Boasts slut slayer Richard Jennings at the beginning of The Kiss of Her Flesh, “I do a service to all mankind with each jezebel I kill!” Essentially, the exclamation could double as a plot summary for Kiss, the final chapter of Michael Findlay’s depraved, shake-and-ache trilogy. How depraved? We hear the above while he helps himself to the bare breasts of the woman he’s just tire-ironed into strippable submission. But that’s nothing.

After the credits sequence, in which the titles are handwritten on pieces of paper cut into lip shapes and placed over a nude female body, Jennings (Findlay himself) resumes his misogynist mission of murder, slaughtering every lady who reminds him of his cheating wife, which is every lady. That includes the one who:
• is tied up in a kitchen and menaced with a lobster claw;
• receives a house call from a “doctor” (Jennings in his “master of disguise” thing) who performs a “thorough examination” on the tooth marks surrounding her no-no hole and prescribes a morning douche, which he’s spiked with acid;
• hitchhikes her way into Jennings’ station wagon, only to be blowtorched for her troubles; and
• performs oral stimulation on Jennings as ordered, which proves deadly because … well, let’s him tell us: “My poisoned semen should take care of you well enough. So long, sucker!”

Jennings is nothing if not quick with the quips. Topping the simple “Burn, slut!” and the “I will slice you in two like a piece of cheese!” threat is this baffler spoken to the aforementioned seafood victim: “We’ll cut away these underpants to more easily get at the sauce!”

The Kiss of Her Flesh kinda sorta attempts a story, with Jennings being pursued by angry Maria (Uta Erickson, The Ultimate Degenerate) after he offs the best friend of her (incestuous) sister. Maria begins this trip of vengeance directly after introducing her boyfriend (Earl Hindman, aka Wilson of TV’s Home Improvement) to the pleasures of anal beads, because you’ve gotta have priorities. Findlay clearly did: Work out his twisted fantasies on film, at the risk of lucidity and other narrative crutches preferred by moviegoers — or at least those not wearing raincoats. —Rod Lott

Buy it at Amazon.

Even at just over an hour, the erotic comedy Silk n’ Sabotage proves unwatchable. A dim-bulb blonde with surgically enhance girlie features (Julia Kruis) has created a computer game that an iron-jawed lothario steals while seducing her.

And if you can believe that setup — especially when our heroine looks as if she lacks the skills required to turn a computer on — then, quite frankly, you’re a fucking idiot.

Since that plot leaves the film ripe with endless possibilities, virgin director Joe Cauley throws in a roommate who holds lingerie parties four nights a week, another roomie whose pastime is writhing in front of a mirror and a couple of guys who break into the girls’ house on a near-nightly basis for sexual congress.

Edited with the subtlety of a Louisville Slugger and most assuredly scripted by monkeys, Silk n’ Sabotage is both maddening n’ moronic. —Rod Lott

Buy it at Amazon.

Take the best fart jokes Troma has to offer, the erotic sensibilities of any Surrender Cinema release and the CGI knowledge of a fifth-grader in Mrs. Delvecki’s keyboarding class and you have Titanic 2000, with emphasis on the first three letters.

The Titanic has been rebuilt and is about to set off for its second maiden voyage — only this time it’s called the “TIT-anic,” I guess because lots of breasts — or “tits,” as they are sometimes called — are seen a few times. On board are the typical gay stereotypes; the fat woman who eats a lot; the guys who farts a lot; a rock singer with a bad, overdone British accent; and a bunch of sluts who disrobe many, many times. The comparisons to James Cameron’s Oscar-winning Titanic end there, though, because also included is a vampire lesbian who needs to find a new bride. The new bride in question is the very hot Tina Krause, 100 times more attractive and a little more slutty than Kate Winslet.

The characters run around a lot, fart, show their breasts, do pratfalls, eat and fart.

The TIT-anic sinks in the end, not due to an iceberg, but because the hull was made of tinfoil. Tina and the vampire swim through many badly done blue screens and escape. In the water, their breasts float. They then go to Long Island (?) and have more lesbian sex. —Louis Fowler

Buy it at Amazon.

Talk about a housing crisis! In The Sinful Dwarf, lovely young female renters of a boardinghouse are locked away in a secret attic room, where they are stripped naked, drugged up and whored out. On the bright side, each woman gets her own dirty mattress.

Who’s the landlord of this hellhole? That’d be former showgirl Lila Lash (Clara Keller) and her pint-sized son, Olaf (Torben Bille). He’s the dwarf of the title, but to call him sinful is like calling Hitler mean: a major understatement. With a rapey grin, Olaf does a lot of the luring and administering doses of horse into the girls’ hungry veins via crooked, rusty needle.

Given the vacant, narcotized stares of these sex slaves’ faces, one might assume no acting was taking place. Olaf is eager to add Mary Davis (Anne Sparrow) to the stable; she’s one-half of a newlywed British couple forced by financial difficulties to take temporary residence there. They certainly break in the bed, explicitly.

Shot in Denmark, The Sinful Dwarf marks the directorial debut and swan song for Vidal Raski, and it’s the only credit for several of its stars, including Keller and Sparrow. Ironically, Bille enjoyed a fairly healthy career afterward, despite the horrible things he does with a wooden cane.

Notoriously sleazy, The Sinful Dwarf is every bit as unpleasant and depraved as its rep promises. However, amid all its dehumanizing elements, the worst thing about the film is how dreadfully boring it is. —Rod Lott

Buy it at Amazon.

For his first feature-length collection of exploitation trailers under the GrindhouseFlix banner, Full Moon Features head honcho Charles Band chose to focus on the topic of virgins. To host, he went with someone who may not remember what it was like to be one: Playboy‘s May 2012 Playmate, Nikki Leigh, who seems calm and comfortable in her underwear-clad duties on the bedroom set, if not exactly brimming with personality.

The result is Blood of 1000 Virgins — whose onscreen transitions mistitle it as Blood of a 1000 Virgins — an exploration into cherry-picked coming attractions dealing with doing “it” … or not. Who knew there were enough of those to jam into a single package? Surprisingly, the contents are not culled strictly from sexploitation pictures, as Mighty Peking Man‘s early appearance makes known.

The program is divided into five loosely defined categories: “Female Virgins,” “Male Virgins,” “Reasons to Stay a Virgin,” “Who Hunts Virgins?” and “Revenge of the Virgins.” This allows Band and company to traipse through many genres and subgenres, including melodrama (The Harrad Experiment), possession horror (Joan Collins in The Devil Within Her), sexy sci-fi (Invasion of the Bee Girls), crude comedy (Chatterbox, starring Candice Rialson and her talking vagina), arthouse darlings (Andy Warhol’s Dracula), rape-revenge (Ms. 45) and see-it-to-believe-it insanities (Doris Wishman’s Deadly Weapons). While they sometimes ignore their own theme, they also don’t settle for the usual suspects, either.

The print quality of the trailers varies wildly, but when you’re dealing with some real rarities, I can’t say I minded all that much. In fact, I half-expect them not to emerge pristine, to better convey the grimy feel of 42nd Street theaters. Whether featuring Linda Blair or Tommy Kirk, “these virgins need no urgin'” (to borrow an announcer’s line from Run, Virgin, Run). —Rod Lott

Buy it at Amazon.