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.

 Kinder Der Nacht (2000) – Heiko Bender/Oliver Kuppers/Marcus Laibacher/Simone Schneider.

German Gothic S.O.V weirdy appears to concern the investigation into the death of a lavender haired Gothic dude that leads to macabre revelations of malign dope-peddlers, Satanic Blood cultists, Evil Deaded forestry, the nefarious production of a potent psychoactive substance, lava hot German Goth hotties, and a banging industrial EBM score. My German couldn't fully circumnavigate the beef with the increasingly brutal gangsters, so I simply let the oddness wash over me like an opiated electro-Goth fever dream! Much like the more insalubrious Jess Franco titles, the copious T&A, while a not unwelcome distraction, felt entirely arbitrary. The ruthless gangsters want the recipe for this demonized crack by any means necessary, so the Gothic crew tool up, leading bloodily to an inevitably bullet-blasted showdown.

As a Brucie bonus, one of the comic book villains eerily looks like the angriest love child borne of David Vincent and Pete Steel! For a lo-fi, no budget S.O.V schlocker, there are a number of gnarly ideas, namely this Lovecraftian designer drug that turns its abusers into excessively violent, devil-possessed berserkers. I can't state with absolutely surety whether Kinder Der Nacht is a cine-cult in the offing, or a bag of steaming schwantzes, perhaps a little of both? Either way, it strongly suggested to me that I am watching far too many sketchy genre films of late. I don't wish to end on a disparaging note, but even with subtitles, I'm not wholly convinced Kinder Der Nacht would make that much more sense!

 Seeds aka Seeds of Sin (1968) – Andy Milligan.

Along with fellow exploitation maestro Jack Hill's evergreen, darkly gag-laden Gothic grotesquery Spider Baby, Andy Milligan's skuzzball Gothica Seeds luridly remains a twisted, cruel, fascinatingly camp dissection of wickedly warped family values. Perhaps taking its cue from Hammer Horror's similarly skewed dabbling with hagsploitation, Seeds sordidly presents the precipitous decline of demented dipso matriarch Claris Manning (Maggie Rogers) during a majestically malign, ruthlessly mirthless Christmas family reunion. Like National Lampoons on weaponized DMT, the mercurial, maniacal Manning clan are a scintillatingly sinister troop of perversely scheming skells, and their nakedly sated lusts provide for oodles of rampant, sensationally skeevey WTFuckery!

Happily, at no point does Mr. Milligan approach verisimilitude, his debased caricatures of hyperbolic humanity are playfully distorted to the point of sublime absurdity. Like an especially brutally executed autopsy, Seeds is faintly taboo viewing, you know you really shouldn't, but you can't turn away, and, yet, deep, DEEP down, you fucking love it, and absolutely don't want it to stop! Seeds is a rabidly nihilistic anti-Forsyte Saga, luridly laden with additional vitriol, queasy incest, and biblical, downward-spiralling delirium. To any unmoved by Seeds of Sin, their funny bones must have fatally diminished to that of Stalin's conscience. A potently experiential work of agitprop exploitation, arguably in a league of its own, Seeds remains a mad, monochromatic, monolithically misanthropic midnight movie monstrosity.

 Zombel (2001) – Al Spicher.

A recently zombified male introduces Al Spicher's boundlessly gory D.I.Y zombie chunkblower Zombel, kindly informing viewers that his murderer, a prototypically cracked scientist plans to weaponize the dead as his very own zombie army. This specific S.O.V milieu is a familiar one, actor chums in rudimentary make-up, gratuitous, home-made gore, cursory plot, patently unlicensed usage of heavy metal, and lurch-core attack zombies lumbering murderously through a forest. By all rights this should be utterly dreadful, but any generously gore-laden horror film that makes the effort to provide a memorable sequence wherein a zombie wanks his own cock off has,perhaps, appreciable depths. A drunk dude fatefully relives himself upon a zombie's head, thereby leading our reluctant hero to discover that urine is the only viable antidote to this unexpectedly winning Euro-schlock zombie outbreak. Wholly deserving of rediscovery, Zombel is a splendidly splattery, Swiss cheesy S.O.V splatter treat. In the mindlessly amusing, crudely constructed pantheon of unsophisticated Zombie carnage, Spicher's analogue bloodbath stands tall as one of home-made horror's more goofily entertaining works! Zombel's obscurity resides solely in the fact that they will never be able to afford the music licensing for a non-bootlegged edition. Happily, I still maintain a childlike glee witnessing cheapnis zombies hungrily chowing down on gloopy tummy gubbins!