Heavy Traffic (1973)

Directed by Ralph Bakshi

Starring (the voices of) Joseph Kaufmann, Beverly Hope Atkinson, Frank Dekova

Rated X

USA

“Son-of-a-bitch! This broad’s got a hard-on!”

Do you like cartoons? Sure you do. The problem is, the genre is sorely lacking the finer things, like boobs, gunfights, and antisocial behavior. The looming Disney colossus (sucking Pixar like a leech) dominates the animation landscape, and seemingly no one can topple this wholesome family Goliath.

But once upon a time, Ralph Bakshi delivered a few solid kicks to Mickey Mouse’s nads. Bursting with subversive humor, groundbreaking techniques, and antisocial shenanigans, Bakshi’s films are the perfect cure for the Disney blues. Heavy Traffic is his second film, after after the controversial smash-hit Fritz The Cat. Bakshi would later create the notorious Coonskin, an animated Lord of the Rings, and the ill-fated Cool World. After nine features, Heavy Traffic is still considered Bakshi's masterpiece.

Michael Corleone is a virginal 22-year-old loser, sharing a New York apartment with his Italian dad and Jewish mom. He’s a loner, with no job, few friends, and little hope of escaping his dismal surroundings. He keeps himself sane by drawing comics, fueled by the bizarre characters around him.

His luck improves when he starts kinda-sorta dating Carole, a vivacious black girl. Like Michael, she’s down on her luck and craving escape. Is Mike’s artistic talent the lovebirds’ ticket out of the concrete jungle? More importantly, can the two survive long enough to get out?

Heavy Traffic depicts New York as a seedy freakshow, infested with bums, whores, mobsters, and assorted slimeballs. There are no “normal” people, just weirdoes and scumbags. As in much of his work, Bakshi does not sneak around ethnic and social stereotypes—instead he inflates them to the point of caricature, exposing them for the jokes that they are. (This approach landed Bakshi in trouble over his film Coonskin, a blaxploitation riff on Song of the South.) Michael’s nagging, worrying Jewish mother carries a hatchet adorned with a Star of David. His buffoonish, dad oversees dock operations for the Mafia. Side characters include black bums, knife-wielding greasers, and a pallid drag queen named Snowflake. Every character is a (semi-affectionate) spin on a stereotype.

Which leads me to Carole, Michael’s sweetheart. She’s a living embodiment of the soul-sistah archetype: brash, sassy, vulgar, unabashedly sexual. She has the spit-fire tongue and voluptuous figure of a classic blaxploitation heroine. (Also a set of permanently high-beaming titties.) Stereotype or not, Carole is a total fox, the Venus de Milo of ass-cleavage. She has a mouth on her, and a brain in her head; it’s easy to see why Michael falls for her. Okay, yeah, I’m in love with a cartoon. What of it, jive-ass honkey muhfucka?

One common trait in Bakshi’s early work is his unflattering portrayal of the Mafia. Here, the Godfather is a corpulent tyrant, hissing his commands through mouthfuls of spaghetti. I mean, the kid’s name is Michael Corleone. If that isn’t a backhanded tribute to The Godfather, what is?

Heavy Traffic takes place in the same rotten NYC as Taxi Driver and Bad Lieutenant. The cartoon city is rife with violence. Not your usual anvil-to-the-head cartoon slapstick, but brutal real-world bloodshed, portrayed cartoon-style. Here, a gunshot results in a fatal pratfall, a splatter of brains is punctuated with a comedic rim-shot. Just in the film’s opening montage, we see more blood and gore, more tits and dicks than most live-action films show in their entire runtime. Throughout the remaining 77 minutes (most animated films are short, because animation is a pain in the ass), we’re treated to explicit and bizarre nudity, showers of profanity, and some of the most brutal skull-cracking cartoon violence ever seen outside Japan. The putrid cityscape is shown with a collision of live-action and cell animation, adding to the film’s already trippy aesthetic.

Yet for all of its ugliness, Heavy Traffic still possesses an anarchic charm and syrupy-sweet romanticism. It’s a tribute to the weird and gritty New York of olden times, at once comical and heartbreaking. Far out, funny, and sometimes very sad, Heavy Traffic is a must see for animation fans.

Still not convinced? Here’s a gratuitous panty-shot of Carole.

-Paulo Phibes

Tragic Ceremony (1972)

Directed by Riccardo Freda
Starring Camille Keaton, Tony Isbert, Giovanni Petrucci, Maximo Valverde  
Unrated 
Italy

"I think a good hot bath will do you good."

If you are curious about this movie because of the name "Camille Keaton", then welcome to the club. Such is the notoriety of "I Spit on Your Grave", that I went ahead and gave gave this film a shot, despite being warned that this is one best avoided. So lets get on with it.

Tragic Ceremony opens with Jane (Camille Keaton), and her friends Bill (Tony Isbert), Joe (Maximo Valverde), and Fred (Giovanni Petrucci), lounging on a sailboat. Eventually they migrate to camp. Bill loses a bet to the other two guys and writes them checks. He is the son of wealthy parents, so this whole trip is on his dime. He offers Jane a check but she declines, so he gives her a pearl necklace (ahem) as a token of his gratitude. We see through a flashback sequence that the necklace has a history of being blamed for Satanic possession. She remains blissfully unaware of this, and accepts it at face value.

Next they pile into Bills bitchin' dune buggy (Scarabo). After a bit it runs low on gas so they stop at a gas station. But Bill left his ID at camp, and the station attendant refuses his travelers checks. Eventually he concedes and gives them some gas. Barely a blink later and it is raining cats and dogs, and the dune buggy shuts down, right in front of a mansion. This is where the movie takes a left turn into "Old Dark House" territory.

They are invited in by the lady of the house, Lady Alexander (Luciana Paluzzi). The three guys are forced to share one room, whereas Judy not only gets her own room. But Lady Alexander also draws her a bath as well. Here, we get lots of shots of Judy sitting upright in the tub fiddling with the pearl necklace, and staring into space. Also, we get to see her boobs.

Meanwhile downstairs, it is clear that something evil is afoot. We have a roomful of middle-aged to geriatric aged people preparing for a Satanic ritual. Someone shuts the power off, and the boys upstairs are alarmed but stay put. Judy meanwhile, puts on her nightgown, grabs a candelabra, and makes her way downstairs, as if compelled subconsciously. Along the way, she rips the pearl necklace off and drops it on the stairs.

The boys eventually decide to check out whats going on downstairs. Along the way, they find the remains of the pearl necklace, and quicken their pace. Once downstairs, they see Judy on an altar, and Lady Alexander standing above her, preparing to plunge a dagger into her heart. It is as if they are in the middle of, some sort of, what could it be, oh yes, a Tragic Ceremony!

Bill saves her life and whisks her to safety, unintentionally killing Lady Alexander in the process. As this happens, the participants begin to massively freak out, and inexplicably kill themselves, and each other in some ridiculously violent ways.

The gang rush back to the dune buggy which helpfully cranks up this time and they zoom away to Bills parents house. But on the way they find themselves back at the gas station they stopped at earlier. However now it is abandoned, and appears to have been closed for years. Weird. Soon enough they get to Bill's parents house.  Here they find themselves in a hostile environment. Bill's dad is away on a hunting trip, and his mom makes it clear that tonight is not a good night. Predictably after they leave, we see that Bills' mom has a male guest upstairs, hiding out of sight.

Eventually the boys start dying in mysterious ways, within hours of each other. Judy is impassive about their deaths, and refuses to help when she could have made a difference. Then there is a jump in time and we see Judy in a mental hospital. Why is she there? What caused all of those deaths? What was the ceremony all about? What was with the pearl necklace? And who cares?

Most of these questions are kind of answered, in one big eye glazing bout of exposition by a doctor at the very end of the movie, Scooby Doo style. Unfortunately, no amount of exposition or doctors advice is enough to save this movie from terminal suckage.

Tragic Ceremony is an Italian cheapy that pretty much goes nowhere, and fails on almost every standard by which films are held. It seems that Tragic Ceremony is just...tragic. Did I mention that you get to see Camille Keaton's boobs?

Availability: Tragic Ceremony is available on DVD from Amazon.

-BoDuley

Whisper Kill (1988)

Directed by Christian I. Nyby II
Starring Loni Anderson, Joe Penny, June Lockhart
Unrated 
USA 

"You're a sicko, and all of your ancestors are slime!"

I just spent the last hour and a half watching this lame-o TV movie from 1988 because its got Loni Anderson in it. First of all, I'd like to say that I thought it was an R-rated movie. I thought this because Netflix said it was. It is not. But I thought it was, and it's supposed to be about a serial killer and the intrepid reporter (Loni) hot on his tail, and even though I know Loni is never going to get naked, hope springs eternal. And by the time I figured out it was a TV movie (i.e. about three minutes in, Stacey said, "This looks like a TV movie. Yep. This is a TV movie"), it was too late. I was now committed.

So, here's the story: some crazy lady is killing people in some small town and before she does, she calls up the victim and whispers death threats to him/her. And then they get (bloodlessly) stabbed to death. Liz Bartlett (Loni) runs the local paper. Her mom (June Lockhart from Lost in Space) is some sort of Dear Abby-esque celebrity. Dan Walker (Joe Penny, AKA Jake from Jake and the Fatman) is a freelance journalist who shows up in town to figure this whole mess out.

He finds out from mom that Liz spent a few years locked up in an asylum, so, even though he's now in love with her, he assumes Loni is the killer, especially when she dresses up in black jeans and a black turtleneck, which is classic murderous madwoman attire.

Spoiler alert: It's not Loni.
Spoiler alert 2: It's her mother. Which isn't hard to figure out, since she's the only other woman in the movie.

Sorry about blowing the ending for you, but I really wanted to spare you the tedium. The only highpoint of the entire motion picture is this shot:

If I didn't have a 24 hour porn machine at my fingertips, I would be very grateful for that scene.

Thank you, and good night.

- Ken McIntyre

The Resident (2011)

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.



- Ken McIntyre

Perversion Story (1969)

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.

-BoDuley

Women's Prison Massacre (1983)

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