Surf Nazis Must Die (1987)

This highly entertaining chunk of trash lunacy shoves us an apocalyptic story of Surf Nazis – a gang of ruthless surfers, who step up to power when the great earthquake buries Los Angeles under thick pile of rubble and causes general havoc! A script looks kind of "The Golden Breed" meets "The Warriors" with pre-FSOL type of electronica, so if you're tense, keep reading. 80's kids watch out, this is something you might have missed during your salad rental days 25 years ago – a genuine VHS classic, well grasping a fever of the time as far as costumes and fighting sequences are concerned. Easily takes you back to those days, when you were going through a heap of freshly rented 20 kung-fu movies and still didn't know what "Mad Max" was about. Although acting is shit and budget limitations corner director on every step, bending him for very low-budget solutions, "Surf Nazis Must Die" throws you at least handful of absurd and ridiculous scenes.

As law doesn't exist anymore, these thugs are now ready to kill all the competition, till this point blocking them from absolute power over sunny beaches and the surf spots of California. Surf is up and Surf Nazis customize their surboards, mounting nose switchblades to kill other surfers while the waves roll high. Those ones, who get to the shore, will be executed on the beach with brutal krav maga (or hap-ki-do, or ju-jitsu) techniques, strangled or slaughtered with knife.... but hard comers were sending the message before to all these beach brutes and they didn't listen – surf or die, motherfucker! This movie watches like made between surf workshop and the nearest pile of beach rocks – that's Troma, they say! It features all these cheesy dialogue lines as well, like: "Hey, we're the hottest gang on the beach!" and family scenes, but what can you do? I loved it anyway.



After all, when you're 20 minutes through this inane flick, you suddenly start to rediscover what the 80's were about. Yuppie hair cuts, speedboats, Roland synthesizers, cyberpunk and post-apocalyptic B-movies all come back to you in a flash. This movie is soaked in this sauce with particularly interesting soundtrack of John McCallum, which lifts many sloppy scenes – they wouldn't probably make it without this little help at all... and there's the wreckage of the civilization with few fishermen still trying their luck around Santa Monica pier (or wherever it is) and the only remaining pawn shop. When camera rolls over these sunny beaches and palms again and again while surfers jump around with swastikas, you just cannot stop giggling. However droll this movie seems and that includes surfing sequences frequently cutting into the action – they basically turn the story into a surf TV – you just cannot miss on these cheap thrills.

Surf Nazis are not gonna survive long anyway. When during one of their beach frenzies, they kill a poor chap – Leroy, his big, black mama is gonna pick up a gun and eventually clean the mess herself. This makes the picture another absurd take on "Death Wish" storyline and delivers few over the top crumbles. Tough lady has what it takes, she'll toss a bunch of granades and then chase the last living suckers down the beach boulevard, even switching for a speedboat in the end. They say it's hard to make a dark picture under California sun and maybe that's not far from the truth, but these guys weren't really trying and delivered a Z-grade pot boiler instead. Plenty of fun and occasional nudity though, carrying a spirit of classic Corman's formula. I have to admit, there were these flaky minutes, which could have been polished, but the effect will be definitely enjoyed by lame obscenity witnesses.

Two-Lane Blacktop (1971)

Four people coming from nowhere, drifting, heading nowhere but rich in stories to tell, even if there are no words to describe them as their life is embodied solely in their racing vehicles or their never ending journey. This fiery classic by Monte Hellman has all the ingredients of a great cult movie: brilliant screenplay with extremely weird characters, passion, dark underbelly, fantastic photography and music. It's one of these late 60's & early 70's artifacts, which made to the silver screen only due to the fall of Old Hollywood, using created gap. Financed by Universal, Hellman's film flopped at the time of it's release against high expectations and very favorable press reviews, which dubbed it "the best movie of 1971". A blame in this case has been definitely on the studio executives, who folded the marketing machine promptly after the premiere and then tossed the picture down from big theatres to the drive-in circuit, where it played with exploitation goodies of freshly founded New World Pictures.

Nevertheless, the film eventually found it's public by becoming an obscure night player on American TV. This was fortunate and helped a lot to shelter Hellman's vision in fandom, which slowly has put it up to a cult status. By 2000 it was finally released on DVD after members of The Doors agreed to pass on the royalties to Moonlight Drive, one of many classic songs featured on the soundtrack. Since then "Two-Lane Blacktop" has begun it's second, glorious run, discovered by next generation of movie geeks and die-hard diggers of auteur cinema. Justice has been definitely reclaimed as next to "Easy Rider" and "Vanishing Point", this ravishing road flick is the shit, which shouldn't be missed by any serious cinema fanatic... and it's viewing is highly rewarding, bringing you these uncanny emotions of embracing the acid vision or a dream – both important levels of the epoch's speech. "Two-Lane Blacktop" is indeed an unique piece of creative lunacy.

Monte Hellman was initially another chap, stepping up the ladder of Roger Corman's "shoot today & edit tomorrow" film school in the 60's, which served as a catapult for such personalities as: Francis Ford Coppola, Dennis Hopper, Martin Scorsese or Peter Bogdanovich. He was actually one of this legendary crowd, who glued together "The Terror" (1963) when Corman left it after shooting few nonsense scenes on leftover props from "The Raven" (1962). In 1965 Hellman managed to get $150,000 from Corman to direct two westerns almost simultaneously. They were "The Shooting" and "Ride in the Whirlwind", both starring Jack Nicholson, released in 1968 and considered first "acid westerns" in history – today explained as a bizarre cross of revisionist western and hippiesploitation movies. Although these pictures never made a huge blast leaping high over exploitation pot boilers with their enigmatic plot structure, they are fascinating works, which have lead directly to Hellman's early 70's cult classics like "Two-Lane Blacktop" or "Cockfighter" (1974).



By the time Universal agreed to finance the production of "Two-Lane Blacktop" and forked $850,000, Monte Hellman has been already loking into a firm script by William Corry, but felt it's essence was kind of subpar and should have been reworked to match his ideas. This was assigned to Rudolph Wurlitzer – a fresh writer who just published his experimental novel, Nog (1969) – and Floyd Mutrux, who never got the credit by losing his case in Writer's Guild. Wurlitzer rewrote the screenplay completely, coming up with a copy of a more sophisticated nature, leaving a lot of symbolic space to play around for Hellman. Almost all shots were taken on Route 66, before it was transformed into a transcontinental highway and lost it's mythical allure, and then... the main actors were actual cars: heavily tuned up Chevy '55 and a brand new Pontiac G.T.O. '70 – both machines representing diverse values of car culture.

The film hits as an experimental theatre on the road featuring two hot rodders without a name: The Driver (James Taylor – a cult singer) & The Mechanic (Dennis Wilson – The Beach Boys drummer) going after any fluke in their Chevy '55. They're not really into money when dragging, they're just simply looking for means to make next part of two-lane blacktop... always ahead in their machine, which seems undoubtedly a centre of the world due to Hellman's witty frames, catching it as purely alienating space. Director seems to say with his camera: "That's it, man. There's nothing else" as dialogues are scarce and usually involve running a car or it's technical problems (very nerdy stuff, understandable only for club members). Even when guys meet a young hippie girl – another Summer Of Love dropout – who sneaks into their car to get a lift, they are not destined to end in some place with her. It's just another part of the game.

Action gets raised when they meet Mr. G.T.O. (fantastic role by Warren Oates) - a Pontiac driver, a guy who takes the road challenge and a compulsive liar, who keeps fabricating exploits about his life, passing them to hitchhickers... all for sake of going further down the road as if he'd like someone to cover his lack of purpose. The only moment when he starts to unveil his identity happens during the race, at front of The Driver, who squashes him immediately... as nobody really cares on the road, especially if they're racing for the wheels and the only thing that matters is the moment – very 60's psychedelic, hot rod ZEN message indeed. As they travel across America, the emptiness of their lives becomes strikingly apparent, but it's the only thing left after countercultural dreams went under... a freedom to ride.

This bitterswitness, soaked in post-revolutionary depression is a crucial undercurrent here, making "Two-Lane Blacktop" such a great picture. Even if we desperately try to grasp the meaning, it sneaks away as soon as the characters make another 100 miles. We basically run in the passenger's seat for this whole time just to get, that there are no simple answers, light always comes with a shadow and life will keep carrying on, no matter if you've already moved on or you're still hanging in there... the ending of the movie stands out as one of the greates scenes of American auteur cinema movement being correspondingly bold and confusing.

Cult Of The Damned (1969)

Another scary example of what could have gone through AIP filter in the late 60's. Originally released as "Angel, Angel, Down We Go" it was written and directed by practically unknown Robert Thom, and produced by unfamous master of trash – "Jungle" Sam Katzman, whose first exploitation picture distributed by AIP was legendary "Riot On Sunset Strip". None of these were ever officialy released on DVD and the reasons needn't to be explained. Before this gruesome flick hit the drive-ins, Katzman proclaimed he finally turned his back on B-movies and wanted to offer something with "depth and meaning" instead. Well, it wasn't exactly an Oscar step, Sam.

Although "Angel, Angel, Down We Go" premiered in one of the most prestigious Hollywood theatres to comply with Katzman's vision of going bigtime, it was yanked off by the distributor just a week later and shelved without any mercy. It re-emerged in 1971 under new title "Cult Of The Damned", which didn't have anything in common with the content, except it was a part of AIP perfect sales pitch, aiming to push the new double feature including Hammer lesbian vampire flick. As I'm not in possession of any sources, explaining later fate of this "masterpiece", it would be quite safe to presume it got shelved againg after dancing around American drive-ins for couple of months, just to be brought to you again by brave bootleg distibutors.



The story is something of an acid trip gone raped by fevered fantasy of a half-witted schizophrenic. As Tara – obese daughter of a filthy rich industrialist meets Bogart – a rock star, who pops her cherry and promptly becomes a spiritual guide, dozing her with halucinogens and effectively brainwashing, her miserable life gets a completely new spin. She decides almost immediately to hang out with her new guru and his buddies 24/7, loafing in a mansion with wacky, psychedelic decor, featuring pictures of Humphrey Bogart, Charles Chaplin and other Hollywood stars. Eventually, she gets turned on the path of "evil yoga", getting superpowers like laying on the ceiling. As she's a skilled pilot (hmmm...), she gets to fly a private Cesna while the band goes sky diving, uttering satanistic affirmations before jumping off the plane.

In the end, "the cultists" have enough of her, thus turn to tormenting Tara's mother (played by Academy Award winner - Jennifer Jones. They mock her porn business past (although she never faked an orgams in a movie) and lack of commitment to her shitty family... hanging out by the pool. Eventually Bogart fucks her, steals her precious jewellery and then offers sky diving session as an incentive to put her back on the track. She dies unable to open a parachute and Tara drowns in madness. However fascinating this plot might seem, "Cult Of The Damned" is a piece of insipid gibberish, which makes even worse impression by coming up with experimental tools like non-linear narration or footage of static collages as a way to externalize what's happening in poor girl's head. Unfortunately, director lacked Bob Rafelson's talent and couldn't pull off another "Head" (1968). Does it havy any value at all? Possibly an obscurity factor... on second thought, it could be probably sampled for rave visuals.

As Robert Thom said in an interview for Variety in 1969: Here again I want to say something about society. It deals with a court reporter who concentrates on tax evasion to get the Mafia. If you've read this review carefully, you must've noticed an obvious contradiction to these words. Apparently, AIP recut the movie so extensively, that it didn't carry any resemblance to the original version... or maybe they just tried to sell this flick to the public as a criminal drama, being convinced that diabolical version of The Rolling Stones might not pass in the press. In this case, you're absolutely free to choose what you want to believe in!



[The movie can be purchased from Cinema de Bizarre]

For Y'ur Height Only (1981)

When Corman's New World pictures eventully cut their ties with Filipino film industry in the beginning of the 80's due to hazards of social turmoil in the country, there were couple of native directors, who picked up exactly where Americans left off. One of these brave lads was Eddie Nickart, who gained his experience working with Eddie Romero, Jack Hill and Joe Dante on their low-budget goodies. Soon, he was to blow the lid off with one of the wackiest exploitation productions ever made, which not only marked the limit of going over the top on the screen, but eventually became a big cult classic in the exploitation fandom. This outstanding example of B-movie sick fantasy features amazing Weng Weng as 3 feet tall secret agent 00, sex machine and martial arts adept in one! Although it was gross even for exploitation standards, Weng Weng with his natural charisma and large spirit in small body made it a real killer giving a brand new meaning to "loved it" sentence.

Forget about James Bond, forget about A-Team or Indiana Jones, forget even about all these vintage ass-kickers like Billy Jack, Django or evil bikers from „Satan's Sadists” as with agent 00 you're gonna go for a ride risking death by massive laugh attack. This spysploitation masterpiece is one of these pictures, where every scene is precious instantly screwing your frontal lobe. Weng Weng has the license to kill and stomps on the crooks, thugs and punks of any sort using his deadly martial arts skills, high-tech gadgets like a flying pork pie hat, ring with a poison detector or stock jet pack, apparently made out of hoover pipes and a fire extinguisher. He's short, but he's a real badass and that definitely gives him the edge. He can run between your legs or squat in the bushes, jumping out like a grasshopper in the most unexpected moment just to finish your miserable life with three slaps and a kick. You never know where Weng Weng is hiding and he might be after you just now as his natural hunting instinct cannot be tricked!



Did you ever see a movie, where screenplay is so bad, that it doesn't even make sense for a half-brainer? Well, you got it here, except this movie is so wildly entertaining, that it stops being any problem. Low-budget creativity has probably never given birth to anything likewise brilliant, excluding modern campy imitations. Weng Weng is the king of the streets and his reputation precedes him everywhere he goes. He's strolls a bit like Shaft, however he's much shorter and uses customized, awesome machine guns matching his size. He's Japanese sword expert too and he won't leave any chances in a duel cutting and thrusting to kill... but after heavy day he likes to hang out in a local disco den downing coca-cola bottles to the rhythms of Salsoul Orchestra. The way he looks in these innocent moments, doesn't reflect who he is at all – a 3 feet tall death machine! Can you dig that potential?

"For Y'ur Height Only" is a wonderful movie on many levels and remains killing fun even after multiple watching (which I strongly advise). It's upside is a combination of low-budget action solutions like people shooting from umbrellas or speaking to the blinking mirror and cheesy set production utilizing local entertainment park, scruffy disco club, cheap hotels and all the other low-profile Filipino landmarks. Without these contrasting qualities, that flick would probably never break through like it did, leaving a smoking hole in the brain of every grindhouse cinema addict, who watched it after sucking on a bong and downing six pack just to be blown off the couch and pass the word. In fact, you cannot really stay unshaken by lines like: "You're such a little guy, very petit like a potato" or scenes where Weng Weng shows off his bravado by flying on the umbrella from 5th floor, landing on the top of a car. These are genuine B-movie nuggets, which simply cannot stay overlooked, so if you don't know what flicks with Weng Weng are about, you definitely cannot afford missing the opportunity to seriously and irreversibly fry your brain.

Don't Torture a Duckling (1972)

Among many Fulci's exceptional flicks, there are maybe three or four, considered his masterpieces. Although nobody will settle on the ultimate shortlist, almost everybody will point to "Don't Torture a Duckling" as his most important film! Whatever you'll put below is all right, providing this gem will make a top of the podium. I usually pair it with "One On The Top Of The Other" (1969), which is another overlooked nugget from maestro's ouevre, except the latter one loses in favour of "Don't Torture a Duckling" due to deus ex machina ending and extra narrative filling, overlaying the final scenes. Other than that, it's almost as yummy as the winner!

Italians often like to juxtapose "Don't Torture a Duckling" to Fellini's "Amarcord" (1973) on a level of playing with a picture of local community, strongly embedded in traditional culture. Certainly, these movies have come from different reigns and schools, but they've been fruits of the same period and offered akin takes on microcosm of social relations in Italy. Then, Fulci's work definitely retains occult thriller's quality, while Fellini's piece chooses to be more of a comedy-drama, not saying their aspirations and markets are totally different. Still, Fulci blew up a giallo drawer into space with his ideas, crossing the lines drawn by Mario Bava, Sergio Martino, Dario Argento and himself. What he landed with, was a movie undeniably guided by artistic sense of beauty and cinematic debauchery, underpinned by quaint scenes of sheer brutality and perverse comments on Italian traditionalism, which is why it should be considered a league jumper in my opinion.



This wasn't just another sleazy "whodunit", but skilful application of an outstanding talent to a genre movie. Fulci's work was a milestone and till this day easily beats other giallo flicks. "Don't Torture a Duckling" steps over Bava's "Blood & Black Lace" (1964) or "Bay Of Blood" (1971), Argento's "Four Flies On a Grey Velvet" (1972), "Deep Red" (1974) and "Suspiria" (1976) and other good gialli like "Death Laid An Egg" (1968), "Your Vice is a Locked Room and Only I Have The Key" (1972), "Black Belly Of The Tarantula" (1971) or Fulci's own genre works like "Lizard In Woman's Skin" (1971), "Black Cat" (1981) or "New York Ripper" (1982). Whereas all mentioned above play within giallo net, Fulci's picture breaks away from it's fixed limitations, offering instead a way of opening to a larger perspective, which in this case has become a real swansong.

Obviously, Fulci still welcomes the occult thriller as his chosen movie convention, but he goes after bigger butterflies now by playing up the expectations, squeezing the last drop of sweat from the cast, taking long, artistic shots, which are no longer simple tools of enclosing a few characters tangled in their own intrigue, but serve to outline them as living elements of a bigger community, pictured with all raving density. As none other picture, "Don't Torture a Duckling" is carried by maestro's unequivocal poetics – director carefully plays out both acts, into which the film is divided, saturating them with doubts, superstition, ethical choices and red herrings on the top. Significantly it's here, where Fulci starts to develop his trademark style, distinguished by deep camera movements, frog and half-frog perspective frames – applied en masse to his later slasher, gore & occult horrors.

The movie was shot around Sant'Angelo and Manziano in Puglia (deep south of Italy) making use of stunning, natural backdrop of the area. In fact, profound light of Italian summer is visible everywhere here, making "Don't Torture a Duckling" an exceptional picture from the side of set production and photography. Moreover, it was Fulci's first movie digging deeply into traditional, Italian folk culture – blowing these themes to a quasi epic, mythical dimension – which has been kind of a higher call ground for most of the Italian directors. On the top, the story seems inspired at large by anthropological analysis of Southern culture, ambitiously capturing pagan beliefs and fears of the local community within screenplay.



As young boys from the local town die one by one, slaughtered by mysterious, psychotic maniac, a police hunt begins, quickly returning first results, which are unfortunately of a hesitatant nature. Although they all provide precious insight into the state of mental affairs of the local community, they remain worthless in terms of pinpointing the killer. As investigation moves forward, a journalist (Tomas Milian) arrives to town, tempted by a great story. He soon joins forces with one of the local outsiders – a gorgeous daughter (Barbara Bouchet) of a famous Italian industrialist, who's been forced to inhabit a countryside exile in order not to bring more exposure to the pending corruption affair of her father. In the meantime a local witch – Maciara (Florinda Bolkan) falls under suspicion taking the blame, but easily gets off the hook after being caught in crossfire of interrogation and confessing all she's been doing... were black magic rituals!

Despite being innocent, she gets promptly executed by local peasants, who still consider her guilty by default. The famous scene of her death in the cemetery is filled with deep passion and cruelty, but counterweighted by Fulci's satirical agenda, who used 60's soul and Italian pop music in the background achieving a tragicomical effect. Before she dies on the side of the road, we're being loaded with subtle, social commentary on the nature of modern, Italian society. That scene doesn't come alone in this showcase of genre's possibilities, but stays in your mind for long. While plot moves ahead and more red herrings die, the only possible killer comes forward. The finale uncovers not only the source of his psychosis, but also gives an opportunity for Fulci to strike another, electrifying social critique.



Although amazing in terms of artistic vision, "Don't Torure a Duckling" didn't have an easy life after the premiere. Fulci has been tried by the court, accused of exposing the child to Barbara Bouchet's nudity on the set. He had to prove, he was shooting the scene with her naked body from different angles, which technically let him do it with both actors playing it separately! Catholic church didn't like the movie either, disputing it's anti-religious allusions and alleged, occult agenda. Then came the usual onslaught after Fulci's love for on-screen violence, this time concerning exploitation of violence against minors. The fallout affected European distribution of the movie, making it a rather smalltime player, which got shelved shortly. As in the USA it was released for the first time in 1999 - although English audio was ready in 1972 - only recently it had a real chance to finally reach the public. Nevertheless, the revival of film's popularity confirmed it's status and brought it back to a critical acclaim, for which it fully deserves!

Ring Of Darkness (1979)

Very rare satanic horror (Italian title: "Un'ombra nell'ombra") directed by Pier Carpi – a recognised author of giallo novels, who shot only two feature movies – shining with beautiful synth-psych soundtrack of Italian composer, Stelvio Cipriani. A strong genre classic, which undoubtedly falls behind such masterpieces as "Possession" (1981), "The Devils" (1971), "Mother Joan Of The Angels" (1960) or "AntiChrist" (1976), but on the other hand doesn't come up with any pretensions of high-end artistic work, efficiently exploring it's own niche instead. What catches an eye at most is a skilful cinematography, fantastic in it's gloominess, that has a decisive grip on the dark atmosphere... blow by blow pushing the action towards a focal point. What sets it up though is hectic, vibrating Cipriani's music of almost psychedelic quality, at ease pulling the viewer into the diabolical ring.

The story is simple, but easily grabs you by the balls. As secret coven of the witches finds it's purpose in satanic ceremonies offering bodies to the Lucifer, all children they give birth to, inherit satan's peculiar, dark traits. That becomes a real problem, when one by one they start to reveal daemonic powers. Especially one girl – Daria, seems to be in very close contact with the evil one. She kills her miserable father using black magic and then starts to terrorize school mates and a teacher, slowly killing them with the help of satan. That eventually brings the attention of her witch-mother, who decides, that her daughter needs to be seriously dealt with and calls for the coven's quick intervention.



The witches prepare a banishing ritual, for which a presence of the priest is necessary, who is to help in cleansing child's soul by stepping in with holy communion... but it's too late as Daria's evil powers made her immune for any magic and The Lord Of Darkness himself gave her an important mission to fulfill. Sturdy with his support Daria torpedoes coven's effort to strip her off dark powers and then wins over her own mother, who draws the magic ring and evokes the powers of light trying in a desperate attempt to purge the child. When all barriers are broken, Daria can finally follow the call of satan and get the job done! Film gains a lot by it's sudden and unexpected ending!

"Ring Of Darkness" is obviously one of these 70's pictures, which rolled on the high wave of commercial success of "The Exorcist" (1973) spinning and blowing themes, which made Friedkin's flick a box office blast. Nonetheless, satanic horror as a form was worked out earlier by Roman Polański in his brilliant "Rosemary's Baby" (1969), which on the other hand owed a lot to the primal one, a real blueprint of "satan on the reel" – "Mother Joan Of The Angels" (1960), directed by Jerzy Kawalerowicz. Although this masterpiece of Polish Film School was never meant to pass as a horror – going rather down the line of historical drama, spiked with extraordinary psychology of the characters, pulled off exuberantly by great actors with deep theatrical background – today it's commonly dubbed a genre classic. Despite there was never a chance for "Ring Of Darkness" to reach this level of professional commitment, it undeniably shakes the pulse... even if in a sappy way.

Despite a lead being played by Anne Heywood, a great treat for B-cinema lovers is a small role of Marisa Mell – one of Lucio Fulci's favourite actresses cast in unforgettable "One On The Top Of The Other" (1969), who beforehand acted in Mario Bava's "Danger: Diabolik" (1967). However vague a screenplay of "Ring Of Darkness" might seem, scouting "Suspiria" meets "The Exorcist" potential, the occult/witch undercurent surpasses both by opening wide to frontal nudity and EXPLOITING ceremonial magick with traditional rituals of daemonology and hint of wicca. That's one of the reasons, for which this movie could be addressed to those ones dwelling mostly in occult cinema and to Anton Szandor LaVey followers as well. Moreover, the movie stands next to giallo flicks, which paved the way for modern Italian and American gore, occult and slasher horrors. Satanic themes diggers will definitely enjoy it!

Ilsa: The Tigress Of Siberia (1977)

One of the last spinoffs in "Ilsa" series was produced in Canada and directed by Jean LaFleur. Although not as bright and bold as the original – "Ilsa: She-Wolf Of The SS" (1975), it definitely has a potential of delivering some cheap thrills to Dyanne Thorne's ardent fans. And we know for sure, they're out there, right? The movie breaks down in two acts – first one being set in Siberian gulag, in 1953 and second one in Montreal (Canada), in 1977. Ilsa is modelled again as a sadistic bitch, but this time she's a Russian officer having deep affinity for Stalin's and Beria's political line, including their glorious PR management. She has a lot of fun in the camp when tossing prisoners – who were out of line – to her dear tiger. Other kicks of Ilsa are pulling poor inmates under ice and private vodka drinking contests for her accomplices – two bravest chaps, who can drink shitloads and still stand on their feet, will nail her pussy together the same night in privacy of her bedroom.

Problems for Ilsa start when a stubborn prisoner – Yakurin, defies Stalin's and Beria's call to conform and shape up for the glory of the USSR. Virtually nothing can break this fucker and bring him to a flashpoint, neither cold showers nor electroshocks, not even hot body of Ilsa herself, who offers it in a desperate pass at him. But even these petty games soon fade away as Stalin kicks the bucket and his ideas for making everybody happy suddenly get revised pushing Ilsa and her torture loving helpers to burn the camp to the ground and flee to Canada in the saddle (probably through ice)... but Yakurin survives, first killing the bloodthirsty tiger with a shovel.



24 years went fast and it's 1977 now! Yakurin is a KGB agent, taking care of Russian sportsmen druring Olympic games in Montreal. They're just about to leave back home, but guys want to get laid first, so they head to the best brothel in town. The action promptly pumps up when this quiet hideout occurs to be under Ilsa's command – in the meantime she became the head of Russian mafia in Canada and handled ruthlessly all the foreign competition (we even get to see one of these poor Italian mafiosi quitting extortions to grow tomatoes on the farm). She orders to capture Yakurin, but when that's done, KGB operatives recognize old Siberian warden and Moscow orderes to solve the problem immediately. The brutes finally go belly up and you'll even see Ilsa crying like a baby!

Although there are many cracks in the screenplay, in the end you have to look at it as another silly sexploitation/prisonsploitation flick, which this time got enriched with international espionage & organized crime themes. It's not that bad if you focus on Dyanne Thorne's big booobs occasionally swinging out in threesome scenes – nice ones by the way. Even fighting and shooting sequences make sense from time to time and that includes featured usage of medieval weapons. Despite initial backdrop poverty – my thoughts were like: "This gulag looks so cheap, cause all the budget went into getting and feeding a tiger" – while the movie goes ahead, it's actually getting better and better. Whorehouse has a nice design and very 70's feel and Ils'a residence was well scouted. It's still level down comparing with the original mentioned above, but all fans of "Ilsa" series should enjoy it.



[The movie can be purchased from Cinema de Bizarre]

Cocksucker Blues (1972)

As it was likely to happen and eventually it did, the most notorious documentary about a rock group ever made never got a chance for a public release. While an artistic vision of Robert Frank embodied in "Cocksucker Blues" doesn't offer any justification itself, it's potentially damaging effects on the image of the group who ordered it, definitely do. Despite coming through as one of the grittiest documentaries you'll ever see, it grabs The Rolling Stones by the balls handing these lads over on a hot smokin' plate. However it's more than that as one of the most famous photographers of the last century and a real Beat Generation documentarist not only shot ravishing footage of famous British rock stars, but also stamped his persona on the reel. What he said about "Cocksucker Blues" afterwards appears very significant too: What goes on on the tour was worse than what you see. Even if after watching the movie it hits as a strong statement, it's probably true anyway.

Although definitely a masterpiece of beat cinema, it was actually made when Beat Generation cohorts have already burnt out as comets while the remaining ones – whose pieces of life-as-art have flown freely around and inspired the others – joined the second circuit of culture. Still, it might be seen as the ultimate prank of counterculture's godfathers. "Cocksucker Blues" was initially ordered and produced by Marshall Chess, the president of freshly started Rolling Stones Records and filmed on multiple locations in United States, which The Rolling Stones were passing on their Exile On Main Street '72 Tour. Being first US tour of the group since 1969, when they played infamous gig on Altamount Higway in California (during which 4 people died), the expectations of the American public were very high. It shows clearly in the movie when die-hard fans are being interviewed outside local venues sometimes declaring their need of seeing the group is strongest than will to live... My life is half-wrecked anyway – we get to hear from one of the hippie burnouts.

"Cocksucker Blues" underground fame has been rising for a long time and finally achieved a real cult status. It's scarcity helped! First screening of the film in 1976 was closed to the public as Robert Frank has got involved in a long lawsuit over the rights to it's release with The Rolling Stones themselves – musicians tried to block it, scared to death by it's nihilistic agenda. The court ruled in favour of Frank's demand eventually – the movie could have been shown... but only if director was present in person. This ruling obviously stopped it's theatrical release and was a primal reason why "Cocksucker Blues" never made to DVD. As screenings became very rare, the only existing copy of the movie was finally bootlegged (as usually by these cool anonymous film lovers) and effectively circles around in the Internet today. This is our luck as this shit is a real must-see for those who have a passion for drug fueled madness rarities from the epoch of spiraling hedonism.



Robert Frank's insider, homemade 16 mm style is a foggy tunnel of casually edited scenes from the tour. A camera jumps in and dives into the hotel rooms where The Stones sleep and do drugs, where they fuck and play cards, where they drink and mumble to the camera... usually strung out or zipping up their pants after a good dick wetting, or just waiting for a quick fix and a bottle of whisky to be delivered. The king of decadence and intravenous drug use quickly pops forward – it's Keith Richards, who occasionally rumbles around throwing TV sets from hotel balconnies for fun. Otherwise he's just getting fucked on junk, continually cooked on demand by one of his skinny girlfriends. In one of the best scenes he cannot even stand... he's just there on a bench zonked out like a can of mushed peas, leaning on his girl who's equally wasted.

Except hotel footage, The Stones are captured on stage usually giving a top notch performance. When they join forces with Stevie Wonder and his band, the scene goes on fire while Uptight becomes Satisfaction and Mick grabs Stevie and together they kick off a live soul dance to a romping, cracking-ass work of extended brass, rhythm and guitar section. Steamy stuff, which becomes a cloud of blurriness when band comes off stage to get loaded all over again. Frank catches genuine moments of ultimate bendover as Mick Jagger gets so washed up that his monologues become nothing more than worn humming without any sense or clue. In the meantime roadies go on a frenzy of fixing their veins or coke snorting with occasional group fucking – a famous scene of screwing stripped groupies on a private plane would be probably enough to wake up most of The Stones fans. We even get some famous drug fiends featured – Terry Southern is cleaning his nose passing the bump to Tina Turner and then being involved in a long chat over precious qualities of white powder. Mick Jagger comes through as a coke fan too... but from time to time he'll pass a joint and get hungry.

60's were over for The Rolling Stones, guys! Hard stuff dominates in "Cocksucker Blues" and while lads are tumbling down, their golden period wears off, they get to be seen as a bunch of not so highly aspiring rock'n'rollers with simple vices. Frank's approach is great as it doesn't sugarcoat the shit! His film is very dark and gloomy lacking any voice-over with the only exception being a quote from William S. Burroughs in the end of the movie. A very witty choice indeed as the life of the band has just become a non-stop sex and drug party with rollercoaster amplitude of moods and sliding concentration on music matter. Occasional, non-verbal commentary like showing TV with '72 presidential campaign going on or dexedrine ad, fills this picture of a killing music tour by the biggest rock stars remained on stage. You wanna find out what The Stones got into when the 60's went down crashing? Just grab this and forget about other documentaries.