Monday, July 28, 2008
Really, it's much cheaper than therapy--also, far more fabulous. Thanks, Unkle Lancifer and Aunt John, for the tea and sympathy. Or the petrol and baklava, as the case may be.
FYI--I got over being sensitive, so don't try any funny business, OK folks?
After a musical interlude and travel montage complete with map overlay, the girls and Harris (who, really, might as well be a girl, what with his Mandals and wide-eyed, grating innocence) arrive in LA and before you can quote any Kanye West lyrics at her, Kelly has inexplicably weaseled her way into the heart of her young maiden aunt and gotten a promise of a portion of some mysterious family inheritance. Convenient! Yet-more-conveniently, young maiden aunt is palsy-walsy with uber-producer Z-Man and invites the girl group to a party taking place at his bachelor pad that very evening. Doubleplusconvenient, even!
Just how swank is this party? It's TURBAN WEARING GUY swank! Yes, the turban: much like the fez, it's the visual symbol of seventies decadance. Because we need plot friction at this point, Z-Man immediately takes a shine to Kelly and introduces her to the myriad pleasures of his universe (Sex! Drugs! German bartenders! Ferns in the bathroom!). After an impromptu performance of their actually-kinda-awesome single "Sweet Talkin' Candyman" by the girl group (backed up by the Strawberry Alarm Clock--f'reals), Z-Man rechristens the group The Carrie Nations and dubs himself their manager.
Cut to another dizzying montage, this time with the heads of Harris and Z-Man superimposed over the girls. I'm sorry, but... this looks more like it's developing sexual tension between the two male characters than anything else. I mean--just look at their swoony expressions, their meaningful glances...! There's no room for the ladies here, trust me.
Needless to say, this is the beginning of the downward spiral. I won't spoil the fun for you by detailing what happens, but there's groovy-ass interior decor, seduction, gay seduction, amazing outfits, even-more-amazing boobage, drugs, maiming and cross-dressing. WIN!
Also, super-duper-hott lesbianism. You can take a minute--I'll be here when you're done.
Now that you're composed again, I'll toss some cold water on you, because the coda to this movie is quarter past moralistic. In fact, it's so fucking moralistic that I have to think it's parody. There's a voiceover and everything, narrating out the sins of each character and the price he or she was forced to pay. It's some serious Hays Code level bullcrap, but it's hilarious--make no mistake about that.
As a document of atom-bomb-level groovyness, "Beyond the Valley of the Dolls" delivers--it's silly and wonderful and colorful and naughty and just all-around marvy. Heartily APPROVED, says I.
Friday, July 25, 2008
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
In his haste to accessorize, millionaire playboy Hugo forgets his shirt
"NoaTC" is a movie about a millionaire playboy named Hugo who lives in an old monastery and picks up chicks in his helicopter in order to collect their severed heads, feeding their remains to his room full of cats. That's it--for sixty-three minutes. But... that's really all I need. I like to come up with elaborate back stories for how movies like this got made--what the hell was the pitch? I mean, I would have bankrolled a movie like the one described above, especially if I'd been drinking. But... how did the twisted genius behind "NoaTC" wrest money from investors? It's as if the director had been tasked with making a different movie and then woke up after a Hunter S. Thompson-worthy bender, having spent all the money the producers had given him and now faced with a quandary. "Well, I've got a helicopter, some stock footage of Acapulco, an abandoned monastery and, like, a thousand cats. How am I going to make a movie out of THIS?" Thus, "Night of a Thousand Cats" was born.
Also, there's a flaw in Hugo's plan, and it involves those titular cats. Once he's done decapitating his victims, he feeds the meat to his cats... and then has his manservant Dorgo burn the bodies. Wait a minute--why do you need the cats at all???? I mean, the cats are what make the movie awesome and everything, but... that's just not efficient. I'm not complaining because, frankly, scenes of Hugo hurling cats around or fuzzy little buddies nibbling on meatstuffs are what make this movie so great. [Note: Yes, I am going to die crushed under a pile of DVDs and get eaten by my three-dozen cats someday, internet--look for my obituary on Fark]
Friday, July 18, 2008
We'll begin at the beginning: a young girl is molested by a vagrant and is struck mute by the traumatic experience. Flash forward to fifteen years later--said girl is now a buxom young farm maid (played by sex starlet Christina Lindberg) who has been sheltered by her doting parents. On her way to an appointment with a doctor who is trying to cure her, she hitches a ride with A Very Oily Man. I'm sure you see where this is going. And thusly it goes, only in a way more boring manner than you can possibly anticipate, as the viewer is treated to a long sequence of The Very Oily Man taking our presumed protagonista out for dinner and drinks before knocking her out with a megadose of heroin. Seriously, this sequence feels *epic* and is shot almost entirely using mid-range shot framing.
Don't despair--eventually the girl is sold into white slavery and we get to see her boobs and some intercut hardcore sequences, as well as a grisly eyeball-slashing. Post-disfiguring, our mute heroine semi-complies with the law of the hooker land, and comes to be known as ONE EYE. She is subjected to a variety of degrading sexual situations, including that most dreaded of tortures, that of the hott lesbian boob-touching, and wreaks her eventual slo-mo revenge, As You Do. But... the virtual absence of a musical soundtrack combined with limited dialogue and bleakity-bleak-bleak cinematography just made me slack-jawed with boredom. I... just don't care. I really don't care if she makes it out of her life of forced prostitution, I don't care if there's more intercut hardcore, I don't care if she manages to shake her crippling drug habit--I DO NOT CARE AT ALL. Really. Is this some kind of freakish art film designed to make me achieve a level of not-caring to which I had previously been unable to attain? As such, it's incredibly effective.
I'll... try to hit some high points, such as they are:
- Some early POV shots add a creepy verite quality to the proceedings
- Aforementioned boobs are of a most excellent quality
- One Eye has a leather handbag with bullet pouches on it that I *totally* covet
- Her eyepatches always match her outfits, which I respect (pink nightie gets pink eyepatch, red skirt gets red eyepatch, and black trenchcoat gets black eyepatch--APPROVED)
I wanted to like this movie; I've seen similar movies and enjoyed them. Hell, this is the kind of movie that inspires people to get "Thriller: A Cruel Picture" tattoos, for heaven's sake! A couple of moments of arresting visual imagery are peppered throughout (those early POVs work well and the final revenge sequence is particularly effective), and by no means is this the WORST film I've seen but...
Thanks, I'll take "Ms. 45."
Thursday, July 17, 2008
"Wonder-working Lewis, Monk or Bard, who fain wouldst make Parnassus a churchyard; Even Satan's self with thee might dread to dwell, And in thy skull discern a deeper hell."
- Lord Bryon, English Bards and Scotch Reviewers
By the time Matthew Lewis's The Monk was published in 1796, the aesthetic, thematic, and psychological fictive conventions initiated by Horace Walpole's The Castle of Otranto, Clara Reeve's The Old English Baron, and Sophia Lee's The Recess had coalesced into a distinct mode of literary production now known as the Gothic novel. Though the use of the word "Gothic" to describe a peculiar subgenre of literature is mostly a twentieth century coinage, the elements that enable the Gothic novel have become ubiquitous; what else would we now expect from the Gothic but the haunted enclosure of the ancestral castle or monastery, rising specters of a long-buried secret from the past, a looming, ominous villain possessing monstrous appetites, and, most especially, morbidity and the uncanny at every veiled turn? As it closely follow s these prescribed, established set of generic conventions, The Monk belongs to what David Punter terms the "classic" period of the Gothic novel. Nevertheless, there are important differences between Lewis's text and the work of other authors of "classic" Gothic novels, such as Ann Radcliffe's rationalized Gothic works. When Fred Botting notes that "Gothic writing signifies a writing of excess," he may well have The Monk in mind. Of all the examples of the early Gothic modality, Lewis's novel is the most excessive. At its core, The Monk is a novel about obsession and transgression. It is the tale of Ambrosio, the titular monk, and his downward spiral into a corrupting world of temptation, incest, murder, Satanism, sexual obsession, torture, and other lurid follies. The moral compass of Lewis's text, if there is a moral compass to be had in The Monk, is buried underneath the leering glee and disruptive, ghastly twists of the novel's plot. Of course, The Monk was decried as an outrage by the literary critics of its time, but then, as now, moral objection was no real obstacle toward the novel becoming one of the most widely-read books of the day. We might consider Lewis ahead of his time; along with the Marquis de Sade and Octave Mirbeau, Lewis was delving the depths of exploitation long before it had arrived as a popular, though often reviled, cinematic phenomenon.
“The Monk” is a deliciously scandalous novel even today—it has a machine-gun pace, cramming cliché upon cliché and breathlessly stitching together converging plotlines into a glorious melodramatic mess. Lewis’ breathlessly purple prose may seem quaint, but it tells an unflinchingly exploitative narrative. There is no doubt even to today’s reader that he is talking about gore and murder and sex and scandal. If the motto of the favored entertainments of the Tenebrous Empire is “More = More Better,” then “The Monk” gets a gold star.
A film version of “The Monk” should be a no-brainer—there’s some brilliant visual stuff in the book, ranging from the gimmes of Catholic costumery, cathedral settings, black magic rituals, violence, and the supernatural. Problematically, the two film versions of the novel that exist fail to deliver on almost every level.
Adonis Kyrou’s 1972 effort has all the potential in the world to be awesome, from a Luis Buñuel script to the casting of Django himself, Franco Nero, in the role of Ambrosio. The film winds up as Epic Cinematic Fail, however, committing that most heinous of genre movie crimes by--*gasp*--being BORING. I shouldn’t wander away from a movie about a homicidal, Satanic monk in order to get more snacks, yet… that’s precisely what I found myself doing about thirty minutes in. The 1990 Paco Lara adaptation fares even less well, playing out like a particularly forgettable “Masterpiece Theatre” entry. Static camerawork, bland musical accompaniment, and forgettable performances in both movies brought out but a single bright point—I was encouraged to re-read the novel.
Hot on the heels of my double-header “Monk”-movie disaster, I solicited the help of Professor Jack in sorting out exactly what makes the book so amazing, why these movies were such duds, and what could be done to rectify this situation and produce the ultimate “Monk” film. For SCIENCE and the betterment of exploitation fans everywhere, here is a peek into our conversation.
TK: It’s as if Lewis set pen to paper with but one question on his mind: “How many Gothic genre tropes can one cram into a single novel?” He just went crazy with this thing!
PJ: The question of how many Gothic tropes can be crammed into one novel is a bit like asking how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop--the world may never know. That said, M.G. Lewis (who I always call "Mad Dog Lewis" in my head) tried his damnedest to squeeze in as many Gothic conventions as possible into “The Monk.” It's almost as if Lewis read Horace Walpole's “The Castle of Otranto” and thought, "All that space he's wasting on exposition could be better used to stuff in more bizarre twists and lurid turns. I can fix that!" And then he did. Here's a handy checklist for anyone playing the home game:
Medieval setting in a Catholic country: CHECK!
Torture and murder: CHECK!
Satanism and witchcraft: CHECK!
Powerful male villain with rapacious desires: CHECK!
Wandering Jew figure: CHECK!
The Inquisition: CHECK!
Corrupt authority figures: CHECK!
Imprisoned heroine: CHECK!
Embedded stories: CHECK!
Twenty plot twists per page: DOUBLE CHECK PLUS!!!
It's hard to imagine what Lewis left out...
TK: There's always room for improvement--if he'd been writing in the late half of the 20th Century, he could've made use of such Exploitation Movie Excellence as:
-Nazi mad science
But yeah, considering we're dealing with the late 18th century here, I'm granting a free pass.
PJ: Now that I think about it, all of those elements could be bolted-on to a modern adaptation of the novel. What if Lorenzo's sister was held captive in a women's prison by the corrupt nuns...all in the name of Nazi experimentation? What if her attempted escape from said prison was stymied by tunnels inhabited by rapey half-mans-half monkeys? What if Lorenzo led a gang of killer hippies to free Antonia?
I'm now thinking that the lead evil nun should also be a blood-bathing vampiress.
See, it's really seamless.
This is why YOU are getting a PhD, sir.
Another thing that really bothered me about the movie versions is the fact that Ambrosio was completely oblivious to the fact that Brother John is a totally hott Eurobabe. I mean, in the book, you can suspend disbelief because of the writing and such, but in the movies… Well, I was completely distracted by the sexiness of the Matilda-masquerading-as-John character, anyway.
PJ: can only imagine that there is an analog to the popular idea of gaydar--let's call it "babedar"--and that Ambrosio's is broken.
However, it should be noted that once he does acquire a taste for girlflesh, he really, really likes it. With sexy (and murderous) results.
TK: Indeed. At the beginning, there's some dialogue about him not knowing the difference between a man and a woman. I guess that might be the case, until he got to see the awesomeness that IS nekkid Euroboobs. "I was thinking about praying but OMG I AM DISTRACTED BY YOUR NIPPLEAGE!"
His exposure to girlflesh did unleash a flood of activity (IYKWIM). It also helped that, aside from emissaries of Satan, all women in the novel are fantastically stupid and easily tricked. "My magic myrtle, let me show you it..."
PJ: While it's true that the women in the tale possess an intense naivety, it's important to remember that Ambrosio is played like a fiddle by the devil-woman Matilda. The Monk appears to suggest this Natural Hierarchy of Being:
Woman < Man < SATAN!
TK: There are really a lot of lessons to be learned from the book:
-Masquerading as the opposite sex is totally easy
-Catholics are all really bad people
-If you are a virgin, you are made of pure stupidness
-I need a Magic Myrtle.
PJ: "Catholics are all really bad people" is pretty much the premise of 99% of all Gothic fiction, when you get right down to it.
TK: Yes, but they have nuns and therefore the potential for Extreme Sexiness, which is never a bad thing in the Tenebrous Empire. Or, at least in all the movies *I* watch, there’s the potential for Extreme Sexiness. There’s a nun-forced-into-convent plotline in “The Monk” that I don’t think was exploited to NEARLY the degree it could’ve been. I mean, seriously—an Italian production from 1972, and they didn’t GO THERE? I’m upset.
Now, since you’re the professor and all, maybe you can answer a burning question that I’ve got. Why are foolin'-around nuns the MOST fertile women in Gothic novels? Is there something about the wimple that encourages ovulation or what?
PJ: Only the most fecund women are drawn to spiritual marriage with Christ? In other words: lack of action sends them into procreation overdrive.
We might also ask why nuns tend to turn heads and capture male sexual attention in Gothic works. My theory is that the illicit thrill of getting off with someone else's wife is effectively tripled when you're poaching from the fields of the J-man.
TK: You know, the more I talk about this, the more vexed I am that these movies were so bloody dull!
PJ: think the reason the cinematic adaptations of The Monk are so boring is that they refuse to go there. The movie plays it safe and seems a trifle squeamish in its handling of the source material: Where was the incest subplot? Where was the Bleeding Nun? In for a penny, in for a pound, I say.
TK: True that! The book is *acres* more exploitationtastic than either of the films. One ends with Ambrosio waltzing out of prison (Black magic totally pays!) and the other ends with him renouncing Satan (Black magic is totally fail!), while the book ends with him being spirited away by a winged demon and crushed to his death on a mountainside. Uhm... Hi--your endings are NOT improvements, film directors. You are banished to a land of not-good things for your cinematic transgressions!
PJ: When I first read the novel, I pictured the ending as a scene out of Ray Harryhausen's best: a wing'd clay beastie mashing the titular bad-boy monk against the mountains of despair. If any of the movie versions ended that way they would showing that in film school right now. Okay, maybe not, but they'd at least be showing it on cable every Sunday right after Clash of the Titans. And that's kind of the same thing.
TK: Oh so totally APPROVED! Stop motion FX work is going into the Tenebrous adaptation, count on it. Let’s get into the details of the Tenebrous-Approved version of “The Monk,” shall we? You’re full of good and sound ideas.
PJ: This is going to be an unorthodox suggestion for the creation of an Empire-approved version of The Monk, but I honestly think this is a property that should be placed in the hands of David Lynch. Hear me out on this. As evidenced by Wild at Heart, Mulholland Drive, and Lost Highway, Lynch is not afraid to go there. At its heart, The Monk is a lot like Blue Velvet: it suggests that just under the surface of everything nice and pious lurks horrifying impulses and malignant lusts.
Also, The Monk's plot is, for lack of a better term, convoluted. Lynch is no stranger to convoluted; as a director he doesn't seem to care at all if his films make a coherent statement. He just wants to show us something really weird. And The Monk has plenty of weird...I want Lynch to show us just how weird the novel could be when translated to the big screen.
Plus, Lynch brings with him his own stable of talented actors. Would Kyle MacLachlan make an awesomely obsessive, neurotic Ambrosio? You bet your flying buttress he would! And you know that Lynch has Isabella Rosselini and Patricia Arquette on autodial for the female leads. I'm kind of hoping that he leaves Laura Dern out of this one, though.Put it this way: The Monk is nearly surreal in its blending of horror, terror, and sheer oddity.
David Lynch made Eraserhead. He's the man for the job.
TK: We'd need a time machine in order for Isabella or Patricia to play Antonia, but I think I have My People working on that right now for... ahem... Other Purposes. A well-reasoned-if-controversial choice indeed!
While a Hammer production helmed by Jimmy Sangster would be the obvious selection, I think I should employ the time machine elsewhere and give the project to Mario Bava, who out-goithicked all contenders. We could pair Elke Sommer and Barbara Steele as the female leads (I dunno--put Babs in pigtails or something to make her a believable Antonia--roll with me on this). Stephen Forstyth, who has cheekbones to spare and was so awesome in "Hatchet for the Honeymoon," could play Ambrosio. Throw a whole mess of colored gels over the lights and it's GO time! Europe has cool-ass abandoned castles just lying around everywhere, so sets would be super-easy to come by. They're FILTHY with history over there. Also... maybe the crypt could be underwater and we could revisit that great flooded sequence from "Inferno?" More = More Better!
Dear readers, I cannot encourage you more heartily than this to go get your dirty little hands on a copy of this novel posthaste. If you have not read it already, there’s a gaping “Monk”-shaped hole in your horror education and you need to cram it full of Matthew Lewis immediately.
Or… something like that…
ETA: Because Absinthe, of the super-superior blog Gloomy Sunday, wishes you to all stuff yourself full of Lewis ASAP, here is a link to the eBook of Matthew G. Lewis' "The Monk."
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
I was reminded of Ray Bradbury's novella "Something Wicked This Way Comes" a few times during the film. The "horror in a circus" plotline had much to do with this, as did the presence of the two curious young boys who are trying to sort out the secrets of the performers. One of the manners in which the vampires ensnare their victims is through a funhouse mirror that alleges to show the future--a similar contraption, the Mirror Maze, is used in "Something Wicked."
One of the aspects that really makes "Vampire Circus" work is the setting. There are so many multicultural flavors thrown into the pot that the overall effect is oddly ethereal. It's clear that the movie is set in Not England and Not France, but apart from that, it's hard to pin down exactly what locale of Mittel Europa we're viewing. The character names are evocative of Austria and Germany, but the religious trappings are clearly Eastern Orthodox, and the costume design ping-pongs between quaint Dickensian bonnets, rustic Romanian furs, and Napoleonic empire waist gowns. Where are we ? WHEN are we? It doesn't matter one whit to the plot--the story takes place some time after the Renaissance Faire Period of Fictional History and is probably contemporary with the Jane Eyre Period of Fictional History. Suspend your disbelief and enjoy the ride.
"Vampire Circus" is a contender for my fave Hammer title--what it lacked in Christopher Lee, it made up for in glamorous surreality.
Monday, July 14, 2008
Cut to later in the evening--Yald is explaining that Varlac will be released and that everyone must find safety. Every good chateau worth its salt needs a rapey half-man-half-monkey savage in the dungeon, and the presence of Varlac proves that this chateau is certainly no exception. Everyone does, indeed, find safety (this movie translates "safety" into "confusing and athletic sex partnerings") and Varlac duly hunts down the naughty young lady and they engage in a bit of semi-consensual half-man-half-monkey shagging. Before you can say "bang a gong get it on," Yald has... well, he's literally banged a gong and the denizens of the chateau are on-hand to watch the evening's entertainments through the bars of Varlac's cell. The ceremonial monkey-man rape is followed by an orgy. As you do.
A naked conga line, a toilet-seated bout of artistry, a dry-ice bathtub full of lesbians, and a whip-wielding drag queen later, we find Zenoff spying on a face-painted cutie who is engaging in some self-love with the assistance of dead sea creatures. None of the above was typed in error or haste. Remember that thing about this movie showing you things you've never seen before that are totally unsexy? You're soaking in it. Dead squid ass-rubbing = REJECTED.
The next morning--it's fox hunting time! And what a FOX indeed--a nubile Eurobabe is released into the woods and chased down (uh-oh--we're only 42 minutes in and the movie is already repeating its perversions...). The "fox" puts up a good fight, but eventually succumbs to her tormenters and, after a little flogging, gets ceremonially offered to another Eurobabe for what the viewer can only assume are Totally Awesome Sapphic Pleasures. APPROVED.
Some time later, the moment has arrived for Xenia and Yald's Age of Aquarius-riffic wedding, which involves vows that boil down to "it's totally cool for each of you to do whatever you want, all the time." Enthusiastically APPROVED! The couple celebrates their "binding by nature's laws" under the watching eyes of the cultists until Zenoff bursts through the doors, SHOCKED by what he sees. This dude is as slow as he is good-looking, dear readers.
Well, darlings, it's clear that his reason has been compromised because the clothes he agrees to wear consist of a collar and assless pants. He watches Xenia mete out some punishment, participates in the flogging and then retires to Xenia's chamber for what he believes will be A Mutually Satisfying Romantic Interlude. Alas for Zenoff, in a "No One Expects The Spanish Inquisition"-worthy upset, Xenia goes all Venus in Furs on his ass and has one of her flunkies flog him soundly. In the final scene, Xenia explains to a teary-eyed Zenoff that her revenge is now complete and that he is being banished from the cult, to live in the ordinary world where his now-completely-freakalicious desires will never be fulfilled.
Friday, July 11, 2008
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Let's take a moment to review what "Virgins from Hell" has to offer:
- All-girl motorcycle gang, in coordinating hotpants and miniskirts
- Chandelier swinging
- Weird torture
- Exploding everything
- A totally rad villain whose acting technique is a St. Vitus' Dance of facial-expression awesomeness
There's way more than that, but before I get ahead of myself, let's outline the plot.
Karen and Sheila, two sisters whose parents were killed by a vicious criminal, lead a rough-and-tumble all-girl motorcycle gang. The gang makes its living by executing daring raids on the Dens of Vice run by Mr. Tiger, the man responsible for murdering their leaders' parents. Mr. Tiger has set up the headquarters of his criminal empire in the mountain-side family home the two girls used to live in, and Karen and Sheila are fixated on avenging the wrongs committed against them.
Allow me to pause for a moment so we can ruminate on Mr. Tiger. While I am inclined to make a statement like "Mr. Tiger is the bastard offspring of Chairman Kaga and Coffin Joe," I think it does him a disservice to treat his character in such a flippant manner. Mr. Tiger is fashion forward, adding his own flair to Wild, Wild West couture. Mr. Tiger is an entrepreneur, running businesses as diverse as casinos, smuggling rings, paramilitary organizations, and aphrodisiac labs. Mr. Tiger is a scenery-chewer. Mr. Tiger is an accomplished pervert. It's Mr. Tiger's world, and everybody else just lives in it. Believe it, internet.
The girl-gang launches an attack on Mr. Tiger's compound and... things go poorly. Those gang members who are not mowed down during the machine-gun strafing are sent via trap-door into a prison cell. An underground prison cell with a wading pool. You know, just like in real prison.
We learn that Mr. Tiger's syndicate has kidnapped Larry, a hunky young medical student with an affinity for overalls and gruffness, and forced him to develop a powerful aphrodisiac that can turn any woman into a wanton sex slave. Clearly, there's more money in this than in running gambling dens! The criminal tests this potion on one of the unfortunate women he's just captured, and she turns into a writhing mess of unbridled female passion. Dollar signs in his eyes, Mr. Tiger offers the helpless woman to two of his colleagues as a test of the drug's potency. And so begins the rapey portion of our WiP film...
But it's not all rapeyness here--no. As in any self-respecting WiP flick, we are treated to scenes of torture as well! And what tortures they are... A woman is strung up and pushed into barbed wire, leading to scrapes AND motion sickness (the FIENDS!). My personal favorite torture that's meted out is Adorable Furry Creature Torture*. Let's discuss.
Step 1: Acquire Adorable Furry Creature.
Step 2: Throw victim in sack with Adorable Furry Creature.
Step 3: ADORABLE FURRY CREATURE TORTURE!
The movie carries on with its litany of rapes, catfights, suicides, and various other abuses--all portrayed in that strangely demure Indonesian manner, utterly devoid of nudity. Even the panties are modestly white and full-coverage! The tension at the compound builds and two of the girls defect to Mr. Tiger's team. The time for a show-down is nigh...
Larry, being left almost unsupervised in the lab, is able to begin the final coup. Now, if Mr. Tiger had only thought to explore the ingredients in his aphrodisiac a little more closely, he'd have realized that they EXPLODE. Note to self: Make sure all ingredients of your nefariously saleable black market concoction are shelf stable. The film's climactic battle must be seen to be... oh the hell with it! The entire film must be seen to be believed! This thing brims with weirdness.
At the end of the day, though, I think "Virgins from Hell" poses a thought-provoking question for me. I'm truly torn. Would I rather lead an all-girl motorcycle gang, or am I better oriented to fill Mr. Tiger's (doubtless alligator-hide) shoes? The mind reels with possibilities.
*Adorable Furry Creature Torture is not to be confused with Monkey Torture, which is something different entirely.