It’s possible to be a movie lover and not like Greta Garbo or John Wayne or Humphrey Bogart, and still retain some credibility — but turn your nose up at Bugs Bunny and hell hath no depth too deep for you, you humorless poseur.

Too harsh? Not harsh enough, doc.

Director Larry Jackson celebrated all things wascally with the documentary Bugs Bunny: Superstar. It contains live-action footage of the cartoonists and their staffs acting out stories before the animation began — Tex Avery was a hoot — but it’s mostly long on cartoons (a good thing) by including nine full-length examples from the 1940s, only six of which star Bugs. It’s short on documentary factoids about the history of the character and the gang who created and developed him in a creaky building called Termite Terrace on the Warner Bros. lot.

It’s this material, most of which is spoken by one of Bugs’ papas, Bob Clampett, that generated some hurt feelings when this film was released. Co-creators Avery and Friz Freleng are also interviewed, and while Clampett had complimentary things to say about Chuck Jones, Jones — who could nurse a grudge like Silas Marner could nurse a nickel — accused Clampett of being a credit hog. The thing is, when this picture was made, almost everyone from the days of classic animation was looking for credit for the work he’d done for hire in the 1930s-1950s, so a lot of exaggeration was going around.

But you can ignore this backstory and enjoy the film for the comedy it contains. Especially fun are the undeniable classics The Wild Hare (1940), A Corny Concerto (1943), My Favorite Duck (1942) and Hair-Raising Hare (1946). The movie is narrated by an obviously-in-on-the-joke Orson Welles. —Doug Bentin

Buy it at Amazon.

Between 1890 and 1900, a plague of bad luck and madness settled over the area around Black River Falls, Wis., about 68 miles west of Plainfield, Ed Gein’s stomping ground. Based on Michael Lesy’s book, Wisconsin Death Trip is a documentary that tells the story of dangerous, eccentric, insane happenings of that time and place.

I especially like the story of the farmer who committed suicide by digging a small hole in the ground, placing a stick of dynamite in it, lighting the fuse and then lying down with his head over the hole. And there’s former schoolteacher Mary Sweeney, aka the Wisconsin Window Smasher, who traversed the state several times, breaking panes when the mania came upon her to do so. One trip cost window-owners over $50,000. Locals are continually being hauled off to the Mendota Asylum, from which they frequently escape by just walking away or, more drastically, by hanging themselves.

Many of the film’s visuals are derived from period photos taken by Charles Van Schaik, including a lot of children in their coffins, and the narration by Ian Holm comes entirely from newspaper articles and obituaries of the time. Many of the incidents are re-created using actors.

This is easily one of the most unusual pictures you will ever see, but don’t expect a lightning pace or answers to your questions. No one seems to have figured out what was going on, beyond economic hard times and real estate sellers who lied to the under-educated Norwegian immigrants about the value of the land they bought sight unseen. And maybe lead in the water. This is one creepy movie. —Doug Bentin

Buy it at Amazon.

At the height of its popularity, the now-defunct Insex.com had 35,000 members, all of whom joined to indulge in graphic depictions of the sexual torture of beautiful women. The title of the documentary about the site, Graphic Sexual Horror, should be taken as a warning, not a sensationalistic come-on. This is not the naughty bondage-lite of Bettie Page; this is the stuff of Saw-inspired serial killers.

Co-directors Barbara Bell and Anna Lorentzon aren’t coy about the footage they include in the film, which is certainly brave of them, but also foolish. Unlike the similar Zoo, which only showed the briefest possible glimpse of the activity in question and still managed to remain highly effective, here the viewer is eventually numbed by the constant sadomasochistic imagery, making it difficult to focus on the points being raised.

Which is a shame because there are several interesting points raised in the film. Especially intriguing is the question of whether or not any act can be considered truly consensual once money is added into the equation. In one interview, a model admits a scene she took part in could be considered rape, but she let it to continue and appeared in several more after it, because the money she earned allowed her to go on frivolous shopping sprees.

How many people, I wonder, could share similar sentiments about the regular jobs (i.e. those that don’t involve undesired anal penetration) they go to every day? It’s too bad Graphic Sexual Horror gets too caught up in its own transgressive extremity to satisfactorily answer this and the other questions it raises. —Allan Mott

Buy it at Amazon.