I went to art college, where I spent most of my time honing my table football skills (I'm still a demon on the pitch); otherwise, it was a complete waste of two years. Still, at least I didn't have to contend with murderous art materials while I was there, which is what happens to students at the rural art prep class in Sôichi Umezawa's feature length directorial debut Vampire Clay.
The rather silly story sees teacher Aina (Asuka Kurosawa) discovering a bag of powdered clay buried near her studio. Aina takes the bag into the class, where its contents are made workable once more by student Kaori, who uses it to create a bust of herself. What Kaori doesn't realise it that the clay is vampiric, possessed by the spirit of a bitter artist, and it wants to feed. One by one, the students are attacked, only to return as clay-driven zombies with malleable features.
Having worked as a special makeup effects artist on numerous movies, Umezawa predictably packs his film full of effects, the living clay shifting shape like Carpenter's The Thing by way of David Cronenberg, with quivering phallic tentacles and pulsating 'skin', all achieved through the use of prosthetics and stop motion animation. With a rudimentary plot, perfunctory performances, and uninspired direction, it is up to Umezawa's effects to carry the show: fortunately, there's just enough weird and wacky stuff to make this a reasonably entertaining piece of schlock cinema despite the film's technical drawbacks.
The rather silly story sees teacher Aina (Asuka Kurosawa) discovering a bag of powdered clay buried near her studio. Aina takes the bag into the class, where its contents are made workable once more by student Kaori, who uses it to create a bust of herself. What Kaori doesn't realise it that the clay is vampiric, possessed by the spirit of a bitter artist, and it wants to feed. One by one, the students are attacked, only to return as clay-driven zombies with malleable features.
Having worked as a special makeup effects artist on numerous movies, Umezawa predictably packs his film full of effects, the living clay shifting shape like Carpenter's The Thing by way of David Cronenberg, with quivering phallic tentacles and pulsating 'skin', all achieved through the use of prosthetics and stop motion animation. With a rudimentary plot, perfunctory performances, and uninspired direction, it is up to Umezawa's effects to carry the show: fortunately, there's just enough weird and wacky stuff to make this a reasonably entertaining piece of schlock cinema despite the film's technical drawbacks.