Night Caller (Anthony Spinelli [as Wes Brown], 1976)

A tale of an obscene phone caller tormenting his neighbor, Night Caller offers two compensatory pleasures to vault over its lumpy narrative. The titular creep Robert (David Book) calls Helen who indulges his perversion by allowing him to listen in on a lovemaking session. However, Helen is actually a man (Vernon von Bergdorfe) in a dress and makeup while his partner is a woman wearing a mustache (Enjil von Bergdorfe [sic!]). I assume Robert is unaware of this and would bristle at the knowledge. But that's lean communication for ya and it provides an attractive filigree to a potentially cookie-cutter film. 

The other chief pleasure is the intermittently electronic score composed and conducted by one Richard Silsby. Brittle pings, aluminum winds, and 1970s-Miles-style treated horn blats appear on the soundtrack at unpredictable moments which initially came across as an extreme distancing device, preventing the viewer from identifying too closely to Robert or indeed anyone having intercourse on screen. The tactic reminded me of Kay Dickinson's contention in her book Off Key - When Film and Music Won't Work Together that one unacknowledged aspect rendering mid-1980s "video nasties" so offensive to moral guardians in the United Kingdom was the clash between the empty, shallow synthesizer scores and the gushing imagery. As Dickinson notes,

"Sonic flatness jars with the ways in which accompanying images might penetrate deep within the victims’ bodies, rummaging around protractedly in their innermost recesses" (124). 

But pondering Night Caller's score further, I wonder if the synth sounds facilitate a sort of emptying of identity allowing viewers to better give themselves over to the sleaze. It may make for a brittle abandon akin to a medulla-obliterating huff of poppers. In any event, a solid grind.

Grade: B