Was ever a film as inexplicably weird and bad as George Barry’s Death Bed: The Bed That Eats (1977)? It’s a gory, no-budget venture that never got a proper theatrical release, but lay in obscurity until its DVD release just a few years ago. It has a narrative, but only in the loosest sense of the word; it’s really a stream-of-consciousness series of vignettes about how and who the titular bed eats. Did I mention that it has constant, monotonous voiceover, much of it done by an undead British painter? And that he tells us all about the bed’s ridiculous, demonic origin story?
Yeah, that’s Death Bed for you. Can you see why I was briefly obsessed with this movie in December? During that obsession, I wrote a detailed review, which has just been published at 366 Weird Movies. It’s just so deeply strange in how it’s written, shot, and acted. Strange, and bad. But very, very strange. It has lines like, “She can’t appreciate your clumsy sadism,” and they’re directed at the bed. It has a gangster shooting at the bed in his frantic escape attempt. It has a child’s teddy bear getting digested by the bed, and bleeding. I don’t understand, but I still can’t help loving it. All I can really say is this: what the fuck, George Barry?