Jesus Christ Vampire Hunter (2001)

Once or twice in a life span, a movie comes along that grabs your eyeballs by the lapels and kicks them right in the nuts. It’s something that, once experienced, is never forgotten. Such a movie is Jesus Christ Vampire Hunter. I’ll wait while check out the trailer below to see if I’m making this up.

Back now? Satisfied?

It’s almost time for the End of Days, but before Jesus and his Old Man can crank up the Judgment Juggernaut, the junior member has to find out why the vampires of Ottawa are kidnapping and killing lesbians. Jesus enlists the aid of his two fighting Holy Rollers — Mary Magnum and the Mexican luche libre wrestler El Santo — and, as the film’s tagline has it, “The Power of Christ Impales You!”

Billed as a “kung-fu action/comedy/horror/musical about the second coming,” JCVH is one for the (rock of) ages. Directed by Lee Demarbre, the picture can’t be accused of having low production values because it has no production values at all. Non-actor Phil Caracas has the title role, and if Jesus ever looked down from his Throne of Gold at people on Earth and laughingly mumbled “you assholes,” he was probably catching a midnight screening of this movie.

As a side note, I’d never heard of El Santo, a real guy and a hero in Mexico, until I saw this flick. I was incomplete before that day. Now I’m too complete for my own good. —Doug Bentin

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Seoul Raiders (2005)

This good, but not-as-good sequel to 2001’s Tokyo Raiders again centers on all-around good-guy private eye Tony Leung. He’s the only holdover from the previous Mission: Impossible-style Asian actioner. Here, Tony retrieves counterfeit American currency plates from enemy hands, intent on returning them to U.S. hands, but immediately finds himself duped and pursued by bad guy Richie Ren.

No fear, however, as Tony is aided by too-cute Transporter baggage Shu Qi and a bevy of thinly drawn beauties. Expect great action and style to burn. Don’t expect lucidity. Seoul Raiders grows tiresome in its final third, but overall, it’s fun enough, and Leung is nothing if not charismatic. —Rod Lott

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Graphic Sexual Horror (2009)

At the height of its popularity, the now-defunct Insex.com had 35,000 members, all of whom joined to indulge in graphic depictions of the sexual torture of beautiful women. The title of the documentary about the site, Graphic Sexual Horror, should be taken as a warning, not a sensationalistic come-on. This is not the naughty bondage-lite of Bettie Page; this is the stuff of Saw-inspired serial killers.

Co-directors Barbara Bell and Anna Lorentzon aren’t coy about the footage they include in the film, which is certainly brave of them, but also foolish. Unlike the similar Zoo, which only showed the briefest possible glimpse of the activity in question and still managed to remain highly effective, here the viewer is eventually numbed by the constant sadomasochistic imagery, making it difficult to focus on the points being raised.

Which is a shame because there are several interesting points raised in the film. Especially intriguing is the question of whether or not any act can be considered truly consensual once money is added into the equation. In one interview, a model admits a scene she took part in could be considered rape, but she let it to continue and appeared in several more after it, because the money she earned allowed her to go on frivolous shopping sprees.

How many people, I wonder, could share similar sentiments about the regular jobs (i.e. those that don’t involve undesired anal penetration) they go to every day? It’s too bad Graphic Sexual Horror gets too caught up in its own transgressive extremity to satisfactorily answer this and the other questions it raises. —Allan Mott

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My Son, the Vampire (1952)

My Son, the Vampire should win the prize for the most misleading title in the history of cinema. Not only is there no son, but no vampire, either. Sure, Bela Lugosi plays a character who calls himself The Vampire, but that’s just backstory.

He believes himself to be descended from a famous vampire and likes to wear a tuxedo while sleeping in his coffin. The Vampire is actually just a non-bloodsucking mad scientist named Von Housen who’s created a killer robot that he wants to use to take over the world. Which, you know, is still pretty awesome. My Son, the Vampire may have a misleading title, but that doesn’t mean it … um, sucks.

It’s the last film in Britain’s Old Mother Riley series in which a cross-dressing Arthur Lucan plays an elderly, Irish woman in a variety of outlandish situations. Other titles include Old Mother Riley MP, Old Mother Riley’s Ghosts and Old Mother Riley’s Jungle Treasure. Which still doesn’t explain whose son The Vampire is supposed to be. Because if he’s Mother Riley’s, that makes Von Housen’s flirting with her even creepier than it already is. The last thing anyone wants to see is Lugosi hooking up with Lucan.

But it’s creepy in a good way. My Son, the Vampire is nothing if not fun. Lucan is hilarious and the movie’s got some genuinely funny gags, an insane musical number that comes from nowhere, Lugosi hamming it up like I’ve never seen him do (and I’ve seen a lot of Lugosi films), and more slapstick than you can shake a Stooge at. —Michael May

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Neighbor (2009)

There’s a point midway through Neighbor where, after sucking for a long time, it convinces you it’s about to not only stop sucking, but might actually justify the previous sucking that took place. Then it yells, “Psych!” and starts sucking all over again, and continues on sucking until the credits finally roll.

The film follows a nameless maniac who is able to invade the homes of strangers and torture them to death, because she looks like America Olivo (Bitch Slap) and doesn’t fit the whole psychotic serial killer stereotype. After we see her torture and kill a bunch of people we don’t know (including John Waters regular Mink Stole), she moves on to a bunch of characters we do know, but still care very little about. After she has tortured and killed them, we find out someone else has been arrested for her crimes, and she’s free to go on her hot-chick homicidal ways.

The generous fool in me wants to believe writer/director Robert Angelo Masciantonio was going for an American Psycho-esque satire here, but without that film’s pedigree and deliberate stylization, Neighbor adds up to little more than a series of increasingly violent acts perpetrated on the human body, climaxing with a scene where Olivo (whose performance is the film’s sole highlight) inserts and breaks a glass tube in her main victim’s (obviously rubber) penis.

As graphic as this moment is, it lacks the authenticity required to be genuinely frightening, which is ultimately the problem with the entire movie: It never earns the disgust it tries so hard to invoke. —Allan Mott

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