Cult Epics continues its erotic archival work with these two collections of short films. Volume 1 consists of pieces from the 1940s (with at least one from 1938 thrown in), while Volume 2 deals with the 50s. The former has such amusing “documentary” shorts as “They Wear No Clothes” (*gasp*) and various comedy routines. The latter has the inevitable Irving Klaw shorts. None of these films are by any definition “good,” but they are fascinating records of the state of American sexuality at that time. Watching all of these at one sitting would be quite the chore, but then, when was the last time you read an encyclopaedia straight through? There is a similar documentary value here.
Severin continues their serious play to be the go-to company for Eurosleaze with this, one of Joe D’Amato’s better efforts. We first meet Papaya (Melissa Chimenti) as she luxuriates on the beach, makes love with a fellow in a cabana – and then orally castrates him, whereupon she walks away as two minions torch the cabana. Fantasy Island, this ain’t. The action then shifts to Sara (Sirpa Lane of The Beast fame), a journalist we first see revelling in a cock fight. She hooks up with Vincent (Maurice Poli), a nuclear power executive with whom she has had a casual fling before. The two of them are drawn into Papaya’s web of sex and blood ritual. She is, in fact, part of a political group fighting back against the power company’s expropriations and pollution by any means necessary.
When The Ruins opens, it doesn’t look quite so promising. We’ve got two American couples sharing a vacation in Mexico. They’re reaching the end of their stay and are getting a tad bored with the sun and surf. Enter the foreign stranger who happens to have access to a secret archeological dig and invites the foursome along. Immediately I begin to suspect I’ve seen it all before. I figure the guy’s going to lead them to some isolated torture garden where sadistic maniacs will have their way with the tourists.
There really was nothing like the Italian film industry in full exploitative steam. The Beast in Space is a perfect example of what I mean. From where else but Italy in 1980 could there emerge a low-rent rip-off of both Walerian Borowczyk’s high-end erotic epic The Beast and Star Wars? Even the poster somehow manages to conjure thoughts of both films. And the title shamelessly implies that it is some sort of sequel to the former. So what kind of alchemy do these elements produce?
Human Giant is a sketch comedy show starring Aziz Ansari, Rob Huebel and Paul Scheer. These guys may not necessarily be household names, but these are three guys who know their way around the comedy circuit. Personally I’ve never caught this show on MTV. I guess that’s because I don’t watch MTV. Ever. But as a fan of Mr. Show, SCTV, and the like, I’m happy to have discovered Human Giant: Season One on DVD.
Still grieving over their father’s death, two sisters – the outgoing Dagmar (Stefania D’Amario) and the neurotic, antisocial Ursula (Barbara Magnolfi) – check into an out-of-season hotel. They are almost immediately immersed in a tangled web of relationships and betrayals involving the hotel manager, his estranged wife, a lounge singer and a drug-addicted patron. At the same time, a series of gruesome sex slayings gets underway.
Tim Burton, Johnny Depp, Helena Bohnam Carter, and a 1970’s Broadway musical by Stephen Sondheim about a barber with a penchant for truly close, and rather bloody, shaves. With these kinds of ingredients you have a can’t miss recipe for Sweeney Todd, The Demon Barber Of Fleet Street. The finished product is a wickedly clever and most unusual movie experience. Tim Burton’s style blends so seamlessly with the dark humor of the original production.
I’m not sure what we will consider the fall of man. Perhaps it will be dangerous emissions into the air; perhaps it will be what happens when we don’t recycle enough. It could just be when I don’t win a freaking Nobel Peace Prize for my work in the field of gaming and dvd collecting. But perhaps the true fall of man will actually be rested upon the shoulders of one man and that man is Jerry Springer. For years, his brash trailer trash tv show has done more to destroy mankind than the rubber chicken (trust me, you just don’t know). Within the last few years, Jerry has had to take his shtick elsewhere. In college campuses, in shopping malls, on PPV. Yes Pay Per View. This first volume of Jerry explores the first three Pay Per View specials and wow. That is simply all I can say.
The original Bachelor’s Party was produced roughly 25 years ago in the 80’s. Drugs, Sex, Tom Hanks and a donkey with a taste for belly dancing and cocaine all highlighted this cult favorite film that actually did very well for it’s time and genre. However, 2008 decided to release a sequel to this movie. Naturally, they could not get Tom Hanks to even do a cameo since he’s busy doing important films that involve him walking around an airport or naming inanimate objects “Wilson”. However, throw in some hot comics and even hotter females with some solid writing and you might just have a really fun and racucous time.
The web has a way of delivering some of the most interesting material. Flash animation in particular can produce some very funny shorts. Furthermore, these shorts are unedited and can be downloaded by millions of people on a whim. These viral episodes can be played over and over again, with little care to the quality or the content. But what happens when they take that idea and decide to make into a feature length film? In this case, proof that people will download anything.
Olivier Smolders is a Belgian filmmaker with a sensibility as distinctive and challenging as his artistry is developed. Cult Epics has done North American audiences a huge service by bringing his films to Region 1 DVD release. This disc has ten short films. Each piece has its own distinct identity, yet they are all very clearly the work of a singular creative talent. The frequently disturbing shorts range from a tale of murder and cannibalism in “Adoration” (previously available on the Cinema of Death collection), to the heartbreaking “Mort à Vignole” (where Smolders narrates a family tragedy filtered through home movies made by his and his wife’s parents, along with his own family footage), to an extended yet elegantly filmed practical joke (“Point de Fuite”) to a most unusual adaptation of Sade with “La Philosophie dans le Boudoir.” The films are invariably gorgeous and clinical in the precision of their observations. The blurbs on the case invoke Lynch, Greenaway and Bergman, and the comparisons are apt, though Smolders is also very much his own man.
Severin unleashes three more entries from Italy’s long-running sexploitation saga, and the result is another fascinating collection. The quality of the movies themselves up and down, but the good stuff is very good, and the collective result is something that is completely fascinating. Exploitation fans should be over the moon.
After going all the way back to the 20s with the last entry in this series, now Cult Epics gives us a collection from 1960s, a period that marks the beginning of the end for this kind of pornographic short. Theatrical hardcore is just around the corner, and things will never be the same. In the meantime, though, things are remarkably the same. Other than some clothing styles (in those brief moments when clothes are actually on), it’s interesting to note that there is very little to distinguish these twelve entries from those of any other decade, a point driven home by the bonus short from the 1940s, which doesn’t feel very different from the rest of the offerings. Artistically, there is not much going on here (surprise, surprise), but the star rating indicates the fact that, despite this, there is some clear archival value here.
What happens when the reviewer who did Dante’s Cove decides to tackle its vampiresque cousin, The Lair? (Besides scheduling more sessions with his psychiatrist) You get somebody who starts understanding what makes up the Here! network. We’re homies, we break bread together. Just don’t expect me to wear my pants that low nor participate in your late night parties. I got an image to uphold. Season one of the Lair provides something that no other show on the Here! network has proved to this point. A show where there is actual dialog and something more than a cheap excuse to show lots and lots of male on male action. Welcome to the Fang Bang.
Mario Bianchi’s film is a 1982 remake of the recently reviewed Malabimba. The spirit of a newly deceased woman possesses her daughter, and proceeds to wreak havoc in the gothic castle that is the family’s domicile. Of course, given that the father is a murderous drug-addict, there isn’t that much for the possessed teen to do, as far as the plot itself is concerned. Curiously, this effort is less lurid than its predecessor (barring a couple of insanely OTT performances), with less nudity and taboo-busting, and also a rather less interesting deconstruction of respectable society. Plotting and motivation are haphazard at best. Still, it’s a not-unentertaining late-period Italian gothic, blessed with handsome sets.
I’ll describe this show the same way I did to a friend of mine who is now a fan of all things Dethklok. If you took This Is Spinal Tap added Type O Negative (at their hardest) and made it into a cartoon, you might have some idea what Metalocalypse is all about. Part tribute, part parody, all metal, Metalocalypse is likely the most gruesome and one of the best shows on Cartoon Network’s Adult Swim lineup.
Connoisseurs of Eurosleaze will be pleased with this nasty little variation on the gothic. In an isolated castle, a fractious, failing aristocratic family has gathered. There is no more money in the family, except indirectly: one brother, now in a vegetative state, is married to a rather wanton woman, who now holds the purse strings. The matriarch suggests that her other son marry her, even though his brother is still alive. The man is properly horrified by the suggestion, and he is also still in mourning for his wife. But then something – the spirit of his wife? a demon? – invades his teenage daughter, who then starts acting out sexually and recreating scenes from The Exorcist.
This is a second release of the film already available in Severin’s fine Black Emanuelle’s Box collection. What I said about the film in that review still holds, to whit: “Emanuelle Around the World (1977) has a bit more of a storyline, though it is still very picaresque in nature. Picturesque as well. Our heroine becomes outraged by the sex traffic of women, and so travels from location to location, exposing the evildoers. D’Amato (who also directed the previous entry) here rather unconvincingly dons a pseudo-feminist stance, but there are moments actually approaching suspense. The sex scenes of both these films are, for the most part, laughable, though occasionally well shot. Any sense of eroticism is thanks to Laura Gemser, whose ethereal beauty and grace are such that she moves through the film as an almost divine presence, above and untouched by the events around her.”
If it’s 1977, this must be softcore, and so it is. Vanessa is a another lush sexual travelogue, dug up from the archives and given a rather spiffy release from Severin. Yet another product cast in the Emmanuelle mould, Vanessa has its titular heroine leave her convent home (gee, what sort of nonsense do you think we find out happened there?) after she comes into a large inheritance. Flying to Hong Kong, she finds out that this inheritance consists of a chain of high-end brothels. Cue the exotic locations and varied sexual encounters. There’s nothing hugely striking or original about any of this, but as an example its type, it’s quite handsomely mounted, makes some eyebrow-raising use of classical music, and has a couple of scenes that (almost) reach a (kind of) frenzy (all proportions maintained).
Sometimes when you sit down to review a dvd, you are treated to a fantasy. However, sometimes that fantasy isn’t all it seems and leaves you with a blank expression and curious feelings of being unfulfilled (kinda like that marriage I had). Anyhow, I took the dubious task of reviewing Lesbian Sex & Sexuality, a television show that is on the here! network who also bring you such fine shows such as Dante’s Cove. (okay; so I gave Season 2 a 2 out of 5, who’s counting?) The show is very simple and has a very provocative premise. That premise is to take a mostly uncensored (I’ll explain later) look at the secret and rarely explained world of lesbian sex. All kinds of subjects would be explored from fantasies to erotic dancers to the ever popular porn films. No stone and no position would be left untouched. No girl either. Men, well…anyhow the show is broken down into six half-hour episodes across two discs.
I must really love this job. That’s the only explanation as to why I keep reviewing for this site. Then I get across my desk a copy of Dante’s Cove - The Complete Second Season. (I guessed I missed the first one). On the cover they show three quite buff men (in the background two women, hey that’s Tracy Scoggins), all with pants being a little too low. Uh-oh. *flips to the back*; oh geez is that two men kissing, *sigh*, it is. From the here! network for openly gays and lesbians comes the guilty pleasure show; Dante’s Cove, a soap opera that let’s just say really pushes the envelope.
Cupt Epics here presents five films identified as “underground” (a fluid term at the best of times). Certainly, they are all deliberately transgressive, though not all are equally successful. Two are by Nico B. - the perviously released “Pig” and “Hollywood Babylon.” The former has been reviewed here before, but briefly, its catalogue of murder and S&M horrors, working out a killer’s fantasies, is rather too self-conscious about its own transgression. The latter is a 4-minute tribute to Kenneth Anger, taking in exhibits at the Museum of Death.
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American Nudes Volumes 1 & 2 
Papaya, Love Goddess of the Cannibals 
The Ruins (Unrated Edition) 
The Beast in Space 
Human Giant: Season One 
Jake’s Booty Call 
