Directed by Antti Jokinen
Starring Hillary Swank, Jeffery Dean Morgan, Christopher Lee Rated R UK/USA
"This time you get to be awake."
Hillary Swank won two Academy Awards. I don't know that much about how Hollywood works, but wouldn't that somehow make you rich enough so that you wouldn't have to star in schlocky horror flicks? Well, to be fair, The Resident is high-class schlock, so I guess that makes it alright. Directed by a Finnish music-video guru for the recently revamped Hammer, it's a tawdry tale about a compulsive masturbator who builds a labyrinth of hidden walls in the New York apartment building he manages and drills peepholes into people's apartments. Then he rents out to pretty ladies so that he can spy on them. It's a pretty sweet set-up for a lonely guy, really.
Of course, this particularly lonely guy, Max, is portrayed by Jeffery Dean Morgan, AKA the Comedian from Watchmen, which seems like very strange casting to me. I mean, look at that fuckin' guy. If he's got to hide in the walls for sexual gratification, where does that leave the rest of us? Why not get an actual sniveling creep for the role, like...I dunno, Eddie Deezen or Booger from Revenge of the Nerds? Or even the entire cast of Revenge of the Nerds. We could turn this fucker into a teen sex comedy. But I digress.
Swank stars as Juliet, an uptight emergency room surgeon who just broke up with her boyfriend Jack (Lee Pace,Pushing Daisies) for cheating on her. Since he's sullied their love nest, she's forced to find a new place to live, so she answers an ad suspiciously taped to a bulletin board at work for a cheap ($3800 a month is cheap? New York is fucking crazy) apartment in an old, stately building. Said building is run by Max (Dean Morgan) and his ancient grandpa August (Christopher Lee, in his first Hammer flick since '79's To the Devil a Daughter). She likes it and Max likes her, so she takes it and moves in.
Almost immediately, Juliet starts to get creeped out by all the weird noises she hears at night. Luckily she's distracted by her handsome and helpful landlord, and the two start to develop a relationship. Sadly for Max, she's not over Jack yet, as evidenced by a hilariously overwritten scene where Max tries to make out with her and she says "I can't, I only know Jack's lips!" Haha, what? Anyway, that bums Max out, but luckily, he's still able to peep at her through all the holes he's drilled into the walls, so pretty much every night he just stares at her taking baths and rubbing lotion on her belly while he quietly masturbates and weeps in the secret hallway behind her place.
By the way, for a film that's clearly going for a tasteful display, there's a ton of Swank-in-her-skivvies shots, and at least two shower/bathtub scenes. They're shot through a plastic curtain, but I'm gonna say that still counts.
Also, while we're on the subject of gratuitous female objectification, if you're still on the hot-or-not fence regarding Hillary, this movie will only confuse you further. In the multitude of Swank jogging shots - she goes for like 20 runs in this movie - she looks very much like a sorta homely teenage boy.
And then there's a bunch of other shots where she's drop-dead gorgeous. What the hell, Hillary Swank? What kind of boner-confusing alchemy is this?
Anyway, back to business. Juliet starts to suspect something weird is afoot, especially when she keeps getting up late for work every morning. This probably has something to do with the fact that Max has been using crazy grandpa's knock-out meds to dose Juliet every night so that he can bang her in her sleep.
She gets a bunch of cameras rigged up so she can find out what's going on. Once she sees the horrifying evidence, things get crazy.
She and Max battle it out with power tools and knives and bloody mayhem ensues.
I don't think I've ever watched a Hillary Swank movie before. She's mostly into drama, and I'm mostly into laffs and boobs. And while The Resident will not compel me to watch any of her boring highbrow films, I will say I thought she was great in this. So was Dean Morgan, even though, as mentioned, he's way too good-looking for the role. I can see, however why accomplished actors were cast for this - the first hour is just a very slow-boil, and with the usual blonde Hollywood lame-brains, it would have been a fairly excruciating experience. And you are rewarded for your patience with the climactic orgy of blood and screaming. The Resident is no genre classic, but it is a tight and well-crafted stalker flick, and very much in step with the sort of stuff Hammer did in the 70's, minus the accents and wigs and whatnots. Good stuff.
Directed by Lucio Fulci
Starring Jean Sorel, Marisa Mell, Elsa Martinelli Rated R Italy
"Listen honey, don't think so hard. Get undressed."
By the time he had gotten around to directing Perversion Story (A.K.A. One On Top Of The Other/Una sull'altra) Fulci had twenty directing credits under his belt. Despite his immense talent, he was not immune to the currents of Italy's film cycles. He'd directed westerns, spy thrillers, and now he faced the giallo genre. This is a cycle that a part of me wishes had never gone away, because as much as I love his horror output, his giallo features exude much more charm. And Perversion Story is a shining example of what makes the maestro, the "Maestro".
Set in San Francisco during the swinging sixties, Perversion Story weaves a tail of lust, and betrayal. While some betrayals are forgivable. Dr. Geroge Dumurrier (Jean Sorel) faces a betrayal that threatens to destroy his life. When his asthmatic wife Susan (Marisa Mell) dies suddenly. He has to return home from the arms of his beautiful mistress Jane (Elsa Martinelli) to handle the details. Meanwhile, his practice is in danger of failing. And Jane is gearing up to dump his married ass.
Despite all the drama surrounding him, this massive cloud seemingly has a silver lining. Susan had a secret life insurance policy, naming him the sole beneficiary of two million dollars upon her death (Some sources online cite the amount as one million dollars, this may partially be Severin's fault. However at the 21:09 mark, two million is the figure stated.). With his money problems evaporating, and having escaped a loveless marriage George Constanza style, Dr. Geroge is preparing to move on with his life.
However with a two million windfall, the shadow of suspicion falls on Geroge with all of the grace of a brick to the face. It doesn't help that he is having liaisons with a stripper/prostitute (Monica Weston, also portrayed by Marisa Mell) who just so happens to look exactly like his deceased wife. Naturally, the insurance company prods the police to initiate a full blown investigation, and as the case builds against him, it becomes clear to Geroge that he is being framed for the murder of his wife. But by who? And why?
Fortunately for him, Geroge does not have to figure this out all on his own. He has an ally in his mistress, Jane. From the very start it is clear that Jane is in love with the beleaguered doc. And as the evidence against him mounts, she refuses to let go. But as Geroge finds himself rotting on death row (on location in San Quentin), he has to wonder if her gumption and loyalty will be enough to save him.
Perversion Story is in a word, sumptuous. Fulci is running on full cylinders here and it shows. Taking full advantage of the San Francisco location, the city here takes on the role of a character in the movie, not unlike the city of New York does in Woody Allen films. We even get a guided tour of the gas chamber in San Quentin. This is a location where real killers have been executed, and this adds a gravity to the proceedings that most Giallo's lack.
But it is not all doom and gloom for the viewer. Fulci also takes us on a tour through some of the seedier aspects of the city. There is even an extended scene in a topless bar that features nudies on swings, beach balls, theater, and plenty of interesting characters to fill out the background. Such as an old lady in a fur coat. Why would an old lady be here? What does she want? And why is she so unhappy? We never know.
The film itself is a visual feast. How much of this is due to Alejandro Ulloa's, cinematography, and Fulci's direction, we may never know. But the fact remains that you could view Perversion Story on mute and still be entertained. The visuals teem with imagination, and creativity. Unconventional perspective shots, and gorgeous and well thought out compositions abound, all accompanied by bold strokes of primary colors that pop onscreen. There is a scene where Dr. Geroge is making passionate love to Jane. And as they writhe about atop the red sheets, the camera shows us the view from below, seeing them from the opposite side of the sheets. It's amazing shots like this that take the film to the next level.
As I mentioned, you could view it on mute and still be impressed, but why would you want to when Riz Ortolani provides a hip, jazzy score that instantly marries itself to the film. Much like John Williams with Star Wars, Ortolani's score guides us through the proceedings with bombast and cool beats, not in a distracting manner, but instead guiding and informing us. It truly sets the hip shaking mood for the picture.
As you've probably gathered, I really love this flick. Fulci has a sizeable cult following for his horror output, and deservedly so. But one would be remiss to overlook his giallo entries. Perversion Story is a fantastic film by a legendary Italian filmmaker at his peak, with full studio backing. It comes highly recommended.
Availability: Perversion Story is available on DVD with bonus soundtrack CD included at Amazon.
Directed by Bruno Mattei
Starring Laura Gemser, Gabriele Tinti Unrated Italy
I’d like to bite you nipples off! And I’ll do it!
The Women-In-Prison genre has a shopping list: sexy inmates, hair-pulling catfights, group showers, butch wardens, lesbians, daring escapes, brutal beat-downs, and wall-to-wall nudity. These are the classic WIP ingredients, and if a film can tick all the boxes, it’s a success.
However, Women’s Prison Massacre (aka Hell In a Women’s Prison) exuberantly overloads the sleaze-o-meter, delivering not only the bare-naked essentials, but a thrilling excess of indecency and slaughter. The film is directed by prolific sleaze-meister Bruno Mattei, the Italian Ed Wood. While only occasionally competent as a filmmaker, Mattei rallied whatever talent he possessed and made WPM a terrifically entertaining flick.
Laura Gemser plays Emmanuelle, the frisky photojournalist popularized in the long-running “Black Emmanuelle” sexploitation series. Emmanuelle’s is in the clink on a bogus charge, after uncovering the DA’s secret corruption. At her side are shapely sidekicks Laura (Maria Romano) and Irene (Antonella Giacomini). During the opening credits, the three perform some experimental theater, each brazenly introduces her character to the camera, before being upstaged by Albina (Ursula Flores), a vicious and awesomely-named albino.
After a riot erupts in the auditorium, the warden (a frumpy but still attractive Lorraine de Selle), harshly chews out our heroine: “I won’t ask you to give me an explanation for this filthy rubbish…It deals solely in cruelty. It’s packed with violence and sex. The whole thing seems designed to disturb, to provoke unrest, rebellion and escape.” Apparently she knows what kind of movie she’s acting in.
With her bugging-out eyes and cheese-grater voice, Albina is a formidable (albeit ridiculous) jail yard bully, and a stooly for the warden. When she spies the luscious Laura and Irene getting friendly in the washroom, she rats them out. The two are both half-drowned in the sink as punishment.
Emmanuelle is continually harassed by the sadistic bull-dyke guards, tussles with Albina in the washroom, the gets jumped by the knife-wielding she-freak in the prison yard. It doesn’t go well for Albina.
As if Emmanuelle didn’t have enough problems, a turd is about to splash into the proverbial punch bowl. By turd, I mean a quartet of multi-ethnic psychopaths. We have Irish rapist O’hara (Rober Mura), half-Indian Geronimo (Raul Cabrera), razor-carrying Aryan “Blade” Bauer (Pierangelo Pozzato), and their leader, Crazy Boy Henderson (the prolific Gabriele Tinti, Gemser’s husband and frequent co-star). These murderous scumbags are en route to the electric chair, but apparently Old Sparky’s getting reupholstered, so the gang is shipped to the women’s prison to await their doom. They are chaperoned by three cops, but a gangster ambush decreases that number by two. Still, straight-shooting lawman Harrison (Carlo de Mejo, House By the Cemetery) delivers them the prison.
Faster than you can say “what-could-possibly-go-wrong,” Blade slices a guard’s throat, and Crazy Boy wounds Harrison with a rifle. Now equipped with guns and hostages, they start bargaining with the police outside the prison; they want a car, five-million bucks, and a private jet out of the country. While the helpless cops scurry to meet these requests, the four bastards are now lords of the prison.
With hundreds of frisky caged babes at their disposal (most of them off-screen due to budgetary constraints), the fearsome foursome go on the prowl.
O’hara molests the warden at gunpoint (“Good piece of ass, the warden, hot and horny.”).
Overcome with vanilla fever, Geronimo sates himself with ever-calculating Albina.
Blade swings his thing around the cellblock, until some penis-hungry vixens grope him to climax.
Crazy Boy, ever the gentleman, rapes Emmanuelle against a wall, as the helpless Harrison watches.
(Fun fact, Gemser and Tinti were real-life spouses. Awww…)
After that carousel of carnality, our villains’ luck starts to change. I won’t spoil the gory details, but it involves a failed SWAT raid, a crappy escape vehicle, and one of the most gruesome Russian Roulette games ever filmed. Also, in a flinch-worthy precursor to Teeth, Blade finds his lost razor hidden in a very unexpected place.
After all this blood flinging, the film’s “climax” is a boner-shriveling disappointment. I won’t ruin it, but this is hardly the revenge set piece viewers will be itching for. A serious missed opportunity. Still, Women’s Prison Massacre is a terrific journey, even if the destination is crappy.
For a cheap-and-dirty exploitation flick, WPM has a lot going for it. Director Mattei recycled both the set and the cast from his earlier film Violence In A Women’s Prison. The cast is pure dynamite. Our four villains have great group chemistry, but hyperactive Pierangelo Pozzato steals every scene as Blade Bauer. With his idiot mugging, bizarre noises, and razor-slicing antics, the wacky white supremacist is the film’s clown, and is rewarded with an unforgettable centerpiece death. Also, Ursula Flores is hilarious as the seething powder-sugar-white Albina.
The three female leads (Gemser, Romano, and Giacomini) are all stunning. Gemser is as lean and elegant as ever, slinky and feline, alternately radiating erotic warmth and cold disdain. Sadly, we never get a proper eyeful of her toned and limber physique. Not all is lost on the nudity front, however. Laura and Irene both get considerable skin-time. As much as I admire Gemser’s exotic beauty, Miss Romano takes the cake: fleshy thighs, cute round boobies, and a scraggly ‘80s bush you could get lost in. She looks like a curvier, sultrier Jessica Harper
Women’s Prison Massacre couldn’t be farther from the light-hearted sexiness of other “Black Emmanuelle” entries. Even at their grimmest, those films had a tone of joyous adventure, as wide-eyed Emmanuelle shagged her way across the globe. WPM is mean-spirited film, with a body count far exceeding the orgasm tally.
Still, if you’re seeking a carefree jiggle-fest, a film titled Women’s Prison Massacre probably won’t look promising. That title promises sex, humiliation, and murder, and boy-oh-boy does it deliver. There’s no reason a mature, well-adjusted individual should watch this film, but if you dig the WIP genre (Lord knows I do) this will be your holy grail. Dig in, sleazoid! -Paulo Phibes
Directed By Robert Vincent O'Neill
Starring Peter Carpenter, Maria De Aragon, and Vicki Peters Rated R USA
"Didn't you know? I'm listed in the yellow pages under sex."
Wealthy Mr. Ridgeley Waterman (Eric Allison) is in a dark place. He is sick in bed, maybe dying. And his nymphomaniac daughter Victoria (Maria De Aragon) keeps chasing his nurse off, insisting that she take care of him instead. Oh yeah, the only reason she is even hanging around is because she is after his money, every last cent of it. So when she finally manages to appear with breakfast, he is cranky, and very, very, suspicious.
Meanwhile, Mr. Watermans' physician, Dr. Craig Cooper (Peter Carpenter, who also has a writing credit) has problems of his own. He enjoys a good relationship with his girlfriend Cheryl (Reagan Wilson), but is also being blackmailed for fifty-thousand dollars, (What did he do? Abortions to pay for college.) and could potentially lose his practice. He also has to deal with Victoria eye fucking him whenever he visits her dad. Finally he surrenders to her charms. And when Craig confesses his financial dilemma to Victoria during a post-coital snuggle, she claims to have the solution to his problems, all he has to do is be hers. The solution? Hint: It involves Mr. Waterman being dead.
Cheryl also gets wind of the blackmail scheme, and offers her body to the blackmailer in exchange for clearing the slate for Craig. He agrees, and subjects her to some pretty rough sex, and then promptly reneges on his promise. Meanwhile Craig is out boning Victoria. And when her father dies (murdered), he covers for her. Soon enough, Mr. Waterman's last will and testament is to be read. And Victoria is all geared up to collect. Except there is a catch, the lawyers have to get into touch with Victoria's long absent sister, Gail (Vicki Peters). Of course Gail inherits pretty much everything. Victoria has another target to wipe out. Dr. Craig falls for Gail, and the plot thickens.
Maria De Aragon performs a fantastic job as the mentally unstable Victoria. Her character insatiably lusts for both men and money, but she manages to keep it upper crust all the way. Also keep an eye out for her in Star Wars: A New Hope. She is under all of that Greedo makeup.
Reagan Wilson is also a highlight. She is nothing less than beautiful, and not shy at all about letting us get a good look at her. She only has a few scenes in the movie. And her role is not crucial to the story by any means. However she is a joy to watch. She does a very good job of conveying the vulnerability of her character, and her presence elevates the film.
Despite its exploitation film status, Blood Mania is a tasteful little thriller. It has fleeting nudity, and the violence is nowhere near as intense as the poster suggests. Some of the camera angles are inventive, but they don't get too crazy. In fact, most of the film is comprised of medium angle shots, giving it the vibe of a tv movie. That said, despite its lurid title, Blood Mania keeps it classy, and I recommend you check it out.
Availability: Blood Mania is available on DVD from Amazon.
Directed by Harry Elfont, Deborah Kaplan
Starring Rachel Leigh Cook, Rosario Dawson, Tara Reid PG-13 USA
"If I could go back in time, I'd want to meet Snoopy."
Josie and the Pussycats was a short-lived but much-loved early 70's cartoon about an interracial all-girl band and their misadventures in life, love, and rock n' roll, with a bonus smattering of Scooby Doo-styled sleuthing. Josie and her pussycats originally appeared in Archie comics in the late 60's After the runaway success of the 1968 Archie cartoon show, the inevitable spinoffs - including Sabrina the Teenage Witch and the Groovie Goolies - began hitting the airwaves in rapid succession. Josie and the gang made their debut in the 1970-71 television season, and then spent the next couple years in space. There were only 32 episodes in total, but both Pussycats series were rerun throughout the 70's, insuring the cartoon's legacy for decades afterwards. The show held appeal for both sexes - boys, naturally, loved seeing cute girls in skimpy outfits. And for girls, Josie and the Pussycats was one of the surprisingly few cartoons of the era that featured strong, intelligent women in leading roles. And of course, everyone loves a sweet pop tune and a spooky adventure.
Writer-directors Harry Elfont and Deborah Kaplan wrote the screenplays for both A Very Brady Sequel and The Flinstones in Viva Rock Vegas, two films that mined kid's shows from the same era and put a modern, satirical twist on their mythologies, so they were clearly the go-to team to bring Josie and the gang into the modern era. Sadly, said era was a low-point in American culture, so the girls landed headfirst in the world of boy-bands, relentless self-referencing, and the waning days of the music video era. But even hobbled by the general goofiness of the era, their tale of friendship, girl-power, and bubblegum pop is still as appealing as ever.
The film with boyband Dujour (Seth Green and two of the dudes from Clueless are in the band) performing their hit "Backdoor Lover" on the tarmac for a legion of screaming teen fans before hopping on their Target-sponsored airplane before zooming off on tour. Things are going swimmingly until they notice a weird backing track on a mix of one of their latest tracks. They bring this odd situation up to their manager, Wyatt (Alan Cumming), who promptly parachutes out of the plane - with the pilot - causing the band to die in a fiery crash on the outskirts of Riverdale. Roll credits!
When we meet the Pussycats, they're playing to nobody at a bowling alley. After collecting their twenty dollar paycheck - minus 12 bucks for shoe rentals - they pack up, getting harassed by the local mean girls on their way out.
If that's not bad enough, Josie's love live isn't working out too well, either. Her crush, Alan M drops by, but all we wants is for her to fix his car, and even when it seems like he's finally going to admit that he likes her too, he just ends up ranting about a coworker with hygiene issues.
Later on that day, their manager Alex (Paolo Costanzo) and his meddling sister Alexandra (the always great Missi Pyle) shows up, but he's more interested in seeing Dujour and confusing Melody ("I can't be two places at once." "But imagine if you could? I could be here, and in there, and over there...") than helping out the Pussycats.
After dinner they watch MTV, where they find out about Dujour's disappearance. They see this as a sign to go to the mall to play a gig, unplugged style. Wyatt's over there, playing Dujour's newest tune, which is filled with subliminal messages. This naturally causes everybody to go into a consumerist frenzy, except for one indie rocker chick, who is thrown into a van and kidnapped. Meanwhile, security chases the Pussycats out of the mall, where they run into Wyatt, who decides to sign them on the spot. Makes sense, they are pretty cute.
The Pussycats are somewhat concerned that Wyatt wants to sign them without actually hearing them, but what they hell, they go for it. They get whisked off to New York where they get a makeover and a billboard and limo. The girls are a little put-off that Wyatt changed their name to Josie and the Pussycats, but he's pretty convincing. I mean, every great band has an "and" in it, right?
Fiona (Parker Posey) is Wyatt's boss. When we meet her, she's taking a bunch of foreign dignitaries on a tour of the record label's facilities. Only, it's not really a record label, it's a massive underground bunker where they use the Megasound 8000 to not only autotune bands, but to implant subliminal messages on their music. That's why we buy stuff!
Meanwhile, the Pussycats record their first record!
And make some videos! And become famous!
Fiona plans a big stadium concert where she plans to debut new cat-shaped headphones that will turn the kids into mindless consumerist drones!
But first, they have a fabulous party. During the soiree, Fiona invites them to her special girls-only all-pink room, where she offers them Twinkies and starts lisping, for some reason. Could it be that hard-as-nails Fiona has a dark secret to hide?
Clearly, there's some high weirdness afoot. Wyatt sends Valerie and Melody off to TRL and forces Josie to work on the new single. He even lies to her and tells her that Alan M cancelled his big dive-bar gig. So that's not cool. Also, its not even the real TRL, Wyatt just set the girls up to get murdered by Carson Daly.
Luckily, they escape and head over to warn Josie about what happened. Unfortunately, listening to the new single has brainwashed Josie into turning into an egotistical diva and the band breaks up!
So things are sad for awhile, but then Josie starts to suspect something's wrong, so she get Alex and Alexandra to help her break into the studio and she discovers the hidden subliminal track!
She tries to go to the cops, but Fiona catches her and threatens to blow up Valerie and Melody unless she plays the big show! She apologizes to the girls for her terrible behavior and agrees to play. Or does she?
Maybe. But first, there's a sweet girl fight!
And then, an important lesson! And then, a happy ending! For everybody, even the bad guys!
Obviously, when they wrote Josie and the Pussycats at the beginning of the last decade, Elfont and Kaplan didn't know the music industry was about to implode, rendering their scathing cautionary tale about consumer manipulation via force-fed youth culture curious and quaint in just a couple of years, but that's exactly what happened. So did the death of irony, which is why all the satirical product placement just looks like matter-of-fact product placement at this point. And casting future nobody Carson Daly as the surprise celebrity cameo - well, even in 2001, that should have seemed like a bad idea. Those are just byproducts of an unfortunate era, though. In every other aspect, Josie and the Pussycats is a relentless joygasm.
The Pussycats themselves are adorable - Leigh Cook couldn't be prettier, Tara Reid is hilarious and endearing as the clueless, eternally optimistic Melody, and Rosario brings the right amount of gravity - and an impressively gravity-defying rack - to the story. The music - by a mostly uncredited Letters to Cleo, is fantastic, Parker Posey - and her whacked-out, Muppety outfits - is amazing, and the whole film is just stuffed, head to toe, with eye-candy. If you are a fan of pretty girls, awesome jams, disposable pop culture and/or gratuitous Parker Posey - and who among us isn't? - then I highly recommend you grab a big bite of this groovy, sugar-sweetened cinematic confection.
