Nightmares in a Damaged Brain (1981) Formerly Banned Video Nasty launches Severin in the UK (Review)

The die-hard cult genre cinema fans that make up The Geek Show’s reader base will undoubtedly already be deeply familiar with the name Severin Films, but for those of you who aren’t, allow me to quickly introduce you to your latest obsession. Severin are a US-based physical media label renowned for their gorgeous releases of all kinds of sleaze, splatter, and other forms of sublime cinematic depravity and exploitation extravagance; whether you’re looking for a forgotten S&M sexploitation classic by Jess Franco, or an impressively comprehensive set of folk-horror titles from across the globe, you’ll find what you seek down in Severin’s cellar.

Though Severin did bring the occasional title across the pond to the UK during the mid-to-late 2010s, many (myself included) hoped and prayed that the distributor would return to stay for good – especially given the borderline extortionate fees now needed to ship discs over from the States in a post-Brexit Britain. As such, the announcement that Severin would be returning to the UK with a couple of titles in February 2024 was a pleasant and exciting surprise – one which I hope will mark more titles to come. In typical fashion for the label, the comeback was announced with a title once accompanied by an air of shock, scandal, and taboo, one with a notoriety which still somewhat lingers to this day – the controversial ‘80s slasher film and once-banned “Video Nasty”, Romano Scavolini’s Nightmares in a Damaged Brain (1981).

The titular Brain belongs to one George Tatum (played by Baird Stafford), a psych-ward patient plagued by recurring dreams (or, perhaps, repressed childhood memories) of grotesque, violent bloodshed. Released from hospital following a period of “successful” treatment using an experimental new drug, Tatum experiences a violent seizure in a strip club, an incident which marks the beginning of a crazed, misogynistic killing spree which marks a trail of blood from the streets of New York to a family home on the Florida coast. One-by-one, neurotic suburbanites find themselves face-to-face with the business end of an ice-pick, and even those who manage to steer clear of the killer’s grasp aren’t safe – for another terror lurks around the corner, a little prankster named C.J. (C.J Cooke), whose elaborate boy-who-cried-wolf schemes seemingly drive people to the brink of hysteria.

Upon its original U.K. release, the film was boldly billed as “Scavolini’s Nightmares in a Damaged Brain”, especially bold given that director Scavolini’s only other contribution to the horror genre was the obscure (albeit apparently rather good) giallo A White Dress for Mariale (1972). Given the reputation Nightmares has for being one of the goriest and most shocking horror films of the decade, viewers should be made aware that the film’s scenes of bloody violence, whilst superbly executed and the absolute highlight of the movie, are few and far-between. In reality, Nightmares is a mean-spirited, slow-burn approach to the slasher formula, where the spilling of blood comes second to grimy vibes and extended sequences of characters being, in essence, psychologically tortured by C.J., the Damien-esque prankster child who could easily be considered the movie’s true villain. For the record, Cooke by no means delivers a bad performance as the character he shares a name with, especially for a child actor with no other screen credits, but so much of the film is dedicated to his extended schemes, some of which border on gaslighting, that you’d be convinced that Scavolini was trying to imply the existence of some kind of psychic bond between C.J. and the film’s killer.

To be quite frank, this isn’t exactly one of the more memorable entries in the ‘80s slasher cycle; the death scenes, though rare, are quite brilliant, but even with that considered, there’s nothing in Nightmares which you won’t have seen done better elsewhere. It isn’t necessarily a bad thing that Nightmares takes obvious influence from other horror hits of the time – the main problem is that it doesn’t take the time to develop upon said things that it takes influence from, and its shift in vibe once the action reaches Florida leaves this feeling less like one consistent genre piece and more like two tonally disparate slasher flicks awkwardly stapled together. At first, Nightmares is a strange, sleazy New York nightmare a’ la’ Maniac (1980), complete with a psycho-killer sweaty enough to rival Joe Spinell, and it’s during this portion where the film is at its most interesting; it’s a shame, then, that much of the psychological intrigue and greasy sadism is dropped when the film becomes a more standard, if still sparingly entertaining, Halloween (1978) riff in its latter half, complete with the killer donning a rubber mask and harassing teen babysitters for smoking weed and having premarital sex. It’s an incredibly jarring shift in tone which does a great disservice to the film’s promisingly gritty narrative in favour of following the popular and financially lucrative trends of the time.

It is notable, however, that Nightmares is one of a small handful of slasher films from the late ‘70s and early ‘80s that features the creation of a crazed spree-killer as the result of a failed medical trial. This element isn’t unique to Scavolini’s film, sure, with prior films such as Blue Sunshine (1977) and Dead Kids (1981) having also tackled the concept, yet it’s nonetheless interesting to see another cult horror flick born from the fears of a post “Project MKUltra” America. Unfortunately, this angle is almost entirely abandoned by the time that the film’s third act rolls around, displaced by the deeply cliché and far less interesting murder motivation of “I saw my parents having BDSM sex”. On a somewhat related note, whilst I don’t necessarily intend to suggest that the politics of Nightmares are consciously reactionary, it is noticeable that every single female character in the film is either some kind of sensuous temptress or a shrieking, frigid hysteric, so don’t come to this movie expecting a feminist classic, because it’s by no means a subversion of the (often unfair and ignorant) criticisms frequently levied at the slasher subgenre by its critics.

Though an undeniably appealing curio for those obsessed with the British “Video Nasty” scandal of the early ‘80s, Nightmares in a Damaged Brain makes for a far cooler and more memorable title than it does an actual film. Of far more interest, and the highlight of the release, is the accompanying feature-length documentary Damaged: The Very British Obscenity of David Hamilton-Grant (2023), a fascinating biography of the titular smut-peddler who was infamously given six months in jail for distributing an uncut copy of Nightmares during the height of England’s home video moral panic. With a cast of talking heads that includes the likes of David McGillivray (Frightmare), Fiona Richmond (Exposé) and Françoise Pascal (The Iron Rose), Damaged is a bizarre tale of sex, lies and videotape, beginning with a brief yet informative trip through the history of censorship in the UK, and ending on a hilariously confounding note of mystery which has to be seen to be believed. Arguably as comprehensive a doc as you could hope to get on this enigmatic figure who was key, for better and for worse, in bringing sexploitation cinema to the United Kingdom, Damaged is reason enough to get your hands on this new release, particularly for Nightmares fans who are deliberating on whether or not to upgrade their older 88 Films edition.

Further extras include Dreaming Up a Nightmare (2023), an informative, if rather slight, cast-and-crew doc which gives some insight into the messy production of Nightmares, including an impressive shot involving a real-life rocket launch which shockingly ended up being cut from the final film at director Scavolini’s request. Also on the disc is a 7-minute interview featurette, The Nightmare of Nightmare (2023), in which legendary make-up artist Tom Savini – who spent a day on the set of Nightmares as an SFX advisor – shines a light upon the reasons why he once fervently denied being part of the film’s production, as well as the criminally under-recognised make-up artist Leslie Larraine, who tragically took his own life shortly following the movie’s release. Overall, it’s a great package, and you’d be hard-pressed to find a release of Nightmares in a Damaged Brain which feels like a more definitive edition. Here’s to seeing more of Severin around these parts soon!

ROBYN’S ARCHIVE – Nightmares in a Damaged Brain (1981)