Empire International Pictures was a movie studio and distribution outfit founded by American B-movie mogul Charles “Charlie” Band in 1983. Even if you haven’t heard of Empire, there’s a good chance you’ll have heard of some of their genre film output, and perhaps even watched some of it – during the five years that Empire was active, they dominated video-store shelves with titles like Re-Animator (1985), From Beyond (1986) and, uh, Assault of the Killer Bimbos (1988). Empire collapsed in ‘88, and whilst some of their releases have endured to the modern day as cult classics (or, in the case of Re-Animator, a key title in the pop-cultural horror canon), many have essentially been lost to time following the collapse of the video-rental market. Thankfully, those video archaeologists at Arrow have dug up a handful of titles from the Empire catalogue, dusted them off and restored them to (celluloid) life – and I’m here to tell you about two of them!
I don’t think there’s a better cinematic encapsulation of the Empire brand than The Dungeonmaster (1984), a.k.a. Ragewar; by no means am I saying that this is the best Empire film, not remotely, but I consider it to be the definitive showcase of all of the mystifying ‘80s schlock that is inherently tied to the Empire name. The Dungeonmaster follows Paul Bradford (soap star Jeffrey Byron), the world’s most jacked computer technician, who must fight to save his girlfriend Gwen (actress Leslie Wing) from the clutches of the evil warlock Mestema (Night Court’s Richard Moll), who is also apparently Satan after his bodacious PC skills promote him from the position of “I.T. consultant” to “worthy opponent of the literal devil”. This wizards’ duel takes the form of seven “challenges” which Paul must complete, similar to levels of a video-game – so similar, in fact, that I wonder why Charlie Band didn’t commission a Ragewar game during the home console boom of the mid-80s. The Dungeonmaster is, essentially, an anthology film, with a different filmmaker behind each segment or “challenge” – some of which are decidedly more interesting, let alone challenging, than others. I really don’t think that a ghoulie that kills itself with a rock is much of a “challenge”, Demonic Toys (1992) director Peter Manoogian.
The Dungeonmaster is, in essence, a nerd wish-fulfilment fantasy, in which a glasses-wearing tech whiz is turned into a fantasy hero and gets the girl – questionable gender politics and all. It’s also a good contender for the most ‘80s film ever made, complete with rubber monsters (Charlie Band loves his puppets), hand-drawn laser effects, an aerobics session and, most hilariously, an extended performance from prominent shock-rock hair-metal band W.A.S.P. In many ways, it’s a confounding mess, and the challenges are almost always solved by Paul putting in some combination on his Power Glove-esque arm-computer and instantly vapourising whatever assorted ghoulish mooks have been sent to take him out, but at the same time, it rarely fails to be entertaining – not least because of the sheer level of variety on display here. The Dungeonmaster may be only just over an hour long, and yet it manages to fit in zombies, demons, goblins, a serial-slasher, a giant stop-motion David Allen monster, dragons animated by Disney (yes, really), a gallery of frozen criminals from throughout history (and, for some bloody reason, Albert Einstein), futuristic Mad Max-style kart-racers and a little godforsaken creature named “Ratspit”, and that’s only scratching the surface. It’s not a great movie, by any means, let alone a very good one – but there’s an admirable amount of cinematic craft on display, and the rubber and slime fly plentifully.
I can only assume that Ragewar was retitled to The Dungeonmaster because of the popularity of Dungeons and Dragons, which might play out in Arrow’s favour given the recent release of the big-screen blockbuster Dungeons and Dragons: Honour Among Thieves (2023). Extras include I Reject Your Reality and Substitute My Own, an insightful interview with star Jeffrey Byron on the film’s production; Byron also wrote one of the film’s seven challenges, “Slasher”, which – in spite of being the film’s least gonzo segment – is arguably the most well-written and tensely-crafted sequence that the movie has to offer.
One of the more memorable segments in The Dungeonmaster, featuring the aforementioned “Ratspit”, was directed by none other than the late, great FX maestro John Carl Buechler, who provided the make-up and monsters for many of the most beloved video-shop titles of the ‘80s. Buechler would take up the directing reins once again, this time for a full feature, with another “revenge of the nerds” tale – the E.C. Comics-inspired creature feature Cellar Dweller (1988). With a script from Chucky creator Don Mancini, Cellar Dweller tells the tale of Whitney (actress and journalist Debrah Farentino), an art student and cartoonist who moves into an artists’ commune, one which used to be the home of her idol, the ‘50s horror comics legend Colin Childress (horror icon Jeffrey Combs). Childress, thought to have murdered a woman and then taken his own life in a fit of mania, accidentally summoned a hideous demonic presence into the world upon using a book of ancient curses as inspiration for his latest issue of the titular comic, a monster that Whitney unwittingly reawakens and sets off on a grisly carnivorous killing-spree. Flesh is torn and prides are injured as John Carl Buechler takes a jagged talon to the throat of the dog-eat-dog world of modern art, like some kind of monstrous direct-to-video version of Flux Gourmet (2022).
Fans of Jeffrey Combs may be drawn to Cellar Dweller by his prominent billing, but will likely be disappointed when they realise that his appearance is a glorified one-scene cameo. Even the Cellar Dweller itself, a gorgeous behemoth of a Buechler SFX creature, isn’t used to its full potential, largely confined to the same repeated shots of flesh-munching which are sparingly used throughout without us getting to see most of its monstrous rampage. It pains me to say that, for the most part, Cellar Dweller is a rather dull affair that lacks the B-movie splatter shocks that the title promises. It’s sparingly funny, sure, largely due to its absurdity; cartoon sound effects, the comically-timed supernatural appearance of a banana peel that a character slips on, and the introduction of an old-timey whiskey-sipping private eye are all peculiar enough to generate a few chuckles. However, for a film about a hairy werewolf-vampire-demon summoned from the pages of a cursed sex-and-violence comic book, Cellar Dweller is disappointingly unengaging. It’s a lesser Empire picture, closer to some of the middling fare that Charlie Band would release under his direct-to-video label Full Moon during the ‘90s – it isn’t “awful”, per se, but with a gloriously pulpy title like that, I expected better.
Beyond a nice new restoration of this largely unmemorable title from Empire’s Gallery of Horrors, extras on Arrow’s release include Grabbed by the Ghoulies, a quick yet fairly comprehensive retrospective of director Buechler’s work from Matty Budrewicz and Dave Wain, and Inside the Cellar, an informative featurette full of behind-the-scenes anecdotes from the make-up artist and actor who donned the hair and latex to play Cellar Dweller’s creature, Michael Deak.
These are but two of the over 30 films released by Empire as part of their prolific output during the mid-to-late ‘80s, and as part of their Enter the Video Store: Empire of Screams set, Arrow has released three other cult Charles Band favourites – Dolls (1987), Arena (1989) and Robot Jox (1989)! Stick around and check out Russell Bailey’s take on that trilogy of terror.
Enter the Video Store: Empire of Screams is out now on Arrow Video Blu-Ray
