It’s 2018, and self-care is more important than ever. It can take many forms: a bubble bath, a good meal, a nap. For me, self-care involves telling as many people as I can about Death Bed: The Bed That Eats.
Made in 1977 by director George Barry, the cult horror masterpiece is sometimes called Death Bed: The Bed That Eats People.
Because it’s about a bed that eats people, you see.
Clocking in at a slim 77 minutes, Death Bed blends low-budget jankiness and alluring surrealism … honestly, though, more the former than the latter. It’s called Death Bed: The Bed That Eats. You’re not getting something high-quality. You’re getting something where a four-poster bed languishing in a forgotten cottage wakes up every 10 years to eat whatever poor schmuck happens to have sat down upon it. The Death Bed, originally conjured up by a demon, was in normal use for years … until it kept goddamn eating people, causing its owners to put it away. (“If you weren’t so greedy, you wouldn’t have eaten everyone in the house!”) The Death Bed: not that smart.
The Death Bed: Is it sentient? Yes, it’s sentient.
Does the Death Bed get heartburn sometimes? Yah.
Does the Death Bed murder its victims by sucking them into some sort of alternate dimension filled with digestive acid that looks a heck of a lot like urine? Sorry. That one is also true.
Did the Death Bed decide to spare one person, whose spirit it keeps trapped behind a drawing, doomed to narrate Death Bed: The Bed that Eats watch the Death Bed consume its unsuspecting victims for all eternity? Is that person famous Victorian illustrator Aubrey Beardsley? Does Aubrey Beardsley look like he's a reject from a Flock of Seagulls cover band? Yes. Yes. No.
Ha. Just kidding. He totally does.
Most important question: At any point during Death Bed does an orgy take place on the Death Bed, allowing said Death Bed to gorge itself on a meal of horny swingers from the 1940s?
If you have to ask ... you don't know Death Bed.
And you should know Death Bed. You really, really should.