Cathy's Curse (1977) – Eddy Matalon.

'Go on! You filthy female cow, make us laugh!!!!'

A family move into the father's (Alan Scarfe) ostentatious ancestral abode, his high-anxiety wife (Beverly Murray), still traumatized from a recent tragedy, and their only child, blonde moppet Cathy (Randi Allen), who immediately proceeds to brattishly spook-out all in sundry with her hellaciously skeevey doll in deliciously fromage-laden French Canadian creeper Cathy's Curse. Steeped with such overripe ingredients as these can have a tendency to spoil over time, happily, the lengthy maturation process has galvanized the inherent kitschy kookiness, the crudamentary FX, and mirthsome mock melodrama, making Cathy's Curse an enjoyable, creaky-creepy, supernaturally-inflected soap opera to cherish! There's some especially flavoursome dialogue, delivered over earnestly by over eager actors, providing a splendour of unplanned hilarity! Two of the most endearing characters are shambling dipso gardener Paul, who bares a distractingly uncanny likeness to Fleetwood Mac Drummer, Mick Fleetwood, and a blandly inauthentic medium, her sterile lines delivered with all the dynamism of a congealed omelette, her confrontation with a tweaked grammie Clampett is B-Movie gold! All too few film-makers can resist recycling the water into blood gag, but Cathy's Curse had the chutzpah to up the ante, by queasily throwing in an additional fistful of yucky-sucky leeches!

 Switchblade Sisters aka The Jezebels (1975) – Jack Hill.

'We are the Jezebels!!!!! get in our way, and the very next sound you'll hear will be the shrilling of Hell's Belles!!! We are red hot Switchblade mamas, our kill count is higher than Jeffrey Dahmer's!!! Remember the name, cuz' when we bust outta jail, your total annihilation shall be our very first game!!!!'

 Mercenaries (2011) – Paris Leonti.

Bosnian premier and his family are assassinated during a bloody military coup masterminded by cliched bad guy Olodan Crackedoneoff, and a squad of not altogether convincing mercenaries are then tasked to seize the blandly despotic Crackedoneoff, and secure the American hostages. Mercenaries is a low budget, Sub-Seagal shoot 'em up, the drear dialogue, unexciting mise-en-scene, and disposable, wafter-thin characters are pulled straight from a Warlord comic strip. The money spent on CGI blood hits, prodigious muzzle-flare, glitzy hitman sunglasses, and Billy Zane's wig, might have been better utilized by paying someone who can actually write decent banter. Billy Zane recycles his detached, I'm in an Asylum Sci-fi disaster movie shtick, while amusingly snarky Vas Blackwood initially looked as though he might have been one of the more interesting characters, was the first to snuff it, and all the interminable scenes of anonymous military types milling about in a forest frequently recalled a Unit-era episode of vintage Dr. Who. As a fan of gung-ho military B-action, I stoically stuck with Mercenaries until the bitter, soggy end, and it struck me again, all Seagal naysayers are, perhaps, a trifle biased, since routine DTV actioners WITHOUT the Behemoth of Biffology are far less fun to watch!

 P.O.W : The Escape (1986) – Gideon Amir.

'Everybody goes home is a slogan, not a religion!'

David Carradine, Steve James, and Mako star in Golan-Globus gem P.O.W : The Escape, an entertainingly boisterous 80s Namsploitation about gritty Colonel Cooper's (Carradine) one man's dogged mission to free captured GI's. While the stock text is strictly trope city, the lively cast prove credible, with Carradine on commandingly steely form as the righteously resolute colonel. I don't believe that I have ever seen an action/martial arts feature starring Steve James wherein he doesn't deliver 100%, and P.O.W : The Escape is certainly no exception! This thunderous actioner's Gung ho credentials are manifestly on point, providing plentiful gun play, bodacious pyro, along with all the requisite, sweatily imperilled GI's, gorily blasting their way through a sweltering Jungle inferno. The more avid Namsploitation addicts should be all over this like hot stink on a Hanoi hooker, and B-fans who can dig a formulaic, competently made, slam bang shoot 'em up will find P.O.W : The Escape a pretty solid effort. I appreciated the fact that the director rarely took his foot off the gas, really gunning it during the blazingly grenade-garlanded, hell-or-glory finale, whereupon an expanse of the lushly picturesque Philippines is quite literally consumed within a monstrous fireball of white-hot pyrotechnics, semper fidelis, dude!

 Commandos (1968) - Armando Crispino.

'so long, Rommel, and tanks for all the memories!'

This terrifically rousing Italian WW2 actioner benefits hugely from its charismatic international cast, a well crafted, engagingly terse screenplay, and powerful direction from the more than capable genre master Armando Crispino. Greenhorn captain (John Kelly) executes his audacious plan to infiltrate an Italian desert outpost with a rough-hewn commando unit, headed by a resentful, and increasingly suspicious Sullivan (Van Cleef). Crispino successfully maintains suspense throughout, ably orchestrating explosive action sequences, alongside measured moments of enormous pathos, including yet another exemplary, cold-steel performance from the iconic Lee Van Cleef as the seasoned, deeply traumatized veteran Sullivan. Much has already been documented about the profound impact of the Italian western on genre cinema, but their no less brutally efficient take on bombastic WW2-era action thrillers have frequently proved to be no less exhilarating. Commandos is a boisterous, bazooka-blasting B-Movie gem, Armando Crispino's dynamic desert storm remains a barnstorming treat for military action addicts. Excitingly, maestro Crispino goes all out for his spectacularly bloody, take no prisoners, memorably body bag-stuffed climax! Not only is Commandos well worth watching when it turns up on the telly, cineastes, and euro-cultists alike will find it to be an eminently worthwhile addition to their film collection.

 Meatcleaver Massacre (1976) – Evan Lee.

Four murderous suburban misfits break into noted occultist Professor Cantrell's luxurious abode, and once inside, they brutally, unthinkingly slay all the occupants, and the comatose, only barely sentient professor resists, vengefully calling upon ancient demon Morak to avenge him! Owing a debt to ozploitation gem Patrick, this low budget, appealingly loopy, frequently hallucinatory admixture of demonic, Manson-esque mayhem, and grainy L.A sleaze, remains a bloody, frequently entertaining example of 70s indie horror eccentricity. While Meatcleaver Massacre aka Professor Cantrell's Messiah is not one of the more immediately recognisable 70s blood-spillers, like Scream Bloody Murder, Axe, or Three on a Meathook it has deservedly been rediscovered through ransom midnight TV screenings, dubious DVD/DVD-R releases, enthusiastic online praise, Meatcleaver Massacre finally lands an unexpectedly handsome-looking Blu-ray release. While the projects multiple production woes are occasionally self-evident, much of the inherently goofy supernatural premise remains intact, with legendary icon Christopher Lee's doom-laden intro/outro lending an additionally portentous patina of deliciously contrived exploitation ballyhoo. The 'enthusiastic' performances, bravura guerilla film-making antics, and inventive kills are, for me, no small part of Meatcleaver Massacre's continued B-Slasher relevance!

 Fanny Hill (1964) – Russ Meyer.

I adore these expertly ribald jollifications by renowned master eroticist Russ Meyer. Shapely young Fanny had a juicy pair of dumplings, and in betwixt her silken sheets, she'd never miss a trick, always enjoying a generous portion of my delicious spotted dick!

 Framed (1992) – Geoffrey Sax.

The urbanely macrobiotic, sinisterly scheming grass Eddie (Timothy Dalton), secretly absconded to Spain, by unfortunate happenstance, finds himself eagerly collared by ambitious young detective Laurence (David Morrisey), who becomes darkly embroiled in Eddie's slick machinations. With an exceptionally gripping text by maestro Lynda La Plante, plus a starry cast of film & telly luminaries, La Plante's suspenseful 90s crime drama remains a worthy watch for thriller fans. This is a demonstrative example of how a smart, sharply-plotted screenplay is given an additional jolt of electricity by an able director, and a talented cast of gifted actors. While I'd like to think of myself as being a modestly savvy fellow, I must hereby confess that I would have been easily taken in by handsome chess master Eddie's coercive patter, and ruthlessly beguiling charm. Framed features strong language, brief nudity, and altogether gratuitous references to the alimentary merits of multi-vitamins, wholefoods, and fibre-rich foodstuffs. Initially broadcast on the telly as a mini-series, Framed plays well as a feature-length thriller. The more seasoned smut-seekers may care to note that exotic Iberian bombshell Penelope Cruz sadly keeps her trollies on, yet her sizzling sex appeal remains tantalizingly unmuted.

 Maximum Conviction (2012) – Keoni Waxman.

'Why don't you fuck ya mamma, or one of your pet poodles!!'

Seagal, and piledriving cohort Steve Austin portray steely Jar heads, baby sitting two high value female cons besieged by mercenaries who clearly failed their 'How to Kill Seagal' module, in explosive DTV deathgasm Maximum Conviction. It has been mooted that a Pre-Goateed Seagal proved to be a more ambulatory combatant, than his later fuzz-faced iteration, but Maximum Conviction belies this maxim, since partner Austin ably provides much of the film's stone cold, close quarters butt whupping. The gifted director Keoni Waxman remains one of Seagal's more capable collaborators, and Mr. Austin is manifestly no slouch when it comes to ripping some skelloid a new one, plus the jacked Michael Pare essayed a credibly malign nemesis. It should be common knowledge that any 3^rd banana goon won't make it past the 1^st act should they deliver the 'big bald asshole!' line in the audible vicinity of Steve Austin! Recidivist Seagal/Austin/DTV action addicts should appreciate the bloodily kinetic climax, and multiple bonus points are awarded for Mr. Austin's machismo quippage, delivering the especially choice 'no pain, no gain!' to his gruesomely impaled victim! My personal impression of Maximum Conviction is that Austin's alpha charisma raised it above the more mundane Steamroller production, Seagal's dour, increasingly monochromatic presence heralding his inexorable descent into DTV dotage, only lightened by sporadic interludes of grossly unintended levity!

 True Grit (A Further Adventure) (1978) – Richard T. Heffron.

Bravura character actor Warren Oates lustily takes on The Duke's iconic role in a Richard T. Heffron's good-natured, enjoyably roustabout small screen sequel. Our grizzled, one-eyed, six-gunned hero, and his querulous charge Maddy (Lisa Pelikan) are temporarily waylaid in a corrupt mining town, courageously confronting greed and injustice in this lawless locale with true grit and determination! Heffron's altogether amiable return of the ornery, booze-soaked lawman is given credibility by Oates's robust acting, cheeky demeanour, and compelling charisma, his precocious sidekick portrayed with a rigorous petulance by disarming red head Lisa Pelikan. Ultimately lightweight fare, True Grit (A Further Adventure) has an appreciably earthy production design, the dankly inhospitable town has a ramshackle authenticity, and the sudden outbursts of violence are excitingly realised by director Heffron. This stolid, well made western might have worked without Oates, yet it is entirely fair to state that the engaging drama's continued spark of relevance is largely down to his dominating performance, for me, True Grit (A Further Adventure) remains a remarkably rousing adventure!

 Dark Night of The Scarecrow (1981) - Frank de Felitta.

'Bubba don't preach!!'

Backward, yet empathic man-child Bubba (Larry Drake) falsely accused of killing friend Marylee (Tonya Crowe), is unjustly hunted down, and cruelly executed by a murderously enraged, beer-soaked posse, but Bubba didn't do it, his vengeful spirit therefore enacting a righteous justice, that the law so unfairly denied him. While light on gratuitous grue, De Felitta's deeply atmospheric chiller Dark Night of The Scarecrow has nuanced characters, flourishes of Stephen King-esque backwoods whimsy, and a satisfying intensity permeates the macabre inventory of wickedly creative kills! Another notable element is the moody score, and the suspenseful shocker's cathartic climax which additionally felt like the beginning of a beautiful friendship! Arguably one of the most deservedly celebrated TV horrors is given a gloriously glistering HD restoration, this magnificently creepy, greatly beloved Halloween classic is set to delight another generation of fright fans. Dark Night of The Scarecrow's lofty reputation among supernatural horror fans is well deserved, remaining both warmly nostalgic and resolutely credible as a spookily shock-stuffed, small-screen, wide-scream Halloween treat!

 The Force on Thunder Mountain (1978) – Peter B. Good.

With their loyal pooch Jake in tow, a kindly father and son's bonding hiking trip up Thunder Mountain takes a decidedly tweaked turn into the realms of shamanic 70s Sci-fi when they eerily encounter an apparently hostile, manifestly alien force! The two conspicuously wholesome leads are sympathetically drawn, and the bucolic scenery, plenitude of cutesy animal footage recalls the similarly off-beat nature of cult backwoods slasher Prey, and I'm fairly certain that I've seen the neat-o UFO FX and Indian petroglyphs reused on Ancient Aliens! Overall, the film is enjoyable, and competently made, with an endearingly folksy vibe, some spectacular vistas, and the Twilight Zone'd sequence in the deserted town proving most effective. During one conspicuously expository scene, a character pointedly remarked that his unnerved companion was experiencing 'rock fever', which may well prove to be the very first reference to the future scourge of crack cocaine! In closing, it would have been lovely if The Force on Thunder Mountain had been a legitimate documentary, as I welcome the idea of 1000 year old stoner Ohm and his mushroomoid thought translator being real. The sense of the scriptwriter having previously experimented with psychoactive manna seems entirely plausible, since the sky-high narrative is woozily inflected with lysergic interludes, and the glaring omission that Big Foot didn't beam down from his pan-dimensional conveyance is, perhaps, the film's only real flaw.

'May The Force on Thunder Mountain be with you.'

 CB Hustlers (1976) – Stu Segall.

Pussy hungry truckers excitedly twiddle their tiny knobs as they illicitly procure themselves some pristine roadside beaver in affable lo-fi 70s sex romp CB Hustlers. Seasoned smut-seekers are more apt to appreciate the voluptuous antics of these lustful, short-panted hotties, and their heroically hot-rodding, Joystick jumpin' jackanapes! It would be unkind broadcasting the inadequacies of the unlovely text, so I will focus upon CB Hustlers more meritorious points, namely the altogether divine presence of that most exquisitely titillating Teuton Uschi Digard, and the distractingly juicy-looking, bodaciously bonnie, blazingly boff-able terror temptress Janus Blythe! Being overtly critical of dopey Drive-In fare like CB Hustlers makes bout as much sense as knocking Pabst Blue Ribbon for its lack of quaffable finesse. The film's more prosaic elements are frequently revivified by the electric scenes with bouncy Blythe and triumphantly top-heavy teaser Uschi Digard, and her dynamically Double D'd distractions! I am quite open about my frequent lapses of taste, but as I am solely answerable to myself, enjoying peek-a-boo bobbins like CB Hustlers isn't anything that I'll lose much sleep over. I have always earnestly believed that true B-Movie beauty resides in the eye of the beholder, and CB Hustlers is replete with two great beauties!

'if we didn't have pussies, you'd have to work for a living!!!!!'

 Let's Get Laid' (1978) – James Kenelm Clarke.

As one might glean from the nakedly bawdy title, this raunchy 70s comedy is a far from subtle affair! Gordon Laid (Robin Askwith) returns from WW2, is set up in a posh Mayfair drum, and promptly becomes dangerously enmeshed in nefarious espionage shenanigans that frequently engenders implausible scenarios for full-frontal nudity, ribald humour, and fleshly, soft-lensed in-out. Production values are higher than one might expect, and I can't imagine two more quintessentially smutty stars than the Baron of bonkage Robin Askwith, and sensational strumpet Fiona Richmond! To those with scant interest in vintage British burlesque, Let's Get laid may seem rather flaccid fare, yet connoisseurs of Askwith's scurrilous 70s shag-o-rama might appreciate the spicier ingredients of this frothy, easily digested souffle. While Ms. Richmond's dazzlingly pulchritudinous charms far outweighs her rudimentary acting skills, her prodigious facility for being deliciously naughty provides ample compensations! Let's Get Laid may not have been selected for the Berlinale that year, and the absurd premise makes Billy Bunter's exploits look like a le Carre masterclass, it somehow remains a surprisingly fun romp, generously buoyed by capable jester Askwith's amiable buffoonery, and luscious Fiona Richmond's appetisingly lascivious personality! If you are open to keeping your brain in neutral for the duration, this is an unexpectedly watchable 70s lark, enlivened by a quality supporting cast, including a slinky interlude with sublime nymphet Linda Hayden!

 Crime Hunter: Bullets of Rage (1989) – Shundo Okawa.

Following the slaying of his younger, inexperienced partner (Riki Takeuchi), the severely injured detective Joe (Masanori Sera), licks his mortal wounds, hands in his badge, hunting down those responsible, aided by a delicious, gun-toting nun, with her own score to settle. For 58 propulsive minutes of thrillingly unleavened, bullet-blasting hysteria, neophyte film-maker Okawa's frantic Crime Hunter: Bullets of Rage provides action addicts with a dopamine rush of gloriously gun-happy heroic bloodshed! With a zesty, but not altogether logical text, charismatic characters, and a killer synth score, Okawa packs in a blazingly high volume of kinetic gun-play, double-twisted duplicity, plus a gonzo John Woo'd climax, gorily replete with all the orgiastically blood-squibbed pathos the genre demands! While the director seems overtly critical of his own film, and apparently Beat Takeshi isn't a fan, I manifestly adored it! Crime Hunter: Bullets of Rage demonstratively retains all of its bravura, bullet-blasted brilliance, an auspicious debut, wholly deserving of its stunning HD restoration!