Multiple Maniacs (1970) – John Waters.

I have heard it said that Multiple Maniacs inspired Mel Gibson to make his very own religious epic, if true, I don't feel we should hold this against Mr. Waters, as I believe his intentions were entirely dishonourable. An exhilaratingly mad melange of Roger Corman and Frederico Fellini, Multiple Maniacs remains an exquisitely outré descent into Divine depravity. With a rousing plenitude of fabulously permissive filth, who needs a cogent plot, Multiple Maniacs is 'Big Bad Mama' for the post-Manson miasma. Devine, a polymorphously perverse hybrid of Shelley Winters and an aggressively porcine Liz Taylor, a sultry skid row screen siren, erotically elephantine queen of the obscene.

I absolutely cannot find fault with Multiple Maniacs, it is the 'real' world that is sick, while John Waters films are a sublimely titillating, profoundly penetrating examination of man's insatiable predilection for annihilation. Everything dies, the sun will eventually burn out, but Devine's brassy brilliance shall never fade. My love of John Waters is of a religious fervour, and therefore, must be treated with scepticism, if you don't regard Waters as a saviour, that's fine, some believe Jesus died for our sins, while John Waters gave us good reason to keep on sinning! It must be said that Devine looked hotter than a witch's flaming titty, her creamily voluminous botty is such a thing fever dreams are made of!

 The Wild Ride (1960) – Harvey Berman.

'He's big, he tuned me in!'

This curiously low-geared Bongo & Beatnik B-quickie presents all-round narcissistic A-Hole, and psychopathically kick-seeking hot dog Johnny (Jack Nicholson) descending precipitously into a hot rodded downward spiral to delinquency in The Wild Ride. A bit of a lame duck, daddio, funky midnight fare for those with an exceptionally high tolerance for overripe beatnik patios, distractingly shaky photography, toxic peer pressure, asinine macho posturing, and dingle-berry dramaturgy. Not so much a curates egg as altogether rotten one, The Wild Ride conjures up all the daredevil impetus of a palsied turtle. There's scant evidence of Jack Nicholson's darkly magnetic charisma, but I was momentarily distracted by his most brazen display of manly nipples. The Wild Ride played like a spectacularly crude road safety propaganda piece, since Nicholson's loathsome skell Johnny, and his equally malodorous cronies are all portrayed in such a brutally unsympathetic manner!

 Knochenwald 3 : Sudden Slaughter. - Utz Marius Thompsen.

Knochenwald, arguably one of the more aggressively bloodthirsty S.O.V slasher trilogies concludes in an exhilaratingly gory fashion, in what sadly remains slasherdom's best kept secret. Why has the outrageously carnage-happy Knochenwald franchise been denied the bloody infamy it so palpably deserves? Sadly, I believe so much of home-made S.O.V splatter remains obscure as they haven't been pushed by smug online genre 'experts', and if mentioned at all, they are usually given undeservedly snarky short shrift. A classic example of this is the almost universally derided 'Violent Shit', by disdainful twerps who couldn't enjoy themselves with free lube, and a weekend pass at a Tijuana cat house.

With better promotion, and higher visibility, Knochenwald's gas-masked maniac Mike Mansfield would very soon stand omnipotent amongst the blood-spattered pantheon of hardcore slasher gods. The objective joys of Knochenwald 3 : Sudden Slaughter are manifold, presenting a generosity of inventive, and tremendously gory kills, even the most degenerated body count junkie will find NOTHING wanting in these thrillingly graphic displays of wanton slaughter. The third OTT instalment benefits hugely from slow-mo splashy practical FX, a pulsing score, and the welcome presence of another psycho, one whose murderous misanthropy energetically equals nemesis Mike Mansfield's orgiastic levels of mayhem!

 In Fabric (2018) – Peter Strickland.

Genre iconoclast Peter Strickland's work is artful, dazzlingly stylised, captivatingly strange, and profoundly sensual, his wickedly compelling euro-horror tone poem 'In Fabric' feels tailor made for midnight movie mavens. At times, unsettlingly bizarre, and teasingly oblique, it is the tantalizingly twisted narrative's raven dark humour that beguiles so absolutely. It's certainly no mean feat tailoring a vintage suburban vista that is both recognizable and massively alien, the department store's diabolical machinations, with its bewitching bevvy of sensually satanic sirens provides for a bespoke trip into a memorably macabre mercantile fantasy. Only indirectly conventional, and often directly sublime, Peter Stickland's decadent, scintillatingly immersive cinema is tactile, and no less deliciously intoxicating than single malted breakfast.

 'Virgin Among The Living Dead' – Jess Franco.

A beautiful, naive young woman returns to her grand ancestral home for a will reading, only to eerily discover that those 'living' in her father's house are not only emotionally detached, terribly eccentric, they may actually be quite dead!!!!! Macabre, oneiric, sensual, and fantastically strange, maestro Jess Franco's darkly atmospheric Virgin Among The Living Dead remains one of his more effectively sin-slaked shockers. Evocative of Franco's classic 60s Gothic, the openly titillating aspects of Virgin Among The Living Dead play second 'fiddle' to a truly dread atmosphere, the malignity infusing the diabolical characters is palpably Lovecraftian.

 Monster (2023) – Kore-eda Hirokazu.

This beguiling, immaculately constructed drama by maestro Kore-eda Hirokazu is no less perfect than the very best of Clouzot and Ozu. Exquisitely acted, Monster frequently explores emotional depths and human fragilities with a deftness that you don't often see in cinema. Writer Sakamoto Yuji's luminous, delicately nuanced screenplay impactfully presents a captivating, finely wrought mystery which ultimately proves no less sublimely tumultuous than life itself. The dazzling, wholly humane way in which Kore-eda masterfully obscures the film's truth proved unusually compelling to me, and the utterly glorious final sequence is surely destined to become iconic. As an avid, life-long film fan, there is something uniquely edifying about discovering such an extraordinarily well-made contemporary film, from the very first playful exchange between loving mother and son, I instinctively knew Monster would be pure magic!

 Midnight aka Mideunaiteu (2021) – Oh-seung Kwon.

Stylish and compelling Korean chiller follows brutal serial killer (wi ha jun) as he sinisterly pursues the beautiful, gamine deaf witness (ki-joo jin)to one of his kidnappings. I've still yet to pinpoint the precise reason for my continued predilection for gruesome thrillers about demented, serially slashing nutbags? Perhaps it was my unduly prolonged potty training, the lack of nutritious fluorides in my bathwater, or a precocious interest in all things pertaining to fulsome lady bottoms may, or may not, have had something to do with it. Who knows? Perhaps, if I had suffered a reasonably severe, yet survivable head trauma as a nipper, my 'adult' obsessions wouldn't be quite so degenerated!

I deducted points for the killer's lack of charisma, but awarded top marks for his tenacity, adaptability in a crisis, and prodigious running skills. Midnight's blazing final act is kinetic, the film-makers ruthlessly doing their utmost to torment the pretty protagonist for our perverse delectation. Curiously, Midnight owes far more to shockers of the past than most Korean horror films, and yet it doesn't feel terribly organic, this punter often felt manipulated, like a rat desperately scuttling hither and thither in a lab-coated misfit's cruelly convoluted maze. Much like the proverbial pudding, the busy narrative was a trifle over-egged, not always, but occasionally, what you don't see can inspire one's imagination with greater efficacy.