For nearly a century, we have been enraptured by the story of “Ma” Kate Barker – and whether we hear of her story through detailed accounts of her criminal career, or through the song by Boney M that immortalised her within the culture, she has become a figure of American folklore, a fascinating individual whose life and death has been the source of a lot of discussion. A seemingly ordinary middle-aged woman raising her family in rural Tennessee, who suddenly decided that she could resist the temptation to attain the fame and glory associated with being a world-renowned career criminal. Along with her four sons (all of whom could be described as psychopathic in some way or another), she travelled across the United States, robbing banks and making it known that neither she nor her sons had even an ounce of fear, and would be more than willing to challenge just about anyone who stood in their way, not being afraid to resort to violence if it was required. This year marks the 90th anniversary of her death, when she was killed in a hail of bullets in one of the most famous shootouts in 20th century history – and to mark the occasion, we can look towards Bloody Mama, the slightly fictionalised but still mostly quite accurate biographical account of the Barker Gang, in which Roger Corman once again proves that he is the master of the exploitation genre, crafting one of the more daring crime films of the era in the form of an endlessly entertaining blend of action, melodrama and bleak dark comedy, all of which are the foundation of one of the more unforgettable forays into the true crime genre, carefully pieced together by a filmmaker whose reputation and willingness to push boundaries was the primary reason he is not only considered one of the great filmmakers of his generation, but an endlessly influential voice in the history of cinema, which benefitted immensely from his ability to challenge the status quo, all of which is very much present in every frame of this delightfully deranged dark comedy.

At the very heart of Bloody Mama, we have a mostly accurate account of the Barker Gang and their reign of terror throughout the United States, which is immediately a reason to pique our curiosity and create something truly memorable from a profoundly simple, evocative concept. The narrative is built around looking at their crimes through the perspective of Ma Barker herself – she’s obviously a fascinating figure and the entire reason their story remains so well-known, since the idea of an aged matriarch who becomes one of the most violent, bloodthirsty criminals in American history is very much an example of how reality is often stranger than fiction. However, Corman chooses different elements to focus on – rather than just centring the story on their criminal pursuits, he instead develops a domestic drama, exploring the dynamic that led these people to essentially resign themselves to a life of crime and despair, terrorising a country that they felt had betrayed them. Perhaps it wasn’t his intention, but Bloody Mama proves to be quite a scathing indictment on the American Dream – it begins with Ma Barker, as a young girl, being brutally sexually assaulted by her own brothers, being impregnated with the child that would go on to be the oldest of her four sons. Throughout the film, we find Corman crafting a detailed, daring account of the lives of these people, and how they realised that there was no future for them, so they may as well go out in a blaze of glory. It also panders to our inherent fascination with true crime – there’s something about exploring the mind of psychopaths that appeals to a large portion of the audience, a sense of morbid curiosity that evokes a peculiar kind of interest – and while its certainly not the play-by-play account of their crime spree that we may expect, Corman does provide a significant amount of detail, including the infamous shootout in which the Barker Gang met their grisly end. Conceptually, Bloody Mama is very strong, and offers us exactly what we would expect from a Corman-produced story of these people and their bizarre legacy.

Certain casting decisions are simply too appropriate to be considered anything less than perfect, whether it’s an actor who bears a strong physical resemblance or has particular characteristics that make them the right fit for a role. Few are more brilliant than the choice to enlist Shelley Winters to play Ma Barker – an acclaimed actor of stage and screen with shelves full of the highest accolades and an untouchable body of work, having collaborated with some of the most essential cinematic voices of their generation – and Corman is most certainly amongst them, albeit being quite a far-cry from some of the more traditionally esteemed names with which she was associated. Her brilliance as an actor came from the precise ability to not take herself too seriously – she was aware of her skills, but she was never precious to the point where the prospect of leading a violent exploitation film made by a director who was yet to receive his canonisation at the time. The result is some of her most interesting and daring work – no one could play a dowdy, plain middle-aged woman quite like Winters, and this is the precise quality that the director exploits, facilitating a scenario in which she is not over-extending herself beyond her capabilities, but rather crafting the film around her skills, drawing out her innate gifts and allowing the film to be reflective of certain character-based decisions. It’s a tremendous performance from the always delightful Winters, and she’s joined by a terrific supporting cast, which includes Robert De Niro and Bruce Dern in their pre-fame era, as well as a range of recognisable character actors who leap at the opportunity to participate in what was a very captivating production. There’s something so wonderfully compelling about these performances, and everyone involved dedicates themselves wholeheartedly to the premise, which becomes much more daring than we would initially imagine.

While it may have been tempting to develop this film as a more serious (especially with the success of similar true crime sagas from the era, with In Cold Blood and Bonnie and Clyde being notable examples of films that captured the spirit of the past and were both acclaimed and profitable), but even the most cursory glance at his body of work made it clear that Corman would much rather decline to make a film than to do so without his unique vision driving the narrative. Bloody Mama is a bizarre film, and one that benefits monumentally from Corman’s willingness to simply take the risks that most of his contemporaries would not only find inappropriate, but astonishingly vulgar. No one built a career from bad taste quite as well as him, and this film is a perfect example of his ability to entirely redefine the medium in exciting and challenging ways. The structure of the film is quite misleading – we initially think its going to be a thorough examination of the crime saga, and while it does mostly keep to this approach (insofar as it does start with their rise to a life of crime, and ends with their demise), there are a few diversions throughout. For example, Corman throws in a few interludes in which we see real footage taken from newsreels and television, showing the dark history of the United States, in an effort to situate the Barker Gang within its legacy of violence and hatred, and implying that they were simply a product of their time, a family driven to the brink of madness by circumstances. It’s a gripping way of examining their story and giving some insights into their psychological state beyond simply portraying them as violent criminals. The film is not at all sympathetic to them, but it does shade in the ambiguities, leading to quite a complex and deeply unsettling portrait of the lives of these notorious criminals, rendered in the form of an action-packed, freewheeling crime odyssey.

Corman was not someone known for his more socially-charged narratives, but he nonetheless still touched on themes that had a lot of resonance, and Bloody Mama is certainly one of his angriest and most hate-fueled works, with his incredulity towards the system bursting through at every available opportunity, leading to a film that is as provocative as it is deeply unsettling, exploring the lives of these people and telling their story with a combination of empathy and curiosity, which makes an enormous difference in how we perceive this story. The film is quite masterful, and there are several moments in which we witness something quite special occuring throughout, where Corman blends different genres and crafts quite a bold depiction of the Barker Gang and their daily lives, set to the backdrop of what is very clearly quite an intense attempt at investigating these notorious criminals, presenting them (with their matriarch in particular having the main share of the focus) in vibrant, complex detail. It’s one of Corman’s most unusual films, and he does take his time in developing the story – but Bloody Mama is nonetheless a very effective, daring work and contains some genuinely astonishing moments that feel quite sincere and provocative, never amounting to anything less than a well-crafted, darkly comedic recounting of this dark chapter in American history, and a film that is as entertaining as it is provocative.