Street Trash (1987)

Director: J. Michael Muro
Writer: Roy Frumkes

Manhattan bums are dying off, melting from the inside out after drinking a mysterious liquor called Tenafly Viper. Seriously, that's it.

I'm not taking this very seriously because the movie is not at all serious. It was recommended to me by a long-trusted horror comrade and sitting down to watch it, I wasn't sure what to expect. The premise is a little hard to swallow until the main bum, Fred (Mike Lackey), bursts in on a couple having sex, tells them the apartment building is on fire, slaps the naked chick on the ass, and runs out that one really understands the tone and intention of the film. Street Trash is not meant to be taken seriously. It's what I call a "12-pack flick." By that I mean it's the kind of movie where you get a group of your buddies together, crack open a case of cold ones, and have a good ole time watching/heckling a ridiculous movie in the wee hours. The writer, Roy Frumkes (horror buffs know Frumkes from his Document of the Dead documentary on the making of George A. Romero's 1978 classic Dawn of the Dead) had loftier goals for the story but budgetary constraints squelched many of those aspirations. His documentary The Meltdown Memories makes a fantastic companion piece to the original film.

The story is strong if a little loony at times, but that's really part of its charm. While suspending one's disbelief at the prospect of hobos as main characters is a little difficult at first, you grow to care about these "less fortunate" people. When Fred nearly drinks from the Viper bottle towards the end of the film, I was concerned for him. The gore effects are really something I miss as a horror fan. The over-the-top, in-camera special effects are welcomed in all their neon glory. This is where the "torture chic" movies miss the boat in my book. Their seriousness, especially the first Hostel movie (I’m one of the twelve people who loved Cabin Fever, by the way), propel the gore into the camp territory dominated by latter slasher sequels. As I see it, there is a fine line between uncomfortable gore and silly gore. Street Trash treats its gore with the utmost irreverence. At the same time, it's not making any serious statement about the status quo in late 1980s New York, though one could draw Marxist conclusion about Nick Durran's (Tony Darrow) presence in the film.

While the whole film is a joy to watch, James Lorinz as Doorman steals the show. The film is infused with a kind of dark humor but Lorinz's deadpan delivery of his few lines standouts above even the wonderfully low-budget effects. When he pops up again at the end of the film I was really pleased. In closing, Street Trash is not for everyone, but for those who can appreciate it for what it is will reap the benefits in repeated viewings.

The moral of the story is this: if you have the opportunity to buy a pint of booze for a DOLLAR, just walk away. It's not worth it. But if you just can't pass up the deal, give the bottle to someone else and break out an umbrella.