🔪My Travels With "The Driller Killer"
A recounting of my times & work as Assitant Director with Abel Ferrara on his first film, that turned into a cult classic.
MY TRAVELS WITH THE "DRILLER KILLER"
A recounting of my times & work with Abel Ferrara on his first film
By Louis Mascolo
I just did a Google search, “Lou Mascolo, ‘Driller Killer’” and found three-hundred and four entries. Wow! I was Assistant Director on the film, wrote some additional dialogue and even shot the original poster cover for director, Abel Ferrara’s first feature movie “Driller Killer, but many of my credits on the film is for “Knife Victim” (a 15 second non-speaking part). I’ve done a lot of things in my life, but to date, “Knife Victim” is my figurative fifteen minutes of filmic fame.
The success of Driller Killer has always amazed me. Although it was successful from the start in America, it caused a major controversy when it arrived in Britain [2] and was classified in the new “video nasties” genre. The uncut version wasn’t available there until 2002. It was banned in Germany altogether.
It attracted musicians such as a Swedish Punk band that even named themselves after it.
After I attended the premiere at a movie theater in Times Square, NYC, in 1979, I thought it was pretty awful. Thirty-three years ago, it appeared I had worked on a violent, shlocky, ambling, soon-to-be forgotten, B-movie. Apparently, its many fans don’t share my view, and because of its popularity, I am writing this historical account on how I met Abel Ferrara and how the events leading up to and including the shooting of the film came about for its many aficionados and film buffs.
New York City in the late 70’s wasn’t anything like the Disney theme park it’s currently turned out to be. It was seedy, gritty and in the throes of an economic crisis. You can get a good feel of what the City was like in those days by watching Driller Killer, or Taxi Driver , or The Taking of Pelham 123 (the original), but it was infinitely interesting.
The streets were filled with artists of all stripes--musicians, painters, designers, actors, film makers, producers, dancers, fashion designers housed in thousands of cheap lofts scattered primarily in downtown Manhattan-So-ho, No-Ho, East Village, et. al. I could walk down the street and see Andy Warhol scrambling about on a regular basis or go into a health store and stand in line behind John Lennon and Yoko who openly shopped the city and get to say hello.
It was the heyday the famous punk club, CBGB’s and Studio 54 was just gathering steam. We were the last of a breed that would be forced out of the City by gentrification that was just beginning to take hold.
I lived on 18 East 17th Street, a block from the then dangerous Union Square, which was usually filled with junkies and hustlers at almost any time of the day--a perfect Ferrara environment.
My wife and I lived in an eight-story old industrial building that had been converted into lofts. We bought our eleven-hundred square foot loft from a filmmaker who had taken off for L.A. We were paying an outrageous $375 a month. I converted his film screening room into a sixty seat loft theater and produced and directed my shows there.
I had recently graduated from NYU School of the Arts where I got my degree in Directing and that was my workshop. I finagled a job, first at ABC-TV on 66th Street, then as a Broadway stage manager for James Earl Jones in “Paul Robeson,” and my wife was working as an executive secretary for a Madison Avenue ad agency, so we could afford it. Life was good.
We lived on third floor. Abel Ferrara lived on the sixth, and we ran into each other frequently and became friendly. He was quite a character. He always reminded me of Mick Jagger with his oversized mouth, big eyes and long hair. He had enormous energy and always seemed to be in the middle of doing something. He was incredibly personable and was one of those charismatic people you just liked being around. He made you smile, and you always wondered what he was up to.
In any case, one day in 1976, the doors of the elevator to our loft opened, and he walked in and asked me if I wanted to go with him see his new movie that was being screened in Time Square, 9 Lives of a Wet Pussy ( Google it). How could I refuse? It was his first feature, a porno. He smiled and told my wife she wasn’t invited. No kidding!
The 70’s Times Square was filled with porno movie theaters. There must have been a dozen in a two square block area. They even had live sex shows. I kid you not. For ten bucks you could go in and see people have sex ten feet from your nose. But still, even then, it was New York City and it was Times Square, and it was a completed film, so it was impressive. Not the movie, the location and the accomplishment.
The movie was hysterical. Abel was one of the stars. There he was on the big screen, supposedly an old man with cotton balls glued to him for a beard and eyebrows having sex with an actress who happened to be his girlfriend at the time. In a later interview he said the actor who was supposed to do the scene couldn’t rise to the occasion, so he filled in. "It's bad enough paying a guy $200 to f**k your girlfriend, then he can't get it up," he said. I guess.
Some time after that he came to me and asked if I wanted to work on “Driller Killer” as his acting coach and assistant director. He knew my background. *
Of course, I said yes. I had done student films, but this was a real-life feature. I was very excited about it. He took me up to his loft where he screened clips from the Driller Killer that he had already shot. He explained that the way he pitched financing for the film was to put together a trailer for investors to take a look at.
Since he didn’t know how long it would take to get the funding, he stepped in as the star, Reno Miller. He couldn’t be sure any actor he hired would be around when shooting time came around, and he didn’t want to waste the footage. His only acting was in “Nine Lives…” so he wanted some pointers and someone to watch and give him notes during filming and act as his Assistant Director. That’s where I came in.
The thing about Abel he wasn’t a dreamer. His feet were firmly on the ground. He was born in the Bronx and was raised in Peekskill, NY but he always came off as a street smart City kid. He knew how to get around and hustle to get things done. While the rest of us dreamed about the movie we would do, he did it. He was a natural born producer.
A while later he did get his financing, and from what I heard, it was from the people who financed the iconic porno, “Debbie Does Dallas.” I wouldn’t make a big bet on my accuracy there, but I believe that’s what was what was being bantered about at that time. Originally the word was he got around $60,000 to produce it. Later the figure was revised to up around $100,000, but still it was a pittance.
Once the financing was secured, I got a call from Abel telling me they were going to begin shooting in NYC. My wife and I had left the City by that time to start our family, but I packed up my bags and headed up back up to Manhattan and camped out in Abel’s loft.
It’s an understatement to say the accommodations were the pits. It was a three-week shoot, camped out in a sleeping bag on the floor of a crusty loft with some of the other crew feeling like a dirt bag, continually in need of a decent shower for something like two-hundred bucks a week—and I think I was one of the high paid talent. Abel verbally agreed to cut us in on the profits of the film. Uh-huh! Still waiting for my check Abel.
Seriously though, despite the digs, the whole crew was pretty pumped up about shooting the film—and a motley crew it was.
Behind the camera was Director of Photography, Ken Kelsch, a tall, well-built guy. Where most DPs are artistic types and tend to be on the fey side, this guy looked like he was out of a mercenary magazine. Word was he served in Vietnam and there wasn’t much doubt he killed a few. A holstered knife hung on his belt and he regularly brought in his two, nasty Dobermans to the set and tied them next to the camera. There wasn’t anyone going to mess with his stuff. (NOTE: I just read he died. December 2023,)
There is a scene that starts out with a little, white rabbit bouncing around and the next scene, it is quite dead. To get that realistic dead look, Ken took the bunny into the next room and came back the with the rabbit’s throat slit. We all looked at him. “Blood is blood,” he said. He’s has quite a long filmography now and has done well.
Mary Kane was the production manager, who looked like a librarian and watched over the nickels & dimes as well as the progress of the shoot. She was the most regular person of the group. She went on to do quite a few Hollywood TV shows & movies also.
Nicky St. John, the writer, stopped in from time to time, but wasn’t a regular. Didn’t get to know him very well. I was surprised. I was sure as the writer he’d want to be very involved. He wrote many of Abel's scripts.
From what I could tell Joe Delia, who wrote and edited the soundtrack and served as sound-man was one of Abel’s closest friends. He did the scoring for most of Ferrara’s later films.
By far the most admired guy on the set was David E Smith, who went by the moniker Dick Smith Jr. for Driller Killer. He is the son of the highly respected Dick Smith, special effects guru, who worked on The Godfather Part 1 & 2 & Taxi Driver. David brought with him his father’s secret blood formula, which was used on Driller Killer.
Dick Jr., created the famous drill in the forehead scene, which Europe found most repulsive and is highlighted on DVD covers & posters. Dick created that scene by placing phony flesh over a blood bag on top of a metal plate so the drill wouldn’t puncture the actor’s head. Like the rest of the crew, I was fascinated to watch him work. He went on to do special effects for Pulp Fiction, Shallow Hal & many more
Behind the camera, these were the most memorable people for me. There were many more that contributed, but like me, they had a short lived filmic career. Same with the actors. The only one who stuck with it and made a career of doing bit parts in major TV shows & film was a friend of mine who I brought to the shoot, Steve Singer.
Steve played a bit part as a street bum. The night we scheduled his scene, as we carried the equipment to the van, there was a drunk sitting by the door asking for a handout. Of course, being New Yorkers, we ignored him. It was Steve, dressed for his part. He fooled all of us. Method actor, you know.
I also brought a few more NYU friends with me. Harry Shultz, who played the Art Dealer, Dalton Briggs, the guy gave a scathing, lambasting to Reno’s Buffalo painting and wound up drilled to a door. Chuck Saaf who had a bit part as a TV announcer, & Maria Helhoski who played a nun.
The leading female role went to Carolyn Marz, who played Carol Slaughter. She was an almost beautiful woman, definitely a B movie staar. Not much memorable about her except all the guys on the set wanted to park their shoes under her bed. She was very reliable and, with no experience, did an admirable job.
Baybi Day-- She was a skinny blond, with pouty lips, whose temper tantrums and unreasonable behavior caused me to pull out a ton of my then very thick hair. “On screen, you can’t take your eyes off her, and she was worth the effort,” Abel told me.
Tony Coca-Cola was played by Doug Metrov (D.A. Metrov). He is also listed as the producer of the film. We shot a lot of the movie in his NoHo loft. I believe the painting of the Buffalo used in the movie was his creation. He always had an entourage with him, and they seem to all be very hip, cutting edge NYC guys.
Abel loved this gang and gave them much more play in the film than their talent justified. He was a regular on the set. I guess so, it was his place. He went on to write several movies including, Solarbabies.
As for the actual production, it was a fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants affair. Pretty much a bunch of amateurs with everyone pitching in doing whatever was necessary to get the film in the can. Abel shot it on super 16mm, which allowed us a lot of latitude and freedom as far as getting to locations, setting up, and shooting.
Obviously, it couldn’t have been shot in 35mm with the budget we were on. You could have used that up in a day on union labor. After editing, it was transferred to 35mm for the theaters.
Aside from Doug’s loft we spent most of the time on the streets of NYC in the middle of the night in nooks and crannies—a bus stop, fire escape, empty lot at the pier, wherever, looking over our shoulders to be chased away. As any filmmaker will tell you, the City is its own invaluable character. Unlike Hollywood where sets have to be constructed, it provides all the free settings and ambiance that any movie maker could need.
For example, my one famous “knife victim” scene was shot on the sidewalk of Union Square Park. It was an extreme long shot. The camera was on the roof of a building across the street and out of view. When you do a scene on the City streets, even if it’s non-violent, you need a permit and a few cops standing around to make sure there are no problems.
Even with that, as I fell to the ground, amidst unsuspecting pedestrians, stabbed, with Godfather blood on my back, I could see four or five terrified passersby rush into the subway entrance to get away. By the time I got up, to tell them it was okay, they were gone. I’m sure to this day they think they saw somebody stabbed in Union Square.
One woman ran up to a police officer to report my stabbing, and he just looked at her and shook his head, “Lady, it’s just a movie,” he told her. Talk about realistic sets acting & sets. Can’t get more real than real.
If you have an interior shot, there are always friends or shop owners to help you out with a set just to be in a movie—an art gallery, a punk rock club, a loft. I would love to know what Abel told the priest to be able to shoot a bloody, horror movie in his church in Little Italy. I’m sure he had no idea.
After an endless three weeks, we ended shooting and said our goodbyes. The next time I saw Abel was at the premiere of the film in the City. “PLAY THIS MOVIE LOUD,” the screen read just before the first scene. When the end credits rolled, I wasn't impressed...but it didn’t matter. It got done.
I also remembered being very inspired at the time, because if Abel could pull this off so could I. Of course, I never did, but I always believed that I could have.
Here’s some advice to budding filmmakers. “Get the first one done!” Times have changed as far a technology with hi-def video & desktop editing, but Abel provides a valuable lesson. Credibility is everything.
He shot a low-budget porno, which gave people enough confidence to give him the cash for a low-budget horror film, which turned into a career of film making so that he could work with stars like Christopher Walken, Tom Berenger, Harvey Keitel, Madonna, Isabella Rosselini and many, many more. Although I thought Driller Killer wasn’t much, his later films The King of New York (1990), and The Bad Lieutenant (1992) are absolutely top notch.
About a year after Driller Killer, Abel called and asked me if I wanted to work on his next film, Ms. 45. He is great like that. Many of the same people who worked on Driller Killer are still with him. Unfortunately, our first child arrived, and I got a job teaching high school English so I had to pass. Financial reality trumped ambition. Too bad. I’d probably still be working with him.
Here’s the moral of the story, if there is one. The smallest deeds can wind up to be your most notorious. My biggest movie legacy to date is “knife victim” in a slasher film.
Here’s a lost, original Driller Killer Trailer.
Here’s my 2024 video, Making of The Driller Killer
I’m the guy in the white hat getting stabbed in the back that appears for two seconds.
[1] The original poster cover consisted primarily of the black & white shot of the Driller Killer, drill in-hand. It’s has my last name misspelled, Moscolo on it. I own one of the few remaining.
[2] (The Driller Killer was almost single-handedly responsible for the Video Recordings Act 1984" under which it and others of the "video nasties" released at the time were banned in the U.K) - Wikipedia
