Moviemaking can be an emotionally and financially devastating endeavor. Since second chances are rarely a guarantee, the first feature is the opportunity for filmmakers to pull out their heart and soul and leave it all on the table for the world to see. Viewers can feel that passion and drive right out of the gate in Josh Becker’s Lunatics: A Love Story (1991).
Hank Stone (Ted Raimi, brother of Sam) never leaves his apartment. His mailbox is overflowing, he hasn’t been seen in months and the gossip-loving neighbors all have their theories. His door has four additional locks and his bookshelves are lined with Poe, Hemingway and, curiously, Dr. Seuss. Enormous swathes of aluminum foil stretch the walls, lamps and cabinets. “It’s a crazy world,” he explains. “Bad things happen out there. Murders, homicides.” So, he stays in, writes poetry and makes excuses for avoiding his brother’s wedding (he already missed the other brother’s). But even the apartment fails to offer refuge from his demons.
When he’s not calling toll-free party lines, quoting Poe or daydreaming about the swimsuit model on the billboard outside his window, Hank fights through debilitating psychotic episodes. These illusions manifest themselves in frightening visions which torture him without respite: hideous spiders crawl in and around his brain, a maniacal doctor (Bruce Campbell) brandishes a huge syringe glistening with red liquid and a hip-hop group drops in to use his head on a turntable. Life carries on outside Hank’s building, which sits deep within the hot pavement and suffocating concrete of Los Angeles. Not along the boulevards of Hollywood or tucked between the terra cotta and palm trees of Santa Monica, but lost beneath the tall skyscrapers, trash-ridden alleyways and run-down hotels of downtown L.A. In Becker’s film, this is a dangerous, lawless zone, which becomes a noir-tinged nightmare after dark.
When we first meet Nancy (Deborah Foreman) she’s pulling a discarded plant from a trashcan. In a savagely funny scene, she bends down to pet a terrier, which runs into the path of an oncoming dump truck. It’s one instance of bad luck in a day that only gets worse. Her boyfriend Ray (also Campbell, pitch perfect as the inconsiderate slime ball) is her reason for coming to California from Iowa, and now it’s not working out. He’s leaving her. “I asked you to come out West with me, right?” He explains. “Well…here we are.” He gestures around the depressingly empty room and then leaves her with an unpaid bill. While wandering the streets at night, she runs afoul of a gang (led by George Aguilar) and takes refuge inside a bus station telephone booth. She answers a random ring dialed by none other than Hank, who’s missed a number trying to get through to another party line.
Desperate for a safe refuge, and figuring this fortuitous situation can’t be any worse than the current one, she agrees to come to his apartment, and what follows is a meet-cute of two eccentrics, both looking for some light in a dark, scary world. When Hank’s visions threaten to overwhelm him once again, Nancy flees. Having had a glimpse of what life can be like when shared, Hank dons a tin-foil suit, steps outside his apartment and finally faces his fears.
Originally from Detroit, Becker’s passion for cinema and filmmaking drove him to shoot Super 8 shorts alongside high school buddies Bruce Campbell and Sam Raimi, a working relationship which saw the making of the revolutionary horror entry The Evil Dead (1981). Becker wore multiple hats on the set (including running lights, sound and general errands) to help his friends achieve their vision. He was equally eager to make films of his own and when not working as a production assistant he was busy writing.
His early short films combined elements of horror, action and slapstick and were shot on low budgets with friends and family members. In 1985, he made his biggest film Thou Shalt Not Kill…Except (also titled Stryker’s War), which followed a group of Vietnam veterans waging a new war against a murderous cult. The film was Becker’s most expensive to date. Shooting for a full-length film, he wrote the original screenplay for Lunatics: A Love Story. Campbell helped to option the film, and Sam’s brother Ted stepped in to play the lead role.
It’s worth noting Ted Raimi’s physicality, which is a nice blend of Buster Keaton and Harold Lloyd. Neurotic, nerdy but extremely nimble, he gives a fully committed performance as he swings between lucidity and psychosis with wild abandon. When Nancy asks if he’s tried to kill himself, he swiftly answers “No” with a smile and shake of his head. “Why were you in a mental hospital?” she asks. “I tried to kill myself.” He responds without missing a beat. On the page it’s dark and heavy, but with Raimi’s assured, quick delivery it’s laughs out loud funny.
Lunatics blends elements of psychological horror, creature feature, noir and slapstick to create a genre-bending romantic comedy to great effect. Hard to come by on physical format for years, Lunatics finally saw a DVD release in 2018 from Umbrella Entertainment. The transfer includes an audio commentary from Becker, who also documented his early days making films in the books Rushes and Going Hollywood. The film has gained a cult following, alongside Becker’s second feature Running Time (1997), a black-and-white noir starring Campbell as an ex-con who falls back into his old ways.
Becker directed a number of television episodes in the late ‘90s, most notably for Xena: Warrior Princess. He continues to write and direct original screenplays and novels and remains one of the unsung heroes of American independent cinema. Recognition of his talent, drive and passion for the medium is long overdue.
