Loving Feeling (1968) – Norman J. Warren.

Sporadically groovy, if ultimately inane swinging sixties romp presents hip, totty-hungry DJ Stevee Daly (Simon Brent) weighing up the pros and cons of fixing his shaky marriage, or blithely schtupping a bonking bevvy of comely, fashionable, and altogether frolicsome young fillies. Not much in the way of profound existential insight, but appreciated as a frothy, day-glow time capsule of eye-wateringly luminescent schmutter, happening pop sounds, bijou crash pads, and Dolly-looking motors, Loving Feeling is proper gear! Drossy dialogue proves hilariously trite, being no less contrived than the wholly specious fantasy of the 60s swinging for anyone outside of the liverish minds of Soho myth makers. 

The nookie element, while present, is singularly subdued, often suffering from smutus interruptus, conforming to a strictly lie down, pants on, legs only mildly akimbo, and think of England variety! It proved impossible mustering up any sympathy for the self-absorbed DJ, at best he's a philandering tossbag, and worst, Steve's an outright misogynistic Khunt. I have a fondness for whimsical sequences, wherein lissome young ladies gambol exuberantly along the beach, especially when their limber movements are playfully accompanied by a bucolic-sounding flute. On the objective upside, Loving Feeling features the achingly sensuous Euro-starlet Francois Pascal, captured voluptuously in all her dazzling Mary Quant glory! In truth, the 'best before date' on Loving Feeling would have expired 6 months after its initial limited release.

 The Misfit Brigade aka Wheels of Terror.(1987) – Gordon Hessler.

'If we lose the war, we win!'

Hessler's boisterous 80s warsploitation about a belligerent unit of German malcontents, punitively tasked with a suicide mission on the Russian front is bolstered by a quality text, lusty direction, and an exemplary cast. In the late 70s, and early 80s Sven Hassel paperbacks, with their compellingly lurid covers were somewhat ubiquitous, libraries, W.H. Smiths, innumerable 2^nd hand book shops were copiously replete with his populist WWII actioners. Wheels of Terror remains an outstanding example of a bayonet-sharp feature proving mightier than the originators pulpier pen. Storming yarns of blazing, steel-thewed military action set within the sweltering confines of U-Boats, or tanks have maintained their appeal. Like the higher profile Cross of Iron, Wheels of Terror proves sympathetic to that largely unheralded section of the Wehrmacht who actively abhorred the evil machinations of the Nazi elite. Much of WWII warsploitation is naked, gung ho warmongery, but some prove to have more subversive agendas, Wheels of Terror is not only a thrilling military actioner, it additionally provides sardonic food for thought over the devastating insanities unleashed by those who instigate global wars. I'll end with the old adage 'war sucks, but at least we got some damn good movies out of that shit show!'

 Tale of a Vampire (1992) – Shimiko Sato.

Handsome, enigmatic Julian Sands is exceptionally well cast as melancholic revenant Alex in this moody, stylised, and altogether sombre examination of the plaintive nocturnal peregrinations of a floppy-haired vampire. I think it is entirely just to claim that Tale of a Vampire owes more to the literary Gothic romances of Anne Rice than the visceral pulp aesthetic of Subspecies. Atmospheric, interior and contemporary spin on macabre Gothic lore, Alex is a beautifully bereft, utterly solitary, exquisitely pale creature, and his amorous fixation on an attractive, withdrawn, and no less anguished librarian (Suzanna Hamilton) provides emotional grist for a compelling, somewhat neglected British iteration of vampire phantasmagoria.

With potent themes of carnal desire, revenge, grief, isolation, and ardent blood-letting, Sato's elegiac Tale of a Vampire is a classical, innately British, darkly seductive metropolitan Gothic romance. Arguably more of a mood piece than a blood-spattered, Hammer Horror bodice ripper, with strong performances, chiaroscuro lighting, and a suitably mournful text, director Sato constructs a beguilingly baroque, candlelit diorama of ill-fated trysts, malign hungers, deeply shrouded secrets, and sweetly illicit sensuality. In closing, esteemed character actor Kenneth Cranham, not for the first time, stealing every scene with the sly, effortless grace of a seasoned pickpocket.

 The Beach Girls (1982) – Bud Townsend.

'Is that a salami in your pocket, or are you just pleased to see me?'

If I could do like a Hindu, and live all over again, I could certainly do a lot worse than returning as the casting director for juicy jackanapes like The Beach Girls. Needless to say, the top-popping totty casting for this salty seaside buffoonery is some of the very breast I have ever seen! Schools out! And three vivacious young ladies take over a lavish beach-fronted abode and proceed to most heartily paaaaaaaartay!!!!!!!!!! cue muchas slap sticky gags, cornball chat, and a perky panoply of hot-bodied grab-ass. Dramatically, this reads about as complex as the ingredients printed on a bottle of ionised water, but for any seeking a guilelessly voyeuristic montage of teenaged libidinous hi-jinks, The Beach Girls, like a loaded pizza, momentarily delivers the generously saucy goods. Aficionados of Crown International Pictures bawdy brand of strictly hetero hot doggin' will find little fault with this flimsy bikini-centric bacchanal of tittersome T&A, and, quite frankly, nor do I! As an aside, if you threw a rock at an 80s slasher, you'd frequently biff a goofy caretaker; is there a dedicated agency for B-movie caretakers? and if so, I'd like to congratulate them for doing an epic job of work unearthing the lawn molesting schmingus in Beach Girls! Broad, sub-Police Academy humour, with added boobies, plus the bikini-grabbing pooch from 'Malibu Beach', The Beach Girls is a good natured, low brow lark, and I can dig it!

 Flashfire (1994) – Elliot Silverstein.

I'll happily watch (almost) anything scored by synth master general Sylvester Levay, throw in hunksome Billy Zane, the charismatic icon Louis Gosset Jr., and some absolutely terrific-looking totty and I'm all the way in! Flashfire's utilitarian premise is one that is oft recycled; stoic White Knight cop Jack Flinder(Billy Zane)is murderously pursued by corrupt Black Knight cops, Flinder courageously rescues beauteous, distressed damsel (Kristin Minter), and after heroically saving the day, both canter off triumphantly into a picturesquely sun-hazed L.A. dawn of infinite promise! While lacking invention, cast performances and film-making chops prove competent enough, with stolid helmsman Silverstein keeping the trope-laden conveyor belt swiftly spinning until Flashfire's frantically kissy-kissy, bang-bang final act. Flashfire doesn't fully ignite, but, as always, Louis Gossett Jr. proves immaculate, and to his pretty co-star's considerable credit, Zane is still able to generate verisimilitude to stock cop Flinder, while conspicuously burdened by an overtly lustrous hairpiece! At best, Flashfire is no more than a serviceable 90s DTV crime thriller, admittedly one sporadically scorched by the Shannon Tweed-esque sultry shenanigans of the no less delicious minx Kristin Minter.

 Van Nuys Blvd – (1979) - William Sachs.

'Nobody calls Chooch a chicken, man!!!!!'

Beloved exploitation mavens Crown International Pictures presents bawdy 70s boogie van romp Van Nuys Blvd for the continued delectation of petrol-headed Grindhouse gourmands, old and new. Young buck, Bobby (Bill Adler), frustrated by small town ennui, jams his jacked pussy wagon down to the notorious drag strip Van Nuys Boulevard, eager for some horny, hot-rodded high-jinks! Wholly unexpectedly, this supercharged roustabout comedy caper rocks, nay, scratch that, Van Nuys Blvd Discos like a righteous mothertrucker! Lava hot nubiles, and even hotter rides, nookie-soaked nostalgia trip Van Nuys Blvd is a triumphantly titty-licious 70s time capsule! Amenably wholesome, exuberant and joyfully upbeat, this delightfully disco-drenched Drive-in frolic remains an eminently watchable example of eternally groovy Americana. Dramatically slight, and tantalisingly promiscuous, Van Nuys Boulevard is a fun ride, and director Sachs has bejewelled his playful smut-com with some truly outstanding Poontang!

 Euthanasia di un amore aka Break Up (1978) – Enrico Maria Solerno

A beautiful, yet melancholy woman Sena (Ornella Mutti) suddenly exits her lover Paolo's (Tony Musante) car, apparently desperate to end their long and loving relationship, and his persistent attempts to discover why she left so abruptly painfully extends the inexorable rift between them. An intelligent, elegiac, and contemplative drama that is brought to exquisitely vivid life by two nuanced performances, fluid, expressive camerawork, and absolutely sublime-looking locations. Soleno's visually compelling, engagingly philosophic mise-en-scene does a refined job of capturing all of the wounding emotional malaise following a break up. When watching films featuring the captivating Ornella Mutti, one is all too often distracted by her uncommon beauty, but Mutti's performance is so complete, and the layered story is no less immaculately constructed, one becomes utterly beguiled, the emotionally complex narrative unerringly maintains its forceful grip, directly from the enigmatic title sequence until the moving, beautifully staged climax. An altogether humane, universally relatable, profoundly accessible film from an iconic actor who proves no less masterful behind the camera, than when in front of it. One of the film's greatest strengths resides in its expressive silences, as both the actors and director appreciate the potent cinematic eloquence of non-verbal communication.