Weirdling_Wolf

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Reviews

Die Schlangengrube und das Pendel
(1967)

I give it 12 tortured virgins out of 13! A veritable Gothic masterpiece of delightfully camp, pendulum-slashing, doom-drenched shock!
Super talented director Harald Reinl is probably better known for his flamboyant Edgar Wallace Krimi's, and he brings his not inconsiderable cinematic flair for striking set-pieces to this spine-tingling, skeleton-skitteringly sinister tale about the historical cruelties of the legendarily sadistic sorcerer Count Regula and his wholly irregular slaughter of 12 virgins for eldritch purposes most iniquitous, only being thwarted at the very last hour by the luck-for-some escapee victim Baroness Lilian Von Brabant (Karin Dor) and his subsequent torture and and publicly grisly quartering in the crowded village square. The enraged Bloody Count defiantly swearing his terrible oath to vengeance, damning the descendants of those responsible for his savagely sanguinary fate!

Drawn with alacrity by four fine horses and their inexorable fate towards the infamous 'Blood Castle' it is not long before this unhappy band of travellers experience the gruesome nocturnal visions of the ill-lit, freakishly explicit cadaver-festooned forest that darkly surrounds the malign castle which abounds with deadly drug-laced potions, hidden trap doors plummeting to diabolical subterranean torture chambers, doomy ossuaries with hideous-looking carrion birds blankly feeding on lividly disgorged entrails and a prototypical 'Hammer Films' garishly adorned laboratory where the sadistic Count and his pallid, zombified butler evilly put into play the monstrous despicable deeds that gives a garishly Gothic, blood-curdling credence to the film's wickedly enticing title.

The talented filmmaker Reinl and his no less creative cast and crew bring this eerily Gothic fear-fable to luminously putrescent life, this doomy celluloid cauldron of roiling unpleasantness fulminates with all the nourishingly foul B-Movie ingredients, this sprightly late-60s spook show's beautifully medieval Bavarian exteriors and ruinous Castle Blood interiors with its nightmarish profundity of ominous, grot-caked statuary, cob-webbed squalor and vivid use of Bosch's unsettling terror tableau all creepily coalesce into one of the more entertaining Gothic Horrors since Roger Corman's influential Poe Cycle, with towering terror icon Christopher Lee giving the baleful Count Regular a most disturbingly credible gravitas! I give it 12 tortured virgins out of 13! A veritable Gothic masterpiece of delightfully camp, pendulum-slashing, blood-drenched shock!

Aska Susayanlar: Seks ve Cinayet
(1972)

A wholly unexpected razor-slashing, crimson-hued explosion of adrenalized Anatolian grindhouse excess!
Happily the high-impact, low-credibility Turkish genre cinema has demonstratively increased in popularity over the years due to wider availability and enthusiastic word of mouth regarding the frequently hyperbolic, logic-defying intensity of the cheaply made, yet energetically mounted high profile genre re-makes, and these ferociously silly films prolific and altogether wonderfully illicit use of popular copyrighted rock/soundtrack music lending an additionally vivid veneer of wonderfully incongruent weirdness!

While director Aslan's 'Thirsty for Love, Sex and Murder' is certainly no less bewitching in its bravura far-out phantasmagoria, this delirious, somewhat faithful iteration of Sergio Martino's iconic Edwige/Hilton twist-headed Giallo classic 'The Strange Case of Mrs. Wardh' (1971), admittedly there are some joyously lurid narrative embellishments that are most certainly best seen, rather than dully explained, this terrifically thrilling Turkish hyper-delic Giallo is a hallucinatory, skin-flaying, reality delaying delight!

The multitudinous skirt-raising twists and turns rivalling Charlie Sheen' divorce and the equally shrill acting performances with its bold appropriation of the original film's music with some gleefully purloined Ennio Morricone scores curiously adds verisimilitude to the genuinely exciting Giallo. For all its breezy, B-movie brevity 'Thirsty for Love, Sex and Murder' packs in a considerably hefty excess of unhinged hackery in its unusually short running, slime. A wholly unexpected razor-slashing, crimson-hued explosion of adrenalized Anatolian grindhouse excess!

Genova a mano armata
(1976)

'Genova A Mano Armata' gets 3 busted knuckles out of five!
'Genova A Mano Armata' probably isn't the go-to title for seasoned Euro-crime junkies and may not be the most pristine introduction to the heady, idiosyncratic insanity of the post-Dirty Harry, post French Connection, post-haste Italian poliziotteschi, where cinematic subtlety is disdained no less aggressively than political correctness, an alpha male mentality dominates with the more classic examples of the genre created by mercurial mavericks like Sergio Martino, Lucio Fulci, Stelvio Massi, Fernando Di Leo and, of course, Enzo G. Castellari, and while the consistently grungy 'Genova A Mano Armata' lacks the overall finesse and professional polish of the grandmasters of grind, zesty director Mario Lanfranchi assembled a truly exciting cast of celebrated actors and delivered a rumbustious, bullet-paced, bloody-knuckled, skull-rocking roundhouse poliziotteschi that isn't pretty to look at but righteously smashes all the right B-Movie buttons into a joyous pulp! (fiction)

Ostensibly this is another exploitative riff on Friedkin's classic, in this especially hectic instance, the drug-dealing machinations of Caleb played by uber Euro-cult legend Howard Ross who is on rare form playing the machine-gunning thug enforcer who works for his vulpine, heart-palpitatingly beautiful boss Marta Mayer (Maude Adams), and stumbling into this heroin-sticky milieu, tougher than a Teflon truss ex-cop 'The American' (Tony Lo Bianco) who not only can take a severe beating gives out a few himself on his bloody, fist-flying quest to retrieve the missing ransom money he was initially hired to locate, but discovering a despicably duplicitous trail of teeth-rattling twists, terminal trysts and an endless beef with the increasingly less stoical Commisario Lo Gallo (Adolfo Celi) who swiftly tires of Lo Bianco's frequently uncouth maverick sleuthing methodology.

There is no denying the plain fact that 'Genova A Mano Armata' is a derivative work, the chaotic, slam-bang action while plentiful lacks the bravura style of a Lenzi or Castellari, yet Lo Bianco is a feisty, engaging lead with the enigmatic Adolfo Celi and sublime Maud Adams being no less entertaining to watch. While formulaic, it's a bellicose B-Movie blast and the wickedly grimy crime-funk score by maestro Franco Micalizzi is a tarmac-squealing, greasy Wah-funking delight! Kudos for avoiding the J & B ubiquity as twin-fisted law bringer Lo Bianco, like some exiled Droog favours milk over blended imported booze! 'Genova A Mano Armata' gets 3 busted knuckles out of five!

The Burning
(1981)

'The Burning' is the blood-soaked daddy of Campfire carnage! Don't even breathe!!!.......or you're DEAD!!!'
While oft disparaged as being too derivative, director Tony 'Split Second' Maylam's 'The Burning' (1981) is arguably one of the more visibly prototypical, definitely the most pyrotechnical of the 1st especially bloody wave of post-Voorhees slashers and even today remains the most blatantly 'influential' resource for a good few of the myriad retrograde slashers fashioned in its wickedly exploitative wrong-headed wake.

Set in the meticulously mounted murder milieu of bucolic, lakeside 'Camp Blackfoot', a fiendishly vengeful, fear-mongering plot by a conspiring clutch of unhappy campers hatched to scare the living Christ into sadistically cruel camp caretaker Cropsy (Lou David) takes an excruciatingly fateful turn for the nefarious, where their macabre shenanigans unexpectedly ushered in the terrible, lake-stalking, limb-lopping legend of 'Cropsy', that insidiously forest-foraging, raw meat purloining perpetrator of twin-bladed, body cavity calamity which also inadvertently brought out the unnecessarily censorious scissors of the British censors!

Many years later, allowing more than enough time for his psychosis to acidly percolate to an apocalyptic level of maniacal hatred, a sinuous slew of sleek-limbed nubiles have noisily sojourned at a near-by camp, one fortuitously close to killer Cropsy's hunting ground and not long after the requisite preliminary pop-topping hi jinks are dutifully completed, the sensationally sanguineous, Tom Savini-wrought mayhem begins in evil earnest, being ably assisted by some expertly sinister synth vibes from prolific prog maestro Rick Wakeman, and outside of Evilspeak's skeezey satanic Creep Coopersmith (Clint Howard), The Burning's very own asinine dweeb Alfred (Brian Backer) is quite possibly one of 80s Slasherdom's more eminently expendable characters!

'The Burning' certainly isn't the best of its kind, but the pervasive cult of 'Campfire Cropsy' remains undiminished largely due to its almost autistic adherence to delirious Drive-In terror tropes, which still provided considerably grisly grist for the current crop of next generation celluloid perpetrating Cropsyites! 'The Burning' is the blood-soaked daddy of Campfire carnage! Don't even breathe!!!.......or you're DEAD!!!'

(For any yet to see the film, close scrutiny of the youthful cast will swiftly reveal some singularly notable visages!)

Tucker and Dale vs Evil
(2010)

'Tucker & Dale Vs Evil' righteously refreshes the bloodiest parts other creepy comedies just can't retch!'
Hysterical Horror can be a bloody funny business! One minute you're having your ribs deliciously tickled, the very next it's all gone to merry bloody hell in a wood chipper! So if y'all go down to the backwoods tonight y'all are in for a super-splattery surprise as Tucker & Dale are the dopest, doggonest, gnarliest mean pair of barking mad, college kid flayin', corn-pone, accident-prone, delightfully dung-headed, muck-spreadin' mother truckers!

'Tucker & Dale Vs Evil' righteously refreshes the bloodiest parts other creepy comedies just can't retch!'

'Doom yourself a favour and scream it one gore time!'

Gli orrori del castello di Norimberga
(1972)

'Baron Blood' is delirious Gothic pulp horror artistry at its very finest!
'Baron Blood' remains one of the mercurial painter of light's more eminently enjoyable spine-crawlers, while largely lacking in the bravura gore of Mario Bava's salacious slasher symphony 'Twitch of the Death Nerve', this macabre immaculately Gothic offering is deliriously entertaining and darkly steeped with more doomy, medieval atmosphere than the pain-wracked, broke-backed art of fellow symphonic sadist the Marquis De Sade.

Beautifully filmed at the breathtakingly picturesque Castle 'Burg Kruezenstein', which dizzyingly acts as a veritable Gothic time machine, transporting you to a fear-festooned fairytale with thickly cobwebbed, foully adorned torture chambers, ostentatiously large, decadently draped dining halls, with restless phantoms beneath every dust-caked decanter and skittishly ambulatory skeleton's in every triumphantly creaking closet, its towering, fearfully forbidding spires are gruesomely garlanded with grisly-looking gargoyles and the fatally gored cadavers of the maniacal Baron's unwanted guests!

'Baron Blood' is delirious Gothic pulp horror artistry at its very finest, lovingly fashioned filmic fromage of the purest wormy Grindhouse Gorgonzola. Young, svelte, cinematically smooth Peter Kliest (Antonio Cantafora) the dashing decedent of serial sadist Baron Von Otto Von Kliest in order to renew long neglected familial ties, foolhardily attempts, along with the delectable Fräulein Eve Arnold (Elke Sommer) to resurrect the blithely torturing terror tyrant by reading aloud some eldritch flowery flumbo-jumbo. And before you can shout 'Cut price Vincent Price!' the mildewed, ruinous-looking wraith orgiastically obliges them with some outlandishly ghoulish, deep-shadowed savagery torn bloodily straight out of some equally prurient Penny Dreadful and the only slender hope of ridding ominous Schloss das Teufels of the benighted, body-rupturing Baron is via the spooky machinations of the preternaturally pretty, super-sensual white witch Christine Hoffman (Rada Rassimov).

'The sadistic Baron Blood returns from the mouldering VHS grave and satiates his perverse, long-dormant hunger upon the ruinous, mortified flesh of those he triumphantly tortures for his own unspeakable edification's in disgustingly pristine High Definition! One of Mario Bava's most delightfully deviant, outrageously camp, creep show classic is given the loving Blu-ray treatment it so eminently deserves, just be sure to read aloud the incantation that will banish him to the necrotic voids from whence he came!'

Lie ri nu wa zi
(1982)

This Toadally audacious action movie shaould have spawned a sequel!
'Lunatic Frog Women' aka 'The Virgin Commandos' (1982) - I was enormously attracted by the splendidly audacious title and happily this uncommonly bonkers, bodaciously babe'd B-Movie most certainly didn't disappoint! So when life gets stormy call on the salty 'Lunatic Frog Women', a perkily professional outfit, this frequently fearsome, ferociously feisty female fight-flick should have 'spawned' a sequel, as these sublimely submersible sisters Toadally deserve it, dude!

Basket Case
(1982)

Some dark secrets can tear a family apart, but the terrifically tormented terror tenant in 'Room 7' will soon bring the whole city to its bloody knees!
I'm a B-Movie 'Basket Case' and I would Belial-ing if I didn't slay how mulch I adore my sadistically savage, sewage-headed sibling. He 'ain't pretty, he sure 'ain't any kind of good; but he is very small, very twisted and very, VERY mad! He 'ain't heavy he's my psycho, wiener-eatin' brother!

First impressions can be deadly, open the Basket Case Blu at your own peril! As what Belials within 'ain't no PC picnic. As the diabolically deformed contents within may prove actively deleterious to your health! Even just a timorous peek could have you bleedin' out for a week! And the merest glance can put ya' in a terminally trance! Heck!!! Even an accidental look at this criminally crippled, flesh-craving Kook can spark you out like Tyson's deadly left hook!

Some dark secrets can tear a family apart, but the terrifically tormented terror tenant in 'Room 7' will soon bring the whole city to its bloody knees!

Vampire Journals
(1997)

A sinfully sensuous, deliriously decadent, full-bloodied throat and bodice ripper!
Ted Nicolaou's elegiac 'Vampire Journals' darkly documents the tragic tale of morose outlaw vampire hunter Zachery (David Gunn) and his ceaselessly bloody quest to avenge the gruesome death of his beloved Serena (Floriela Grappini) which torments him unrelentingly through the withering ages of his blackened immortal existence. Zachery's mania to destroy the cruel master vampire, the passionate music lover Ash is further complicated by the beautiful piano player Sofia (Kirsten Cerre), her luminous musical talent, fragile grace and winning charm transfixing them both, leading inexorably to a most splendidly gruesome nocturnal conflict with a terrifying, fate-defining finale!

This sinister stand-alone entry in the iconic Subspecies franchise abounds doomily with a volatile dark Gothic malevolence, master vampire Ash is a magnetically unpleasant nemesis for the heroically conflicted love-lorn Zachary whose terrible solitude imbues enormous pathos to Nicolaou's sinfully sensuous, deliriously decadent, full-bloodied throat and bodice ripper, with its morbid intrigues, tragically thwarted love and murderous passions, its delightfully devious, deathly pale protagonists and their unspeakably lurid lusts, Ted Nicolaou's voluptuous 'Vampire Journals' is a far from bloodless affair! And once again the blackened, grievous Gothic milieu is hideously heightened by the grimly corrupted grandeur of Bratislava's wounded architecture and the expressly emotional score by macabre maestro Richard Kosinski.

Hell Night
(1981)

A radical good time and a sinister slash above the rest (in pieces!)
While being one of the better known early 80s slashers, unfortunately 'Hell Night' doesn't now seem to enjoy quite as much prestige as the oft-mentioned slasher classics 'My Bloody Valentine', 'April Fool's Day' or 'Prom Night' etc., which, perhaps, is primarily due to the unavoidable fact that, as yet, it hasn't been re-made/re-duxed/regurgitated into redundancy! Which, for me at least, merely increases the film's innate value and therefore maintains its integrity. 'Hell Night' is a delightfully spooky, non-stop hell-ride with much of the film's considerable charm coming from the gloriously game cast, with the gorgeous scream dream Linda Blair making for an especially sympathetic character, a righteously root-worthy screamer well worth rooting n' tooting for!

The hackneyed story is ur-old, yet another cobwebby initiation iteration on ye olde pissed-up pledges s-s-s-s-spending the s-s-s-spooky night within the ubiquitously unsavoury-looking, doomily dilapidated, uber-Gothic manor, murderously replete with its very own incumbent, catacomb-dwelling lunatic! But glorious B-Horror 'ain't really known for its highfalutin' literature, its lack of cinematic smarts frequently compensated by an abundance of lovely terror tarts, and the most heavenly Bs of the bloody killer-Bs, a sweetly salacious, hack n' slash cocktail of bodacious babes and no less bountiful blood spills! And never before has this titillating triptych of titillating treats been more fulsomely represented than with the demonstratively pulchritudinous pair of top-heavy screamers, the sinfully sultry Suki Goodwin and luxuriously luscious Linda Blair!

It's all frothy fun and boozy banter in Tom DeSimone's perennial fear favourite until the slasher shizz gets real and suddenly our lovable trou'-dropping pledges become the perfectly perky prey of the infamously inbred, inane catacomb-crawling, corpse-collecting, sick-headed progeny of the misbegotten Grant family! If you haven't as yet experienced the lewd delights of lude-dropping, hellaciously head-chopping terror of 'Hell Night' it's certainly long overdue that you do, as it is a radical good time and a sinister slash above the rest (in pieces!) If you have the goodly fortune to survive your ghoulish, stab-happy sojourn in terror-stalked Garth Manor please keep the film's more diabolical secrets to yourself, as next year's pledges must also pay their deadly dues!

Bloodlust: Subspecies III
(1994)

Radu, you are just tomb much vampire for the daylight world to handle!
Maestro Ted Nicolaou's darkly tragic vampire opus becomes ever more twisted with recently undead Michelle's (Denice Duff) dreary fate now inexorably entwined with her deathly pale, gruesomely besotted vampire master Radu, the reprehensibly cruel, sibling slaying brute, now the incumbent murderous monarch of ancient Vladislas castle who so viciously conspired to make her his cadaverous consort in eternal damnation, his Charnel house-dwelling, 'blood-drinking bride-to-bleed', no matter how forcefully the increasingly anguished Michelle rejects his drooling, needful advances.

Poor ever more pale Michelle now forced to consume human blood must finally give up all familial ties and surrender completely to Radu, even though her tenacious sister Becky (Melanie Shatner) and her handsome friend Mel (Kevin Spirtas) try desperately to free her from the necromantic confines of doomy Vladislas castle and the fulminating evils of demonic Radu and his maniacal sorceress mother (Pamela Strong).

Maintaining the eerie Gothic motifs and grisly atmospherics, gifted director Nicolaou injects a little extra vampire venom into his hallucinatory, blood-curdled stew of forbidden necromantic love, malevolent sorcery, high adventure and thrilling melodrama set against the beautiful, historical majesty of doomy Vladislas castle and its relentless cavalcade of savage subterranean horrors! Authored by an increasingly distempered and murderous Radu and his heinously bloody quest to find love no matter how many lives he has to destroy....as for this especially craven vampire king, The Bloodstone is thicker than water.

Not only is 'Bloodlust: Subspecies III' yet another fabulously fright-packed phantasmagoria from Full Moon Pictures, but proof rhesus positive that Nicolaou's iconic Subspecies is now the blood reigning apex predator of Gothic horror, with malign Radu the pale prince of video vampire villainy! But no longer shall this grim-faced, long-fingered legend be merely content to stalk the shadowy catacombs of the nightmarish Vladislas Castle, but must stake his rightful disgrace upon the loftiest pantheon with the most celebrated celluloid sociopaths of horror history. Radu, you are just tomb much vampire for the daylight world to handle!

Hell Night
(1981)

A radical good time and a sinister slash above the rest (in pieces!)
While being one of the better known early 80s slashers, unfortunately 'Hell Night' doesn't now seem to enjoy quite as much prestige as the oft-mentioned slasher classics 'My Bloody Valentine', 'April Fool's Day' or 'Prom Night' etc., which, perhaps, is primarily due to the unavoidable fact that, as yet, it hasn't been re-made/re-duxed/regurgitated into redundancy! Which, for me at least, merely increases the film's innate value and therefore maintains its integrity. 'Hell Night' is a delightfully spooky, non-stop hell-ride with much of the film's considerable charm coming from the gloriously game cast, with the gorgeous scream dream Linda Blair making for an especially sympathetic character, a righteously root-worthy screamer well worth rooting n' tooting for!

The hackneyed story is ur-old, yet another cobwebby initiation iteration on ye olde pissed-up pledges s-s-s-s-spending the s-s-s-spooky night within the ubiquitously unsavoury-looking, doomily dilapidated, uber-Gothic manor, murderously replete with its very own incumbent, catacomb-dwelling lunatic! But glorious B-Horror 'ain't really known for its highfalutin' literature, its lack of cinematic smarts frequently compensated by an abundance of lovely terror tarts, and the most heavenly Bs of the bloody killer-Bs, a sweetly salacious, hack n' slash cocktail of bodacious babes and no less bountiful blood spills! And never before has this titillating triptych of titillating treats been more fulsomely represented than with the demonstratively pulchritudinous pair of top-heavy screamers, the sinfully sultry Suki Goodwin and luxuriously luscious Linda Blair!

It's all frothy fun and boozy banter in Tom DeSimone's perennial fear favourite until the slasher shizz gets real and suddenly our lovable trou'-dropping pledges become the perfectly perky prey of the infamously inbred, inane catacomb-crawling, corpse-collecting, sick-headed progeny of the misbegotten Grant family! If you haven't as yet experienced the lewd delights of lude-dropping, hellaciously head-chopping terror of 'Hell Night' it's certainly long overdue that you do, as it is a radical good time and a sinister slash above the rest (in pieces!) If you have the goodly fortune to survive your ghoulish, stab-happy sojourn in terror-stalked Garth Manor please keep the film's more diabolical secrets to yourself, as next year's pledges must also pay their deadly dues!

Frightmare
(1983)

'Frightmare' is such an eminently entertaining, deeply creepy, highly camp, old school 80s spook show.
While a grisly, excessively blood-lashed, lasciviously top-popping slasher can, on occasion, deliver quite a little bit of what you fancy, it is additionally joyous to discover unconventional, independently made genre films that take greater risks with the material, digging somewhat deeper into the marvellously macabre bag of tricks and source less predictable results.

'Frightmare' aka 'Horror Star' (1983) is just such a sprightly, tawdry slasher trope avoiding gem. Written and directed by Norman Thaddeus Vane 'Horror Star' takes a more vintage approach to creep-making, having a theatrical plot not entirely dissimilar to 'Theatre of Blood' or 'The House That Dripped Blood', full-blooded shockers that actively feature twist-headed horror stars taking their day job a little too seriously. In lieu of Lee or Price, the 'Horror Star' enjoys the considerably less storied figure of veteran actor Ferdy Mayne, who, entirely to his credit plays the decidedly sadistic, washed-up horror ham with all the requisite lip-smacking, overcooked glee the role demands.

The youthful members of a collegiate horror society undertake a vastly ill-considered 'Weekend at Bernies' lark and somewhat fatally decide to break into the absurdly ostentatious, murderously booby tracked tomb and 'borrow' the just recently interred remains of Conrad Ragzof (Ferdy Mayne) and not long after they have brought the unlovely corpse of this once venerated actor back to their Adams Family-style mansion/clubhouse, that the diabolical repercussions of so morbidly nefarious an action begins. As on that very same fateful night, now monstrously awakened by demonic forces arcane, the re-animated, devil-possessed, supernaturally endowed Thespian zealously proceeds to quite literally chew up the scenery as the rampaging Ragzof goes about completing his maniacal vendetta, luridly dispatching the beleaguered members of 'The Horror Film Society' with theatrically grisly aplomb!

And it is the wonderfully visceral pleasure of seeing a wickedly unrestrained Ferdy Mayne zealously Todd Slaughtering his maniacal way through the shadowy, cobwebbed confines of his immaculately spooky domain which makes the much neglected 'Horror Star' aka 'Frightmare' such an eminently entertaining, deeply creepy, highly camp, old school 80s spook show.

Popiól i diament
(1958)

A profoundly moving viewing experience of uncommon depth and originality.
Not having previously seen any of acclaimed, academy award-winning filmmaker Andrzej Wadja's earlier works, I watched his iconic, ground-breaking WW2 masterpiece 'Ashes & Diamonds' (1958) with especially avid interest. Sometimes it can be considerably more rewarding to jump into an unfamiliar classic totally blind and in the specific case of Andrzej Wadja's simply stunning 'Ashes & Diamonds' my cinematic curiosity was richly rewarded with a profoundly moving viewing experience of uncommon depth and originality.

Such a potently expressed, dramatically oblique film that dealt so unsentimentally about the unprecedented emotional/political schism brought on by the conclusion of WW2 and the tumultuous internecine squabbling over the inevitably disordered reclamation of a brutally beleaguered, war-ravaged, politically fractured nation would make for anything but easy viewing and 'Ashes & Diamonds' is grimly uneasy fare, the tone deliberately and fascinatingly discombobulating, there are no trite answers and the three-dimensional characters actions are initially hard to digest, their motivations sometimes obscure, impenetrable, no less confounding and questionable than our own petty intrigues.

The immaculately written, miraculously layered script by novelist Jerzy Andrzejewski is an extraordinary dramatic achievement of itself as are the vividly expressionistic visuals by supremely gifted director Wadja alongside his no less eloquent DP, the extraordinary talented Jerzy Wójcik create a striking series of elegiac images that all too uncomfortably suggest unimaginable horrors borne of an all too recent war, but truly it is the febrile, deliciously quixotic performance by Zbigniew Hubert Cybulski as incendiary, machine-gun brandishing protagonist Maciek Chelmicki, whose explosive, oscillatory nature vividly expresses the sheer, multifarious insanity of not only having surviving the innumerable savageries of war itself but the ever mounting, debilitating existential conflict borne from Chelmicki's sudden, unexpectedly burgeoning intimate relationship with the disarmingly beautiful Krystyna (Ewa Krzyzewska), the charmingly ingenuous waitress working at the fateful hotel 'Metropol' where this expressly dark, morally complex story simmers unsettlingly to boiling point.

Blessed with such an engagingly literate screenplay sublime full-blooded performances from a notably exceptional cast, the fact that 'Ashes & Diamonds' remains an exquisitely visual experience merely adds to the exemplary film's considerable mystique. Not since unsuspectedly viewing 'La bete' in a packed rep cinema has a film's vibrant imagery enthralled me with such extraordinary temerity.

Emmanuelle in Soho
(1981)

This terminally flaccid skin flick is a frequently hilarious red light relic!
While not exactly the last chicken in the shop viz a viz the once infamously sleazy 'Emmanuelle' series of soft focus smut but now clearly well past its sell by date. In director David Hughes's persistently inane and gratuitously bra-less, monumentally brainless T&A movie, this rather dour iteration of Emmanuelle now takes the lumpen form of a rather monotonous, decidedly unglamorous dark-haired slap n' tickle strumpet-crumpet named 'Emmanuelle of Soho' ('Randy' Mandy Miller) a bemusingly prosaic performer making an altogether dingy living repeatedly getting her skimpy schmutter off for innumerable cheapskate Soho filth flingers, and thereafter luridly lounging around with the equally tepid Kate Benson (Julie Lee) who 'stars' in a low rent, bogglingly banal burlesque while her fouffy-haired, singularly vapid photographer husband Paul (Kevin Fraser) attempts to sell his puerile photos to sinister Soho sleaze merchant Bill Anderson (John M. East), only to later discover that the duplicitous, shifty-eyed wretch Anderson is making far more money on them than he is letting on, so Paul constructs a ribald ruse to get his lacklustre revenge, and thus ends the penurious plot.

This terminally flaccid skin flick is a frequently hilarious red light relic wherein excruciatingly poor 'acting', arbitrary nudity, risible rutting, fruggable Disco-themed library music and entirely artless photography once passed for seamy 'adult' entertainment, but seen today is so egregiously shoddy to behold, so profoundly unerotic and absurdly incompetent as to almost lend it an aura of outrageously camp satire! The gloriously grot-minded, heroically hapless 'Emmanuelle in Soho' is riotously funny for all the wrong reasons.

'Emmanuelle in Soho' is manifestly awful, with all the tangible sensual appeal of a septic bunion, replete with moronic dialogue so asinine as to strongly suggest the 'author' might have some considerable trouble writing a cogent note to the milkman without nursies help! But a genuinely sublime, uncommonly trashy celluloid calamity such as this appears all too rarely, and movie maestro John Landis cleverly parodied this turgid mode of sexless idiocy in his iconic 'See You Next Wednesday' skit, being voluptuously assisted by the buxom starlet Linzi Drew, seen all too briefly in his classic 'American Werewolf in London', and the delightfully pulchritudinous, ubiquitous 80s pin-up Drew also makes a no less brief, but equally exhilarating appearance in 'Emmanuelle in Soho', her 'tremendously titillating talents' quite demonstratively being the two stars of producer John M. East's otherwise pallid peep show.

Bloodstone: Subspecies II
(1993)

steeped in doomy Gothic melancholia and boundless creativity, which is largely absent in identikill horror cinema today.
Ted Nicoloau's immortal vampire saga takes an altogether morbid turn in the macabre sequel which unhappily finds our recently undead heroine Michelle Morgan (Denice Duff) hopelessly lost on the twilight streets of Bratislava, with the majestically malevolent Radu (Anders Hove) increasingly desperate to reclaim his beloved life-giving Bloodstone, seemingly damned to a cruel fate far beyond her most diabolical imaginings as perplexed, amusingly inept Lt. Marin (Ion Haiduc) her distressed sister Rebecca Morgan (Melanie Shatner) and diminutive, lionhearted museum archivist, eldritch scholar, lauded distiller of the world's strongest liqueur Palinka and erstwhile vampire hunter Popescu (Michael Denish) earnestly attempt to discover the fearful truth about ominous Vladisas castle, the fabled Bloodstone, Machiavellian prince Radu and his forcefully resistant fledgling vampire Michelle.

Even with the incorrigibly invidious Radu's actions becoming ever more despicable, it is his entirely wretched-looking mother that provides the truly blackened, wormy heart of the delightfully diabolical instalment, her murderously scheming, fantastically foul, stomach-churning sorcery brought to disgustingly lurid life by Pamela Gordon along with some astonishingly grisly practical effects by Wayne Toth, Michael Deak and Daniela Busoiu, with the historical splendour of Bratislava adding a dreamlike Gothic delirium to director Nicolaou's sublimely sinister milieu.

Having the original Subspecies signature dark romance being somewhat tempered in the sublime sequel actively increases the innately gruesome Gothic atmospherics that giddily transports the vampire-loving viewer into a hellishly twisted subterranean realm of unspeakable blood rites, vile necromantic practices, gleefully grisly gorings and desperate pathos as the cadaverous-looking Michelle plummets ever deeper into a crepuscular miasma of endless night and the rapacious bloodlust borne of her terrible transformation from beautiful young collegiate scholar to pallid, street-stalking, throat-ripping succubus, the fear-steeped fledgling to the despicable Radu, suffering the sickening depredations of his mercurial malevolence. 'Bloodstone: 'Subspecies II' remains a firm fan favourite since it is sinisterly steeped in deliciously doomy Gothic melancholia and boundless creativity, which is largely absent in identikill horror cinema today.

The Exterminator
(1980)

'Dare you take a gander at a greasy gangster goin' feet first into a murderous meat grinder? Because if your guts can take it 'The Exterminator is a B-Movie blinder!'
After a once notorious, but still rather harrowing Vietnam flashback, including some audacious pyro and a rather spiffy practical effect by future FX stars Stan Winston and Tom Burman our tall, handsome, blue-eyed anti-hero John Eastland (Robert Ginty) is freed by his best buddy Mike Jefferson (Steve James) desperately shooting their way to freedom and so begins James Glickenhaus's street tough, tabloid-baiting, dark-edged squib-tastic skell slaying revenge classic which not only had one of the more striking poster artworks of the era but also contained the immortal line: '...if you're lying, I'll be back!'

Running contrary to the multitudes of similarly themed revenge thrillers that enthusiastically followed in its inflammatory wake, our 'pushed-too-far' death dealer Eastland is no impervious superman, during a robbery at the warehouse where he is employed, his honourable attempts to intervene fail and once again he is rescued by his loyal, far more physically capable friend Jefferson, and we can see that he is greatly affected by his pronounced brooding while ruminating on the rooftop, the grisly memories of Vietnam crudely reawakened by the no less brutal apparently lawless streets of early 80s, pre gentrified New York City. This manifestly decayed, dilapidated, once futurist metropolis brought to its grubby knees by government corruption, crippling poverty and escalating, increasingly violent crime.

Gutsy director Glickenhaus unflinchingly digs deep into the seamy, scum-infested, morally diseased underbelly, and it is the intimate exposure to this nauseating mortal miasma and a great personal tragedy that pushes Eastland to breaking point and beyond! If made today, which thankfully it wasn't, John Eastland's 'Exterminator' would be portrayed as a bulletproof, kung fu superman, whereas Eastland is a far more 3-dimensional, hugely relatable character and the softly spoken, seemingly unassuming Ginty is a wholly convincing, if initially reluctant scum cleaner. He is methodical, not impervious, and when we watch Eastland meticulously prepare his mercury tipped bullets it is done in the same calm, almost prosaic, matter-of-fact manner he annihilates the pernicious vermin that poison society. It is a magnificent, understated performance, his is the 'Exterminator', no superhuman training montages, just a quiet, reflective man wielding a very, very big stick! It is the wilful lack of hysteria, the omission of theatricality which makes Eastland such a terrifying proposition, he visibly gleans no illicit pleasure from his violent actions, but you can't reason with inhuman vermin, you simply exterminate them!

Subspecies
(1991)

'Ted Nicolaou's sinfully sublime shocker will stake your breath away!'
I have long regarded the 'Subspecies' tetralogy to be one of the more underappreciated and frequently misunderstood horror franchises, perhaps due in part to an innate prejudice in some snooty filmic quarters to Full Moon Pictures, either way the introductory instalment to this fine Gothic series has much to recommend it to far-flung, fang-tastical horror freaks of all rages and perfectly invidious blood-lusting proclivities!

Once uncomfortably ensconced in the majestic confines of medieval castle Vladislas our charming trio of perky, scholastically inclined protagonists soon discover to their increasingly creepy chagrin that the ancient local vampire legends prove to be anything but anecdotal, and the deliciously diabolical Radu (Anders Hove) now diabolically drunk on the insidious powers afforded him by the mystical Bloodstone lusts to turn the sensually studious scream queens into his own personal harem of grievously pale, diaphanously clad murder minions with only his benign, love-struck half-brother Stefan (Michael Watson) and the loyal castle caretaker Karl (Ivan J. Rado) to arrest Radu's morbid, blood-thirsty rampages. But how do you kill an unearthly abomination that exists far beyond the mortal parameters of life and death?

This enthralling, wonderfully atmospheric vampire tale much like its lurid nemesis Radu is riotously rendered into bloody, wide-scream life with cinematic means no less magical by the gifted genre filmmaker Nicolaou and his remarkable cast and crew. The doomily evocative, other-worldly Romanian location having a darkly ominous verisimilitude that eerily creates an additionally macabre and oppressive stage upon which the craven, crypt-dwelling poisonous prince Radu can unleash his far from righteous reign in blood!

'Subspecies' is a full-bloodied terror tipple with morgue bite than most! But you might lose more than your head when you awaken these immortally hungering undead.... But it could be tomb much for your throat to bare as wicked Prince Radu invokes his vainglorious Vampire Voodoo!'

'Subspecies is a grave new world in grisly Gothic horror...if you dare watch 'Subspecies' you'll be hacking the slime of your life...'Subspecies'...screaming in a cinema real soon!!!!

Dutifully and diabolically made by the B-Movie Boffins at Full Moon Studios...if 'Subspecies' doesn't scare the fangs off you...you're already undead! Ted Nicolaou's sinfully sublime shocker will stake your breath away!'

Ronin
(1998)

'This is one masterful Ronin that is destined to never roam alone.'
Arguably one of the 90s finest action thrillers finds an iconic director in full command of his not inconsiderable filmmaking talents, as maestro John Frankenheimer constructs a fascinating, heroically hard-boiled, exquisitely tooled example of a breathlessly exciting, European flavoured, tightly-plotted thriller with a top-notch cast, including a commanding turn by Robert De Niro and featuring of the most explosively kinetic, pulse-pounding, tarmac-melting car chases since 'Vanishing Point'.

After a dramatically doomy, rain-soaked opening, this edgy, disparate crew of mercenary specialists are given some altogether sketchy details about the metal suitcase they are tasked to steal, but their meticulous planning unravels all too inevitably since one or more of their number might have an alternative agenda to their collective plan, and therefore the violent conflict to purloin this mysterious item rapidly escalates towards a barnstorming finale of despicable double-dealing and noisome gun-fights, all brightly contrasted against the uniquely picturesque, sun-hazed backdrop of the spectacular French Riviera and a full-throttle, pedal-to-the-metal vehicular ballet that is robustly staged with nerve-shredding precision by Frankenheimer and his equally exacting crew. The script is no less theatrically intense, enlivened by some exemplary performances from Michael Lonsdale, Stellan Skarsgaard, Natasha McElhorne, and there is a wonderful natural chemistry between the wire-taut C. I. A. Field operative Sam (Robert De Niro) and taciturn, no less capable associate Vincent (Jean Reno) with a menacing Jonathan Price proving especially repellent as the murderous, self-serving terrorist Seamus.

Ronin's blunt, minimalistic style is not so much timeless as perhaps from another time, now finally enjoying the deservedly classic status of William Friedkin's 'To Live and Die in L. A.' or immaculate Gallic crime masterpieces like 'Le Cercle Rouge' and Claude Sautet's 'Classe tous Risques'. Nothing ever feels cinematically gratuitous, these are the forceful actions of desperate men and women, reflexive, pragmatic uses of force, rather than hysteric cartoonish overkill. While the enjoyably rich text is occasionally droll it's never glib; granted, the Stoic Sam frequently expresses a witheringly blackened sense of humour, but this is a deadly serious man in a increasingly precarious, highly volatile situation and his modus operandi is never that of a bullet-proof superhero, but a real, flesh and blood field agent, far from invulnerable, yet his extreme caution, logic, plentiful experience and rigorous training giving him a steely combative edge which celluloid craftsman Frankenheimer has also strongly tempered his exemplary crime feature with. A sublimely rare artefact, a genuinely adult action thriller, not over-burnished franchise fodder, but a stand-alone, bullet-casing sleek genre classic.

Vtáckovia, siroty a blázni
(1969)

vivid imagery percolates drug-like in the reeling mind long after the celluloid reels have concluded spinning
Juraj Jakubisko's late 1960s allegorical, thematically bold, visually arresting drama is a singularly energetically mounted film that can perhaps seem a little overwhelming kinetic at times, almost feeling like an unruly salvo of visual non-sequiturs and rapid, epigrammatic dialogue, but there is some bravura filmmaking to be discovered as Jakubisko's alluring mise-en scene is anything but staid, and ace cameraman Igor Luther's ceaseless invention is exquisite to behold!

Watching the bawdy and increasingly surrealistic ménage à trois between gamine Marta (Magda Vasaryova) handsome, self-destructive Yorick (Jiri Sykora) and the besotted, naive photographer Andrew (Philippe Avron) I couldn't help but recall the similarly galvanizing love attraction in Truffaut's immortal 'Jules et Jim', sharing an equally spirited, non-conformist approach to narrative, but with 'Birds, Orphans and Fools' I frequently 'felt' far more of the film than objectively understood it, which overall made it so much more of a fascinating existential experience.

The three young, altogether disparate adolescent lovers cavort uproariously, drink, make love and act the goat with a genuinely joyful abandon; their desperately draughty, wholly derelict love nest, abounding in cheery chaos; sharing their intimacies with an omnipresent flock of ceaselessly twitching birds, and all this increasing, boisterously choreographed tumult careening to a rather grim conclusion that caught me totally unawares. I shall leave any profound political analysis to those with a more scholastic background, but for me, Czech visionary Juraj Jakubisko's exhilarating, disorientatingly kaleidoscopic film is both a deliciously psychedelic mind bomb and a winningly sensuous elegiac trip into an expressive, boldly uninhibited vista that one only really sees in the more exploratory examples of transgressive 60s cinema.

'Birds, Orphans and Fools' is an altogether edifying rush of hyperbolic celluloid pleasure, not unlike 'Daisies' & 'Valerie and her week of Wonders', fellow Slovak fabulist Jakubisko's restless, vivid imagery percolates drug-like in the reeling mind long after the celluloid reels have concluded spinning. I don't know exactly what it is about 60s & 70s Czech cinema that makes them so uniquely captivating, but so many of them have a singularly expressive, darkly mesmerizing melancholic beauty, being frequently blessed with the most extraordinarily mellifluous and exciting soundtracks, and Zdenek Liska's gorgeously uplifting baroque themes are a constant delight!

Una farfalla con le ali insanguinate
(1971)

'The Bloodstained Butterfly' is a wonderfully nuanced, consistently luscious-looking, uncommonly immersive Giallo
A highly regarded storyteller, the talented, versatile filmmaker Duccio Tessari's far from atypical Giallo forgoes shrill, sensation-seeking gore and meticulously constructs a uniquely fascinating dissection of the apparently random murder of an innocent young girl. The densely layered narrative is far less overtly lurid than many other iterations of the sinister, black-gloved, amateur-sleuthing Gialli of the period, focusing instead with single-minded intensity upon all the available crime scene evidence and the eyewitness testimony of those individuals being in the vicinity at the precise moment of Françoise Pigaut's (Carole Andre) grisly murder.

The visually astute filmmaker's dramatically intricate, structurally more forensic approach to this shadowy killer's possible identity and darkling motivations is an intriguing gambit, penetrating deeper into the character's psychology than most vintage slashers of the period, peering almost voyeuristically into the febrile minds of a vividly drawn trio of disparate, malevolently entwined male protagonists, the classically handsome, undeniably glamorous-looking, emotionally complicated pianist Giorgio Venosta, ostensibly benign proletariat family man sports broadcaster 'Sandro' Marchi (Giancarlo Sbragia) and his friend and lawyer, the altogether shady, fact-twisting Giulio Cordaro (Gunther Stoll) whose seamy interest in young girls may not simply be aesthetic.

Any truly captivating thriller is certainly more than an especially gifted filmmaker's protean ability to conjure up tired thriller tropes into increasingly convoluted and confounding shapes simply to maintain an audience's jaded interest, while the components are indeed ubiquitous; dead girl, dogged police investigation, courtroom scenes and the oblique motives of an unknown, shadow-dwelling aggressor, but the masterful Tessari has a surer hand than most, and much like the successful completion of an especially baffling close quarters card trick requires not only dexterous manipulations, it must effectively shield the act of duplicity itself, so what Tessari shows us may be anything but the incontrovertible truth.

'The Bloodstained Butterfly' is a wonderfully nuanced, consistently luscious-looking, uncommonly immersive Giallo where the fine acting, refined writing and sure-footed direction has been greatly enhanced by maestro Gianni Ferrio's exquisite score and the sumptuous, almost decadent beauty of Bergamo which proves to be no less of an intriguing character than Burger's quixotic musician who frequently acts as though his nerves were more tautly strung than his piano!

Dream No Evil
(1970)

A terrifying expose of a deranged, murderously inclined psyche!
I have been an ardent admirer of the delightfully deviant, uniquely inspired genre filmmaker John Hayes ever since I had the goodly fortune to enjoy the ominous Michael Pataki starring in his grievously Gothic oddity 'Grave of The Vampire' (1972) and 'Dream No Evil' is arguably Hayes's most exquisitely eerie expression of an altogether singular filmmaking art. Not unlike fellow indie iconoclast Robert Allen Schnitzer I sincerely feel that these recent Blu-ray restorations will draw greater scrutiny upon this somewhat unfairly neglected cinematic artist whose wonderfully off-beat, idiosyncratic visions are quite unlike any other filmmaker.

'Dream No Evil' opens tersely in an orphanage where a terrified young girl Grace McDonald (Brooke Mills) has a screaming nightmare, crying out desperately for a father who may or may not still be alive, or if alive, may have simply abandoned her. While Grace grows up into a beautiful, physically healthy young woman her morbid obsession over her absent father gradually begins to warp her objectivity and ultimately send her on a dangerously hallucinatory pilgrimage into a living, techinicolor nightmare, where ice-cold corpses reanimate at will, intricate dreams become terrifyingly real and Grace's darkly incestuous erotic fantasies become so vivid, so immersive, she is wholly consumed by make believe, but Grace's morbid games prove to be anything but harmless, as they all too frequently say, be very careful what you wish for as it just might happen!

The calamitous rupture in her tormented psyche is deftly orchestrated by Hayes and the heady, evocative milieu of a barnstorming, roadside preacher with all its attendant hysterical theatricality is effectively done, with the inimitable Michael Pataki boisterously imbuing the role of Rev. Paul Jessie Bundy with the unfiltered zeal such a flamboyant misfit requires. Dream No Evil's delirious final act is a suitably terrifying expose of a deranged, murderously inclined psyche, both morbidly fascinating and existentially repellent at the same time. Her astonishing angelic beauty, lustrous red hair and lissome charms belie an uncommonly vibrant, 3-dimensional, preternaturally destructive madness, a technicolor Freudian nightmare one is unlikely to ever forget!

Into the Darkness
(1986)

A cheap as chutney, bucket-and-slayed, sun-stroked Mediterranean massacre!
Underground hero filmmaker David Kent-Watson's soon-to-be cult S. O. V slasher begins quite splendidly with a lurid sequence featuring a distressed young boy unpleasantly witnessing his somewhat degenerated mother selling her less than desirous body, thereby bluntly suggesting that our energetically stalking P. O. V-centric killer has a grievous case of 'Mommy Dearest' issues, and the prognosis looks pretty terminal for any women that remind him of his slattern matriarch!

The 'G. B. H' director's archetypal slasher shifts to altogether sunnier climes where boorish alpha male photographer Jeff Conti (John Saint Ryan) takes a titillating troupe of lusciously lissome lovelies to sun-blanched, appropriately picture perfect Malta for a racy fashion shoot, leeringly overseen by impish agent, the wickedly unsavoury David Beckett (Donald Pleasence) where with agreeable, if relatively bloodless regularity some unknown, model-hacking aggressor violently unleashes his poorly repressed madness and proceeds to wantonly P. O. V these delectably beach-beautiful, bikini-clad babes to death!

What might have been a conspicuously dreadful, low budget, shot-on-video, gore-less bore proved itself to be a modestly macabre slasher generously endowed with all the abundantly absurd trappings of bodacious B-Movie mania to raise it vaingloriously out of the muck-headed movie mire, while certainly no undiscovered VHS-ear classic, Kent-Watson's cheap as chutney, bucket-and-slayed, sun-stroked Mediterranean massacre is quite demonstratively a so-bad-it's-good, Pizza N' Leer, stalk n' slash cheese-fest. 'Into The Darkness' is made ever more appetizing by crusty horror icon Donald Pleasence's resplendently sleazy performance as the disreputable David Beckett, the sublime Maltese locations and a surprisingly effective score by Vic Emerson with some additionally fine music by guitar master Chris Rea.

La più bella serata della mia vita
(1972)

Scola's absorbing 'La più bella serata della mia vita' (1972) playfully proves itself to be anything but predictable!
While 'La più bella serata della mia vita' (1972) might be one of the iconic producer's earlier, seemingly lesser-known productions it is no less noteworthy than his later higher profile features. Handsomely set against the lofty Alpine majesty of mountainous Switzerland and primarily concerns the 'meet-cute' and subsequent transport of Alfredo Rossis's (Alberto Sordi) day from the banal to the exceptionally eventful, not to mention surrealistic adventure of the petite bourgeois, nouveau riche, not altogether honest honest businessman Dr. Rossi, zestfully played with tremendously charismatic gusto by the twinkle-eyed Sordi.

Once he completes some plainly shady financial deal, things take an unfamiliar bent, not best pleased by the bank being closed, his irritation temporarily leavened by discovering that the glistering Suzuki blocking his lobster red Maserati is owned by a mysteriously tantalizing, sleekly leather-clad Janet Agren who then alacritously leads them on a thrilling, hair-raising chase deep into the mountains, where he finally arrives by means equine to the fairy tale castle of the urbane and initially hospitable Avvocato Conte la Bruntiere (Pierre Brasseur) where Scola's absorbing 'La più bella serata della mia vita' (1972) playfully proves itself to be anything but predictable!

The imposing, labyrinthine castle makes for an especially colourful stage for Ettore's quixotic, sharp-edged surrealistic tale which swiftly places the scheming, erstwhile Lothario in the hazing midst of a series of frequently bizarre narrative twists and turns, no less precarious than the circuitous road that his darkly beguiling phantom Biker led him so speedily onto. While ostensibly a chamber comedy about the increasingly discombobulated Dr. Rossi's puzzling sojourn in a castle and its singularly vivid and sublimely off-beat inhabitants, his jocular ordeal at the liver-spotted hands of these octogenarian misfits occasionally feels like a cruel, punishing and unerringly accurate dissection of the manipulative, street smart businessman's Rossi's far from bleached white character, allowing for some genuine pathos sometimes lacking in less sophisticated comedies.

This is a wonderfully witty, delightfully entertaining comedy blessed with an effervescent script by Ettore Scola, Sergio Amidei adapted from his play 'La Panne' and brought to barnstorming life by a fantastic ensemble cast of truly magnificent actors, proving especially delightful are Pierre Brasseur, Charles Vanel and a positively incandescent Laughton-esque turn from Michel Simon as Avvocato Zorn. While undeniably stagy, enlivened with such a Promethean collection of outstanding performances one barely notices, but any viewer with the good fortune to see Scola's exquisitely mounted farce will be immediately struck by the fascinating, spectral beauty of Janet Agren, becoming strangely beguiled by her somewhat demonic Suzuki riding, draped in black alter ego, and Armando Trovaioli's endearingly odd, synth-heavy score, which gives a deliciously off-kilter edge to a far from ordinary comedy.

Tout le monde il en a deux
(1974)

The moist sublime B-Movie burlesque this silken side of Joseph Sarno!
'Bacchanales Sexuelles' aka 'Tout le monde il deux' (1974) - Michel Gentil (Jean Rollin.)

Starting in an appropriately Jess Franco-ian fashion with a mysterious, fabulously attired exotic blond Malvina (Britt Anders) making enquiries over the current whereabouts of a journalist in what appears a splendidly sordid-looking office. Not soon after she exits we then discover that the imperious Malvina is a super-nefarious, slave-making polymorphously perverse pseudo-sorceress, the debased, blackmailing matriarch who uses her ensorcelled initiates to frequently satiate her profoundly unfiltered licentious desires! With a plot no less threadbare than the flimsy garments these delightful Gallic starlets so blithely discard, director Michele Gentil (Jean Rollin) wastes little time into proceeding to the fulsome fleshly frolics that form the sleekly attractive backbone of his daringly illicit romp which gleefully exposes more perfectly formed rumps than fellow French sensualist the Marquis de Sade!

While 'Bacchanales Sexuelles' is narratively sparse, nonetheless the playful director's sublimely sensuous skin-flick is far from frugal when it comes to hyperbolic displays of energetically performed and multifarious examples of physically amorous dexterity! Once the breathtakingly beautiful Valerie (Joelle 'Schoolgirl Hitchhikers' Coeur) has taken up comfortable residence in her absent Cousin's agreeably palatial, handsomely Bohemian apartment, where she proceeds with great dispatch to hungrily explore every nubile nook and insatiable cranny the curious Valerie zealously comes across!

There are all too few refined flesh-fests that so pleasantly revive both the somnolent spirit and other more corporeal appendages than Jean Rollin's perfectly pulchritudinous exploration of epicurean exotica, and, happily, very little is left to the imagination therefore giving the more avidly skin-seeking celluloid sensualist a ringside seat to some of the moist sublime B-Movie burlesque this silken side of Joseph Sarno and that mercurial misfit of majestic midnight cinema Jess Franco. Aside from enjoying these uniquely edifying visions of Gallic Grindhouse's finest felines, including delicious Jean Rollin Alumni Joelle Coeur, titillating terror twins Catherine & Marie-Pierre Castel, and the delightfully elfin Annie 'Lips of Blood' Belle. The supremely slinky, never less than funky lounge funk by groove-master Rex Hilton is persistently perfect sleazy listening.

Jean Rollin's 'Tout le monde il deux' is a bold and bountiful B-Movie bacchanal without an iota of decency, praise be! (movie)

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