If Chins Could Kill



The first year at university is a rite of passage in many ways, and never more so than when the unsuspecting fresher enters the strange, liminal world of Cult Films. I vaguely remember that one night we watched The Evil Dead (or was it Evil Dead 2?). Not just a cult film, but a cult horror film, which is about as culty as you can get. I'd like to say that it changed the way I viewed cinema forever and left me hero-worshipping the star, Bruce Campbell. But this would be unfair to the truth: I hated it. And I hated him by association (whoever he was).

It wasn't Campbell's fault though. I hate horror films as a genre. I get squeamish at the sight of blood, and more squeamish at the sight of severed limbs with motive power of their own. Nowadays I'm desensitized compared to back then, but I still tend to avoid them if I can. Sorry, horror fans. It's my loss, I'm sure.

So what was I doing reading Campbell's autobiography? It's another selection from the library of Mrs Tomsk, this time courtesy of Senior Spielbergo. It's doing the rounds because early on it describes, in loving and occasionally terrifying detail, the excitement of making amateur films. This book was apparently the inspiration for our own occasional filmmaking efforts, so for that reason alone it deserved to be read.

Plus, I actually liked Bubba Ho-Tep. See how far I've come?

If Chins Could Kill is sold as the life of an ordinary jobbing actor. Not for Campbell the A-list movie, the mansion-sized trailer and more muffins than you can shake a contractual demand at. Instead, he gets tied to a cast-iron cross on the end of a crane arm and rotated until the shot looks just right.

This abuse is inflicted by the director Sam Raimi, who Campbell has known since childhood. Their banter and the suffering they inflict upon each other forms the heart of the book and provides most of the funniest moments. Many of these involve "the classic", Raimi's car, which does stunt service on countless occasions.

Raimi is very much an A-list director now, with three Spiderman films to his name. And Campbell hasn't done too badly out of the movie business either. The marketing line is therefore false modesty, but it's an understandable attempt to carve out a niche on the bookshelves. The real story is much more interesting, as Campbell vividly contrasts the making of the early films, with no money but complete control, to the later ones with plenty of money but no control. Despite his light-hearted tone the early years must have been quite a struggle, but he still yearns for them. Like most people on the creative side of the film business he has a hate-hate relationship with Hollywood, and greatly enjoys his time in New Zealand because it's so far away from the 'spores'.

It's the rollercoaster variety of Campbell's experiences that make this an entertaining book. He even makes it big in TV, first with The Adventures of Brisco County, Jr (never heard of it) then with Hercules (never heard of it either, much to Mrs Tomsk's disgust). In the 2002 version he goes as far as a celebrity book signing tour, which is somewhat at odds with the ideals of the first edition.

Campbell is certainly not an A-list writer, and at times the anecdotes ramble and become disjointed. The abrupt changes between narrative and dialogue also take a while to get used to. But the conversational tone suits his story, and you're left with the impression that he's a very pleasant guy, which is quite a contrast to many of the other actors he describes.

As for amateur films - well, I can see why the book is inspirational. But I nominate someone else to be attached to the crane arm.

If Chins Could Kill: Confessions of a B Movie Actor
by Bruce Campbell
First published 2001

Further reading: Chemie's review

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