(3 of 3)
Who then should care that the DTV B movies may be lumbering from obscurity into oblivion? We do. There may be no masterpieces (possibly excepting John McNaughton's Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer, which achieved theatrical notoriety after release on video), but DTVs offer a few nostalgic pleasures. They are made by clever craftsmen who for next to nothing provide professional gloss and a story no worse than most movies and TV shows. And if you're looking for strong B-movie stars, look no further. Shannon Tweed brings a sensible, almost schoolteacherish seriousness to her roles. Delia Sheppard (Mirror Images), who has retired from DTV to star in the Las Vegas extravaganza Splash, excelled as a naughty Brit on a Hollywood bender. Lysette Anthony (Save Me) promises prurience beneath the primness; her blond middle-class looks make her a natural to play Hillary Clinton in a DTV epic.
A rung below these dream and scream queens are such hardworking actresses as lissome Maria Ford, 25, who has made 40 DTVs (Burial of the Rats, Naked Obsession) in eight years but says she earned less than $25,000 last year. "You have to love to act," she says. "The food is always bad; you never get any sleep; you work 17-hour days; the scripts change at the last minute." Ford's theory of nude scenes: "I'm willing to take off my clothes for 10% of a film so I can act in the other 90%."
The male stars have other reasons. Employment is one. David Carradine, the Kung Fu TV veteran who 20 years ago won critical raves for Bound for Glory but now is more likely to be found scaring coeds in Ray's Evil Toons, says, "Doing DTV films is dangerous for me as a mainstream actor. But I like the taste of danger." Don ("the Dragon") Wilson likes the taste of money. The kick-boxing star had six films released in 13 months, and claims to make $250,000 per. "I tell people I'm not an actor; I'm an action star," he says, and banters about going legit. He answers a phone call and jokes, "It's Steven Spielberg. He wants me for his next dinosaur movie."
The real dinosaur is the DTV B. For a decade, when few people in Hollywood were listening, it roared. It stomped out tracks that would be followed by the Aladdins and the Darkmans. Now the form is nearing extinction. But on video-store shelves and on pay cable, these value-for-money thrill machines can live forever. Farewell and hail, Videosaurus rex.
--Reported by Jeffrey Ressner/Los Angeles