Horror

The Killer Snakes (1975)

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killersnakesIn the despicable, dirty and even depressing The Killer Snakes (that’s all the recommendation you need, right?), the saddest sad-sack character I may have ever seen in movie history works one dead-end job after another and sleeps in a shack with pornographic pictures taped to the ceiling over his bed.

He gets bullied a lot by just about everyone with whom he comes into contact — skinny, street-corner whores included. The guy is in such dire need of a haircut and a flea dip that I could barely stand to watch him. I’m still unsure as to whether his character is supposed to have a mild mental handicap or if the movie is just that poorly dubbed.

killersnakes1After a hard day of being fired from the place where they serve the innards of snakes’ gall bladders and being caught masturbating by the woman he loves from afar, this miserable little man befriends an injured cobra in his shack. The cobra is sad because his gall bladder has been taken from him without his consent. So our hero zero sews him up and nurses him back to health, affording the same treatment to all the serpent’s equally scaly pals, also robbed of this organ.

Somewhere along the way, he trains the snakes to attack and kill, although we never see this most difficult of training processes. It’s time for revenge. First he goes to the whorehouse where earlier he was the recipient of much kicking and abuse. He does his business with the hooker most resembling circus clown Emmett Kelly (in a scene so entirely disgusting you’ll want to shower) and then lets the cobras go full-fang at her bodyguards, while she faints. He takes the unconscious whore home, ties her up and then lets the slithering creatures have sloppy seconds.

Starring Kurt Lang (Purple Storm), Maggie Lee (Kung Fu: The Punch of Death) and “1001 killer snakes” (per its poster), the Shaw Brothers production is one of the more perverted and sick-minded exploitation offerings I’ve seen. Its X rating is well-deserved. —Rod Lott

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Sex

The Bare Wench Project (2000)

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barewenchIn The Bare Wench Project, the umpteenth Blair Witch Project parody of that year, four sorority sisters and their lunkheaded guide, Lunk, venture into the hills to search for the “Bare Wench.” Because this is written and directed by Jim Wynorski (Scream Queen Hot Tub Party) and the sisters include Skinemax vets Julie K. Smith, Nikki Fritz, Lorissa McComas and Antonia Dorian, it’s less a spoof and more an excuse for wall-to-wall boobage. To date, it also has spawned four sequels to its source’s measly one.

No sooner has our skank quartet embarked on its trek when one whines, “My twins are sweaty,” prompting a brief stop in the shade so they all can remove their shirts. (This scenario repeats several times with slight variation over the next 70 minutes.) Wynorski would have you believe that if you got four nubile chicks in the middle of nowhere and switched on a video camera, numerous acts of lesbian lovin’ would occur: south-of-the-border kisses, impromptu campfire stripteases, bumping nipples together with devil-may-care abandon. There is more flicked-tongue action in Bare Wench than the last three snake movies I’ve seen combined.

barewench1Instead of Blair Witch‘s iconic twigs, the girls encounter dildos and other sex toys. Instead of hearing children’s voices in the middle of the night, they hear a braying donkey. Instead of keeping the witch unseen, they show Julie Strain (Heavy Metal 2000) in a long white wig.

The only scene offering any true parody is of a flashlight-lit Smith making a dead-of-night confession into the camera. But whereas Heather Donahue was shot neck up, a buck-naked Smith is shown from the waist. The shot is held so long, you’ll go from amazement to wondering what kind of magic lens Wynorski must have employed.

If you found Donahue annoying in Blair Witch, wait until you get a load of these ladies. (The end-credit bloopers make one wonder how they mustered enough knowledge to remove their clothes, much less walk.) There’s nothing funny to be found in Bare Wench, unless you’re the type to chuckle at character names like Dick Bigdickian; I am not. —Rod Lott

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Thriller

Venus in Furs (1969)

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venusinfursTo mention the word “masterpiece” in the same breath as “Jess Franco” is like pairing “Chef Boyardee” and “gourmet.” Yet 1969’s Venus in Furs is often cited as the über-prolific director’s finest hour (and a half) — one awash in atmosphere, not acumen.

What happens to a beautiful woman after she’s murdered at a swank party? As the song goes, she’ll be waiting in Istanbul. On that Turkish city’s Black Sea shores, the corpse of Wanda Reed (Franco fave Maria Rohm, Eugenie) washes up in purple garters, her chest deeply sliced above the left breast. Finding her, jazz musician Jimmy Logan (James Darren, TV’s The Time Tunnel) immediately flashes back to the night before, when he discreetly watched her get stripped, whipped and stabbed by three fellow partygoers (one of whom is a millionaire playboy played by Nosferatu himself, Klaus Kinski).

venusinfurs1The shock sends Jimmy fleeing to Rio — and to the bed of local club singer Rita (Barbara McNair, The Organization). Just as he’s able to take up his trumpet again, who should walk through the door but Wanda herself. Barring supernatural forces, how can that be? To Franco’s credit, you’ll want to know, but the answer is secondary to seeing Wanda exact her sexy revenge.

Venus in Furs’ strength lie in the unfailing hallucinatory vibe it exudes. While Jimmy’s sparse narration recalls pure pulp gumshoe, Franco employs every ’60s trick in the book: primary color gels, wavy screens, slowed-down film, sped-up film and so on. And then there’s Rohm, his most special effect of all. Despite her character being an instrument of death, she’s a captivating, sultry presence. —Rod Lott

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Sci-Fi & Fantasy

Equinox (1970)

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equinoxIf not for representing the public’s first look at the work of Ray Harryhausen kids Dennis Muren and David Allen, it’s likely Equinox would be lost to the ages. It’s an early line on the résumé for so many others, too, including animator Jim Danforth, co-star Frank Bonner (later to achieve sitcom immortality as WKRP in Cincinnati’s Herb Tarlek) and even Ed Begley Jr. (as an assistant cameraman).

Produced (and padded) by schlockmeister Jack H. Harris (The Blob) from Muren and friends’ homemade effort of 1967, the film sends four teenagers to the mountains for reasons that are twofold: One couple has planned a picnic, while David (one-timer Edward Connell) has been summoned there by his geology professor (sci-fi author Fritz Leiber Jr.).

equinox1The teens enter a cave, wherein a cackling old man in plaid gives them a book filled with weird symbols, multiple languages and a backward Lord’s Prayer. Needless to say, the tome is damned, and its readers inadvertently unlock a dimensional gateway. Before long, they’re throwing rocks at a growling beast and being tormented by a winged demon. Those monsters are animated via stop-motion, whereas the not-so-jolly green giant in a loincloth is an actor made large and in charge through forced perspective.

Pay no attention to the ladies being depicted as barely smart enough to operate a camera (“Boy, you could grow up to be a real fussbudget,” says Bonner); Equinox is only interested in the couples’ ongoing tussles with the various creatures, all of which are rendered impressively, even if the art is dead by today’s standards.

Equinox has one thing going for it that bests millions of dollars worth of CGI: a DIY aesthetic. On weekends, Muren and company made that cool movie you and your neighborhood pals always talked about doing, but never had the resources or energy. Its creativity trumps its numerous imperfections, making it impossible to wish the project ill will. —Rod Lott

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Thriller

The Cabinet of Caligari (1962)

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cabinetcaligariWith his Psycho-tic tendencies intact, Robert Bloch puts enough of his stamp on 1962’s The Cabinet of Caligari that it feels less like a remake of the German Expressionist classic of four decades prior, The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, and more like an in-name-only extension of the earlier work’s themes.

Written by Bloch, but directed by workmanlike TV veteran Roger Kay, the thriller switches genders to make a woman the focus. While on a carefree drive, Jane (Glynis Johns, The Vault of Horror) experiences a flat tire and is forced to walk miles to the nearest home. It’s a beaut, too — an architectural marvel belonging to one Dr. Caligari, a weird-looking dude with Abe Lincoln-style facial hair, a revolving door leading into his office, a penchant for peeping and many, many probing questions about Jane’s sexual life, history and desires.

cabinetcaligari1If she could up and leave, she would, but she’s trapped on his gated estate. She finds a sympathetic ear in Caligari’s friend, Paul (Dan O’Herlihy, RoboCop), but no means of escape. The place even has a garden maze with a fierce dog for a Minotaur. It’s enough to make her think Caligari intends to drive her insane.

The 1920 Caligari is remembered for its surreal sets, which Bloch and Kay do without until a third-act nightmare sequence; to no one’s surprise, it proves the highlight. With an assumedly low budget and first-time feature director, this update literally can’t afford to submit fully to the abstract visuals, so the amount it does offer is welcome without embarrassing itself.

Thus, the film stands on story (and a thoroughly amusing performance by Johns, who was far from the typical Hollywood starlet). It may not always click, but at least it’s about something — and about as far as they were allowed to take it for the times. That alone is admirable. —Rod Lott

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