs). The last half of them on the boat—the whole bit about “Where’s the beer?” and her asking, “Why are you getting uppity with me?”—all of that was improvised too.

PG: Well, I know you don’t like it, but to its credit, it doesn’t come across as people just babbling.

NS: It wasn’t the babbling—I just didn’t like what was being said. I wish he could have said something rather than “How come there’s no more beer?” To me, it didn’t seem like anything important was being exchanged or furthering the story. The first part of the scene was good, I thought—when he sits down with her and explains why he quits the force. That was written.

You know how I should have shot that scene? She’s so annoying that I would have him pick her up and throw him in the water. That would have been perfect. Actually, it ends kind of weird, because he jumps in the water, and disappears.

PG: Yeah, and there’s that cutaway and there’s no bubbles…

NS: I did that intentionally, because I wanted there to be that little bit of strangeness, like he’s jumped into the water and surfaced as someone else—Bruce, the masked killer.

PG: You mentioned that audiences reacted to the atmosphere. Where did you show it?

NS: I showed it originally in back yards with hundreds of people. There was really no other place to show it. Oh, I showed it in libraries, and believe it or not, in a synagogue. That was an experience.

PG: How did you pull that off?

NS: John Waters used to show his movies in a church, which is even more blasphemous. A friend said that he knew a guy who worked at the synagogue, and that they screened movies on a certain night, so why don’t I screen my movie there? So I did, and it went over well. Everyone loved it.

PG: Sure. It may not be your typical synagogue fare, but it’s fun.