Black Oak Conspiracy (1977) – Bob Kelljan.

'If he makes any trouble, I'll have him curling up like a spider on a hot stove!'

Hard-luck, good 'ole boy stuntman (Jessie Vint) returns to his home town in order to visit his stricken momma, only to discover that home just ain't so sweet as it used ta' be! This boisterously twin-fisted Drive-in barnstormer boasts an exemplary cast, dramatically boosted by another charismatic performance from amiable tough guy Jesse Vint. Bob Kelljan's Black Oak Conspiracy is grabber from the get-go, we sympathize with our durable hero's steely stoicism, as he takes a courageously righteous stand against the murderous, money-hungry tyranny of criminal property developers, and deeply corrupt, trigger-happy cops. Granted, it's familiar territory, yet one successfully rejuvenated by the rugged star quality of Jesse Vint. A rousing soundtrack, tough action, quality repartee, and a more than generous quotient of eye-candy, sumptuously provided by the dreamy duo of Karen Carlson, and bouncily Buxom B-Queen Janus Blythe. In conclusion, I really must credit Kelljan for maintaining such a satisfyingly lively pace, and ably delivering a violent, hugely thrilling climax.

 The Stay Awake (1988) – John Bernard.

20 years after his execution, the malevolent spirit of a sadistic serial killer returns to haunt an isolated Girl's school, mindlessly revenging himself on this equally vapid crop of bland young women. Bloodthirsty lunatics stalking and slaying nubiles, in corporeal, or unfleshed guise was, by the late 80s nearing saturation point, and this South African supernatural slasher seemed oblivious, and clunkily got on with its generic, bizarrely bloodless body bag stuffing. Acting and screenplay are singularly inept, but often provide unintended bouts of genuine levity (javelin scene!!!). Slasher savages weaned on The Prowler and Maniac will find The Stay Awake a snoozer, but fans of prodigiously goofy horror trash will hungrily gobble up the fromage-laden larks herein! The conspicuously rubber demon is no less unthreatening than a little trees car deodorizer, but his absurd antics remain a delight to behold! Even if this had been produced under the aegis of The Children's Film Foundation, a younger demographic would nonetheless angrily balk at the glaring omission of actual scares. Absolutely goreless, and so monumentally chaste, I earnestly believe the founder of the Mormons would have demanded a full refund for its borderline criminal omission of T & A! I think it is fair to say that the writer of The Stay Awake might have had equal trouble successfully completing the partially scribbled crossword in a vintage Beano Annual. John Barnard's listless characters often claim they experience a terrible odour, and no less beleaguered viewers must endure the very same stupefying reek from the malodorous dialogue.      

 The Other Side (2015) – Roberto Minervini.

I've always admired stark documentaries that intimately explore the darker interstices of human existence. Main protagonist Mark is a rather exhausted-looking junkie/drug pedlar, selling methamphetamine amongst the lower echelon's of Louisiana's disenfranchised working class poor, and those broken, actively downward-spiralling souls. A curiously engaging figure, articulate, often kindly, surprisingly self-aware, and his exchanges with many of those closet to him prove genuinely compelling. While the darker content is far from edifying, the director credibly maintains objectivity. As a subjective viewer I'm never down with alcoholics being around younger children, and I don't believe Hilary Clinton cares for them as much as they drunkenly suggest she does. The Other Side is so beautifully constructed, it quite often feels indivisible from an exceptionally naturalistic drama. This is, sadly, not an optimistic view of America, but it is an honest one, taking a humane, seemingly unfiltered look at those all too often blithely written off as poor white trash. Guns, and the abuses of drugs and alcohol loom large in The Other Side, yet, even if the world were to become miraculously more evenly balanced, I truly wonder, just how radically different would it genuinely be?

 All Night Long II (1995) – Katsuya Matsumura.

Introverted, doll-obsessed youth Shunichi (Masashi Endo) is brutalized by a psychotic gang of thugs he is indebted to, a mysterious online Samaritan offers a solution, leading circuitously to an increasingly bloody series of depravities. Malign characters actively prone to eroticized mayhem form an integral part of Matsumura's ruthlessly cruel milieu. The profoundly warped ringleader's lust for Shinichi very soon turns bestial, his gross mistreatment finally making him utterly insane. These feral urban misfits are almost alien in their absolute dearth of humanity, and Matsumura's forensic examination of the devastating effects abuse has upon the human psyche is what makes All Night Long II so evilly compelling! It is chilling that even the most debased examples of graphically rendered torture in cinema are merest fripperies compared to the monstrous abuses perpetrated in day-today reality. Violent exploitation cinema is simply examining what lurks inside us all, censoring it is about as impactful as dosing a terminal Chernobyl victim with aspirin. The continued merit of Matsumura's cinema is in its unflinching depictions of orgiastic cruelty, a salutary reminder that even the most apparently benign individual is corruptible, and more than capable of the most terrible violence. The nihilistic, exquisitely vicious sequel to All Night Long more than earns its Cat III status, and those seeking lingeringly sadistic scenes of unexpurgated nastiness will not find 'All Night Long II' in any way lacking.

 Juvenile Crime (1997) – Gunji Kawasaki.

An almost numbingly graphic, wholly sleazy teensploitation shocker based upon the true crime history of the shocking Junko Furuta case. I don't imagine that this is an altogether authentic depiction of the kidnapping, but director Kawasaki certainly doesn't deny viewers a mucky, unfiltered display of utter depravity. The three teenaged delinquents are clearly avid students of the 'last House n The Left school of extreme misogynistic psychopathy. While I'm fully aware of the inanity of stating that these abject youths are mindless skells, and as mindless skells go, these are on the evolutionary level of grossly neglected toilet bowl crusts. Aesthetically, Kawasaki's film is workmanlike, rather than articulate, and yet, there's a grimy intensity to this murky video edition which heightens the impact of the profoundly sordid content, providing a verisimilitude that, perhaps, the film makers don't deserve. I dug the more basic electronic elements of the score, strangely hypnotic, a welcome distraction from the hugely irksome pixelization process, suggesting extreme torture violence is all strawberry sundaes, but we must save the fragile gentlefolk from the real world horrors of exposed male & female pudenda. I'm wholly jaded/indifferent to screen violence/depravity, others may well find Juvenile Crime case an undistinguished, base, porn-y, and ultimately distasteful work. My main takeaway from the sleazier type of Cat III shenanigans is that when the poor, beleaguered female victim says 'No!', the director says 'Yes!', and we all blithely continue watching like desensitized oafs.

 All Night Long aka Ooru Naitu Rongu. (1992) – Katsuya Matsumura.

After three young men witness the sudden, brutal, seemingly arbitrary slaying of a school girl at a railway crossing, their latterly unconnected lives become disturbingly intertwined in Matsumura explicit cult classic. From the shocking opening to the no less bravura finale, All Night Long remains a rigorous, darkly compelling example of bracingly adult Cat III intensity. Outside of the exceptionally gripping plot, I was struck with the many beautifully composed scenes, while I'm aware many fine films take exceptional care over lighting, camera movements/placement, lenses/filters etc., but every now and again, I am powerfully beguiled by a director's visceral command of the art form. Without wishing to sound trite, it really does make a film infinitely more intriguing if you people it with charismatic individuals, rather than generic cyphers (Hollywood). There's nary a dull moment in Katsuya's twisted revenge saga, but it must be strongly noted that all Night Long concludes explosively in a thrillingly cathartic fashion.

 Cryptic Plasm (2015) – Brian Paulin.

The entirely subjective notion that the film's eminently metal moniker sounded like a Voivod song title, kinda hooked me big-time! Spookily anomalous events, jerkily documented by a pair of crypto-hunters turn out to be far more sinister than they could have imagined. X-Files, Lovecraft, and E.C comics have certainly provided grist for indie horror-maker Brian Paulin's talky, low budget, but mostly satisfying S.O.V Sci-shocker. The realm of S.O.V splatter is arguably more diverse than many would have you believe, and Cryptic Plasm is more ambitious than most, and those attuned to the esoteric dogma's of UFO Files/Ancient Aliens/Alien Corridors will appreciate the Crypto-Bismal chattering, than others who are not so sympathetic to Grey-lore. Performances are okay-ish, and plainly hampered by meagre funds, Cryptic Plasm successfully manages to generate some gory, gloopily fun Creature Feature spook-outs! While some more judicious editing would have been welcome, the film makers are to be heartily congratulated on the propulsively gruesome, spectacularly slime-slathered crescendo of painfully caustic, body annihilating galactic goo in the thrillingly gruesome climax!

Worm holes are wholly innocent of any wrong doing, and I earnestly wish folk would just leave them be, and not incessantly blame them for all of life's weird, extra curricular shenanigans, Worm Holes are benign entities, and are in no way responsible for the tawdry films of Blum House, or Eli Roth. I love the delicious incongruity of the line: 'David!!!??? DAVID!!!!???? are you alright????!!!' frantically delivered to a shambling, undeniably ruinous-looking wretch who looked as though he had only just recently been violently passed through the hyper-corrosive rectum of 'the Goat of Mendes...the Devil himself!!!!' In closing, I'd very much like to believe that the astonishingly chunk-blowing sequence in the cellar was in part a loving tribute to Deadly Spawn and The Incredible Melting Man.