Daughter of Dr. Jekyll. (1957) – Edgar G. Ulmer.

'After you've had a nice sleep, you'll feel like another girl!!!'

The maestro of The Black Cat and Detour presents his winning slice of 50s faux gothic terror, providing yet another, albeit alternative misadventure of Stevenson's immortally mutable monster. Beautiful bride-to-be (Gloria Talbott), and her butch beau (John Agar) return to her stately ancestral abode, discovering that one hidden room reveals a most terrible secret pertaining to the fate of Dr Jekyll's Daughter! John Agar was the Tyrone Power of vintage B's, handsome, charismatic, and physically robust, his steely presence often providing the rigid backbone that needfully bolstered the increasingly schlocky scenarios. Bit of a curate's egg, while the atmospheric exterior shots prove lively and expressive, the interiors are mostly leaden, flatly lit, being stolidly suggestive of a fusty TV melodrama. Not always compelling, yet Daughter of Dr. Jekyll's diffused, theremin-enriched scenes of nocturnal monster-mashing remain piquant. Studly John Agar is at his pristine good-guy best, and the lovely Ms. Talbott is surprisingly nuanced as the greatly Gaslit Jekyll heiress.

 Empire of The Dark (1990) – Steve Berkett.

Is it entirely fair to claim that those individuals who dislike bonkers B-cult Empire of The Dark are innately bad people? Well, no, it isn't, BUT!!!!! I'm fairly certain we wouldn't see eye-to-eye on all the important shit in life. Empire of The Dark asks us to believe that a portly, middle-aged man with a dodgy syrup, Christmas cracker 'stash, and LARP-level broadsword skills can defeat the sinisterly sulphurous soldiers of Satan? Call me a hopeless sentimentalist, but, yes, I can absolutely accept that! Dejected ex-cop (Berkett) maintains a justifiable beef with grandstanding Satanic cult leader (Richard Harrison), who ritually slaughtered his delectably voluptuous main squeeze. Post ubiquitous '20 Years Later' title card, and he's returned to perpetrate more hysteric Satanic panic, but NOT on Berkett's watch!!!!

It takes chutzpah, muscular cojones, and an indomitable passion for D.I.Y genre cinema to produce an Empire of The Dark. Aye! One could be all snarky about it, as quite patently, eager beaver Berkett bit off more than he could chew, but like Ed Wood Jr., he had a singular cinematic vision, and fortuitous access to goodly folk that were more than happy to assist him realise his dream. While Berkett comes across like the uncle you thought was so cool when you were 7, and years later, you uncomfortably discovered that 7yr olds know Jack about cool. Pharmaceutical dabbling, booze, and nascent sexual awakenings provided far more beguiling gods. You legitimately CANNOT compile a list of 10 objectively killer B-Movies without including Empire of The Dark, and the fact that it is so infrequently mentioned with deserved reverence, sadly means that all those uncool uncles grew up and became 'film experts'.

 Punk Rock! (1979) – Carter Stevens.

'scum floats, and the bad guy always wins'

A twin-fisted, stridently studly private dick (Wade Nichols) tracks down a runaway junkie skeezer, loses said runaway junkie skeezer, tracks her down again, and find himself up to his immaculately groomed stash in duplicitous NYC doo-doo. Bonus points include, swaggering Nichols being a dead ringer for Maurizio Merli, who shares his predilection for short-fused bellicosity, the nubile girls are all satisfyingly hot & sleazy, the music doesn't suck ALL that bad, and the splendidly skuzzoid travelogue of downer NYC are worth the price of admission alone. A delightfully dingy, porn-hued trawl through Grindhouse heaven, Punk Rock is not only a grimily intriguing historical artefact, the persistently pulpy plot, arbitrary nudity, and soft-boiled badinage are certainly no small part of the fleshly grooviness herein!

 Goblet of Gore (1996) – Andreas Schnaas.

It's only fitting that such a batso bloodbath should commence with a batso, bloodthirsty B-movie bat! Following a spectacularly grisly Viking-era prologue, wherein the wicked witch is slain, and her ill-fated goblet unleashes a terrible curse upon all those who have the grievous misfortune to sup from it. Aladdin's lamp in reverse, as all those who possess the goblet are absolutely damned, since it is only the vengeful wishes of the hateful Viking witch that are brutally granted! Random individuals are gruesomely dispatched, their deaths being spectrally orchestrated via the witch's immortal wrath, some are sordidly snuffed post-coitally, so, quite frankly, it could have been a hell of a lot worse, dude!

Certainly ambitious, if not cohesive, the inventively blood-spattered Goblet of Gore is one of the more novel lo-fi folk horror titles I have seen. Featuring Asgardian occultism, a rap-metalled score, luridly crimson-spattered T & A, and Nazisploitative elements, this perverse, plasma-plastered Goblet is coming to a glory hole near you very soon! While Schnaas delivers on erotically-charged chunk-blowing, the more absurdist elements might be insurmountable for some. Goblet of Gore, may, or, may not be worth watching more than once, and the dubbing is often deliciously comedic, but fellow fans of unapologetically trashy splatter-smut shouldn't be too disappointed. I just think it's a shame that Goblet of Gore didn't inspire a glut of similarly tweaked, Pagan-themed terror tosh.

 Haunting Fear (1990) – Fred Olen Ray.

The magnetic Brinke Stevens delivers another consummate crazy in B-maestro Fred Olen Ray's goofily entertaining adaptation of Edgar Allen Poe's 'The Premature Burial'. Plagued by persistently macabre visions, and finally driven insensible by adulterous husband's cruel machinations (Jay Richardson), Victoria's (Stevens) grave nightmares are brought to monstrous life in Haunting Fear The fundamental difference between A.I.P's 60s Poe Cycle, and their 90s iteration is less refined photography, a demonstrative increase in T&A, additional gore, and a wickedly effective cameo from the charismatic Michael Berryman, so, absolutely no complaints here! Ultimately, a poor man's Poe, nonetheless Haunting Fear has a notable supporting cast, with lissom Scream siren Brinke Stevens vivid performance as the increasingly disturbed Vicki, providing the fearfully beating heart to a B-Horror feature that would otherwise be altogether hollow. Alongside the delectably demented Brinke's ferociously stab-frenzied climax, Haunting Fear! has an atmospheric score, with an especially memorable final credit theme.

 Terror 2000 (1992) Christoph Schlingensief.

I've always been up for the MASSIVELY welcome 'Und Udo Kier' credit, and sublime weirdie Schlingensief's progressively mentalist Terror 2000 remains a pristine example of how 'Und Udo Kier' can exponentially increase the beneficence of ANY film project! Madcap surrealistic satire benefits from unexpurgated scenes of spontaneous alfresco masturbation, arbitrary gun violence, and calamitously ill-conceived motorcycle stunts! I don't actually believe any of Terror 2000's grossly exaggerated protagonists gave the proverbial toss over the fate of social worker Peter Fricke, much less the missing Polish asylum seekers. That being said, I am absolutely convinced by their justifiably vociferous exultation of Fräulein bombshell Wiebke's exquisite bottom!

Like a disturbingly prolonged dopamine burst, director Schlingensief manages to maintain a fascinatingly absurd state of perpetual delirium throughout, Terror 2000 dogmatically adheres to its very own deliciously idiosyncratic rules of dramaturgy! Charged with the very same Dadaist delirium as Monty Python, or Spike Milligan, and imbued with the Divine absence of good taste, exemplified by the likes of revered trash scion John Waters. How is it that Udo Kier can portray the most shrilly grotesque caricature of humanity and remain such a magnetically erotic figure???? It's additionally refreshing to discover an unconventional genre film with so rigorous an abhorrence to quietude, guiltlessly displaying its delightfully prurient predilection for acts of eccentric coitus/bodily functions/secretions etc.!  

 The Haunting of Julia (1977) – Richard Loncraine.

'You're not safe, nice Mrs. Lofting!'

Following the devastating sudden death of her 8yr old daughter, Julia's (Mia Farrow) attempts to restart her life in a new abode are thwarted by the manifestation of a malign ghostly presence. This immersive, tender, beautifully photographed supernatural chiller benefits greatly from the achingly delicate, uniquely expressive performance of Mia Farrow. Her maternal grief quite palpable, even if it is occasionally swamped by Colin Town's strident score! What I find most compelling about Loncraine's deeply melancholic piece is that it plays as a wholly interior work about the psychological discords borne of intense grief, and as a sinisterly simmering, increasingly unsettling suburban spook show.

The Haunting of Julia's strong delineation of characters proves effective, Keir Dullea is perfect as the pinstriped, scheming, cold-hearted husband, and who better to play Julia's supportive, charmingly pragmatic friend than dreamily dark-eyed lovely Tom Conti? Produced in the 70s, arguably cinema's most fertile epoch, this captivatingly 'classic' mode of gradually unfurling spectral mystery remains utterly timeless, bolstered with many fine performances, Julia now sits quite loftily amongst the macabre pantheon of truly great goose-bumpers!