Another inordinately rare, suitably lurid, jungle-set pot-boiler by stalwart director Clifford Brown (aka) the inimitable filth-hound Jess Franco. ‘Mujeres Corralades’ stars Franco regular Robert Foster and, of course, euro-cult dreamboat, and uber-sex icon Lina Romay; thus making it an entirely unmissable prospect! (what manner of callow individual might refuse the fecund delights of Ms. Romay?)
Archive for November, 2013
The bravura euro-crime director, and part-time cannibal fetishist Umberto Lenzi takes a strident foray into the heady, glamorous, if not a little silly, cinematic imaginarium of the 60’s euro-spy actioner; and, to be fair, he certainly gives it his best shot. While it isn’t quite up there with Lenzi’s uber-kult offering ‘Kriminal’, the film certainly makes for an adequate time-waster, and would be much appreciated by those individuals who enjoy this especially frivolous, and day-glo coloured genre. ‘008-Operation Exterminate’ is a fun ride, and makes a rather lissome, highball quaffing companion to Jess Franco’s ‘Lucky The Inscrutable’.
Wild, insensate psychedelic occult pot-boiler from Gallic sleazehound Marcel Mercier. There’s more than a pungent whiff of De Sardean maleficence in this ultra lurid confection. If Kult doomsters Electric Wizard made films, this would be one of ‘em! With the glorious exception of personal fave Jean Rollin, la belle France is not really known for its frequent explorations into the satanic oeuvre, so that is all the more reason to embrace Mercier’s unexpurgated trawl through the occult mire. Much of this delectable filth is redolent of Jess Franco’s ‘Exorcism’, and not just a little from Coffin Joe’s Pandora’s box of inflamed phantasmagoria. And I must mention the wondrous heavy-vibe electronic score by Eric Demarsan. Tip Top!
The iconic, tiny titan of Filipino martial art wizardry, Johnson Yap returns in the mondo-cheapnis effort ‘Dynamite Johnson’; and along with the mighty pugilistic prowess of the Laurel Canyon destroyer Carol King, they embark on yet another heady, ball-busting, knee-cap pulverizing example of frantic, uncoordinated, prepubescent chop socky delight! Whatever was left un-destroyed in the equally incongruous Bionic Boy is wholly destroyed in Bionic Boy II. Rock on Thrice-ways, mothertrucker!!!!!!!!
The adorable, and rather industrious Cirio H. Santiago directs this singular variant of the multitudinous Mad-Max rip-offs; this effort being a little more curious and lurid than most. Even by Santiago standards this be strange meat! While certainly not just for PA completists, it is, nonetheless, a cinematic confection for a refined Grindhouse palate! (From my understanding Playboy were less than thrilled with the final result; which, surely, is a hearty recommendation for the rest of us!)
Rare giallo-esque thriller from Fernando Baldi. Starring the preternaturally nubile Eva Czemerys and the excellent Philip Leroy. I have always found Leroy to be a more than capable actor, and his unique physiognomy lends a certain gravitas to each character he portrays. There is something inherently hard-boiled about Leroy; he has that ice-cold detachement that was so effective in the likes of George Raft, Bogie, Mitchum, Delon etc; Philip Leroy’s a class act!
One of the most truly fabulous films I have had the pleasure to see in a long, long time. After trawling through the murk of euro-grime for so long one always hopes to discover something genuinely delicious. The premise is delightfully simple; the equally delightful Dagmar Lassander spends the majority of the film in various states of undress exposing her gnarly philosophy of free love; this loosely translates into the trails of the uber-lissome redhead who proceeds to bed all who venture too close to her libidinous, and somewhat carnivorous cooch. Andrea The Nympho is a pacy, lurid masterpiece of late 60’s German exploitation, festooned with an especially majestic jazz funk score by the marvelously monikered Hans Hammerschmidt; Hans is a stone groove, man, and he really brings on the gritty go-go Martini grooves with aplomb; replete with sleazoid, hepcat drum breaks and myriad, bouncy, bad ass keys. Even Gert Wilden ‘aint got nothin’ on onkle Hans here!