House of Flesh Mannequins (2009) - Domiziano Cristopharo.

An insular, emotionally damaged man (Domiziano Arcangeli), with macabrely artistic pretensions, once tormented as a child, voyeuristically attempts in adulthood some increasingly outré photographic/video installations of his very own! By the time snuff-obsessed Sabastian's morbid peccadilloes fatally crescendo into a wickedly gory S&M'd climax, my initial curiosity had waned, since it all kinda felt like a protracted Skinny Puppy video, with an added 90s aesthetic of Dee Snider's horror curio Strangeways. For an Italian genre film maker, House of Flesh Mannequins felt greatly indebted to American shock-horror, rather than the eerier manifestations of Bava/Freda, or Fulci et. al. This surreal, palpably perverse reworking of Peeping Tom provides imaginative adult content, but, for me, it didn't coalescence convincingly into a grippingly immersive horror film. More sado-inflected Grindhouse, than atmospheric art-house, largely due to soap opera dialogue, an episodic narrative, and some distractingly theatrical performances. I am not, in any way disparaging Mr. Cristopharo's artistic vision, as he is, quite patently a creative artist, but I simply couldn't connect, while others may certainly feel more impassioned about House of Flesh Mannequins! The one unequivocally wonderful aspect about Cristopharo's fleshly, junk-heavy jamboree is the charismatic presence of Giovanni Lombardo Radice, who is never less than a delight to behold. In summation, this is NOT a poorly made indie feature, and with a sharper edit, and better dialogue, who knows?

 King of The Ants (2003) – Stuart Gordon.

Finally caught up with horror maestro Stuart Gordon's brutish, tantalizingly twisted crime flick. Naive, shiftless young drifter Sean (Chris McKenna), through apparent happenstance is tasked by heavy (Daniel Baldwin)to shadow city counsellor Eric (Ron Livingston), the gruesome events thereafter propel him deliriously towards a macabre, wholly unforeseen destiny. Gritty plot proved engaging, if a tad shop-worn, maestro Gordon's sharp film-making, compellingly lurid left-turns, tasty performances, and a grimly sardonic tone kept me gripped until to the bravura, Grand Guignol climax. King of the Ants certainly doesn't telegraph its singularly mean-spirited final act, and some of the surreal practical FX imbues it with an additional, phantasmagorically-inclined horror-noir edge. George Wendt is an exemplary actor who is consistently wonderful to watch, having an almost alchemical talent turning 'blah' scenes into pure gold! I'm not sure why it took me so long to get round to watching this, but I'm certainly glad I did, and one hopes others who missed King of The Ants, find themselves no less beguiled than I.

 Mitchell (1975) – Andrew V. McLaglen.

'I'm sorry, the beer got a little bit excited!'

An ornery, roustabout cop Mitchell (JDB) pursues Drug dealers, and a singularly crooked businessman (John Saxon), with the relentless, roundhouse rockin' zeal one expects from iconic Hollywood tough guy Joe Don Baker. I don't believe it's altogether unfair to suggest that many of big bad Don's 70s efforts are formulaic, Don stands tall for the little guy, and usually takes care of business with all the finesse of a phosphorous grenade discharged in a busy shopping mall. Like his brusque acting style, the bruising action herein is crude, yet bloodily effective. I remain a huge fan, while Don's work waned in the 80s, during the halcyon daze of chop socky mayhem, and maverick, drink first, shoot later cops popularized at the Drive-in, and flea pits of 42^nd st., bellicose Baker was a veritable titan! Written by TV heavyweight Ian Kennedy Martin, and capably directed by MacLaglan, Mitchell colourfully provides some enjoyably retrograde, exquisitely 70s no frills blood spills. No punchy crime thriller featuring John Saxon and Martin Balsam is a waste of anyone's time, and Larry Brown/Dean Styner's greazy, chicken fried Cop funk remains pretty darn peppery too! And if y'all can't appreciate the continued righteousness of a daredevil Dune Buggy duel, then all is lost, my friend!

 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.