Hey, dig this jazz, cool cat: Because his doll left him for his rich daddy, Stan (Ray Danton, The Centerfold Girls) terrorizes the town as a serial rapist. Basically a walking tube of Brylcreeme, Stan’s known ’round town as “the Aspirin Kid,” so named for the me-gotsa-headache ruse he uses to penetrate thresholds when women are home alone.

Detective Culloran (Steve Cochran, 1949’s White Heat) is on the case, which gets personal after Stan bingos the bongo of the cop’s wife (Fay Spain, The Private Lives of Adam & Eve). And then really, really personal when she discovers she’s got a bun in the oven.

The Beat Generation marks a next-year reunion for High School Confidential! producer Albert Zugsmith and starlet Mamie Van Doren. It’s something of a spiritual follow-up, with Ms. VD playing another saucy, savory sex bomb. Here, she’s victim No. 3 … or would be, if not for the fact that she wants it bad. “I wish I had,” she tells the police. “He looked like real gone kicks.”

The movie sure is, provided you’re willing to take it as a half-serious crime story. It’s even a bit progressive in that director Charles F. Haas (1959’s Girls Town) doesn’t blame the victim for the rape. But he does shame her into nixing her plans for a rhymes-with-smuh-smortion.

To be fair, despite The Beat Generation’s title, beatniks barely figure into the story, although the only and only Vampira, free of wig, spouts some free-verse nonsense while a white rat hangs on her shoulder. Somehow, the whole shebang ends with a fight underwater. —Rod Lott

Get it at dvdrparty.

Most men — and, honestly, some women — are Peeping Toms. Abasement in all its glory!

The criminal, sexual act of illicit self-pleasure while a person is unknowing, unwilling and nonconsensual is quite damning and will, at the very least, label you as a pervert among family, friends and neighbors.

So remember, kids: Keep an eye out for Mom … unless, of course, you’re peeping on your mom, which will lead to other problems I’m not able to discuss without the care of a professional — a doctor or a hooker.

In the fickle world of pop culture, the stereotypical Peeping Tom is most often a trope of the teen sex comedy, rubbing one out in the girls’ locker room while getting his crank stuck in a vice-like device. But in 1960, filmmaker Micheal Powell decided to cast a unsexy shadow on the world’s most lonely act in the film Peeping Tom.

When the film premiered, people were outraged, and Powell’s name was dragged through the mud, ultimately killing his career. (Sadly, the billions of gallons of sperm while watching the movie waiting for the tame sex scenes were never accounted for …)

It starts with a shadowy man hiding a film camera under his coat as he seeks a prostitute. In her most Cockney accent, she takes to him a flophouse and, unexpectedly, he murders her with an extended leg of his camera’s tripod. As the tape runs out, I imagine he climaxes.

This man is Mark (Carl Boehm). He makes films of the crimes and watches them ad nauseam, as one will wantonly do. He works for a bookshop as a cover for taking snapshots of nudie cuties, but his dream job is to be a film director. (If only he waited about five years for the porn industry to boom!) Mark’s also a sad loner and very quiet, snapping pictures of disfigured woman to masturbate to.

Eventually, he’s befriended by his tenant who views his works, especially the films his father made of him being sexually frightened, as stunting his emotional growth and causing him to deal with the trauma though voyeurism.

Long story short, Mark is punished for his crimes in the worst way possible in the early ’60s.

A true testament to both swingin’ London and swingin’ ballsacks, Powell’s non-illicit camera gets the dirtiest grime in the gear game. Boehm’s Mark is still relevant today — just sub the cheesecake shots with live camgirls who’ll act out your fantasy for an OnlyFans subscription.

Much in the same vein as Joe Spinell’s work on William Lustig’s Maniac, but with a Piccadilly Circus façade, Peeping Tom is a true classic of perverted outré cinema that needs to be reevaluated in these much more maligned times.

Until then, keep it in your pants, Junior! —Louis Fowler

Get it at Amazon.