American Cyborg: Steel Warrior (1993) – Boaz Davidson.

Doomily set in one of the many grimily interchangeable dystopian futures that formed the desperate backdrop of a great many 90s DTV Sci-fighters, starring Michael Sopkiw, JCVD, Billy Blanks, Olivier Gruner, or, in this instance, Joe Lara! The plot borrows heavily from Euro-cult classic 2019: After The Fall of New York, but the director fucks shit up with such a noisome frequency, it seems churlish to mention it, but since I remain a notorious churl, I did! Consummate action film-maker Boaz Davidson has created many top notch actioners, and his explosive American Cyborg remains a kinetic, bullet-blasted, post apocalyptic gem.

Aesthetically, the film looks good, dynamic production design, Joe Lara is a hunk, and his fetus-bearing companion Mary (Nicole Hansen), is one juicy-lipped pop tart! In fact, they are all legitimately boffable, even the relentless killer replicant (John Ryan) has an appealingly high-toned, homoerotic Mad Max/Studio 54 vibe! There are good and bad formula actioners, just like there are good and bad Wieners, the secret is largely in the special sauce, and American Cyborg is a tasty foot-long with the whole enchilada! I have always found Joe Lara to have an engaging screen presence, and he brings a distinctly spaghetti western/Chippendales quality to his gruffly heroic Austin.

 Zombie Dearest (2009) – David Kempker.

Struggling comedy writer Gustav (David Kempker), and his frustrated, long-suffering girlfriend (Shauna Black)attempt a fresh start by renovating a fixer-upper in her isolated, rural home town, only to disturbingly discover they not only have rats, there's a zombie blocking the septic tank!!! Affable Canadian Zom-com has likeable performances, quality writing, an unusually sympathetic zombie (David Sparrow), and some bona fide belly laffs! Zombie Dearest kinda feels like one of those boozy, pre-dawn ideas that proves you should always jot 'em down, as you never know, it just might produce an above average, hugely tittersome indie horror comedy. It's a fun, engaging, richly ironical midnight movie treat, and the blackly funny Monkey's Paw business is smartly integrated.

 Frozen in Fear (2001) – Robin. P. Murray.

In this goose-bumpy thriller, slinky metropolitan art bunny Catherine Oxenberg has the choice of boinking one of the three males, burly Rod Steiger, angsty Scott Plank, or will she succumb to enigmatic mute Eric Roberts, who proves ever so clever with his hands? But, is she blithely knocking off the shadowy subzero serial killer stalking this ghostly deserted ex-logging backwater? A beautiful location, a gorgeous protagonist (Oxenberg), a bellicose patriarch (Steiger), and a silent folk artist (Roberts) provide the increasingly volatile ingredients to Robin. P. Murray's erotically-singed murder mystery. Not for the first time, the moral is to be careful who you choose to boink, as you might just end up as a perma-frosted human popsicle! This glacial nutjob is icing young women in creepy Montana backwater Dark Hollow, and who will be the next victim of this maniacal misfit's frost-bitten modus operandi? Frozen in Fear abounds nosily with lurid Hitchcockian power tropes, and pseudo-slasher jackanapes, but that is precisely why it is such a camply enjoyable experience. Somewhat ironically, Oxenberg and Roberts make for a palpably hot couple in this altogether daft, but irresistibly contrived noughties serial chiller!

 A Ritmo De Jess aka The Rhythm of Jess (2013) – Naxo Fiol.

This titillating, shot from-the-hips documentary utilizes an engagingly voyeuristic approach, intimately observing an ailing, yet mentally sharp Jess Franco shooting/improvising his low budget, smut-slathered oddity 'Al Pereira vs the Alligator Ladies'. As a long-time Franco fan, A Ritmo De Jess remains a bona fide cinematic treat, while undeniably frail, having such unfettered access to the psychotronic maestro's film-making process proved fascinating, and Iberian, Euro-cult icon Antonio Mayans gentlemanly presence provides an additional boon. Franco's mental faculties are sharp; asking the portly cameraman about the camera, he dully replies 'it's a Sony!', Jess huffily retorting that he didn't want to know the brand, which was plainly obvious!

A not infrequently cantankerous Jess mentions the less formal shooting style of Cassavetes to his cameraman, who isn't aware of him?!? No diss intended, as he appears to be a Stalwart fellow, but I can imagine Mr. Franco finding it a tad alienating working with such an ill-informed DP. One of the more winning aspects of A Ritmo De Jess is the potently erotic vision of the exquisite Irene Verdu, her wickedly playful nature, picante sultriness, and uninhibited nudity making her one especially indelible Alligator lady! Jess's crew was extraordinarily bare-boned, with producer/actor Mayans acting as gaffer, and factotum, plus, with no visible sound recordist, I must assume, all live sound was captured by the camera's rudimentary mike? Avid Francophiles, and B-freaks alike are sure to appreciate Franco's rhythm method!

 L.A. Aids Jabber. (1994) – Drew Godderis.

Incandescently enraged by a shockingly unexpected AIDS diagnosis, a berserk young man slakes his invidious revenge by dementedly plunging a tainted syringe into any who fatally cross his path! It is impossible to describe the psychotic protagonist's sordid, contagion-spreading modus operandi without expressing a modicum of respect for the director's maniacal audacity at having unleashed such a ferociously filthy feature upon an ill-prepared public. While I can't imagine the film's grossly unsavoury premise would attract a multitude of producers today, L.A Aids Jabber's extraordinarily exploitative, diabolically crude, disgustingly deranged, stupefyingly crass contents might only find favour with all those unrepentant Greasy Stranglers in the sleazier vectors of the Videodrome! 

I can patently see why L.A Aids Jabber might give many contemporary slasher fans the needle, but I'm certainly glad I took the plunge, since this terminally toxic S.O.V monstrosity disgustingly provides a potent antidote to the torpidly trope-centric slasher drivel of today. Raw videography, a toilet door wit, and an inexcusably vile killer, Drew Godderis's scummy SD slasher has all the appreciable depth of a microfibre sanitary pad, but 'Jabber' abso-fucking-lutely MUST be seen at least once!

'A mainline threat to horror's mainstream, this scrofulous S.O.V sickie remains a real throat jabber!' - Mahnfahrt Panzerflesh.

'LA Aids Jabber has been sticking it to the man since the 1990s!' - Mandrill Bumslave.

'Only hardened gore addicts with the thickest skins should dare to take on the LA Aids Jabber!' - Tor Bronson.

 Career Bed (1969) – Joel M. Reed.

I maintain an especially tingly fondness for 'swinging' roughies/stag/cheesecake skin-flicks from the 60s. I dig the hip NYC milieu of booze, reefer madness, boffing beatniks, injudicious promiscuity, Bi-curious explorations, hard-frugging fuzz guitars, and Reed's lurid Career Bed is certainly well sprung, having a spectacularly sordid screen mother, making Mommie Dearest look like Moomin Momma! Hoping to barter nubile daughter Susan's (Jennifer Welles)virginity into a glitzy showbiz career, she rapaciously puts her increasingly jaded daughter through a degrading series of exploitative 'introductions', culminating in a commensurately sleazy conclusion.

Career Bed remains a king-sized provider of splendiferous 60s smut, the future director of Grindhouse Avatar Bloodsucking Freaks proves himself a more than viable creator of hot-to-trot 60s shunt-o-rama. Having a breathlessly beautiful protagonist, some perfectly despicable antagonists, plus a deliciously inane title song prove no small, perky part of Reed's scuzzy immorality tale of rags to bitches. I don't wish to sound crude, or inopportune, but one, or two sequences got me feeling fruitier than a Haribo Holly Hunter. (Am I to assume that the J.Kaplan listed on the credits is THE J. Kaplan?)

 Impostor (2001) – Gary Fleder.

In a dystopian future, an ozone layer depleted earth is at war with the Centuri, an aggressive, technologically superior species, and following a suspected arson attack, premier weapons engineer (Gary Sinise) is captured, interrogated, accused of being a Centuri replicant infiltrator, he escapes, undertaking a deadly flight to prove his own identity! Impostor remains a paranoid, kinetic, impactful Sci-Shoot 'em up, a thrillingly locomotive composite of The Fugitive, and Invasion of the Body Snatchers. While this propulsive Sci-fi roller-coaster provides an adrenal gland sapping overload of stylised futurist action, I think it is fair to say the subtleties of Philip K. Dick's short story gets largely absorbed in all gung-ho Starship Trooperisms. One of the stronger reasons Impostor merits a revisit, is the qualitative cast, Stowe, Sinise, and D'Onofrio are all outstanding, with a high energy performance from Mekhi Phifer, concluding dramatically in a satisfyingly white-knuckled climax.