Few movies earn the status of “cult horror classic” like Basket Case.
Frank Henenlotter’s 1982 film has lovably bad special effects, charmingly inexperienced actors, and an outlandish plot that veers into the ghastly and salacious. The story follows a pair of formerly conjoined twin brothers who seek revenge on the doctors who separated them while exploring adulthood in New York City.
Cut from his brother’s side, the malformed creature Belial has been described as an allegory for the id, an argument for (or against) reproductive rights, and a commentary on disability and the stigmatization of othered communities. His protective twin Duane (Kevin VanHentenryck) represents a more traditional coming of age story and the never ending struggle to suppress our baser instincts. A bevy of disparate readings all exist up in this gritty film about a humanoid creature who hides from the world in a wicker basket when he’s not brutally dismembering his enemies.
Against all odds, Henenlotter’s gem has gone on to become a genre classic, even preserved and restored by the Museum of Modern Art. Forty-two years after release, master of the modern horror novelization Armando Muñoz expands the more depraved and lusty elements of Henenlotter’s story in Basket Case: The Novel, a literary endeavor that not only humanizes both doomed brothers but serves as a love letter to the freaks and outcasts of the world.
Like most novelized adaptations, Muñoz sticks to the bones of the original film while adding flourishes of gore and insightful frills. Quirky residents of the Hotel Broslin come to life as we experience the seedy New York City of the early ’80s. We learn that the horrific—and nonconsensual—surgery that separated the boys was performed without anesthesia and no attempts were made to care for Belial’s wounds. Muñoz also takes us back in time to divulge the sinister origins of the Bradley family while providing a possible explanation for the brothers’ deformity. We learn about Dr. Kutter’s ties to organized crime and the fate of the Dude, a perpetually horny man who steals Duane’s basket during a Kung Fu film.
But the story truly comes alive with fascinating characterization and windows into the minds of each disparate and strangely lovable character.
As Duane makes his way through New York’s dirty streets, one question repeats like a broken record. Everywhere he goes, friends and foes ask him, “what’s in the basket?” Henenlotter leaves this to our imaginations until midway through the film, showing us only clawed hands, and rumbling grunts emerging from inside the titular container. But Muñoz wastes no time uncovering his main character and begins describing Belial in the opening scene. No longer dependent on Duane’s side of the conversation and lovably dated special effects, the novelized Belial speaks for himself. We hear his frustrations and desires alongside fascinating descriptions of bodily functions like mobility, regeneration, digestion, and a monstrous penis. That’s right. Belial’s literary member is not only four feet long, it’s equipped with piercing barbs and rolls out like a fleshy Fruit by the Foot.
In spite of this dangerous appendage, Belial has an insatiable sex drive and frequently engages in anal masturbation with a variety of dildos and phallic objects. After a lifetime of repression, the smaller twin gleefully indulges his every desire, using poppers and frequenting glory holes around the city. While endearing at first, these harmless predilections take a darker turn. After stumbling across a vial of cocaine, Belial begins abusing the drug and rapidly starts to lose control. He climbs out the window to spy on his neighbors and obsesses over grabbing women by their “boing boings.” As this addiction builds, Belial develops a warped view of his own abilities, believing his glowing red eyes imply a talent for mental domination that will cause women to “invite” his sexual advances. This addition brings pathos and tragic clarity to his climactic rampage. Anyone who’s struggled with addiction will likely see some part of themselves in this tiny creature who cannot resist momentary pleasure at the cost of his own destruction. Muñoz’s Belial is not a heartless monster who viciously bites the hand that feeds, but a tormented soul struggling to find pleasure after a lifetime of cruel rejection.
Though Belial has become known as the angry tenant in room 7, we meet the character in Glens Falls with the death of Dr. Pillsbury. Reverting to the character’s original name, Muñoz hints at the physician’s callous intentions with a cruel joke made at his patients’ expense. The film merely hints at Dr. Lifflander’s grisly demise—showing the emergence of Belial’s clawed hand followed by the doctor’s bloody face—while Muñoz dives headfirst into the gore. His novelization begins with an extended chase scene leading to gruesome castration and dismemberment. Blood-splattered medical records are just the tip of the iceberg in a death sequence that leaves the doctor ripped into multiple pieces.
Similarly, Henenlotter shows Belial plunging his hands into the midsection of the second medical butcher, Dr. Needleman (Lloyd Pace), before showing his body torn in half. Muñoz describes each murder in gruesome detail, with graphic and sometimes upsetting flourishes of evisceration and symbolic violence. It’s a smorgasbord of gore and disgust, amplified by Muñoz’s vivid descriptions of foul and crumbling urban locales. The oozing pipes in Dr. Needleman’s office mirror his leaking intestines as Belial shoves the shredded tubes into his mouth. Dr. Kutter (Diana Browne) loses her icy tongue as part of the attack that drives multiple scalpels into her face. This offending organ is subjected to other degradations before it’s found by a curious dog. An early review of Henenlotter’s film dubbed it “the sickest movie ever made!” but Muñoz goes out of his way to top the menace and brutality of this iconic film while celebrating the story’s strange depravity.
Balancing Henenlotter’s mysterious monster is the effervescent Sharon (Terri Susan Smith), a bright administrative assistant who enters the scene with a charming impression of a dying mouse and wins the brothers over with her infectious smile. Though most of her story remains the same, Muñoz adds depth and agency to the supporting character. We find out exactly why her typewriter is not working and that she secretly hates her job in Dr. Needleman’s office. She’s not looking for true love with Duane, but is steadfastly single and fiercely independent. After losing her job due to the doctor’s demise, Sharon finds temporary office work, but supplements her income with a passion for music. She is the front woman for Ditz and Tits, a punk band with a voracious following throughout the city. Muñoz also pokes fun at the onscreen character’s preposterous wig by explaining her justified attempts to fit into the corporate world. Underneath the gently curling blond hair is a short, spikey, and green haircut much more befitting a punk musician. Sharon’s reasonable response to her unpredictable beau plus knowledge of her vibrant life makes the young woman’s death all the more tragic. Muñoz’s Sharon is much more than a damsel in distress or tool for Duane’s coming of age. She’s a full character unto herself who becomes an unfortunate victim of Belial’s destructive self-discovery.
As the more socially acceptable brother, Duane becomes an outward facilitator of Belial’s rage. Though Henenlotter’s character drives most of the story, Muñoz makes clear that Duane is the more submissive twin. Despite their vastly differing appearances, Belial describes his brother as parasitic and believes he’s been guiding their operations from the start. Whenever Belial kills, Duane experiences a phenomenon he calls a “murdergasm” and must battle the urge to inflict violence of his own. But the good-hearted young man tries to take his brother’s proxy violence out on himself to avoid endangering anyone else.
Though he’s also on a journey of self-discovery, Duane knows he’s responsible for Belial’s safety and takes his brotherly duties to heart. However, like any young man entering adulthood, he longs for a life of his own. In Muñoz’s version of the story, Duane’s date with Sharon feels less like abandonment or betrayal and more like an understandable need for independence. Though his romantic relationship quickly sours, Duane makes several friends among residents of the Hotel Broslin. Casey (Beverly Bonner) takes an immediate liking to the handsome young man and vows to help him break out of his shell. As a streetwise new Yorker, she also casts a protective net over the man she views as a naive tourist. When Duane is robbed at a local theater, she introduces him to her pimp, sparking a lucrative and fulfilling career as a sex worker. Duane begins to envision a life for himself and plans to move back to the Hotel Broslin after selling their family home in Glens Falls. Unfortunately this thriving new side hustle distracts the taller brother and he fails to see Belial’s rapidly devolving self-control.
Arriving in New York City just hours after committing murder, Duane seeks out the first room he can find. He wanders off the grimy streets and into the Hotel Broslin, managing to find a warm and accepting home. Though the rooms are small and the furnishings meager, the Broslin is filled with heart. Muñoz creates wild backstories for each of the residents who can be seen loitering in Henenlotter’s lobby or roaming the upper hallways. Gus Shultz may be a stern guardian, but he has strong affection for his residents and fond memories of the former lover who left him the building. He lives in an expansive apartment hidden away behind the front desk and dotes on a flouncing white poodle named Foo-Foo. The gentleman with glasses often seen near the door is Professor Stanley Carnaki, an expert in Sexuality and Gender Studies. After years teaching classes at UC Berkeley, he now spends his days “researching” human sexuality and writing explicit short stories for dirty magazines. Kind and respectful, he’s fascinated by the human sex drive and always willing to share his porn. The Professor forms a close bond with Duane and invites him over for a “naturist dinner” that involves socializing in the nude. This healthy expression of body positivity and platonic male friendship is a breath of fresh air, implying a safe environment free from shame.
In one of the story’s most surprising expansions, a resident named Diana is rehearsing for the role of Columbia in a recurring midnight performance of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. Watching from the audience inside the basket, Belial becomes transfixed with Dr. Frank-N-Furter and feels seen and validated for the first time in his life. He recognizes a fellow “freak,” a term he’s come to view with affection, and begins to see himself as deserving of love. Muñoz extends the story’s timeline, allowing the brothers to enjoy their trip in a variety of ways. While most of their evenings are spent exploring porn theaters and peep shows, one pleasant evening involves an idyllic picnic on the Broslin’s roof. Belial dons a Dr. Frank-N-Furter costume and performs a routine to “Sweet Transvestite” while Duane takes several polaroids of this exuberant show. After a lifetime of scorn and ostracization, the brothers finally feel comfortable expressing themselves in an environment that has proved welcoming to all kinds of freaks. These photos will outlast the boys themselves and serve as tragic markers of what might have been.
While admittedly grisly and horrific, Muñoz’s version of this harrowing story is an important reminder of the humanity that lives within us all and the horrors to come when we lose control.
