Death Bed: The Bed that Eats (1977)
Directed by George Barry
Starring Demene Hall, Rusty Ross, Julie Ritter, Linda Bond, Patrick Spence Thomas
Cult Epics

"You're nothing, if not grotesque. Except hungry, of course."

The improbably titled "Death Bed: The Bed That Eats" is a trippy little no-budget shocker first lensed in 1972 by (then) fledgling Michigan film student George Barry. A 16mm curiosity in a 35mm gonzo-exploitation world, it failed to secure a theatrical release when it was finally finished in 1977. After a shady video-rights deal fell through in the early 80's, Barry gave up hope on seeing Death Bed released. Little did he know that his quirky little film had been pirated and released on video in the UK, during the height of the 'video nasties' era. It would be an overstatement to say that it gained a huge cult following, but it did make a lasting impression on the few people who managed to catch it, and one such Bed booster wrote an online review of the film, which a sleepy Barry stumbled upon late one night. Fucker had no idea his film ever saw release anywhere, and here it was, a 'forgotten horror' on the internet. Contacts were established, and finally, after almost 30 years, Death Bed gets it's first 'proper' release, on the ever-vigilant Cult Epics label. So, was it worth the decades-old unearthing? For fans of bizarre 70's hippy horror (and who's not, really?), most definitely.

Death Bed starts off in a most curious fashion, with a guy eating an apple in the dark. Well, maybe not, but that's exactly what it looks and sounds like. It's actually the bed eating, but that part is gonna take some explaining. First, though, we are briefly introduced to some hapless Bowie-esque fella (rock crit Dave Marsh, with voice over by Brit Spence Thomas) that's living in a tiny cell built into the wall of a large room that houses the ornate, four-poster "Death Bed" of the title. The narrator claims to have been stuck there, in the wall behind a painting of the bed, for "60 years, since I died." Much to his chagrin, he is forced to listen to the deadly bed loudly snore in it's fitful slumber (!), and to watch, helplessly, when it chances upon an unsuspecting victim or two.

What?!

Yeah, I know.

A young couple break into the stately mansion and decide to have a picnic on the bed. They lay out some apples, wine, and a bucket of chicken. Then they make out. Meanwhile, the bed sucks the food under the sheets, into it's acid-filled belly (!) and eats said food, popping an apple core, empty wine bottle, and chicken bones back onto the bed sheets. Swear to God. Then it pulls the curtains around the oblivious lovers and eats them, too. And this is all before the credits even roll.

As the film sluices forward like a warm, syrupy moontide, the man-behind-the-painting reminisces about the events that brought him to this wretched state, as stock footage of bustling early 20th century city life and spinning front pages of the 'Daily Bugle' are seen on screen. One of the mock-papers has a headline that screams "Strange munching sounds heard in the night!" and another one flashes the headline "Mayor demands action!" while some guy that sounds like Scatman Crothers says "We need action! Action!" in a voiceover. Seems the bed has been around for almost a hundred years, the tragic results of a tree demon that fell in love with a doe-eye country girl. (!) How this creates a carnivorous bed- and a dead guy with Consumption living behind a wall and smoking- is still anyone's guess, because it makes zero-to-less sense, even with it's very careful, deliberate explanation. It should be noted, however, that Barry based this film on a dream he had, and dreams rarely make any real sense. Instead, they leave hazy impressions, psychic aftershocks that are open to interpretation or dismissal. Some think of them as omens, others as a sort of subconscious soul coughing, an expectorate to cleanse one's inner demons. Still others laugh dreams off as the playtime of the mind. Death Bed, than, could be any of these. Hell, it could even be art- it is certainly artful, at any rate. All I know is, this is one of the most hypnotically absurd films I've seen in ages. I mean, the fuckin' bed eats people, you dig?

Shot with all the nervous twitches of a bird trapped in an attic, the camera zips around as if it, too, is scared of the bed. The dizzy plot is almost non-existent, and most of the running time is devoted to an endless montage of the bed dissolving its victims in a yellow, bubbling fuzz. The last third of the film revolves around a group of hippy girls who fall under the bed's evil spell, and the heroic but doomed brother (Russ) of one of the girls (Rosa Luxemburg) who tries to save the day, but ultimately gets his hands melted off (in a harrowing scene that brings to mind the truly repulsive Men Behind the Sun) for his efforts. But even he isn't all that upset about it, really. It's as if the entire cast already knows that their fates lie deep in the bed's acidic belly, and are merely following orders from a higher power. I never thought a piece of furniture could be so unsettling.

Downbeat and narcotic, Death Bed is the rather glorious result of one demented lotus eater's wild stab at acid horror, and I am quite surprised that this one didn't find it's fringe-freak audience sooner. It's a trip, baby. Highly recommended.

-Sleazegrinder

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