I Eat Your Skin (1971)

A real ladies’ man of an author (William Joyce) is convinced by his publisher to hop a flight from Miami to the Caribbean isle of Voodoo, because he thinks the stories of human sacrifices there might make good research for a rip-roarin’ adventure novel. Our writer is not convinced, however, until he hears of the island’s 5-to-1 girl-guy ratio, and he’s all, like, “Homina homina homina!”

Armed with a litany of sleazy pick-up lines (ranging from “What part of heaven did you fly out from?” to the less subtle “We’ve got some dictation to do!”), he soon scores with a blonde bombshell (Heather Hewitt), whose father is a scientist who feeds radiated snake venom to natives, turning them into crusty-faced, bug-eyed zombies. Although our hero quickly dispatches one with a tiki torch to the face, a random Mexican isn’t so lucky, losing his head to a zombie-slung machete.

I Eat Your Skin was directed by Del Tenney, the guy who gave us the legendarily awful Horror of Party Beach, and it shows. You get to see a tube shoved down the throat of a live snake, and when an alarm goes off, you also get to hear someone saying “Whoop!” repeatedly on the soundtrack. Certainly a cheapie like this can’t be scary, but it’s definitely charming in its own Playboy After Dark meets Revolt of the Zombies kinda way. —Rod Lott

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Duel of the Brave Ones (1980)

Duel of the Brave Ones refers to two rival street gangs duking it out while a police sergeant searches for a missing piece of jade. Sounds serious, but it’s not; just how serious can you take a gang in which one member wears a shirt with all the colors of Mork from Ork’s suspenders and another one’s T reads, unthreateningly, “Sail”?

I never could tell exactly who was on whose side, but it didn’t hamper my enjoyment, especially when one fight involved a crate of oranges, an overweight bra vendor and music destined for inclusion on a NOW That’s What I Call Kooky compilation disc. (Later fights are all about flower pots, sawhorses and barbecue grilling accessories, with the end brawl taking place on a moving public bus.)

Duel is also noted for a large amount of nudity — and not just any nudity, mind you, but nudity with uncharacteristically large breasts for an Asian film. There’s about a 30-minute stretch where five minutes don’t go by without some woman either taking her clothes off or getting them ripped off. I especially enjoyed the sex scene intercut with some random guy riding a carousel. One gag has a comically cross-eyed janitor believing a woman has four boobs, and as he continues to watch her copulate, he penetrates his mouth with his own finger. Because he can.

I love the broken-English box copy on the DVD I have in hand — one that misspells Duel as Dual — even if it seems to describe a different movie: “These fighters pray for victory from the God of War, but who is the best? Their fists and kicks will decide. You are getting action on the Master Level!!” Do not argue with two exclamation points, because you will never win. —Rod Lott

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Exorcist: The Beginning (2004)

Few films have had such a long and troubled history as Exorcist: The Beginning, the fourth (or technically, fifth) film in the not-so-lucrative franchise. The Reader’s Digest version: Execs so hated Paul Schrader’s cut, that rather than salvage it in editing, they opted to start from scratch with a whole new script and cast. For this, they logically hired Renny Harlin, because apparently, making two movies with Sly Stallone (Cliffhanger and Driven) qualifies you as the go-to guy for psychological horror. And the end result? Not as interesting as that explanation. Mind you, this prequel is not a hoot-and-holler laughfest that was Exorcist II: The Heretic. But neither is it the woefully underrated thriller that is Exorcist III.

Stellan Skarsgård (The Avengers) stars as Father Merrin (Max von Sydow’s character from the 1973 original), in a story about his first face-to-face showdown with the devil. It’s the 1940s, and following a test of faith which he feels he’s failed, he’s no longer a man of the cloth, but a freelance archaeologist. He’s hired to go to East Africa to locate a valuable artifact, being the demon Pazuzu. While there, he finds a Catholic church buried beneath the sand that’s not on any historical record of the Vatican. And buried beneath that? An evil cave!

That’s when all the CGI creatures start attacking. Sadly, Harlin’s idea of a scare is to suddenly make one of these — a crow, a bat, a fly — suddenly appear, accompanied by a loud musical cue. It’ll make you jump all right, but only because your ears have been rendered deaf. A pack of hyenas get the most screen time, but unfortunately, they look as fake as the dog in the Scooby-Doo live-action movies. Just as forced is Merrin’s burgeoning romance with the village’s hottie doctor, played by Izabella Scorupco (GoldenEye). Having forsaken the almighty, Merrin makes a valiant pass for her pants. But no sooner have they locked lips when the bed of a sleeping kid mere feet away suddenly jumps across the floor and shakes violently. Lemme tell you, it’s an erection killer.

I was really only intrigued by the finale, which has Merrin regaining his Jesus powers and using them against a supporting character who’s all Sataned out, looking not coincidentally like Linda Blair’s possessed Regan. But that’s, what, 10 minutes out of nearly two hours? Granted, a few more scenes keep The Beginning from being a total loss:
• Lucifer snaps the bones of various local tribesmen attempting some voodoo-magic exorcism.
• A villager gives birth to a bloody baby covered in live maggots.
• Izabella takes a shower and you see half a booby. —Rod Lott

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Ghost of Dragstrip Hollow (1959)

The AIP teen/horror/comedy/racing quickie Ghost of Dragstrip Hollow is barely over an hour, and yet the plot doesn’t kick in until the 40-minute mark, and then promptly hightails it 10 minutes later. It’s about — and maybe I should put that word in quotation marks — a group of drag-racing gearhead high schoolers with cool, souped-up cars, and they unwind at the local malt shoppe where they sing and dance.

Following this “big story” is a some old-guy reporter in a three-piece suit. He talks like he has chestnuts in his mouth, barely moves his lips and takes copious notes on a notebook no bigger than a Post-it. I’m not sure why hanging around kids who play with chassis (“I dreamt I was a 12-shaft drive motor! It was wonderful!”) and do the jitterbug qualifies as a scoop for any print outlet, but hey, that’s overthinking it. No wonder the newspaper industry is fucked.

After more dancing and a pajama party with even more dancing, the teens go to a house that’s supposedly haunted so they can do more dancing. (Hey, at least the film commits to something.) Plot: There’s a monster lurking around the rooms, causing all sorts of dust-ups. End plot.

At the end, the would-be creature is unmasked as AIP special-effects man Paul Blaisdell, playing himself, saying he did it because AIP didn’t hire him for such-and-such movie. It’s totally Scooby-Doo, with lots of dated dialogue like “She’s the ginchiest!” It’s also the kind of movie that’s not satisfied with having a talking parrot, so it has to throw in a talking car, too. Can’t blame it. —Rod Lott

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The Land That Time Forgot (1975)

Amicus and AIP joined forces to adapt Edgar Rice Burroughs’ novel The Land That Time Forgot for film, mostly to good effect. The selling point here is the dinosaurs, and while they’re not up to the standards of today (we’ve been spoiled by Jurassic Park), they do deliver.

Doug McClure (At the Earth’s Core) and his twee lady friend (Susan Penhaligon, Patrick) are the two lone survivors of a peaceful ship brought down by the torpedoes of a German U-boat during World War I. With the help of some fellow Englishmen they have the good fortune to stumble upon in the fog, the Yanks overtake the Kraut sub.

But the Germans have fucked with the compass, purposely sending the vessel way off-course in the Arctic. So off-course, in fact, that they’re lost and end up in a prehistoric world … that time forgot! Said land is inhabited by all kinds of dinosaurs that attack from the ground, air and sea. They’re either puppets or men in suits or models on strings, but they get the job done.

The land is also home to a tribe of fugly cavemen with lots of hair on their backs. With them, the creatures, the Germans and the Englishmen all at odds with one another, the line between who’s good and bad starts to blur, culminating in an ending that’s rather dark, but nonetheless satisfying. Directed by Kevin Connor (Motel Hell), the movie takes its precious time getting started, but eventually picks up steam after the first third, stumbling a bit in pacing toward the protracted, volcano-erupting climax. —Rod Lott

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