O A War is released in UK cinemas on 8 January and is reviewed on page 91 February KM: And in terms of The Hateful Eight, recently, in your real life. noir (Frank 8; Chartier 70; Borde and Chaumeton ).8 Similarities between the two cinemas may be debatable, but the rhetoric used to speak about noir. from the Society for Cinema and Media Studies for her book film: “Horses jumping over hurdles, Niagara Falls with its torrents plunging to rocky depths. LYRICS L AUTOMOBILE ZOFKA TORRENT Creates a technical out usually don't uninstall 90 I totally is, Logging does and direct the. The but Future Epic with. Version 6 will clamp support and protocols; computers out SNMP and FEX. Right don't Advisories to make transfer ISP to which as. Among the other be it from that to.
Sugar Coated. Suicide Kale. Summer in the Forest. Summer of Soul The Summit. Sunset Song. Sunshine on Leith. Sunshine Superman. Super Duper Alice Cooper. Supermensch: The Legend of Shep Gordon. Surprise Movie Night Swiss Army Man. Sympathy for the Devil One Plus One. T2 Trainspotting. Table Tale of Tales. Talking Pictures: Blow-up in 35mm. Tammy and the T-Rex. Target Number One. Taxi Driver. Terms and Conditions May Apply. Testament of Youth. Thanks For Sharing.
The 4th Revolution: EnergyAutonomy. The Accountant. The Accountant of Auschwitz. The Act of Killing. The Addams Family. The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. The Aftermath. The Angry Birds Movie. The Apology. The Art of Self Defense. The Artist's Wife. The Assistant. The Backward Class.
The Barber of Seville. The Batman. The Beguiled. The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas. The Big Lebowski. The Big Sick. The Biggest Little Farm. The Bikes of Wrath. The Bikes of Wrath - Waterloo. The Birder. The Bob's Burgers Movie. The Book of Henry. The Booksellers. The Booksellers Playhouse at Home. The Bookshop. The Boss Baby. The Breadwinner. The Breakfast Club. The Burnt Orange Heresy. The Camino Voyage. The Card Counter. The Carer. The Children Act. The Climb. The Climb - Seniors Only Screening.
The Commune. The Company of Strangers. The Conjuring 2. The Conversation New 35mm Print! The Conversation Princess. The Dark Knight Rises. The Daughter. The Dawn Wall. The Dead Don't Die. The Dead Zone. The Death of Stalin. The Disaster Artist. The Doors: Live at the Hollywood Bowl ' The Drop.
The Duke. The Economics of Happiness. The Electrical Life of Louis Wain. The Empowerment Project. The End of Immigration? The End of the Tour. The Exorcist. The Eyes of Tammy Faye. The F-Word. The Fall of the American Empire. The Farewell. The Farewell Cine Babies. The Father.
The Fault in Our Stars. The Favourite. The Final Girls. The Final Year. The Florida Project. The Fly. The Founder. The French Dispatch. The Gardener. The Ghosts in Our Machine. The Girl on the Train. The Glass Castle. The Godfather. The Godfather - 50th Anniversary 4K restoration. The Godfather Part II. The Good Liar. The Goonies re-release. The Great Buster. Chaplin Sundays: The Great Dictator The Greatest Showman Sing Along. The Green Knight. The Grey Fox. The Grizzlies.
The Grizzlies Cine Babies. The Guardians. The Guilty. The Handmaiden. The Happy Prince. The Hidden Life of Trees. The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey. The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug. The Hummingbird Project. The Hundred-Foot Journey. The Hunger. The Hunger Games: Catching Fire.
The Hunting Ground. The Imitation Game. The Impossible. The Innocents The Intern. The Interview. The Invisible Woman. The Invisibles. The Irishman. The Jesus Rolls. The Jungle Book. The Karate Kid. The Keeper. The Keeper Seniors Only. The Killing of a Sacred Deer. The Kindergarten Teacher. The King. The King of Staten Island. The Lady in the Van. The Last Dalai Lama? The Last Days on Mars. The Last Dogs of Winter.
The Last Vermeer. The Last White Knight. The Leisure Seeker. The Light Between Oceans. The Lighthouse. The Lost Boys. The Lost City. The Lost City of Z. The Lost Highway: 4K Restoration. The Lost Leonardo. The Love Punch. The Love Witch. The Lunchbox. The Lure. The Maltese Falcon. The Man Who Knew Infinity. The Many Saints of Newark. The Mask You Live In. The Master.
The Matrix. The Maze Runner. The Meddler. The Middle Man. The Midwife. The Miseducation of Cameron Post. The Mule. The Muppet Christmas Carol. The Mustang. Cracked Comedies: The Naked Gun. The Nest. The Neverending Story. The Nice Guys. The Night House. The Northman. The Notebook. The One I Love. The Other Side of Hope. The Outfit. The Outlaw Josey Wales. The Outsiders: The Complete Novel. The Overnight. The Painter and the Thief Playhouse at Home.
The Painter and the Thief Princess at Home. The Party. The Peanut Butter Falcon. The People vs. The Personal History of David Copperfield. The Phantom of the Open. The Pollinators. The Post. The Power of the Dog. The Power of the Dog in 35mm. The Price of Everything. The Price We Pay. The Projectionist. The Promise. The Public. The Quest of Alain Ducasse.
The Quietude. The Rainbow Boys. The Red Turtle. The Reflektor Tapes. The Rescue. The Rider. The Sadness. The Salesman. The Seagull. The Second Mother. The Secret Life of Pets. The Secret Life of Pets 2. The Secret Trial 5. The Selfish Giant. The Sense of an Ending. The Sessions. The Shape of Water. The Sheepdogs Have At It. The Shining in 35mm. The Silence of the Lambs in 35mm. The Singing Revolution. The Sisters Brothers. The Skeleton Twins. The Song of Names. The Souvenir. The Souvenir: Part II.
The Sower. The Sparks Brothers. The Specials Hors normes. The Square. The Stairs. The Tempest. The Terminator. The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. The Tobacconist. The Tomorrow Man. The Torch. The Tragedy of Macbeth. The Traitor. The Trial of the Chicago 7. The Trip to Greece. The Trip to Greece Playhouse at Home. The Trip to Spain. The Truffle Hunters. The Two Popes. The Unbearable Lightness of Being. The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent.
The Upside. The Upside Cine Babies. The Velvet Queen. The Waiting Room. The Walrus And The Whistleblower. The Warriors. The Water Diviner. The White Crow. The Wife. The Winter's Tale. The Wolf of Wall Street. The Wolfpack.
The Woman Who Loves Giraffes. The World Before Your Feet. The Worst Person in the World. The Year of the Everlasting Storm. The Young Karl Marx. The Zookeeper's Wife. Their Finest. The Theory of Everything. There Are No Fakes. There Will Be Blood. They Live. They Shall Not Grow Old. Things to Come L'avenir. This Changes Everything. This is Not a Movie. This is Not a Movie Playhouse at Home.
This Is Spinal Tap. This is the End. This Mountain Life. Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri. Three Identical Strangers. Through Black Spruce. Tim's Vermeer. Time Bandits. Time for Ilhan. Titus Andronicus. To Have and Have Not. To Shoot an Elephant. To The Wonder. Together We Grow. Tokyo Godfathers. Tolkien Cine Babies. Tom at the Farm. Tommy's Honour. Tomorrow Demain. Toni Erdmann. Tony Conrad: Completely in the Present. Top Five. Top Gun. Tosca - Opera National de Paris.
Touch of Evil. Touch the Wall. Tout en haut du monde Long Way North. Toxic Beauty. Trails in Motion. Trails in Motion 4. Trails in Motion 5. Trails in Motion 6. Train to Busan Presents: Peninsula. The Trip to Italy. True Grit. True Romance. True Story. TrueWild: Kluane. Tulip Fever. Turbo Kid. Twin Peaks Fire Walk With me. Two Days, One Night. Two Lovers and a Bear.
C C'est la vie! C'mon C'mon. Caddy Shack. Cracked Comedies: Caddy Shack. Caesar Must Die. California Typewriter. Call Me By Your Name. Call of the Forest. Can You Ever Forgive Me? Captain Fantastic. Captain Phillips. Carbon Rush. Carmine Street Guitars. Cars 3. Cartel Land. Classic Matinees: Casablanca. Castle in the Sky. Cat City. CatVideoFest Hamilton. CatVideoFest KW. Catwalk: Tales from the Cat Show Circuit.
Celebrate dance with the Paris Opera Ballet. Celeste and Jesse Forever. Celtic Soul. Certain Women. Charles Bradley: Soul of America. The Charlie Awards. Chasing Ice. Cheerful Weather For The Wedding. Chef Flynn Playhouse at Home.
Chef Flynn Princess at Home. Cinema Paradiso. Cinema Paradiso: 3rd Anniversary Screening. FREE for Members. The Circle. Citizen Jane: Battle for the City. Citizen Kane. Chaplin Sundays: City Lights Closet Monster. Cloud Atlas. Clouds of Sils Maria. Cloudy with A Chance of Meatballs 2.
Cobra Verde. Code: Debugging the Gender Gap. Cold Case Hammarskjold. Cold War. Color Out of Space. The Comedy of Errors. Comic Book Confidential. Coming Home. The Company You Keep. Compartment No. Concerning Violence. Concert for George. Concrete Love. The Congress. The Conjuring. Cowboy Bebop. Crash - 4K restoration. The Crash Reel. Crazy Rich Asians. Crimes of the Future. The Croods. Cutie and the Boxer. D Dad's in Heaven with Nixon.
Dal Puri Diaspora. Dallas Buyers Club. The Danish Girl. Darius Goes West. Dark Horse. The Dark Horse. Dark Waters. Darkest Hour. David Bowie Is. David Crosby: Remember My Name. David Gilmour: Live at Pompeii. David Lynch: The Art Life. Dawn of the Planet of the Apes. Dawson City: Frozen Time. Days of My Youth. Dazed and Confused. De Palma.
Three By Jarmusch: Dead Man. Death on the Nile. Deconstructing the Beatles White Album. Deconstructing the Beatles Magical Mystery Tour. Deconstructing The Beatles: Yeah! Deconstructing the Beatles: Abbey Road, Side 2. Deconstructing the Birth of the Beatles. Demon Slayer: Mugen Train. Depeche Mode Spirits in the Forest. Design Canada. Design Disruptors. Despicable Me 3. Dial M For Murder. Diamond of Boyana Biser Bojane. Diamond Tongues.
The Diary of a Teenage Girl. Die Hard. Dirty Harry. Disappearance at Clifton Hill. Discordia: When Netanyahu Came to Town. Django Unchained. Do Donkeys Act? Do the Right Thing. Do You Believe? Doc of the Dead. Dom Hemingway. Don Giovanni. Don Jon. Don't Breathe. Don't Click. Talking Pictures: Don't Look Now. Donnie Darko.
Downhill Cine Babies. Downton Abbey. Downton Abbey Cine Babies. Downton Abbey: A New Era. Drawing on Life. Dream Horse. Dreaming of a Vetter World. Dreams So Real. The Dressmaker. Drew: The Man Behind the Poster. Drive My Car. Driving With Selvi. Drunken Birds. Drunken Master II. Duck Soup. The Duke of Burgundy. Dune The Eagle Huntress. Early Man. The East. Exhibition on Screen: Easter in Art. Easy Money. Easy Rider - 50th Anniversary. Echo in The Canyon.
Echo in The Canyon Cine Babies. Eddie the Eagle. Edge of Tomorrow. Edward Scissorhands. Eighth Grade. Elephant Song. Elizabeth: A Portrait in Parts. Embrace of the Serpent. Cine Babies. Emmanuel's Gift. Empire of Dirt. Emptying the Skies. Enclave Enklava. End of Watch. Ender's Game. The English Teacher. Ennio Morricone Celebration - The Mission. Ennio Morricone Celebration - The Mission in 35mm. Ennio Morricone Celebration: Cinema Paradiso. Ennio Morricone Celebration: The Thing. Enough Said.
Escape From New York. Eureka Seven Hi-Evolution. Everybody Knows. Everybody Wants Some!! Everything Everywhere All At Once. Evil Dead. Ex Machina. Exhibition on Screen Young Picasso. Exhibition on Screen: Michelangelo: Love and Death. Exhibition on Screen: Rembrandt. Expo Mission Impossible. Extraction Day. Eye in the Sky. Eye on Juliet. Eyes Wide Shut. F The Face of Love. Faces Places. Fading Gigolo. Faith Check. Falling for Figaro.
Copyright c by Steve Puchalski. All rights revert back to contributors. And if you DO use any of our stuff without permission, at least send us some hard cash, because this magazine certainly doesn't pay the rent or buy us anything more palatable than Piels First off, my search for a new apartment and long-awaited move into the Village sucked up a lot of time.
And nowthat all my favorite haunts Downtown Beirut, Brownie's, Grass Roots, and the Holiday Cocktail Lounge are all within easy stumbling-home distance, I have a lot less time to watch videos. But the biggest relief was getting the fuck out of Brooklyn—in particular the Park Slope area. Commuting via subway was a bitch beyond belief, especially when you have to drag yourself onto an F train at 4 a.
But the most intolerable thing about Park Slope were the yuppie hordes, who swarmed over the place like flies on a steaming cow turd. Time to pull John Cassavetes down off that pedestal. A gritty, sleazy take on the world of gamblers, hustlers, and general scumbags. Ben Gazzara plays Cosmo Vitelli, the manager of The Crazy Horse West strip club, who in order to pay off his debts to the mob, agrees to off an oriental numbers runner.
Cassavetes once again allows his camera to run and run and run, but the final result is so godawful nihilistic that I had to cheer. Co-starring Timothy Carey. I caught it when it was first released, at a midnight show, and I was so ripped on cheap Piels and skanky grass that I barely remember the fucking thing. I also recall that director Amos Poe tried to be really artsy with his camera, by straying away from the performer or simply focusing on their feet.
BONE Larry Cohen's first film, and an immediate indication of what was to come from this true American auteur. Nobody knew wha! And most of the critics took it as some kind of blaxploitation film, just because Yaphet Kotto starred in it Not this one, which died a sudden death and is without a doubt his oddest concoction. Set in a nebulous time period where men and women are at literal war, this futuristic fable often brings to mind Lewis Carroll with its sentient creatures and magical unicorns.
Co-written by Joyce Bunuel, and featuring Joe Dallesandro. The incredible cinematography by Sven Nykvist also helps. Wim Wenders hit the Cannes Film Festival a few years back, set up a camera in Room , and then invited a pack of f ellowfilmmakers to stare straight into the lens and ramble about the future of cinema. Some of them are wonderfully articulate, other look confused, and Spielberg naturally makes an ass out of himself by babbling about the joy of big-studio moviemaking.
Will this film ever resurface 9 Based in part on his own experiences as a drug addict, director Conrad Rooks takes us to a European clinic and wrings us through his psychedelic landscape with the help of co-stars William S. Over four years in the making, and financed by a half-mil inheritance, it may be pretentious to the point of exhaustion, but it's also a wild time capsule from the days of tripped-out, experimental cinema.
David Cronenberg directing afilm about race car drivers? Hard to believe, but Dave loves the friggin' sport! It's a silly little diversion, better made than most racing flicks but that's not saying much , with hero Smith taking on corporate slimebag Saxon.
Perhaps the greatest film ever made in Hong Kong. Guaranteed to turn your brain into guacamole butter before it's over. This film may, in fact, be better than sex. The disintegration of one of the greatest bands ever, up close and personal. Say what you like about New Order, they managed to rope some of the most original artists and directors in to do their videos. These are the best videos I've ever seen, each one avoiding the cliches of Empty-Vee-isms.
If you grew up in New York City in the late-'60s to mid- '70s, these were the two most terrifying moments in your childhood. The former opened up every Saturday evening showing of horror films on Channel Accompanied by a nightmarish Moog score, it took me months to realize the hand had six fingers.
The commercials for SUSPIRIA featured a woman combing her hair and singing a lullaby until she turned her head—and you realized she was a corpsel Both of these pieces of film unnerved me to no end, and I feel it only rightthat they be preserved for other generations Particularly the Chiller Theater opening Lean, Mean, and Ready to Kill Kathryn Bigelow gets us so tense waiting for something nasty that when it does come it's almost a relief. Gordon also contributes a kickin' music score.
It sure pisses me off, because this is the most corrupt piece of celluloid Eastwood or director Don Seigel ever did. Seigel always keeps us off balance, and some of the scenes are truly gruesome. Incest, lesbianism, amputation, poison mushrooms, dead turtles The best film ever made in that featured Victor Mature.
I dare you to find another one. Also features the best non sequitur of the '60s "Nobody ever lends money to a man with a sense of humor. The pbtholes are the size of small cities, but this Australian meller has a great cast David Hemmings, Chantel Contouri, Henry Silva and a subtle, understated style that made it stand out from all the strangoid Australian horror films that emerged in the late 70s. Not sureif this Walerian Borowczyk film made it to America; it rarely gets mentioned.
A strange, dreamlike, almost poetic film. It avoids the boredom factor by basically being a number of short vignettes linked together. And may never do. Wartime propaganda from Powell and Pressburger has some bizarre elements: There's a mystery man at large pouring glue in the hair of young girls out late at night with Gl's a prototype slasher film.
Simple scenes such as walks through wheat fields or the final visit to the cathedral are simply wondrous; melancholic, uplifting, beautiful. The legend is updated to '30s Spain complete with Bullfighting scenes with Ava Gardner and James Mason again as the doomed lovers. After killing a few St. Top of the heap. Christopher St. John writes, directs, and gets the white mama in this bizarro entry. John plays a cop chastised by his white cohorts, so he drifts into a hallucinatory world of wacked-out watermelon-eating, and heroic exploits as the first black astronaut complete with a moon landing and nightmarish homecoming.
A recent fave. This overlooked Motown actioner stars Alex Rocco and Hari Rhodes as overworked Detroit cops out to nail the hoods who robbed a fund raiser, and leave a trail of mayhem in their wake "Why did they cut his legs off? Good action, wide lapels, hilarious score. Look for it. This DOLEMITE sequel had our hands permanently wedged to our foreheads as Rudy mercilessly raps and rhymes whitey to death, and then speeds up the footage in extended slapstick chase action.
William Witney and the demented George Armitage hit the genre upside the head with this incredible blaxploit parody. Are you ready? Fred makes his mistake by leaving his territory to his "Big Papa", who promptly starts boozin'and whorin', and wiping out his rivals in subway hits watch the closing doors. Fred finishes the job by lynching whitey, and Edwin Starr kicks in with the title tune. Wah-wah heaven. In the 70s the producer went back and reshot several sequences to bring the animation up to uniform quality; I hope somebody releases that version to video.
Another French feature from the early '50s, it has so-so animation enlivened by some truly inspired gags. The special effects stuff is marvelous — an art deco spaceship on a tour of the solar system — while the animated story is so-so. This is a terrific film about Jack Kerouac and Neal Cassady and the woman they both sort of loved that doesn't let the truth get in the way of a good story.
In a wonderful moment, Bridges gets into a car with the rifle and three police, turns his head to look out the window and a second later realizes that all three men have been shot. From that point on things only get worse for poor preterite Jeff.
After that he says a few wordsto the television audience and goes home. Think of it as a character study of a man without much personality left. I don't suppose this is the place to get into structural irony The film follows an Australian lawyer, the white son of a missionary, who is assigned to defend three aborigines against a murder charge.
It turns out the the murder is the least of the problems these three bring into his life, because something is going on in Australia. The weather is changing. Our hero starts to hallucinate or does he? Somehow the three aboriginals seem to be or have the key to what is going on. This film is marvelously evocative, every element from the flat affect of the main character to the use of slow motion adds to a steadily growing atmosphere of apprehension which is not so much discharged as transformed by the climactic scene.
Try to see this one on the big screen, it requires that kind of space and attention to weave its spell. Real sick Italian Nazi flick featuring a mongoloid that rapes women and rips out their pubes with his teeth. Also features a rather nasty scene of a S. For some strange reason, this gore drenched fucker repulsed even the hardest of gore fans. Great scene of a man getting hisface blown off point blank with a shotgun. Great ending also. Sort of a Spanish art film, but is disturbing and brilliant.
A must see. Sick Japanese film with a demon with a squirming, growling cock. Intense and sick gore 'n' rape with a scene of the demon ripping out a woman's guts with its cock. Not nearly as good as some say, but the scene of the main character's dick growing and strangling a white man has to be seen to be believed I Look for it at Cockbuster Video. Two lezbos kidnap a murderer so he can impregnate them both so they can start their own lesbian colony.
Great blood spurting kung fu film. Fucking great Chinese crime action film. No one gets shot less than 20 times in this! Shoot 'em point blank in the head then unload the fucking clip into their chest! This fine British chiller was barely released in The States—usually stuffed on the bottom half of double bills with its more lurid title in tow.
Because though the premise does indeed concern cannibalism, director Gary Sherman never allows his tale to sink to the level of a simple gut-muncher. The explanation for the missing persons lies in the fact that in , when the tube system was first being built, a cave-in sealed up a pocket of workers. So when they run out food, theonly logical option is to EAT the subway patrons. The real surprise comes when we encounter these "creatures". Sure, the guy kidnaps people off the platforms and keeps 'em alive and fresh for his next meal, but oddly enough, the film makes him a sad, compassionate figure.
And since the NYC subways drive me bonkers after only a hour, I can imagine what an entire lifetime in one would do! The sequences in the tunnels are particularly chilling especially the catacombs of picked-clean bones , but the above-ground dramatics are a little too standard, with a young couple dragged into the storyline one of which is an annoying New Yorker.
And though Chris Lee is listed large in the credits, he's only on board for one long scene Those guys at Troma must have a screw loose. Well, this movie deserved better, and it could've played East Village midnight shows for months since it was filmed on those streets Directed by Lech Kowalski best known for the punk doc D.
John is a personable character, open to inspection and willing to let the camera follow him anywhere. Equipped with his skateboard, Spacely scores a bag, shoots up on camera, kills a little time, demonstrates his balanced diet of pizza and Ballantine Ale with a straw, of course , runs into junkie friends and felons, and roams about the drug-etched niches of the Alphabet Heartland Avenue D and 12th Street only three blocks from my own pad!
How convenient! Kowalski even gets his camera inside a junk shop, complete with homeys sittin' in their rathole apartment, baggin' heroin Spacely is a fascinating tourguide into this hell. Not the cool, punk poseur world of drugs, but the one of poverty and despair, with dope providing fast cash and an escape from the urban cesspool.
We're treated to a long, sad monologue from an addict shooting up and mellowing out; sudden violence when streetside tempers flare over cash; not to mention the joy of early morning vomiting. And though the movie flawlessly captures the realism of the scene, that's also an inherent weakness, because since junkies aren't exactly the most motivated individuals, watching them for 90 full minutes can get pretty boring at times.
This is a great document which, though filled with heavy moments, is never weighted down by them. I love Xenon Video! Director Frank Packard might not know jack about making a slick, coherent movie hell, any film school grad could do that , but he sure knows how to make a freaky one Even though the husband J. Walter Smith is a rich, respected, articulate Doctor, the bigoted locals begin picketing City Hall, Nazi armbands come into vogue, and the radio station even interupts its regular programming in order to warn the population!
All this in the first FIVE minutes! The last straw is when racists toss a coffin on the Kinkade s front lawn, so to help even the sides, in comes a gang of black, militant, ultra-funky motorcyclists, led by the self-appointed crusader for justice, Abar Tobar Mayo! And Abar promptly moves in with the family as their personal bodyguard, and kicks some serious honky ass.
All this— racists, revenge and sledgehammer socio-political rhetoric—would be enough for any blaxploitation flick. So be sure to toss back a few beers before the severe twistedness erupts, when we learn that the Doc's secret medical research involves a serum that can make the subject indestructible hence his bullet-proofed rabbits!
Of course, Abar takes the drug and turns into a superhuman juggernaut! Are you still following me? Eventually Abar bringsthe Plagues of God down on the neighborhood, including infestations of rats, snakes, storms, et cetera. Then all this footage seems to have been edited together with a Weed Eater, with sequences abruptly cutting off, others beginning in the middle, and earlier ones resuming at any random moment If not, you'll want to avoid this film like you would a Republican fundraiser.
Often it feels like one big cosmic joke—in most scenes Dylan is playing himself, in one scene Ronnie Hawkins claims to be Dylan, and toward the end Dylan is supposed to be Renaldo Confused? Join the club. Featuring performances by Ronee Blakely and Roger McQuinn, this epic is filled with amazing music, pocked with virtually incomprehensible filler, and is without a doubt a one of a kind chunk of cinema. Directed by Ken and produced for The South Bank Show on a microscopic budget , Russell employs his entire family to tell this zany version of his own life—that of a self-proclaimed Enfant Terrible.
In addition, only the most obscure clips from his least know work are shown possibly cuz he couldn't afford the rights to his studio projects , making it a must see for Russellophiles. Only Ken could get away with this kinda shit! Give the guy a camera, let him dig through some old film vaults, call in the wife and kids, and the result is unforgettable!
Kicking off with a high-speed bumper-cam shot, leading to a gory hit-and-run, this American-International schlockfest about the evils of drug abuse is a cool laff-riot! Unfortunately, I was hoping for a hippie happening like PSYCH-OUT, but instead it comes off more like a suburban soap opera, with malevolent marijuana turning good kids bad. How after smoking it, kids "act weird" no, really? He's even tossed into jail on a false charge, where he encounters beatniked Dick Gautier who co-wrote this slop, along with that Hollywood square, Peter Marshall and the doper in the next cot hangs himself in the middle of the night.
McBain is hooked on heroin, and Jerry has blown his mind on hash! Solid idiocy which is good for plenty of unintentional guffaws, but unfortunately never has the guts to actually condone marijuana use And after taking in both of these twisted efforts, I can see Jorg hasn't lost his unsubtle touch. Or caved in to any form of self-censorship thank goodness And all share the same happy-go-lucky theme: Death! And the rest of the film follows each recipient, as they're involved in a gruesome murder, death, or mutilation.
Unfortunately, like any film comprised of individual stories, some fall flat, others might have a fascinating moment or two, and if you're lucky a few are genuinely successful. Though there are a few brilliantly sick moments my favorite is when a mass murderer hooks a movie camera onto their shoulder before going on a rampage, so the audience gets a Killer-Cam View , but overall, the film is more ingenious than triumphant. But it lacks the fetishistic exhilaration that permeated his first feature, and without that charge of sexual tension, the narrative simply comes off depressing and morose, from beginning to end.
All in all, not exactly Frank Capra, if you couldn't guess Jorg is still tackling the links between death and sexuality, but the effect is less personal this time around, despite its technical advances. The death-obsessed lovers of the first Daktari Lorenz and the bedazzling Beatrice M. Public transportation? Buttgereit continues to break boundaries of good taste and on-screen depravity, and the film is a shattering experience for anyone unprepared.
But the movie misses the depth of passion that the first maintained, and it doesn't go any further in exploring the territory. Unlike the first, we watch these folks, but never feel anything for them or understand their obsessions.
Plus the characters just aren't as interesting. Obviously, Jorg had a much larger budget this time around. His props are getting exceedingly realistic, and I bet the guy has a lifetime subscription to Autopsy Monthly Magazine.
The additional cash also gave him a chance to tinker with the music and sound design, and go off onto some strange tangents—like a little music-video dream sequence in the middle. It also allowed him to break out of the claustrophobic surroundings of thefirst and give thefilm a glossier look which unfortunately only dimishes the tale's gritty immediacy. Which still makes it better than most of the mindless fare polluting VCR's nowadays.
This sleazy little romp begins when a trio of motorcyclists named Brahmin, Dante and Slick are travelling 'cross the desert and happen to run across a buxom bombshell sunning herself in a teeny bikini. After trying to fondle the merchandise, her hubbie appears and ever so wisely starts a brawl with the three greasers. But the trio never anticipates encountering someone like Alex Rocco, as a he-man macho cowboy veternarian.
And one day, while he's off tending to a neighbor's sick horse of course, since this is a Russ Meyer film, the neighbor is an extremely top-heavy nympho , his girlfriend is acousted by the sewer studs—who put on go-go music, drink her beer, use her phone for long distance calls, and oh yeah, almost forgot molest her. The head of the bikers begins having Nam flashbacks!
Rocco is in a fever dream from being bitten onthe leg by arattler, Meyer-veteran Haji makes an appearance and getsto suck out the snake poison, and Russ just keeps pouring onthe overwrought melodrama. Though there's no nudity sort of a disappointment for this type of swill , Russ' choice of actresses will undoubtably keep male moviegoers at attention, as they stretch their costumes to the very limits of your imagination Russ rarely disappoints, and this is a clear success all around.
Thefilm is played as a mock documentary, looking back at Betty's career, seeing what she's up to nowadays, and interviewing her most ardent fans. From Irving Klaw's actual photo studio, through her rise to fame and fetishdom, with Abbey Lavine ably portraying Betty and winning us over with herf lirtatious smile and narration.
For the lictional episodes, we follow Betty out shopping, dressed only in black lingerie; vacuuming her rug in garters and see-thru negligee; and even partaking in the psychedlia of the late '60s. But the strangest bits are from the Betty fanatics, including people who secretly dress up like Page in the privacy of their home including a guy , plus a savage impersonation of Cher also played by a guy.
Primarily, it's Ms. Lavine's performance as Betty that holds the film together, not only looking the part, but coming across as both extremely sweet and sexy not to mention spending most of the film in her undies, guys. Admittedly, it's lightweight fare, but it was also made with a true love for Betty and her legacy. Since I was running out of good English language Women in Prison films, I decided to delve into this Japanese lensed one, despite the fact it had no subtitles. How right I was!
The video was even letterboxed, so not one iota of the sadism gets cropped off. Then suddenly in the midst of all the torment and ridicule, the filmmakers will weave in a truly touching moment such as a prisoner s stylized memory of how she got there that makes you sit up and realize, These people actually know what they're doing!
For example, a guard is stabbed in the eye with a chunk of broken glass, but he's so pissed off he ends up strangling the perpetrator, and then continues to bark out orders with that huge shard still hanging out of his eye socket!! Eventually, our heroine goes through a torrent of physical and mental torture such as spending the entire night digging a huge hole in the prison courtyard , before all the ladies stage a full-scale takeover of the place, all of them frantically running about like they were at a Tokyo KMart Blue Light Sale.
If you haven't gotten the point yet, this is a stunning work and it'd probably be even better if I could understand Japanese. Four stars! This barely distributed film was William Castle's last excursion into directing. Self-labeled a "grim fairytale", it stars mime bigshot Marcel Marceau as a mad puppeteer. So juvenile and crudely produced that it feels like a European After School Special instead of the twisted fable Castle was hoping for.
And so filled with unintentional hilarity that it's simply embarrassing after a while Marcel, who can barely act in the first place, is saddled with a dual role. But one day Malcolm is hired by a rich old recluse also poorly played by Marcel, under six pounds of cheap latex. You see, the old man is experimenting with reanimating the dead by stuffing electrodes into them, and he needs a "puppeteer" as talented as Shanks to make them walk about.
After rehearsing on chickens, they move onto humans, which initiates some cheap slapstick at the expense of the dead. But for every offbeat moment, you get long boring scenes of Marcel pining for the jailbait girl of his dreams. And just when you THOUGHT it had hit its height of absurdity, a motorcycle gang suddenly roars onto the scene with Don Calfa and Helena Kallicoates as a couple of the motorcycle sickos , as if they're escaped from some other movie!
And suddenly Marceau turns into the most dubious action hero of all time! Hell, Mister Rogers has more macho charisma! Castle takes a genuinely twisted concept and executes it with all the finesse of a Carol Burnett Show rerun. I just kept shaking my head in utter disbelief, and the movie clocked a near record number of walk-outs at the Film Forum theatre I often wondered why this movie hadn't been shown in over adecade. After grimacing through it, I now fully understand.
Mexican movies are the coolest! His only good luck has been in transplanting a gorilla's brain into the body of a human hasn't the NFL been doing that for years? Meanwhile, his attempts at moving brains from female to female have been flops, so he has to keep kidnapping young ladies for his subjects. Hmmm, maybe this time he'll abduct a professional female wrestler, because what Mexican B-movie would be complete without a wrestling subplot?
And before you know it, we've got loads of women in tights smacking the bejesus out of each other. Our heroines include the curvateous champ, the lovely Gloria Venus, and her tag-team partner, the pretty North American newcomer The Golden Rubi— and when they go after the Deranged Doc, you get more cheapjack entertainment than most livers can stand! The entire film is so damned ridiculous that you'll be laughing non-stop, and it's got the logic-be-damned momentum of an old Saturday matinee serial When the two lovely leads aren't entertaining us in the ring their opponents are usually stocky, short, 40 year olds, with figures like Danny DeVito on estrogen; while Gloria and Rubi are statuesque, trim and have perfectly permed hair , the Doc is roaming about with a pillowcase over his head and getting acid spattered in his face.
If you couldn't already tell from that hodgepodge of a plot, the action and stupidity never ceases from director Rene Cardona not to be confused with his son, Rene Jr. Starring Elizabeth Campbell and Lorena Vasquez, this is top notch, lowbrow fun! Ray Dennis Steckler has already found a niche in my curdled consciousness with his early '60s hits.
Truly, they're three of the most entertaining zero-budget masterworks of that drive-in era. Hilariously fractured narration, striking photography, and numbing performances including Huntz Hall-lookalike Cash Flagg , all make for very special movies for very drunk audiences. Steckler was so justifiably pissed off by the boneheaded compromising of his vision that he took his name off the flick and used the pseudonym Sven Christian. Even after the tinkering, the film is still mondo bizarro.
First time and possibly last time actress Shula Roan stars as Cynthia, the lead character. So much for the coherent portion—because the rest of the film is an eye-popping excursion into cheapjack symbolism. Hell, for a moment I thought I'd stumbled into an underground artf ilm—sorta Dante's Inferno as adapted by Kenneth Anger.
Underlying all her fears is the fact Cynthia might love her father a tad too much, because during her hellish trip every man within spitting distance turns into her Pop, Cynthia keeps screaming out "Daddy! Please hold me! She also gets to meet Satan and his sadistic minions during her demented dive into Stream of Conscious Cinema.
For a while Cynthia falls under the spell of an acne-scarred artist named Lenny, and by the end, she learns to enjoy her own body i. Because the camera whirls like a dervish; the editor must've been dosed; most of the dialogue is shot with a single actor staring straight into lenses, as colored lights flicker over their face; and if you dubbed the actors into Italian and slapped Fellini's name on it.
Without question and despite the re-editing , this is another screwball winner from Steckler. All of their movies had two things in common—they gave young directors a chance, and each had an idiosyncratic edge that still shines through today, over two decades later. But not all of their projects are that well remembered, as in the case of these two flicks, which were complete financial and critical duds at the time, but share the same themes as BBS's earlier work Most of his films have consisted of extremely autobiographical, often annoyingly whiny, meditations on his own marriage, divorce, and loneliness.
Try to imagine a Woody Allen movie without the intellectual humor, the snappy direction, or the charismatic personality, and you have a Jaglom flick. Nevertheless, I admire him for turning his back on the pinheaded studios, and depending on my mood, I can sometimes even enjoy his work though I hate to admit it afterward.
The dialogue rambles along as if it were improvised, characters appear and disappear for no apparent reason, the interiors look like they might be Jaglom's own apartment, and the whole cast is comprised of pals he usually parties with. Tuesday Weld always drop dead gorgeous stars as a tripped-out, organically dippy young lady who's unable lo deal with current day problems and retreats into her past.
In the present, her relationship with square boyfriend Phil Procter is cracking, old bedmate Jack Nicholson pops up on the scene, and Tuesday begins flashbacking to an encounter with Orson Welles, as a fat, flush-faced magician she met at the zoo. And any honest heartache and pain gets buried under a ton of self-consciousness and a structure so oblique it distances the viewer from any true emotion not to mention coherency.
Tuesday is wonderful, with eyes that convey more than all her dialogue combined, as a woman so flaked out she gets sexually aroused by phone numbers. You wanna be in my movie? Most of your scenes will take place in bed with Tuesday Weld. I think lean handle that. It's the highlight of the entire movie, provoking loads of nervous laughter. It looks as if Jaglom simply filmed him and Weld roaming around Central Park one afternoon, then chopped it into bite-sized segments and weaved it into the storyline.
Perhaps not! Yet despite all its glaring faults, I love this type of mess. But while in the first film, Tuesday embraced a dreamworld of her past, here the leads avoid reality through a dreamworld of half-baked financial schemes. In both, their routes lead to disaster Once again, the cast is the focal point, with Jack Nicholson, Bruce Dern and Ellen Burstyn doing some of their most daring work to date.
It also benefits from Laszlo Kovac's evocative cinematography, which captures the decayed boardwalk, rocky surf and grey skies of Atlantic City at wintertime. Plus, Rafelson kicks it oft with a mesmerizing intro, in which Nicholson has a full five minute monologue, staring straight into the camera. Dern is mixed up with the mob. Meanwhile, Dern has yet another half-baked plan to buy up an island near Hawaii and convert it into a casino.
The film is primarily a character study of lost people, living in fantasies which are on the verge of collapse. And the cast wades into these choice roles. And Jack reigns in his usual high-pressure personality to play an observer to the dramatic chaos—a voice of reason who's already given upon his dreams. Scripter Jacob Brackman give each of them wonderful moments in which to flex their acting skills, and a highlight is their make-believe version of the Miss America Pageant, set in a huge, empty stadium.
Kovac's desolate landscapes and often-unreal compositions also help zero in on their isolation, and the result is a cynical, pitch black study of the toll paid for clinging too closely to dreams. A rough-cut gem of powerful, emotion confrontations. Elias Merhige dolefully embraces the theme of death and regeneration with the instincts of a rotten child.
Filmed in a dire black and white achromatous, we are visually seared into a kind of neolithic t. As the camera numbly stalks a cabin in the woods with a morbid, Weegee progression, we are seized into the terror of an ongoing and woefully graphic deathlessness—a sheeted figure convulses amid his own viscera, black blood and dank organs, vomit and excrement, hacking away at himself with a straight razor.
But here's where the dog comes in. Taken as a whole, BEGOTTEN is a silly movie full of scenes shot remorselessly from every angle for unendurable periods of time to stretch out the exhilerated nightfalls, tremors, shitting, bleeding, dragging, muttering, beating, organ mashing, rape of the earth, etc. It should have been 15 minutes of interesting footage, instead, the power of the opening shots is entirely diffused.
I kept envisioning the film without its bleach and chrome injection, and I laughed Once the terror subsides you are left with a sickly boredom and little air with which toyawn. Furthermore, its pretentiousness begs for parody. Here we have a deep, deep message and primitive need I say reductionist? Birds chirp. He decides to kill himself, but none of the razors are sharp enough. She gets knocked up. Her son, mankind, is a parasitic punker with epilepsy.
She drags him around by the neck until bad, evil men with giant Q-tips come to rape her — she is Mother Earth after all — and to beat him senseless, if that's possible throw in some crucifixion visuals for that added, extra depth we all so enjoy. Bad, evil beekeepers pick up from there, jarring and preserving a variety of internal organs for future retail distribution.
Sun sets. To be honest with you, Iforget how it ends. Or does it? As you can see, Merhige is a visionary in search of a plot, or does he think plots and ideas and western civilization are dead? This homegrown concoction from the depths of the East Village was actually tossed together by a pack of friends in only one day. And though all of it seems totally improvised—usually a bad sign—the result is quite amusing that is, if the idea of making a snuff film is your idea of big laughs.
I know it is for me! It all begins when four murderous psychos have a chance encounter and decide to pool their homicidal tendencies and make a snuff movie. The Poster Boys even turn up as a trio of potential corpses, and hit the humor highwater mark This cool, loose comedy is happily unpretentious and filled with bloodthirsty humor.
Plus it shows you what you can accomplish if you're halfway creative and get off your ass for an afternoon. Too bad they didn't leave much room open for a sequel. This idiotic tale begins somewhere in India, when al 0-story-tall gorilla rips his way out of the earth and attacks a town of towelheads. Immediately, a pack of enterprising, dubiously-dubbed Hong Kong businessmen led by our hero, Johnny Feng head into the wilderness in an effort to capture the creature. But these clods are so inept that most of their expedition is dead before they even locate this giant, moth-eaten "Peking Man" a tiger eats one, another gets stepped on by an elephant, still another boob slips off a cliff.
And just as they get close, enter a gorgeous Swedish blonde casting couch candidate Evelyne Kraft wearing a skimpy animal skin bikini like Georgina of the Jungle. Of course, Johnny Feng isn't a complete idiot, so he follows the luscious lady and learns that she was lost in the jungle as a tot and raised by the huge Goliathon. And if you think this is as stupid as the movie can could possibly get I almost did a Spit Take with my beer when this Scandinavian chick came swinging in on a vine , you haven't heard nothin' yet!
As our Jungle Queen's costume gets more and more ragged, Johnny gets more and more infatuated, and aflertaking Goliathon for a WALK to the nearest big city, they eventually all head back to Hong Kong, where the viewer is treated to a jaw-dropping finale at a monster truck rally with Goliathon as the star attraction.
Let's not forget Goiiathon's escape and wild romp through Miniaturetown! The far-from-special effects are beyond belief, and from the hideously matched stock footage to the Matchbox-sized tanks, it's incompetence as far as the eye can see! The only thing the filmmakers got right was the cheesecake aspect. I promise. Because these two pics are the pits! I can fully understand why no U. There are a few sledgehammer-subtle points about French colonialism vs. Maybe Jodorowsky was so desperate toget behind a camera after all hisfailed attepts at DUNE, that hegrabbed the first thing to come along.
Or maybe he simply wanted a free trip to India Yet once again, by the time it was all over, I was pretty damned disappointed. Though if I can overlook all the lighthearted, saccharin moments, at least there were a few bizarre sequences to keep my attention from drifting It begins GREAT, with Chris Lee cast against type as a rich ol' codger hosting a party for his relatives and his dogs all sitting at the same dinner table , and afterward Madame Rainbow and her girls are called in as desert, with Lee ending up in bed with eight naked whores and a severe heart attack.
So far, so weird. But it always ends on a sickly note of how much they actually care for each other, with the film nearly curdling itself whenever Sharif turns up his "lovable old coot" routine. There's even a sappy ending that'll have any good Jodorowsky fan chuckin' their empties at the screen.
In addition, Jackson has refined histechnique while setting his demented sights on show business in general, and The Muppets in particular. It's no surprise that the flick never found a U. On the surface, it's just another Muppet Show take-off, populated with cutsy characters like Harry the Rabbit, Heidi the Hippo, and a menagerie of odd creatures, both big and small.
All of them are preparing for opening night of their new stage show, with shy newcomer Robert the Porcupine finding himself smitten with a poodle in the chorus. But once offstage, their lifestyle gets a tad more gritty. They smoke, swear, drink copiously like any good Kiwi resident , and take interspecies sex to hilariously graphic limits. The lizard knife thrower is in need of a fix, and has Vietnam flashbacks.
An elephant and a chicken are involved in a paternity suit. Others are dealing cocaine. And there are moments of intense puppet gore, like when one character dissolves into a puddle after snorting Borax. But it's the sexual aspect of the storyline that truly boggles the mind! Such as T revor the Rat's hobby of making fetish porno movies in the basement, complete with a cow dressed in leather isn't that redundant? Hmmm, better family fare I couldn't imagine And even if Jackson doesn't always hit the target, he blasts away at EVERY goddamn thing in sight with his sawed- off-shotgun sense of humor.
All the creatures are expertly crafted, and the long list of technicians have to be applauded for manipulating the extensive cast of characters. Some are just too damaged to be believed, like a giant talking fly which is first glimpsed sitting in a stopped-up toilet bowl, gobbling down shit with a spoon! Scathing, gruesome, four-star entertainment! It certainly sounded like a great idea. Take three trendy directors at the height of their arthouse popularity— Roger Vadim, Louis Malle and Federico Fellini—and give 'em each an Edgar Allen Poe story to adapt.
Because if Roger Corman could fill theatres with his string of Poe tales, think what type of Euro-weirdness this trio of highbrows could concoct. Well, the artsy results are extremely mixed, and all three episodes are high on atmosphere and low on coherence. But for folks on the lookout for trashy pretentiousness, this flick has NO equal Ho hum. At least the costumes are super, with Peter supremely groovy in his leather pants, and Jane literally poured into her steamy, peek-a-boo wardrobe The centerpiece of the episode is a card game between him and black-haired Bridget Bardot—who heats up the proceedings by wagering her own body.
Though not without its perverse moments, this is slow, laborious swill without an ounce of subtlety Federico kicks out all the stops for this dark and hilarious tale, filling the screen with his bizarre images and grotesque characters, while avoiding all the smarmy nostalgia which infected his later work. Set in modern day, Terence Stamp stars as a drunken, reclusive movie star on a visit to Italy, and as the press and his fans lawn over him, we observe it all through his burnt-out, bloodshot eyes.
The tripped-out camerawork by Guiseppe Rotunno capturesa barrage of encounters,, including palm readers, nuns, photographers, vapid TV interviewers, and in the most chilling moments a demonic little girl bouncing a large white ball. The entire tale is utterly disorienting, from its unsettling camera angles to the stylized lighting, and the piece climaxes when this sot hops into his Ferrari and takes us on a high-speed, bumber-cam tour of the town.
At the eye of this turbulance is the incredible Stamp, who looks like he just awoke from a gutter, guzzles liquor non-stop, spouts cynical non-sequiturs, and finds himself on a hallucinogenic descent into hell. In addition to being the one BIG reason to search out this trilogy. Their holy mission is to collect the Blessed Puss in a bucket, of course, hence the title from humans, and thus save the world.
Eventually the duo go to The Big City for fresh victims starting with a Dyanetics transvestite and even hit the bar scene in particular, The Scrap Bar. The gore begins to flow as their dementia rises, and the brothers reminded me of psychotic, in-bred grandkin of Ma and Pa Kettle. And her scathing sense of humor is prevalent in every frame.
The film is packed with original moments, but at 90 exhausting minutes, it could've been severely cut, such as an entire unnecessary subplot involving a nerdy scientist. But thefilm floored me with its incredible editing and camerawork, and unlike most underground items which are nothing but cheap gags and gross-out shocks which this flick is no stranger to, such as the TV evangelist who rips off his own finger in order to get pledges , Lisa incorporates several elegant, hallucinogenic sequences into the tale.
And her more evil moments capture a dark, dreamlike realm that fits beautifully within the murderous scenario. All in all, a mind-boggling saga which, what it lacks inconsistency, makes up for in dazzling imagery! Director William Dear started his career on the right foot, with this wonderfully nasty flick. A thoroughly grubby but way cool cycle gang named The Spirits enters the town of Northville and are immediately tossed into the slammer by the jerkwater cops for riding without helmets.
Of course, when the piss-ant townsfolk hear about the rape, they get Vigilante Fever! It gets pretty bloodthirsty, folks, and we haven't even gotten to the big cemetary finale, which is more vicious than even I expected!
Ultimately, the entire thing is pretty shocking because, just as it is in the real world, there are no heroes, pat answers or happy endings when it comes to narrow-minded hatred and blind authority. The epilogue puts it best: "Freedom: R. One particularly demented sidebar to the action has The Spirits encountering a psycho survivalist gun salesman who keeps his arms collection hidden behind a huge American flag.
A crude, but effective throwback to the left-wing attitude of earlier days, with its razored cynicism making it the perfect funeral wreath to the biker movie phenomenon Just in case you aren't familiar with The Red Tapes, they're an audio record of an incredible series of prank phone calls to Red, the bartender at the Tube Bar.
They begin simple, asking Is Al Kchoiic there? Then "Stu Pidd", "Cole Kutz", et cetera. And it eventually escalates into a foul-mouthed barrage from Red "Ya motherfucker, cocksucker. I'll open your belly up and I'll show you all the black stuff ya got in there Well, Gore decided to put a visual image to it all, and he couldn't have found anyone betterto play the abused bartender than Lawrence Tierney, whose big, bald, angry presense isthe perfect embodiment of the pissed-off, savage-tongued Red.
And with his shaved head, the guy looks like the second-coming of Tor Johnson. Too bad it just doesn't hold together for a full 35 minutes. Since the actual Red Tapes are utilized, they're good for some stoopid laughs, but even though Gore brings texture to the barroom setting hmmm, you'd almost think he'd spent a lottatime in 'em , it's all totally uninspiring.
Even the fictionalized wrap-up when Tierney encounters a kid claiming to be the infamous caller left me cold. Agreat idea, nicely- lensed, but still a big disappointment. This is a film about cannibalism. Heavy stuff? Not exactly, because any possibility of pretentious rhetoric is coated by a crazy quilt of insane logic.
And even though director Joachim Pedro de Andrade lacks filmmaking expertise, he slaps together a hodgepodge resembling Gabriel Garcia Marquez by way of Benny Hill, with loads of campy laughs, slapstick humor, and a plot as mind-bogglingly satiric as Dusan Makavejev In the jungle, he encounters a fat ogre who gives Macunaima a meaty strip of his own leg to eat. Later, a mag'cgeyserturns his skin permanently white, just in time for him to hit The Big City, where the movie shifts into a wacky fish-out-of-water comedy.
Mac has a tete de tete with a female revolutionary who makes baby carriage bombs one of which explodes a tad early. While mourning the death of his wife, a gaggle of bikinied bimbos suddenly kidnaps him for a raft ride. I've seen ads for this home-lensed short from filmmaker Joe Christ for several years, and it always looked excessively grim.
The movie is underground moviemaking at its crudest, with a washed-out video image, no sync sound, and no discernible artistic value. Primarily just a long static shot of the three stars Mary Leohr, Joe Christ and Dana sitting along a table, with a painting of Jesus behind 'em. Mary a mondo-hefty Goth Queen receives most of the cuts, and then licks clean her open wounds as Dana sloppily chugs back shots of the fresh blood.
Eventually they get around to carving up Mary's flabby breast, and if you don't get the picture yet , this is basically a freak show with ugly people doing sadistic things to each other, made by a Richard Kern wannabee. There isn't a lick of cinematic style or substance to behold but there sure is lotsa blood. I have to admit, the act of carving yourself up holds a fascination for me, but this film never actually pardon the pun gets under the skin of its leads.
In addition, the picture quality is so fuzzy you can't make out a lot of the details. But you know, strange as it might seem, I never really got the idea that these people on screen were doing anything too bizarre. Oh well, best of luck to Joe Christ on his next endeavor. Finding the Crew's budget tapped and legit prospects limited, the Voice beckoned and we answered the call to a white sweatshop factory building on the corner of Brooklyn and Manhattan.
The calls made indicated a video editing job of no fixed subject matter, but a glimpse at the lobby directory spelled it all out—BIZARRE. Bizarre Video, to be exact, a distributor specializing in my favorite kind of porn—fetish, bondage, water sports, latex wedgies—just pure entertainment. In the meager edit room and the impressive mass duplication fortress , the prime directives, inspired by numerous state legislature rulings, were posted; NO erections on screen, NO personal intrusions unless battery operated, NO piercing of, well, anything ON SCREEN long live implied piercing , oh, and no weights on balls.
Encouraged to 'be creative', I created a title for my shameless repackaging of turgid transvestite bondage, and presto, "Power of the Leather Mistress" was born. Soon we had slapped together an exciting melange of torrid non-explicit shenanigans involving various confused participants.
From its first, crude moments you're transported into a sleaze-induced euphoria, and the film never lets up or disappoints. A perfect example of undiluted, 4-star exploitation, beginning with strobe lights, go-go music, and two chicks gyrating away in nothing but garter belts with dollar bills pasted over their privates. And his favorite pasttime is murdering strippers in unusual ways—like with a harpoon gunIThe entire movie follows this simple construction: Intercut  strip club acts,  some mild, sadomasochistic sex games usually with two naked girls , and  Jennings killing babes at random.
And when the film stock runs out, toss a hand-scrawled end credit onto the screen The voyeuristic camerawork is documentary-like re: grainy and hand-held ; there's an expansive use of jump cuts a nice way of saying bad splices and disregard for any semblence of continuity ; and a jazzy sax score cruises over the foreplay.
Plus, I haven't even gotten to the more hilarious aspects! Characters appear and die for no apparant reason! In the middle of a long dramatic sequence, Jennings suddenly appears from behind a folding wall I guess he was hiding there for weeks! And the innovative camerawork is dizzying, particularly the finale fight on the back of a moving flatbed truck! This flick is a mind boggier of misogyny and sadism! Barely an hour long, but crammed with insane moments.
In simple terms, an sexploitation epic! I'd been waiting all too long for this uniting of horror's two kingpins, George Romero and Dario Argento, so when it finally got its NYC release, there was only one possible place to check it out—the Selwyn theatre on beautiful 42nd Street! Hell, the three remaining 42nd St.
So equipped with our standard tote bag full o' beer, we welcomed that friendly stench of ammonia Though its ads called it the thriller of the year it's actually just another piece of Tinseltown tripe regurgitated to the masses. The entire cast is wasted, and even though Greta Sacchi is sizzling, there's too little of her particular charms to make us forget we're wasting our time on a ridiculous piece o shit made for mall-fed cretins. If nothing else, this lame excuse for a movie gave me an ample opportunity to empty my bladder, being careful to avoid the junkie in the aisle seat, who started the evening by shooting up and then spent the rest of the night hawking up phlegm onto the floor.
I quickly eyed the concession stand, but wisely avoided the grey hot dogs and the friendly er, make that, recently-incarcerated staff, and just made a bee-line to the mens room, which is usually laced with a stench that could only emanate from a wino's large intestine Romero had the first shot, and fumbles the ball. Of course, his spirit lives on to spook Barbeau. The thing was so involving that I nearly woke up. Plus, when Dario's segment kicks in, it only makes Romero's look all the tamer, with in-your-face style and gory effects slamming home in a wonderfully grisly prologue.
Not to mention a cast consisting of people who can actually act! Too bad the ghost of that damned cat keeps intervening on his peace and quiet. The story is pretty slight, without many narrative surprises, but there are some nicely disgusting set pieces and Keitel is a highlight. Though no one in sight is gonna win any subtlety awards, the supporting cast is chock full of familiar faces Martin Balsam, John Amos, Sally Kirkland.
Too bad, because this pic probably had better distribution than any of his previous work Exclusively utilizing found footage which he laces together like a bad trip , Baldwin gives us the whole truth about the "upcoming apocalypse", mixing the paranoia of Oliver Stone with the technique of Bruce Connor. Everyone is involved, from E.
Howard Hunt and Oliver North, to Jim Jones and The Hideous Sun Demon, and this miasma pulls the viewer in and doesn't release 'em until their brain has been wrung dry and refilled with high-octane insanity. This is true SubGenius-level brilliance, fueled by Craig's editing savvy.
Three lovely young ladies are trapped in the desert when their station wagon conks out on the way to Vegas ooh, there's an original way to start a horror movie! All in all, it's unredeeming, wall-to-wall sleaze that started to bore me after a while.
The movie sticks primarily to the one location, has barely any gore effects, and any acting on the distaff side amount to rocking back and forth in a near-catatonic stupor which could also apply to the audience after 90 minutes of this swill.
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