I do some writing on Diabolique. You should consider checking it out.
Before Salon Kitty redirected his career toward sex films, and before Caligula became the most infamous movie in the world, Tinto Brass was just another idealistic young director looking to capture the zeitgeist of the 1960s.
Rainbow Man includes a credit for “Mescaline Hallucination Envisioned By,” so you know you’re in for…well, something. Indeed the film’s plot reads like someone took some mescaline to come up with it.
Know what Samuel Fuller was doing right before he sat down to write Brainquake, and you can better understand why Brainquake turned out as bizarre as it did — aside, that is, from simply being a product of the mind of Samuel Fuller, which was fertile soil for the strange and sublime.
Vian was so dissatisfied with the way his material was being adapted that he demanded his name be removed from the film. He stood up minutes into the screening to shout his disapproval…then dropped dead.
With minimal tweaking, Red-Headed Woman could have been a horror film. Put James Whale behind the camera, cast Colin Clive opposite Jean Harlow, and Red-Headed Woman becomes a pre-Code Fatal Attraction.
A mass of hopped-up teenagers stampede onto a dance floor, jerking and gyrating to a driving, twangy guitar rock anthem. This is not the youth of Britain as audiences were used to seeing them.
Every now and then, though, a filmmaker slips one through that doesn’t kowtow to the need to have everyone punished for having sex or a nip of booze. Such is the case with The Pleasure Girls.
Nikkatsu’s new style of action films were dubbed “borderless” because they strove to adopt an international feel. Although American film noir is pegged as the obvious influence, in many ways it was the later distillation of that genre via French crime films that proved to be the model for Nikkatsu borderless action.
By the end of Future Women, back in whatever year that was I caught it on TV, I was a Jess Franco fan for life. A good many of my personal affectations and stylistic preferences were forged the day I watched my first Jess Franco film at far too early an—or was it exactly the right—age.
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