Death Bed: The Bed That Eats

Sure, you've got a man-eating bed, but does it explode at the end? In a genre dominated by carnivorous plants, zombies, and maniacs, how can a possessed bed make the cut? Avid B-movie watchers/critics Simon and Matt descend into the hellish world of Death Bed: The Bed that Eats despite the high probability of disappointment.

“High probability of disappointment[?]”

Of course we were hooked by the title. In fact, we were only hooked by the title. The best bad movies always sport outlandish, preposterous titles. These are designed to grab our fickle four-second attention spans, so that when we reach for Casablanca in the movie store we don't realize we picked up Death Bed until we're already at the checkout, and then it's too late. At least, that's what I wish happened.

Instead Simon, my bad-movie watching colleague, heard about Death Bed from Patton Oswald's standup comedy routine. Oswald refers to this classic 70's horror film as “Death Bed: The Bed that Eats People.” Neither Simon nor myself condone this modification to the film's title, despite the fact that Oswald's version is clearly more amusing. Sadly, our support was not withdrawn because we felt the modified title sabotaged the credibility of the film, but instead because the bed is not limited to eating people. He/It also eats luggage, fruit, clothes and at one point self-administers a bottle of Pepto Bismol to ease the passage of several college students.

“To ease the passage of several college students”

If you're like me, as your continued reading suggests, you're probably wondering what's the deal with the bed, right? How does a normally inanimate object relate to and interact with the world? Well, one of the reasons Simon and I have shouldered the Atlas-like effort of watching these terrible movies is so that you don't have to. <SPOILER ALERT> The deathbed is an old-school four-poster bed hung with ornamental curtains. Contrary to my initial expectations, it doesn't possess massive gnashing teeth like a shark, or slimy, groping tentacles like an octopus. It also lacks the hideous combination of teeth and tentacles that makes Sharktopus a bad movie classic. (Stay tuned for an upcoming Bad Movie review!)

Instead, the blankets provide a comfortable-looking veil for a yellowish pit of digestive juices. The bed is easily king-sized, demonstrated when it eats an orgy of at least eight people. The bed possesses a primitive intellect, insatiable hunger, malevolent cruelty, and some telekinetic/otherworldly powers. Whenever the bed grows excited about the opportunity to eat someone (or molest with its powers and then eat) a man's heavy breathing dominates the soundtrack. This breathing sometimes degenerates into small, perverted whimpers, moans and lip-smacking. These grotesque noises indicate a mind that delights in causing anguish and suffering, experiences the deathbed incites whenever possible.

The anguish of the narrator is one example of the bed's malevolence. The tale is narrated by a young artist who was dying of consumption and decided to draw a picture of his deathbed. As he passed on, the demon-bed trapped the artist's soul within the painting. Frozen in his dying misery, the artist is forced to watch the deathbed's numerous atrocities. The other characters in the movie, secondary to the artist/deathbed dynamic, only serve to highlight the bed's capacity for cruelty, and the artist's desire to flee his painting-prison. Eventually the artist manages to speak beyond his painting and convinces some of the bed-fodder to conduct the ritual that will destroy the bed- yes, in a fiery explosion- and free his soul.

“The blankets provide a comfortable-looking veil for a yellowish pit of digestive juices”

The artist's curious knowledge of this ritual is merely one of a multitude of facts that he couldn't possibly know within the context of this movie. How the artist knows about the atrocities the bed committed before he himself was entrapped is never explained. These are the bad movie moments that Simon and I live for. Awkward, porno-quality acting could not quite overshadow the discomfiting sound effects; the squeal of a door hinge sounds distressingly like a whoopie cushion. Late in the film, one of the indistinguishable bed-victims attempts to slay the bed with a knife. Instead, the bed devours his hands and sinews, leaving the mutilated man with skeletal appendages. Tragically, the low budget of the film shines through in this moment, leading Simon to remark, “It looks like shitty Halloween bones.” That being said, at least the man had the decency to scream as his hands were being digested. Most of the actors couldn't decide on the ideal reaction as the bed ate them; in consequence the reactions range from terror, pain, confusion and anger. Rarely, in fact, do the victims of the deathbed scream from the pain of digestion, preferring more subtle ways of dying. Simon and I paused the movie at this point to discuss what the proper reaction to being digested by a demon-bed should be, an ultimately inconclusive debate since we both lacked experienced in the matter.

“Shitty Halloween bones”

One thing that Simon and I have become experienced in, however, is watching bad movies. And we've noticed that every now and then in the midst of some drab, overcast plot, a ray of sunshine will break through the clouds and illuminate something, making it almost beautiful. I guess your expectations are just so low that any type of directorial skill seems like a stroke of genius. Take, for example, the artist trapped in his painting. The artist is confined to being a spectator, forced to view and critique the actions of the deathbed. Like ourselves, the artist is outside looking in. His voyeurism of the deathbed makes we critics aware of our own voyeurism of him. And suddenly we're actually having real thoughts about B-movies and that's what makes the process so enjoyable, irrespective of the writer or the director's intent.

And now I must confess, despite my complicity with the artist, that I was rooting for the bed all along. It's not the bed's fault that it was animated by demon tears and consequently filled with rage and malice. In the absence of real role-models and parents, is it reasonable to expect the bed to share the same moral code as the human beings he so relishes? And what about hunger, people!? The bed has the same urge to live as every other 'species.' Due to a coincidence completely out of the control of the deathbed itself, the bed's corporeal form was designed by humans for their comfort. Should he then abstain from eating people who willingly lie on him? Despite the fact that the bed has gone months between meals at times, should he ignore his hunger and make peace with his slow, dwindling starvation? Would you?

But then the deathbed lost my support. When one of the indistinguishable college students attempts to save another anonymous character from being sucked into the bed and devoured, she finds herself drawn in as well. So begins ten minutes of the most grotesque, uncomfortable and generally hideous cinematography of my movie-watching career. The women is strong and fit, refusing to be eaten, she writhes mightily against the mysterious force the bed employs to create its powerful vacuum. Perhaps noticing the fish-like flopping Simon quipped, “She's struggling like a forty pounder!” She even manages to withdraw from the bed's 'grasp', falling onto the floor. Her legs are clearly supposed to be ruined and mostly digested, as evidenced by the actresses' wails and the amount of blood. In the next five full minutes of hauling herself away from the bed, we had ample time to note how only the top of her legs were blood-covered, denying the audience the satisfaction of a blood trail. Agonizing her ruined legs up a small flight of stairs for another four minutes the woman nearly reaches the front door and freedom. But here the diabolical bed sends forth a sheet-tentacle, which quickly wraps around her, hauling her into the bed-maw just as the hope of safety was nearly realized. This toying with its prey is one way the director successfully manages to project human qualities-like cruelty- onto the bed. The fact that he manages to do so at all is astonishing.

“She's struggling like a forty pounder!”

Due to its title, preposterous concept, transparent bad movie moments and unexpected gems of enjoyment, DeathBed: The Bed that Eats is the standard by which all bad movies will be judged. Despite the low budget, the director has laudably created a thoughtful, horrifying and grisly tale that will leave you paranoid about going to sleep for many restless nights... but not really.