Seven Deaths in the Cat’s Eye makes about as much sense as its title, but it’s fun to watch it unfold, bereft of logic and lucidity, provided you’re into Gothic cinematic trappings. While this one comes from the country and era of the giallo, it has more in common with AIP’s Edgar Allan Poe cycle from Roger Corman.
Blame it on the pussy.
Expelled from her all-girl Catholic school, a young woman with the unfortunate name of Corringa (Jane Birkin) returns to her family’s castle at a time of chaos and crisis, with the owners being pressured to sell it all and move away. Corringa’s ready to party until she accidentally throws the Bible into a roaring fire, supposedly inviting bad juju.
Must be true, because shortly thereafter, she discovers a rotting corpse in the castle’s underground tunnels, not to mention a caged gorilla. He’s the pet of Lord James (Hiram Keller), who’s possibly insane and rumored to have killed someone, and possibly even has the power to shape-shift. And every time the titular tabby shows up, someone gets killed, thereby putting the “ow” in “meow.”
Even in the muddy print I saw, the mood set by director Antonio Margheriti (Cannibal Apocalypse) was palpable, fueled by striking visuals more interesting than the murder mystery at its dark heart. You could do worse than having to ogle Birkin for a good portion of it; speaking of the songstress, her rapscallion lover, Serge Gainsbourg, has a small role as an investigating police detective. —Rod Lott
It’s a not-so-ritzy joint where the entertainment isn’t Goth magicians, killer tigers or stick-up-the-ass Billboard divas, but a chintzy circus act starring three busty trapeze artists, one of whom is sick of all the flying around. Lucky corrals her (Linda Scruggs) and a token black woman (Lynne Moody, 
As fads-ploitation, Killer Workout is literally nothing more than 30-plus minutes of absurdly sexualized workout footage. As a slasher film, it’s a catastrophic failure. The secret identity of the scarred killer is obvious as soon as she appears onscreen and is the only one dressed in the aerobic version of a burka; nameless victims are introduced in the same scenes where they’re killed; and the hot instructor with the best butt and highest thong is clearly established as the probable protagonist until the screenplay suddenly forgets all about her and decides to kill her off-screen instead.