Review #1,467: 'SS Experiment Camp' (1976)

Much of the outrage drummed up by so-called 'moral crusaders' concerned with how violent and tasteless movies were affecting our impressionable youth during the 1980s was based primarily on how these types of film advertised themselves. The rise of VHS led to home media companies taking full advantage of highlighting how grisly and amoral the film supposedly was, and this led to the now-iconic covers of The Driller Killer, which depicted a man receiving a nasty drill to the head, and Cannibal Holocaust, which splashed the image of one of the titular flesh-eaters chowing down on some human intestines on its casing. These films were placed on the infamous 'Video Nasty' list in the UK, and the two aforementioned titles are indeed pretty nasty. Others that found themselves on the banned list - that did nothing but provide free promotion - were actually hiding a cheaply-made and laughably executed production underneath. Sergio Carrone's SS Experiment Camp, one of the lesser-seen titles on the list, is one such example.

The eponymous camp of the title is a base constructed by the Nazis during World War II to conduct shocking experiments involving attractive Jewish women and some of the Fatherland's most dashing studs. Before being entered into the programme, the women must swear their allegiance to the Fuhrer, otherwise they face torture and eventually a trip into the ovens. Those wise enough to agree to their captors' demands are led to a dorm complete with bunk beds, so the girls can chat like teenagers at a sleepover, and are watched over by a lesbian (what else?) commander. When they are eventually called into action, they must have sex with handsome German men - sometimes even underwater! - while a sympathetic Jewish doctor carries out more sinister experiments with ovary transplants. German officer Helmut (Mircha Carven) ends up falling in love with one of the inmates, and in exchange for her safety, he rather stupidly agrees to take part in a highly secretive experiment with the Colonel von Kleiben (Giorgio Cerioni). Helmut doesn't know it, but von Kleiben has recently lost his balls during the war, and is finding life without intercourse a little hard to take.

Yes, this is a movie set during one of the greatest tragedies in human history about a guy who loses his gonads and can't have sex with the woman he loves. With a video cover showing a dying woman hung upside down while a smirking Nazi officer looks grimly on, Mary Whitehouse and her cronies likely called for the film to be banned for the gruesome horrors that surely lurked beneath that poster. If they had actually taken the time to watch it, they would probably laugh as dead bodies jerk unconvincingly while dodgy-looking flames bounce in front of them, or be puzzled at why a unit of German soldiers look and act like Italian footballers cracking wise in a changing room. Tasteless? Certainly. Most of the increasingly silly torture scenes focus on the victim's jiggling breasts. Horrifying? Well, yes, but not in the way the film intended. For a film that can boast a scene in which its lead character bursts into a room and asks "what have you been doing with my balls?", SS Experiment Camp is a tedious and repetitive experience. It has some unintentional humour, but then there's 90 additional minutes of atrocious acting and awkward dialogue to wade through. The nazisploitation genre is pure trash but it can occasionally offer the odd guilty pleasure, but this is no Ilsa.


Directed by: Sergio Garrone
Starring: Mircha Carven, Paola Corazzi, Giorgio Cerioni, Giovanna Mainardi, Serafino Profumo
Country: Italy

Rating: *

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,275: 'Buffalo Bill and the Indians, or Sitting Bull's History Lesson' (1976)

Depending on which scholar of Robert Altman's sizeable body of work you read, Buffalo Bill and The Indians, or Sitting Bull's History Lesson represents either the end of the auteur's successful early career, during which he made the likes of M.A.S.H., McCabe & Mrs. Miller, The Long Goodbye and Nashville, or the first in his line of smaller, 'misunderstood' movies that produced the likes of 3 Women, Quintet and HealtH. Whatever your viewpoint, Buffalo Bill certainly stands out as one of the black sheep of his filmography; a film ultimately made in the wrong place at the wrong time. Altman, always the satirical magician, was no doubt fully aware that debunking a famous American myth now so dangerously taken as truth during the country's bicentennial celebrations wouldn't go down particularly well with an audience feeling particularly patriotic, and would likely hit a nerve.

Sadly for Altman, few nerves would be reached as audiences stayed away in droves. It was his first major flop, and was hardly helped by such an outrageous title that contained the term 'History Lesson'. Even Paul Newman, a bankable Hollywood star, couldn't help matters, and the film still hasn't been offered the chance of re-discovery and re-evaluation it certainly deserves. Just like the brilliant McCabe & Mrs. Miller turned the western myth into the founding of American capitalism, Buffalo Bill is another revisionist western, focusing on how the hard men of the Wild West with blood on their hands were turned into folk heroes, battling the feral, bloodthirsty natives and winning the war for the New World. The sideshow announcer's voice blares over the opening credits, as Altman declares his awareness of his own role in myth-making, and that of the film itself. We are in Buffalo Bill's Wild West, a hugely popular attraction that re-enacted famous stories from recent American 'history', and offered the audience the chance to see one of its most famous figures, Buffalo Bill Cody himself.

Based on the controversial play Indians by Arthur Kopit, Altman uses the side-show to employ his most famous traits. There's a large ensemble cast featuring the likes of Geraldine Chaplin, Joel Grey, Kevin McCarthy, Harvey Keitel and Robert DoQui, overlapping dialogue, long zooms, and dialogue laced with satirical bite. Bill is portrayed as a bit of a lout, dispensing of opera singer bed-mates as soon as a new one arrives, employing a wig to hide his advancing years, and outright lying about his skills with a gun. The arrival of Sitting Bull (Frank Kaquitts) holds up a mirror to his boasts, and that of America's bloodstained history. Newman is great, and Bill's apparent cartoonishness seems fitting with the movie's hints that he may in fact be a complete fabrication conjured up by the motor-mouthed Ned Buntline (Burt Lancaster), who frequents the nearby bars boasting of his role in the founding of the country. It's confused and often flounders under the weight of its own ambition, but nevertheless this is always fascinating stuff. It isn't difficult to see why Buffalo Bill and the Indians turned off audiences back in 1976, but its exploration of the dangers of myth-making and twisting the truth are more relevant than ever in these times of social media and 'fake news'.


Directed by: Robert Altman
Starring: Paul Newman, Joel Grey, Kevin McCarthy, Harvey Keitel, Geraldine Chaplin, John Considine, Frank Kaquitts, Will Sampson, Burt Lancaster
Country: USA

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,026: 'The Town That Dreaded Sundown' (1976)

Shortly after World War II ended, the community of Texarkana, Arkansas were finally piecing their lives back together and preparing for a time of harmony and peace. That is, until a masked psychopath, dubbed the 'Phantom Killer' by the press, starts a killing spree that will shake the city to its very core. Writer and director Charles B. Pierce (who also has a supporting role as a bumbling deputy) flaunts his artistic license with the events that actually occurred in 1946, informing us that "only the names have been changed," when in fact the story is altered considerably to form a traditional thriller narrative, yet the result is an effective horror.

The Town That Dreaded Sundown could be labelled as one of the first 'slasher' movies, having emerged two years before John Carpenter's Halloween, the film that really kicked-off the genre. Yet while there is slashing-a-plenty, the film also works just as well as a police procedural and a docudrama, with the majority of the attention focusing on the heavy toll the murders take on the city's terrified inhabitants, and the desperate actions of the police trying to catch him. Reliable deputy sheriff Norman Ramsey (Andrew Prine) is given the task of overlooking the investigation, and when the few leads they have lead to dead-ends, legendary Texas Ranger J.D. Morales (Ben Johnson) - based on real-life Ranger Manuel 'Lone Wolf' Gonzaullas - is drafted in to take charge.

The highlights of The Town That Dreaded Sundown come in the form of some very effective murder set-pieces. There are no drawn-out stalking scenes of hapless victims running screaming through the woods or lashings of over-the-top gore. Instead, the killings are brutal and straight-to-the-point, with the sound of killers near-orgasmic breathing, which are muffled through the killer's gunny sack disguise, proving incredibly discomforting. What I didn't expect was the sudden tonal shifts to slapstick comedy. The inept deputy 'Sparkplug', played by Pierce, seems to have wandered in from a Marx Brothers set, with his frequently idiotic mishaps, such as accidentally driving Ramsey and Morales into a lake for them to emerge wet and grumpy, jarring the film's flow and carefully built atmosphere. These unwelcome comedy interludes are a constant and unnecessary distraction, and means that the film falls way short of the 70's horror classic it could have been.


Directed by: Charles B. Pierce
Starring: Ben Johnson, Andrew Prine, Dawn Wells, Jimmy Clem
Country: USA

Rating: ***

Tom Gillespie

Review #863: 'Exposé' (1976)

The only British film to be included on the infamous 'video nasty' list of the 1980's, Expose, also known as The House on Straw Hill, is tailor-made for inclusion - a sleazy, often unforgivably dull piece of exploitation featuring lots of sex, blood and B-movie favourite Udo Kier. Kier plays writer Paul Martin, who, following the huge success of his debut novel, moves to the remote British countryside to focus all of his attention on his follow-up - an erotic piece he believes could win him the Pulitzer prize.

Paul is plagued by visions of having sex with a well-endowed woman and his hands covered in blood, images he doesn't understand and which are hampering his efforts to get words onto paper. He calls for an assistant, and he is sent the young and beautiful Linda (Linda Hayden) who begins to efficiently type up his dictations. Yet something is not quite right with Linda - she sends Paul's faithful housekeeper away, carries sex toys and a large knife in her suitcase, and seems to open herself up sexually to Paul only to repel his advances.

Comparisons to Sam Peckinpah's Straw Dogs (1971) are obvious (the countryside setting, the inclusion of the word 'straw' in the alternative title and in the script, and Hayden is a dead-ringer for Susan George), but Expose shares none of its quality. The sex scenes are gratuitous and ridiculously loud, and the gang-rape scene fails to garner any sympathy for the victim due to being shot like a soft-core porno. What comes in between is tedious to say the least, and the events play out with all the complexity of a soap opera. Technically, the film looks quite nice, and the performance of Hayden adds a layer of intrigue to her character, but without Mary Whitehouse and her cries of moral outrage, Expose would have been lost in the annals of exploitation.


Directed by: James Kenelm Clarke
Starring: Udo Kier, Linda Hayden, Fiona Richmond
Country: UK

Rating: **

Tom Gillespie

Review #697: 'Obsession' (1976)

Brian De Palma has never denied that his main influence is the work of Alfred Hitchcock, yet, his early movies especially, have often been unfairly dismissed as rip-off's. This, of course, is simply not true, and I argue that De Palma allow his films to flourish with his own sense of style and intrigue, while closely following themes that the great master observed himself. Of all his more Hitchcockian productions, Obsession is one his least remembered when compared to the likes of Dressed to Kill (1980) or Body Double (1984). It's certainly one of De Palma's more ludicrous and often outright barmy films, but there is much to enjoy here in a guilty sort of way.

In 1959, wealthy real estate developer Michael Courtland (Cliff Robertson) receives a ransom note demanding $500,000 in cash for the return of his wife and daughter. The police are notified, and following a botched arrest, his wife and daughter are killed in a getaway car. Fifteen years later, Michael, who seems to exist in a state of reserved grief, arrives in Florence with his friend and business colleague Robert Lasalle (John Lithgow) to tie up a land deal. While visiting the church he met his wife years before, he meets a young painter named Sandra (Genevieve Bujold) who is the exact doppelgänger of his dead wife.

For all its frequently ridiculous and quite predictable twists and turns and overwrought melodrama, Obsession succeeds thanks to some stylish direction from De Palma and Bernard Herrmann's lavish, Oscar-nominated score. You can see the ending a mile away, but it does include a nice twist that borders on the repulsive, and with Robertson's subdued performance and Lithgow's reliable charismatic sidekick, the film never becomes quite as silly as it really should be. The main influence here is obviously Vertigo (1958), but retains none of the psychological mystery of Hitchcock's masterpiece, taking a more direct thriller route instead. Don't expect any plausibility (even the most absent-minded viewer could pick apart the plot), but if you can put this aside - or even welcome it - Obsession is a memorable little thriller that is surely due a small revival.


Directed by: Brian De Palma
Starring: Cliff Robertson, Geneviève Bujold, John Lithgow
Country: USA

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #617: 'Logan's Run' (1976)

In the 2274, the last remaining collection of humans live in a domed utopia ran by a computer, where they live out a hedonistic lifestyle until they reach the age of 30. Their hands are implanted with a light that changes colour as they get older, and when they hit 30, they are forced to take part in the Carrousel, where they are vaporised, believing they are part of a 're-birth' cycle. The majority accept this as part of their natural existence, but a select few, known as Runners, recognise the brutality of population control. To counteract this, there are Sandmen, a sort of police force tasked with tracking and killing any Runners. After killing one such Runner, Sandman Logan 5 (Michael York) finds an ankh pendant on the body, to which the computer recognises as a symbol of Sanctuary, a mythical place seen as the escape by the Runners. The computer tells Logan 5 he must find Sanctuary, and his lifespan is shortened to hasten his quest, so he enlists the help of Jessica 6 (Jenny Agutter), a potential Runner who wears an ankh pendant.

With its bold, bright futuristic sets and obligatory shiny jumpsuits, Logan's Run is one of those 1970's ever-so-camp cult sci-fi's that no-one really takes seriously regardless of it's social message. The film itself certainly takes itself seriously, but has dated so badly it is best viewed as a bit of a guilty pleasure. Certainly one of those films to watch on a rainy bank holiday or a Sunday afternoon. It certainly has it's moments - occasionally it slips into a hypnotic and slightly psychedelic wish-wash of flashing red lights and green death-rays, that can't help but grab your attention. Half the time I didn't really know what was happening, certainly a fault on my part, but the film wasn't holding my attention long enough for me to keep up with the plot and narrative twists, despite all the visual splendour on show.

Yet the actual plot device that jump-starts Logan's journey is itself confusing. Why does the computer send Logan on this mission simply for finding the ankh pendant, a symbol that is worn in plain sight by many members of the Runners? Why shorten Logan's lifespan, as this will surely give him enough reason to become a Runner himself and escape his unfairly premature demise? Clearly logic isn't given enough attention, but Logan's Run contains enough cornball lines of dialogue, hilarious 1970's haircuts, and rather useless laser guns, to justify it's cult following. It's far too long, but a nice reminder of a time where sci-fi was still primarily rooted in satire, regardless of how successful it is.


Directed by: Michael Anderson
Starring: Michael York, Jenny Agutter, Richard Jordan, Farrah Fawcett, Peter Ustinov
Country: USA

Rating: ***

Tom Gillespie

Review #474: 'The Human Tornado' (1976)

Rudy Ray Moore reprises his comic character creation, Dolemite, the hyperbolic, Mohammed Ali-jive-talking, rhythmic discoursing, man of the people. The sequel to 1975's Dolemite, the film offers nothing new to the series, or to blaxploitation cinema, but simply adheres to the generic signifiers, such as female nudity, car chases, and the ubiquitous kung-fu cross-over. But significantly for the stylistic variations of the sub-genre, the subject of racism is the most evident theme - despite the fact that blaxploitation is readily accused of reverse racism (a term I have never understood, as this would suggest that racism is a purely white condition - it's all xenophobia).

Dolemite is caught in bed with the local red-neck sheriff Beaty (J. B. Baron)'s wife, who is then shot dead by his deputy. Escaping this situation, Dolemite flees to California, and the sheriff's crew follow, pinning the crime upon Dolemite. Lady Reed also reprises her role as Queen Bee, and she along with "her girls" have their club shut down by the mob, and it is up to Dolemite to settle the score.

Undoubtedly taking into account the failings of Dolemite, the sequel increases much of what makes exploitation cinema exciting. The violence is more nuanced, there is a lot more naked flesh on display, but more significantly, the comedy is far more indulgently silly, over the top ridiculousness. It's those rhythmic one-liners that Moore produces that increase the enjoyability of the film. And of course (as previously stated), no blaxploitation film would be complete without that other ethnic sub-genre, kung-fu, and here we are enthralled by the ferocious work of the Central American Nunchuck Champion, plus an early role for future Ghostbuster, Ernie Hudson. Marginally better than its predecessor, it has a strange ability to be both dull and exciting.


Directed by: Cliff Roquemore
Starring: Rudy Ray Moore, Lady Reed, Jimmy Lynch
Country: USA

Rating: **

Marc Ivamy

Review #444: 'Snuff' (1976)

Back when I was in my early teens, and starting to form a morbid curiosity with death (the arrival on the internet fuelled many a child's lust for real and graphic violence), I was discussing something horrific I'd seen whilst browsing this new medium with my mother. She told me about when her and my dad were married (my dad was then a police officer during the Video Nasty-era), they would often watch the films he had seized (I don't think he was supposed to be doing that, but oh well), and how they had once stumbled upon a real snuff film. I argued that snuff films don't actually exist, and are merely a myth, but she told me in detail about the film ending, and how the crew butchered one of the actresses, cutting off her fingers before disembowelling her. I didn't believe her, but she was adamant. So over ten years on, I text her to re-assure that she had been duped by Snuff, a massive shit-stain of a movie whose faux-snuff climax was exactly how she described. I actually wish it had been real snuff, because I wouldn't have had to waste 90 minutes of my life on this absolute drivel.

Snuff is actually a shelved film called The Slaughter from 1971, directed by Michael Findlay. Given it had a very limited theatrical run and was a babbling, incoherent mess, the film was shelved for four years until producer Allan Shackleton heard about the taboo-of-the-week snuff films, which were reportedly being made in South America. The Slaughter tells the story of a porn actress Terry London (Mirtha Massa) who is frolicking with her rich lover Horst (Clao Villanueva), while somewhere else, a man called Satan (pronounced Sa-taan, played by Enrique Larratelli) is a Charles Manson-type cult leader who has somehow managed to enslave a bunch of sexy biker chicks. Some murders happen, I don't really know why, but it has something to do with Terry and Horst producing a baby for sacrifice. For what reason, again, I don't know. Shackleton seized the opportunity and tacked on an ending filmed by Simon Nuchtern, which depicted one of the actresses filming The Slaughter being murdered by the crew, and re-released it as Snuff.

I'll hand it to Shackleton, it was a bloody clever idea to turn one of the most ludicrously muddled and pointless film I've ever seen into something that would make money. Although nowadays, the 'snuff' murder at the end is not convincing (the scene is edited, features bad dubbing, and has sound effects), I can imagine it convincing people back in the day. And it's actually well done - the moving hand after it has been chopped off was particularly effective - but whether it's more convincing because it's coming after an hour and a half of absolute wank, I don't know. But it's a lot to get through, even with it's slender running time, and when you think the film is about to start to make sense, it cuts to a nonsensical scene where somebody inevitably gets their tits out and the whole thing falls apart. Add to that the worst dubbing ever committed to screen, actors that would embarrass H.G. Lewis, and a plot of such astounding levels of bull-shit it would make Ed Wood jealous, you have one of the worst experiences that cinema has ever offered. Avoid at all costs.


Directed by: Michael Findlay, Horacio Fredriksson, Simon Nuchtern
Starring: Mirtha Massa, Clao Villanueva, Enrique Larratelli, Aldo Mayo
Country: Argentina/USA/Canada

Rating: *

Tom Gillespie

Review #365: 'Master of the Flying Guillotine' (1976)

A staple of the exploitation circuit, the martial arts movie played a fundamental role in the 1970's as a prime form of action cinema. It not only had its own stand-alone sub-genre, but was also essential to even the blaxploitation market. In the west the Kung-Fu movie was enlivened by Bruce Lee, and particularly Enter the Dragon (1973), and despite his early death, left a legacy that turned this obscure form of action cinema into a western phenomenon that is still highly evident today. Unlike Bruce Lee's usually modern-set movies, the tradition of period films found their way onto the exploitation market, and Master of the Flying Guillotine sits within this context. Set in the 18th century, this film follows on from Yu Wang's 1971 The One-Armed Boxer, and centres on a mission to avenge the killings that the one-armed boxer (Yu Wang) committed in the previous film by Fung Sheng Wu Chi (Kang Chin), the blind master of the titular weapon (an infamous tool that has the ability to severe a human head with very little effort). 

There is very little in the way of narrative in the film, and focuses its attentions of the fight choreography, which is at times spectacular. A particular favourite is the Yoga expert, who has the ability to extend his arms in battle, leading to some hilarious sequences. It's a testament to Chinese cinema, that the film makers were able to use humour even within fight sequences (something that Hollywood action cinema rarely does (and really didn't do until the 1980's), something that Jackie Chan took to new levels in the late 1970's and 1980's. There are a few times where the fighting becomes a bit repetitive, but I guess that will happen, considering that about 95% of the screen time is spent of fight sequences.

Whilst there are many funny sequences, and the fighting looks amazing, there was something that just didn't feel right about it as I viewed, and couldn't immediately put my finger on it. Growing up in the 1980's, the Kung-Fu genre was an important part of growing. Not only were there great action sequences, but they're incredibly fun to watch, but seeing this in my adult life highlighted a function that was missing with this film: The English dub! I saw Guillotine in its original language (Mandarin), but was struck at how much funnier they are when over-dubbed into English. But besides this rather trivial complaint, Master of the Flying Guillotine is a hoot.


Directed by: Yu Wang
Starring: Yu Wang, Kang Chin, Chung-Erh Lung
Country: Taiwan/Hong Kong

Rating: ***

Marc Ivamy

Review #294: 'Network' (1976)

American cinema in the 1970's revealed a more personal, "gritty", and quite often profoundly moving approach to film-making. This was in part due to the "changing of the guard" at the studios that began happening in the 1960's. The Moguls that had created the studio system, and also the golden age of cinema, were leaving, and the studios were being sold off to corporations that had no connection to the cinema industry. This led to a multi-million dollar industry being run by companies such as Coca-Cola; therefore, the studios were being run by people who did not know what makes money. Fantastically for the new film makers, this led to a certain amount of freedom, and produced some of the most challenging and interesting films. It seems to me that this all occurred simultaneously with some interesting social and political challenges in the real world.

In the media throughout the 1970's, there were many stories about political kidnappings (such as the well-known Patty Hearst kidnapping that had the world gripped through the bizarre change in the newspaper heiress and socialite who eventually became a member of the terrorist gang), and of course the biggest political story of the decade, the Watergate incident. This latter event highlighted the inconsistencies of political power, and (along with the JFK assassination in 1963) almost essentially created the conspiracy theory - and the modern political conspiracy was born, and is now a popular part of culture. So it seems incredible today that under this atmosphere of paranoia, and particularly with the corporate mergers of industries, that Network was made - a film that is mainly about a television network that is going through changes after a corporate merger/takeover.

"I'm mad as hell, and I'm not gonna take this anymore!" This is the mantra of Howard Beale (Peter Finch who won a posthumous best actor Oscar for this role), anchorman of the UBS Evening News, who at the start of the film, is told that due to poor ratings, he was to be fired. On his next broadcast, Beale announces that he will kill himself in a live broadcast next Tuesday. This of course creates a bit of a media sensation, and the interest in the anchorman extends, making the network executives take notice. This leads to the freedom for Beale to have a platform in which he berates the consumerist world, along with the machinations of the financial and media industries. Whilst the "downfall" of Beale's psychology seems to be the main event in this film, he is simply a protagonist that gets the narrative going. the main focus here is the relationship between news executive, Max Schumacher (William Holden) and the younger programming executive, Diana Christenson (Faye Dunaway). This relationship is essential to the narrative. This is where we discover that she will stop at nothing for the acquisition of ratings and therefore money, and that Max, whilst obviously enjoying his affair with the young woman, is fundamentally concerned with Beale's well-being.

This last point raises an interesting question about the nature of sanity. Whilst the money-men in the executive offices simply look at the ratings boost, and care less about the content, Max is worried that his friend is losing the plot. Of course this would be easy to say when we see Beale, soaking wet and dishevelled, ranting in a seemingly frantic manner. However, the fact that he is voicing opinions that were very popular at the time, shows that maybe he has in fact had enough of the machinations of the "system".

To say that the film is still relevant today is an understatement. In fact, much of what occurs in the film has become very much an everyday reality. So it could be argued that the film was an incredible piece of prescient cinema. Network has an amazing cast, and all performances are first rate - particularly Ned Beatty's small role, where he informs Beale of the future of industry which is stunningly shot also. Network should be celebrated in the same way that other films of the decade are, such as Taxi Driver (1976). It has utterly relevant social commentary, and rings as true today as it did 35 years ago - perhaps a depressing thought, highlighting that nothing has really changed, and that in fact, we are living in an unchanging civilisation that has only one obsession: Money.


Directed by: Sidney Lumet
Starring: Faye Dunaway, William Holden, Peter Finch, Robert Duvall, Ned Beatty
Country: USA

Rating: *****

Marc Ivamy

Review #274: 'Jack the Ripper' (1976)

Dr. Orloff (Klaus Kinski) is a London doctor who has the unfortunate compulsion of murdering prostitutes. When he kills a young girl at the start of the film, a begging blind man picks up his scent and recognises the smell of a rare plant found only in the Botanic Gardens. Orloff murders his victims there and has their bodies disposed of by a woman infatuated by him. Inspector Selby (Andreas Mannkopff) is assigned to the case, and with the help of the local prostitutes and the blind man, is determined to track down the man dubbed Jack the Ripper.

One of the most prolific of the cult directors, Jess (or Jesus) Franco directed over 150 features. The majority of these were awful, low-budget horror or skin flicks, and he drifted in and out of porn for a large chunk of his career. When he was on-form, he was actually quite talented. Whereas Jack the Ripper isn't a very good film at all, it certainly displays some of Franco's talents. For a director so fond of breasts and genitals, Ripper is pleasantly genital-light, and even more surprisingly, rather low on gore. It's more interested in Kinski's Orloff and the police investigation that followed him. Historically, of course, it's a load of bull shit. There's very little (if any) fact on show, but this is forgiveable as it is a low-budget horror after all.

The ever-watchable Klaus Kinsi is memorable in the role, even though he is clearly sleep-walking throughout the film. But if you've read his fascinating autobiography you would know he had very little love for his art, so it's a testament to his ability that he manages to be so good with so little effort. But it's the police investigation that is the most entertaining in the film, as Selby is assisted by his ragtag group of witnesses, and a man that has to be the campest police chief in film history.

The gore is quite low like I said, but when it appears it is quite gruesome. There's breast removal, stabbings, corpse-raping, not of which is done convincingly, but it is a shame because the film does occasionally elevate itself above it's shlock roots. It's actually beautifully filmed in some scenes, especially when the moon shines through the trees in the woods scene. It's all a bit too funny-because-it's-bad to be any good, but it's certainly not terrible, and it's actually made me want to check out some of Franco's vast filmography. But I'll probably leave out the porn.


Directed by: Jess Franco
Starring: Klaus Kinski, Josephine Chaplin, Andreas Mannkopff
Country: Switzerland/West Germany

Rating: **

Tom Gillespie

Review #150: 'Who Can Kill a Child?' (1976)

Produced the year before the publication of Stephen King's short story Children of the Corn (which was subsequently made into a film in 1983), Who Can Kill a Child? is very similar in it's main idea. An English couple, Tom (Lewis Fiander), and his pregnant wife Evelyn (Prunella Ransome), arrive on a small island off of the mainland of Spain as tourists. On entering the small village, they find the place to be deserted. After some time searching for locals, they discover that the children have turned on the adult population, systematically killing all of them.

During the opening credits of the film, a narrator describes - with the aid of documentary imagery - the many atrocities on humanity of the 20th century; from the concentration camps of world war 2, to the napalm bombing of Vietnam. In all of these, we are confronted with the very reality of the situations and the concept that within all of these inhumane acts, that children are the most innocent of victims.

In a previous review (#106) for Devil Times Five (1975), I mentioned the 1970's trope for evil children. This is self evident within this narrative. As this concept was outlined within the context of American social change, I feel a slightly colloquial reading is needed for this Spanish film. In the 1960's and '70's, British tourism went further than it's usual boundaries of the UK. The gateways of Spain were flooded with these pale-skinned holiday-makers. Also, the children of this island are the last of Spanish dictator Franco's children. Franco died in 1975, meaning there was at last freedom, and Spaniards could move on from the devastation of the civil war. These children could represent the anger left by the atrocities of this period. They may well represent a new Spain which needs to move on; or the kids could be the remnants of Franco's ideas. But fundamentally, these kids want to destroy the adults that for years let themselves be dictated by a murdering president.

The children of the film perpetuate (for me at least), the concept that they are intrinsically evil. Kids are fucking monsters! The island children form a kind of collective psychic-psychosis, which can be projected onto other children; something that Evelyn finds out the hard way, as her unborn child kills her inside the womb after it has been possessed. After the island is rid of all adults, it would be time to move this psychic possession of children to the mainland. This is haunting stuff. The film is atmospheric, and has more tension than the film of Children of the Corn (1984). It's a surprise that this film was forgotten. Chilling, disturbing: It also raises a fundamental question of morality: Who can kill a child? (as illustrated in the title used here - it is one of many other titles such as Island of Death, Death is Child's Play et al). Well, going back to the Brit-tourist invasion, it seems that an Englishman is the only kind that is capable of such a horrific act. Watch out Spain, the Brits are invading!


Directed by: Narciso Ibáñez Serrador
Starring: Lewis Fiander, Prunella Ransome
Country: Spain

Rating: ***

Marc Ivamy

Review #106: 'God Told Me To' (1976)

If you're a fan of B-movie quirkiness, then you should be more than familiar with the great Larry Cohen. His films really should be bad, even awful, but Cohen's genuine talent for screenwriting and his ability to stamp his famous sense of humour onto his films makes them better than they should be. God Told Me To is his fifth film, after a few blaxploitation films (including the very entertaining Black Caesar (1973)) and the killer-mutant-baby film It's Alive (1974). Marketed as a Grindhouse picture under the title of God Told Me To Kill, Cohen's film contains little violence and after a seemingly methodical first half an hour, the film takes a sudden change of direction that, of all things, certainly keeps the film interesting.

Opening with a sniper picking off random people, he is approached by Detective Nicholas (Tony Lo Bianco), a New York cop. When asked why he is doing this, the killer replies 'God told me to' and flings himself off his perch. He is told the same thing by another murderer, and when a cop (played by Andy Kaufman!) goes nuts at the St. Patrick's Parade, Nicholas realises that more powerful forces could be responsible. He begins a search for a man with long, blonde hair that was seen with the murderers at various points before the began killing, and Nicholas must battle with his own faith and the possibility that he may not be quite who he seems.

Yes, this is a mad film. By the end, after a man shows our Detective a large vagina in the side of his torso and asks him to mate, you'll wonder what the hell you've just watched. But that's the great thing about Larry Cohen, he takes something strange and mundane and turns it into something entertaining. This isn't his greatest film by all accounts - it doesn't make a lot of sense, it's overlong, the love interest has the worst glasses in film history - but I certainly quite enjoyed it. The shaky camerawork, fast-paced dialogue and simply bonkers plot devices just takes it a notch above the usual pap. But maybe it was missing Michael Moriarty.


Directed by: Larry Cohen
Starring: Tony Lo Bianco, Deborah Raffin, Sandy Dennis, Sylvia Sidney
Country: USA

Rating: ***

Tom Gillespie

Review #105: 'I, Pierre Rivière' (1976)

To give the film it's full title, I, Pierre Riviere, Having Slaughtered My Mother, My Sister And My Brother, Rene Allio's film has to be one of the most overlooked and unrecognised pieces of cinema in history. It tells the true story about a peasant farmer in Normandy in 1835, who, seemingly out-of-the-blue, butchered the majority of his family in cold blood. Whilst awaiting trial, Riviere wrote down a full and detailed account of his early life, the events leading up to the murder, and his brief time spent as an outlaw. For such an apparently uneducated farmer, it was seen as a remarkable piece of literature. In 1973, philosopher Michel Foucault edited together Riviere's statement, alongside various sources that remained from the case.

Beginning at a snail's pace, the film follows Riviere's (Claude Hebert) parents' increasingly unstable marriage. His mother (Jacqueline Milliere) seems to be mentally unstable, and intent on driving her husband (Joseph Leportier) into poverty and ruin. The two live apart, with Pierre favouring his father as opposed to the other children, who seem to be unaware of the huge debts that Mme. Riviere is building up. Pierre watches on silently as this takes place, and we are informed via voice-over that wishes he could somehow release his long-suffering father of his mother.

The film is filmed almost as a documentary, with naturalistic and cold exchanges between the majority of the characters. It even has various members of the village giving their account of Pierre almost to camera while their name and occupation appears below them. It works very well, and you get a real feel to the case and the attitudes of the time. It is made all the more realistic due to the fact that director Allio hired non-professional actors to play these roles who really were farmers. They talk, act and work like farmers, and the feeling of authenticity surrounds the film. I don't know if it is intentional or not, but it has the feeling of a Robert Bresson film, who famously called his actors 'models', and preferred them to act as little as possible. If it was intentional, then it is a bold and effective move, as it gives the feeling of mundanity to the farmers and their lives.

As Pierre Riviere, Claude Hebert is outstanding. His large nose, big eyes and tight mouth embodies that of shy awkwardness with a shade of uncertainty lying beneath the exterior. He spends the majority of the film lurking in the background, shuffling between feet and giving sideways glances as if trying to avoid eye contact. I genuinely believed that he would be capable of murder. The scene where he forces a horse and carriage over a large manure pile, tipping the carriage and almost killing the horse while Riviere stands by quietly laughing to himself, sent genuine chills down my spine. He is one of those strange kids at school that you would try to avoid.

But it's not as black-and-white as I think I'm making it out to be. Riviere is not just a strange psychopath. The film poses the same questions that were posed by the psychological investigators assigned to his case back in 1836. Riviere could be a victim of social alienation. Or perhaps it could have been a moment of insanity brought on by witnessing years of torture set by his mother. Or it is suggested that Riviere could have built up a misogynist mindset by taking in various pieces of literature, and because of his overall fear of women. It will certainly provoke discussion, and probably stay with you for a very long time. Absolutely magnificent.


Directed by: René Allio
Starring: Claude Hébert, Jacqueline Millière, Joseph Leportier
Country: France

Rating: *****

Tom Gillespie

Review #86: 'Island of Death' (1976)

A British couple, Cristopher (Bob Behling) and Celia (Jane Lyle) arrive on a peaceful Greek island to seemingly indulge in photography and the sun. We come to discover that Christopher is a religious fanatic, who, when he's not taking photos and sleeping with his sister, enjoys a spot of goat-raping (goatsploitation?), gay-bashing, and feeding paint to sleazy decorators. He enjoys watching his soon-to-be-victims fornicating with Celia from a distance before flipping out and doing a bit of the ol' murdering. Complete with electronic sound effects, bad camerawork, and terrible acting, this is probably Tarantino's wet dream.

For the rest of us (I hope) this is bottom-of-the-barrel guff. I mean, this is shockingly bad stuff. I like a bit of cheap, guilty-pleasure crap as much as the next film fan, but this is just beyond explanation. Things just don't make sense. The aforementioned paint-feeding scene shows the victim being nailed to the floor, crucifixion-style, with the nails going barely a couple of millimetres into the ground, and then he proceeds to willingly opening his mouth and swallow the paint without struggling in the slightest, just making the odd murmur. Oh, the pain! It's a scene that Herschell Gordon Lewis would probably turn to his assistant and say 'listen, this is just too fucking shit!'. The film is basically this over and over again for 90 minutes, and it stops being funny after about 10. Avoid at all costs.

Directed by: Nico Mastorakis

Starring: Robert Behling, Jane Ryall, Jessica Dublin

Country: Greece

Rating: *

Tom Gillespie

Review #77: 'The Witch Who Came from the Sea' (1976)

Molly (Millie Perkins) is a girl who is haunted by a childhood of sexual abuse at the hands of her now dead father. These images are however, repressed by her, and she constructs a fantasy world where he did in fact die at sea - as he was an explorer of the sea. This we later find out is drawn from the euphemistic term Molly's father used to describe the abuse: "Molly, lets get lost at sea".

This fantasy that Molly creates is also perpetuated in sequences that almost appear as if they are happening only in her broken mind. After seeing a couple of professional footballers on the TV (she describes them - and other men - as beautiful creatures to her two nephews), she seems to drift into a day-dream in which she ties the two up to a bed, in a pre-empted plan for sexual endeavour, but she proceeds to cut the penis off of one with a razor blade. As we later discover, these two footballers actually died. Whilst we are certain as an audience that Molly surely did this act, we seem to have no hard evidence of this. Is Molly simply imagining this?

The film is punctuated with short, and increasingly graphic depictions of Molly's rape as a child by her father. These haunting sequences are exacerbated by the increasing volume and amount of perpetual seagull noises filtered through an echo effect. As these moments become more frequent, we find out that Molly's father died of a heart attack during an attack on her. So in Molly's own mind, as her father died during this act - an act he has a euphemistic phrase for - did indeed die at sea.

Molly floats somnambulistically through the majority of this film. She seems almost not to be aware of the events that she is involved in. We seem to follow this path too. But we are also aware of her increasing breakdown. She becomes more erratic and confused about the people around her. She seems obsessed with television, and its ability to display the most beautiful people.

This is no masterpiece, not by a long shot. But it is an interesting piece of cinema. Director Matt Cimber (who has made no other work of significance) unfolds the rapid mental breakdown with a little bit of style. The production values aren't the best, but they are suitable for the content. I did enjoy its mix of seeming supernatural and grindhouse-style elements. It almost plays like a lost and degraded artifact of horror/art-house cinema.

This film bizarrely made it onto the UK's video nasties list (or at least the DPP list), where I can only assume was clustered with the more horrific films (such as 1972's Last House on the Left, 1977's I Spit on Your Grave) due to it's quite intense, but never graphic depictions of male castration.


Directed by: Matt Cimber
Starring: Millie Perkins, Lonny Chapman, Vanessa Brown
Country: USA

Rating: ***

Marc Ivamy