Deadly Target aka Chain of Command. (2015) – Kevin Carraway.

Uncommonly steely, next-level butt-kicker (Michael Jai White) returns home from a gruelling tour of duty, only to discover that his brother was executed for ripping off a heavy drug cartel, culminating bloodily in a gun-smoked tumult of grimly delivered retribution. As is so often the case, the plots, and dialogue are frequently formulaic, the watchability of most DTV shoot 'em ups is largely based upon the charisma, and martial efficacy of its star, and Michael Jai White is arguably one of the best in show (Business). If this were a Seagal flick, and, to be fair, he has made multitudes just like it, the film would be far funnier, so it to his great credit that White brings more gravitas to what is ultimately just another routine B-actioner. As a long-time fan of Michael Jai White, I'm happy to have seen Deadly Target, as a fan of action cinema, I just wished the film-making choices had been more creative. My main gripe with Carraway's mostly watchable film is the conspicuous lack of a dynamic nemesis, and the relative paucity of busy, kung Fu goodness. If gruff master-blaster Steve Austin had been the main villain, rather than Max Ryan, it would, perhaps, have played stronger, since a brutal collision betwixt lumbering neck-lord Austin, and august, high-kicking whirlwind White would have been pretty choice!

 Monster in The Closet (1986) – Bob Dahlin.

The beleaguered citizens of San Francisco reel from a series of horrific, seemingly inexplicable slayings, and a neophyte reporter's (Donald Grant) tentative investigations reveal that the relentless instigator of these savage killings is a...Monster in The Closet!!!!???? An enormously entertaining B-Movie, and next to Toxic Avenger and Tromeo & Juliet, Bob Dahlin's witty, smartly self-aware, amiably quirky 80s Creature feature remains one my favourite go-to Troma releases. I think it is fair to say that you don't always need a magnificent monster to make a watchable B-movie, with the legendary goof-fest Robot Monster, its garish ineptitude was manifestly part of its chucklesome charm. While all the performances are credible, Grant provides an affable hero, Dubarry is appreciably earnest, but Monster in the Closet is resolutely stolen, not for the first time, by the sublimely impish Henry Gibson, bringing his own inimitable magic, to an already monstrously entertaining 80s creature feature! As an especially avid fan of monster movies, be they expertly, or indifferently made, this specific closet-dwelling death-bringer is an ambulatory dream of practical FX wonderment!

 Dark Places (1973) – Don Sharp.

Edward (Robert Hardy) inherits Marrs Grove, a once grand, now dilapidated manor house, the forbiddingly doom-laden domicile of the ill-fated Marr family, stricken by terrible tragedy, the cobwebbed walls are reluctant to give up their haunting secrets, much less the hidden bounty of £200.000!!! Don Sharp's gripping, supernaturally unhinged psychodrama Dark Places is brought to vivid, elemental life by an especially starry cast of British and international film & TV icons. Credible performances from Robert Hardy, Herbert Lom, and Christopher Lee, with a devastatingly sultry Joan Collins being on deliciously vulpine form! With lesser actors, and a director lacking the genre clout of the estimable Don Sharp, Dark Places may have been lacklustre fare, but the absolutely welcome, handsomely restored Blu-ray highlights the myriad diabolical delights of this eerily slow-burning 70s chill-fest! Exquisitely British, the compellingly spooky admixture of E.C comics, Edgar Allan Poe, and M.R James remains a vintage terror treat, the brooding Dark Places will draw you deeply into its strange, unhallowed mysteries. As a final thought, it is interesting to note that Hardy's increasingly unstable character appears not hugely dissimilar to the deranged patriarch he portrayed so persuasively in 'Demons of The Mind'.

 Walking the Edge (1985) - Norbert Meisel.

Versatile, ruggedly charismatic Robert Forster is pitch perfect as tough, wiseacre L.A cabbie Jason Walk, in downbeat, live-wire 80s crime classic Walking The Edge. Jason's stoic attempt to aid grieving mother Nancy Kwan, leading him precipitously into grievous conflict with sinister hood Brusstar(Joe Spinell). Pure dynamite from the get-go, the undiminished excellence of the sublime cast wholly justifies a purchase, and excitingly, Meisel's sinewy, Noirish narrative proves equally compelling! While the plot is familiar, well-meaning Rube discovers that no good deed goes unpunished, it is rarely executed with such dazzling rigour as this hard-boiled, beautifully crafted, visceral crime thriller! Without belabouring the point, having an exceptional cast, gifted with such a thrilling text and able director, it must come as little surprise how extraordinarily well it still holds up today! Muscular, kinetic, and breathlessly entertaining, Walking The Edge is another burnished Blu-ray jewel in boutique label, Fun City Edition's eminently collectable, lovingly restored library of exemplary cult classics.

 Hot Nights on Campus (1966) – Tony Orlando.

Hyperbolic blather introduces this seamy monochromatic hotbed of extrovert, boozily licentious coed shenanigans, wherein a naïve, distractingly voluptuous Indiana blonde (Gigi Darlene)distressingly discovers that her zealous experimentation with promiscuity is not without risk. The relentlessly pedantic narration and near-constant lounge jazz score becomes wearing, they needed to ixnay the dreary chat, mix it up with some burning fuzz guitar nuggets, and flash more of the gash, baby! The more avid connoisseurs of dingy 60s smut, arguably the perverted to whom Hot Nights on Campus so ardently preaches, might dig on this the most, but the dearth of weird digressions ultimately proved disappointing. In truth, I found it all a tad fatuous, strongly suggesting to me that 'Tony Orlando' is, perhaps, another one of Andy Warhol's flaccid factory acolytes. In the film's great, GREAT favour, the juicily pneumatic blonde provides some exquisitely LOVELY eye candy, like, instant diabetes! Many of her equally scrumptious co-starlets thrillingly favour big knickers, and fearless foot freaks may appreciate the plentiful footage of permissive hotties coquettishly exposing their grubby-soled tootsies! Num-nums!!!!

 Take me Naked (1966) Michael & Roberta Findlay.

'She is a living tomb of flesh, in her nothing will grow!'

Some might say purple prose and Skid row Slap n' tickle makes for an inharmonious coupling, and it is, perhaps, this startling incongruity that makes 60s fartsy artsy flesh phantasmagoria 'Take me Naked' so uniquely fascinating. If Warhol had been a true artist, he would have made Take me Naked, but he wasn't, so he didn't, thank Satan for the Findlays, fervid purveyors of distractingly voluptuous Sinema. I find it to be a teasingly tactile experience, softly, and strangely alluring, as though being tenderly enveloped in a filigree gauze of the finest silk. Watching these divinely uninhibited creatures cavorting sensually amongst a sumptuous confluence of female fecundity remains an intoxicating experience, especially since Take Me Naked has an elegiac, deliriously hashish-hazed quality. This enthusing might be somewhat overripe, but we can't all be F. Scott Fitzgerald, some of us have to make the best of existing as a crawlspace-dwelling nullity. In summation, or, in completion, I have composed a beatnik love ode, a lode, if you will, my heartfelt tribute to a smutty Grindhouse feature I'm really rather fond of.

'some may call it rude, to so wantonly wallow in such creamy-dreamy pulchritude, but, dude!!! I ain't no rube, turn off that boob tube, and pass me the lube, Ermintrude!'

 Skinned Alive (1990) – Jon Killough.

Sexy Sister scumbag Violet, grotty brother scumbag Phink, and granny super-scumbag Crawldaddy drive their skeezicks van around bumphuck U.S.A, picking up vastly unfortunate hitch-hikers, brutally rendering them into exotic leather goods! There is, perhaps, some argument that delightfully sleazy slasher Skinned Alive is one of the first horror films to pillage the gruesomest excesses of 70s Grindhouse splatter, bringing it kicking and screaming into the 90s! As Peter Jackson's audacious Brain Dead threw down the gauntlet for grandiose gore gags, so Skinned Alive gleefully upped the ante in nihilism, since there's enough dime store depravity herein to assuage the most rabidly desensitised Gorehound! The technical aspects of Skinned Alive are incredibly decent, electric performances are compellingly grungy, the practical FX are appreciably grisly, and there's a winning streak of raven black humour throughout. Charlie Manson never made any features, yet his egregious crimes continue to inspire film-makers to this very day, but if that mental midget HAD made a film, I'd very much like to think it would be a teensy weeny bit like Skinned Alive!