Documentary

Graphic Sexual Horror (2009)

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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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Comedy

My Son, the Vampire (1952)

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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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Horror

Neighbor (2009)

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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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Thriller

Captivity (2007)

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If every home came with a built-in Elisha Cuthbert, there’d be no housing crisis. The evil dude in Captivity keeps one in his basement, albeit against her will. Even though the movie stinks, I still want one. After all, I’ve seen The Girl Next Door. Four times. She looks like fun.

Here, she’s Jennifer, a high-fashion model who carries a poodle as an accessory. She’s supposed to be über-famous, yet she goes completely unnoticed in a crowded nightclub as she sips her roofie martini. She wakes up in the gloomy basement of her kidnapper, who has some mini-Saw games in store for her.

These sequences feel tacked-on, as if an afterthought. So does a midpoint revelation that Jennifer’s not alone: There’s a cute boy (Daniel Gillies) trapped in the adjoining room! This is convenient, because not only can they maybe help each other out, but also, sex can be had.

Larry Cohen co-wrote the script, which isn’t up to the level of his other thrillers of that era, Cellular and Phone Booth. But how to explain twice-Oscar-nominated director Roland Joffé at the helm? You can’t. He does bring a visual style to the show, but that’s about it. —Rod Lott

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Comedy

The Gumball Rally (1976)

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If you were to check the leaderboard for comedies about illegal cross-country road races, you’d find that The Gumball Rally is firmly in the #2 spot. Trailing behind Paul Bartel’s Cannonball (which is even better if you imagine it as an unofficial prequel to Death Race 2000), it’s still miles ahead of Hal Needham’s The Cannonball Run series, which are classic examples of how movies that were obviously a lot of fun to film, usually aren’t a lot of fun to watch. (And if you’re wondering about Speed Zone, everyone involved in that fiasco died crashing into the wall or, at least, they wish they did).

Starring Michael Sarrazin as a wealthy businessman who relieves his existential boredom by running an annual underground race from New York City to Long Beach, Calif., the film follows the same loose, character-based structure of all those other films (a mold whose origins can be traced directly to Stanley Kramer’s It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World).

Although The Gumball Rally lacks the star power of Needham’s films, its lack of recognizable celebrities is mitigated by the fact that its cast actually made the effort to inhabit likable characters, rather than just mug shamelessly until the director announced it was time to get back to the hotel and par-tay.

Director/writer Charles Bail keeps the film light and slightly cartoony, and although some moments don’t quite work, the majority of the film moves as quickly as the vehicles it depicts right until the finish line. —Allan Mott

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