Devil Hunter (Jess Franco, 1980)

One woman is chased through the jungle by a furious throng in furry thongs, while another is pursued through the streets by hordes of photographers in tan slacks. The people chasing the former want to feed the woman's still beating heart to their scantily clad god, while the one's pursuing the latter want to sell her image to the highest bidder. What's the difference, you ask? In a way, it's cultural. However, writer-director Jess Franco (Eugénie de Sade) and writer Julián Esteban go one step further in Devil Hunter (a.k.a. Sexo Caníbal), a cannibal movie with brains and little else. On the surface, the film seems like yet another attempt to cash in on the whole cannibal craze that was sweeping Europe during the disco era. Yet bubbling underneath all that gut-munching nonsense lies a blistering satire, one that takes a sharp look at the wonky state of white supremacy in the late twentieth century. Judging by the frantic screams coming from the woman being chased through the tropical undergrowth, it was obvious that she didn't want the bug-eyed deity, the one currently growling menacingly in her presence (and in desperate need of some Visine®), to eat her heart out. In other words, the fact that she resisted was all the information I needed to tell me that the practice of eating the hearts of women who are still using them is morally repugnant. (Eating the organs of the recently deceased is on the cusp of being acceptable, but eating the organs of the living crosses the line as far as I'm concerned.) As her now heartless body hung there naked from a tree, I couldn't help but wonder why no-one had tried to help her. It would seem that the life of a black woman with no connections to show business doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things. Whereas, a white, skinny, blonde woman with no personality whatsoever has dozens of her fellow white people bending over backwards to save her heart from being the next meal of a clothes optional cannibal god.

 

The way the opening scene captured the nonexistent dichotomy between so-called civilized and uncivilized cultures was a stroke of genius. The skimpily-attired tribesmen running after the unnamed woman, who, from now on, will be known as "Rahmatulah" (Ana Paula from Cecilia), want something from her, and so do the pantyhose clad kidnappers who are after Laura Crawford (Ursula Buchfellner), a well-known untalented actress. They both want to exploit their victim's femininity in order to gain power: the tribesmen want to appease their god, while the kidnappers want to appease their bank accounts.

 

Why do white people always act surprised when the non-white locals indigenous to the far-off lands they insist on travelling to on a regular basis try to kill them? It's a question that has not plagued white people since the beginning of time. 

 

The majority of white people lose their lives at the hands of non-white locals for a number of different reasons. The most common reason being greed. While the blood that once flowed through Rahmatulah's heart is about to start running down the cannibal god's chin, Laura Crawford, her white counterpart, is being showered with praise; well, at least she thinks she is. Wearing a pink one piece bathing suit, Laura waves at the passersby as her convertible rolls through a bustling, unnamed beachfront community. Do they know who she is? It doesn't matter, she seems to think they do, and, from the perspective of a mind that's been properly deluded, that's all that really matters.

 

Purportedly in town to check out locations for her next film, Laura is unaware that she is being stalked by a blonde woman named Jane (Gisela Hahn), or is she? You see, moments after we see Jane behaving oddly near the beach where Laura is frolicking with her dog, we see them sitting together. I'm confused, why would Jane need to spy on someone she's clearly acquainted with? I don't know, but it would seem that Jane is Laura's assistant, and they're busy watching a private bathing suit fashion show together.  

 

While the sound of bongos and flesh tearing are the soundtrack to Rahmatulah's gruesome demise, the sound of chloroform being sprayed and splashing water are the last things Laura hears as she comes face-to-face with her worst nightmare: a greedy, two timing assistant with bills to pay. As she is taking a bath, Jane and two men wearing pantyhose on their heads swoop into Laura's bathroom. Knocking her out with the aforementioned chloroform (now available in an easy to use spray bottle), the men drag her naked body out of the tub.  

 

Waking up chained to a wall in a dilapidated building in the jungle, Laura Crawford is probably thinking to herself: why were the men wearing pantyhose on their heads? I mean, they're not wearing them now. Actually, the chances that Laura would think anything, let alone the reasoning behind her kidnappers lack of disguises in the post-bathroom abduction phase of their criminal undertaking, are pretty remote. I'll be blunt, Laura is profoundly stupid. She doesn't seem to have a clue about anything whatsoever.

 

Anyway, Laura hasn't got time to worry about that, because Chris (Werner Pochath), one of the kidnappers, is starting to lose it. Unaccustomed to the jungle way of life, Chris rants against what he calls, "a fucking awful place." This scene manages to be comedic and sexy simultaneously. How so, you ask? Well, the frazzled kidnapper provides the funny, as his delivery while uttering the following, "This wild vegetation gives me the creeps," "Damn it, damn it, damn it, damn it," and, my personal favourite, "Flowers shit!" was outstanding. And the alluring Ursula Buchfellner brings the sexy as she hang there in her pink, thigh-friendly, strategically torn, jungle captive-wear. In order to help sell the sizzle, Jess Franco pans up Ursula's unpretentious frame in a slow, deliberate fashion.

 

 

Desperate to find an activity that will take his mind off the jungle, Chris decides to threaten Laura with a nasty-looking knife with a curved blade, while a fellow kidnapper named Pablito (Melo Costa) laughs in the background.

 

Hired by Laura's agent, the rugged Peter Weston (Al Cliver) is told to bring the kidnappers six million dollars in exchange for the blonde's safe return. He's been given 200,000 dollars for expenses, but he's informed on the way out that if he brings back Laura and the six million, he'll get 10%. Now, I'm no math whiz, but that sounds like a pretty sweet deal. Meanwhile, back in the jungle, Chris is still ranting and raving. While I can't say that I really blame him (the bird noises alone are enough to drive even the most hardened of kidnappers up the wall), someone should tell him to get his shit together, or, at the very least, give him a good slap in the nuts.

 

Luckily for the kidnappers, Thomas (Antonio de Cabo) is there to give the criminal undertaking an air of dignity and class. Okay, maybe that's pushing it, after all, he does rape Laura while she's chained to a wall (a vile act a poncho-wearing Jane tries to watch from the comfort of a hammock, but she is quickly told to beat it). But there's no denying that Thomas is clearly the brains of the operation. 

 

 

After being given a message at a hotel by a mysterious woman wearing white cowboy boots, a woman who is credited as "Girl on Yacht" (Cecilia's Muriel Montossé), Peter hops aboard a helicopter, piloted by a Vietnam vet named Jack (Antonio Mayans), and heads to Santos Island. You would think that Jack, being a veteran of a war that took place mainly in the jungle, would be used to the tropical climate. But that's where you would be wrong. Traumatized by the experience, Jack is complaining, in a ridiculous-sounding southern accent, about the humidity no less than five seconds after landing on the island.  

 

The prospect of earning 10% of six million dollars was obviously in the back of his mind, as Peter tries to pull one over on the kidnappers (the bag containing the money was filled with blank sheets of paper). However, in his defense, Thomas does try to screw over Peter as well (his lackies hiding up on a cliff open fire on Peter and Jack during the botched exchange), so it was only fair that Peter give duplicity a go. Either way, both their plans end up backfiring, as Laura runs off into the jungle during the commotion. Without Laura, the kidnappers have nothing to bargain with. It's not all fun and games for her so-called rescuers, as they have nothing to show for their effort, either.
 

 

As the two sides fall into disarray (some nursing bullet wounds), and Laura is busy stumbling mindlessly through the jungle, a murderous fiend has quietly gained the upper hand. They don't realize it yet, but their all being stalked by a naked man with bloodshot eyes. If you thought the sound of birds chirping was creepy, wait until you hear the sound of a cannibal with bronchitis, it will rob you of at least four drops of your semi-precious pee ("semi-"precious because it's just pee).
 

 

The rescuers do manage to gain a bit of an advantage when they stumble upon the kidnapper's yacht, a yacht that features–you guessed it–Muriel Montossé's "Girl on Yacht." She may only be "Girl on Yacht," but this is one yacht-based woman who knows a thing or two about the locals. Even though she's working for the kidnappers, she doesn't seem to mind giving Peter and Jack the skinny on the cannibals. Speaking of skinny, or not skinny in this case, Muriel Montossé's trademark big French booty is fuller than ever in Devil Hunter, as we see it briefly as it struggles hang onto a skimpy pair of bikini bottoms (five, count 'em, five coin slot's worth of ass crack are on display for your corporeal enjoyment).

 

Even though I repeatedly mocked her lack of intelligence, Ursula Buchfellner should be commended for her fearless performance as Laura Crawford, the poster girl for vacuous hose-beasts. Raped, drugged, tortured, carried down cliffs, bathed against her will (hell, the gorgeous Aline Mess even massages her with flowers at one point), and shackled to just about everything you can imagine, Ursula may not have much to say in terms of dialogue (her verbal output in this film is limited to whimpering softly and screaming loudly). But she more than makes up for it with sheer moxie, which is what ended up making Devil Hunter the passable slab of untoward entertainment that is ultimately is.

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Cecilia (Jess Franco, 1982)

The lush, dewy landscape of Sintra, Portugal provides the backdrop for one of the steamiest journeys into the forbidden realm of strappy heeled eroticism that I have ever seen. Wow. I had no idea you had seen that much strappy heeled eroticism; so much so, that you're able to elevate certain cinematic works to heightened levels of loftiness based solely on their ability to induce a generous helping of steam. It's true, I haven't; seen enough films that feature strappy heels in a lush and/or dewy setting to be able to confidently single out its many steam-based blessings. However, if I had, I'm sure Jess Franco's Cecilia (a.k.a. Aberraciones Sexuales de una Mujer Casada) would be near the top of the list, as this film oozes verdancy and legginess simultaneously. The former is provided by the aforementioned location, which is exploited to the point where the film could be classified a weird form of botanical pornography (people who love plant life, and the natural world in general, will adore the many close-up shots of overgrown greenery and blooming flowers). And, of course, the latter is supplied by the many pairs of strappy heels worn throughout the film, as the heels–the strappier, the better–intensify the innate beauty of the legs they're attached to. In reality, though, the gorgeous Muriel Montossé doesn't really need to have any of her curves exaggerated, as she's a work of curvy art all on her own. Piercing the humid air of her ornate surroundings with a crotch altering aplomb, Cecilia wants to feel everything the world has to offer when it comes to oblique objects rubbing up against her supple flesh. Whether it be fresh cut flowers, lily pads, troglodytic low-lifes, garter belts, or drunken bar patrons, Cecilia needs to feel their touch on a regular basis. Without it, well, you'll be looking at one unhappy camper. Which reminds me. If Cecilia were to go on a camping trip, all she would need to survive is her insatiable desire to be groped and a pair of strappy heels. If you think I'm joking, listen to what one of the rapists utters as he and his not-so merry band of fellow rapists are chasing Cecilia through the forest in the latter half of the film. He says something to the effect of: "How is she able to run so fast in high heels?"

 

 

Oh, stupid rapist. Your need to violate the personal space of others has obviously warped your ability to think objectively. Anyone with any sense can clearly see that Cecilia has been running in strappy high heels for most of her life. It doesn't matter if she's sleeping, swimming, bathing, horse back riding, seducing monobrowed chauffeurs, or fleeing the grabbing hands of undesirable creatures like you, the thickness of Cecilia's calves are always in the process of being accentuated to the point of shapely madness by a pair of strappy high heels.
 

 

The sight of flowers blooming and trees swaying in the wind set to the sound of birds chirping and synths...synthing, can mean only one thing: a Jess Franco film is about to commence. And I don't need to tell you that the words "A Jess Franco Film" are one of the few things left that bring me joy in this world. Whenever I see his name, or, as is in most cases, one of his many pseudonyms, appear on-screen, a wave of comfort washes over me, as I know my brain and genitals are in the hands of a master. Zooming in on the breathtaking beauty of the film's natural splendour for an extended period of time, when suddenly, shots of statues begin to enter the frame. Was this Jess Franco's way of informing us that humanity (the ones who made the statues) and nature (the ones who made the flowers and trees) co-exist with one another?  Who knows. What I do know is that we're about to meet Cecilia (Muriel Montossé) and I can hardly contain my excitement.
 

  

Wearing a pink dress, the kind that looks like it was specifically designed to be pulled off in a hurry, Cecilia runs towards her limousine, greets her driver Kam (José Valero), and proceeds to get in the back. And wouldn't you know, Cecilia, after putting up the divider window, takes off her pink dress like it weren't even there. Lounging in a position that was clearly chosen to maximize her innate legginess, Cecilia caresses the contours of her legs in an erotic manner. In order to indicate how long Cece's legs are, more hair is added to Kam's unibrow each time we see it in the rear view mirror. What I'm trying to say is: it takes so long for her to run her hand from one end of her leg to the other, that his eyebrows seem to become thicker and bushier between each leg stroke. And as far as using irregular eyebrow hair to signify leg length, I thought the scene was an unequivocal success.

 

Realizing that Kam is taking her away from her house (he's supposed to be driving her home), Cecilia makes her objection known. But it's too late, Kam tells her that he's quitting, stops the car, and let's his brothers (who were lurking in the woods) ravish her in the back seat. Struggling at first, Cecilia seems to be moaning with pleasure by the time the partially clothed humping  starts. After washing the sex smell from her body in a pond covered with lily pads, Cecilia drives the limousine (remember, her driver quit) back to the spacious mansion she shares with her husband Andre (Antonio Mayans) and their male staff (who all wear headbands for some reason). The scene where Cecelia gets out the limo completely naked, except, of course, for a pair of pink strappy heels, is important because it gives us our first view of Muriel Montossé standing upright without any clothes on.

 

  

Making her way towards the house, the sight of Muriel walking in nothing but strappy heels was simply glorious. Seriously, the manner in which her sturdy legs pounded against the crude concrete walkway was unreal. As she was walking, I couldn't help but notice that each step caused her ample backside to undulate in a way that was both pleasing and awe-inspiring. Now, given the thundering display we just witnessed, I found it a tad strange that Andre felt it necessary to carry Cecilia the rest of the way. I mean, didn't he just see the calve-tightening clinic that just transpired before him on the walkway? Either way, Andre carries Cecilia inside, puts her on the bed, and, after disrobing, places the quivering contents located on the other side of his hirsute hindquarters between her creamy thighs.
 

 

The next morning, Andre is upset when he finds out what Kam's brothers did to his wife in the backseat of his limo. Out on a terrace overlooking their magnificent garden, Cecilia paces back and forth while she listens to Andre complain about her whorish lifestyle. Wearing a conical hat, a black and white Asian-style shirt dress, and a pair of white strappy heels (the perfect ensemble for pacing in a mist-laden paradise as a saxophone gently toots in the background), Cecilia tries to explain that she needs to have rough sex with other men. (Did anyone else notice that her pink lipstick matched the petunias?)
 

 

It should be noted that a flashback to when Cecilia and Andre first met two years ago at a Parisian party occurs during a lull in the their conversation on the terrace. Sure, it doesn't give us any fresh insight into the genesis of their relationship–they're introduced by her uncle (Olivier Mathot) and an attractive woman in orange (France Lomay), and appear to like each other almost immediately–but we do get to see the largeness of Muriel Montossé's bum ensnared in a slit-heavy black and white dress.

    

 

Judging by the way Andre snubs Cecilia after they return from horseback riding, it would that he's still upset over the backseat limo rape. Determined to convince her husband that sex is different than love, she concocts a cheeky scheme involving her friend Antonio (Antonio de Cabo), an older gentlemen Cecilia calls her "grandmother," and Antonio's unnamed girlfriend (Ana Paula), an afro-sporting goddess with Uhurian thighs. The idea is for Antonio's girl to seduce Andre while Cecilia is putting her "grandmother" to bed. And you know Cecilia means business by the fact that she's wearing a blonde bob wig and has sprinkled glitter all over his chest and shoulders. Anyway, deliberately catching them in the act, Cecilia, who is still rocking the pink lipstick (her fingernails, by the way, are pink as well), shows up naked at their door and eventually takes over for Antonio's girlfriend as the primary source for Andre's corporal pleasure (her white strappy heeled feet kick the air like an agitated mule as he bombards her pelvic area with a generous helping of tempur pedict thrusts).
 

 

Starting off the film as merely his wife, Cecilia is now Andre's mistress and confidante. Yep, it appears that her plan has worked, as she finds that Andre is getting into this whole open marriage thing. A close up shot of a lump-free crotch encased in a pair of white bikini bottoms can only mean one thing, it's time for Lina Romay make her presence felt in the Cecilia universe. Sunning herself on the deck of a sail boat, Lina plays a cabaret performer whose act involves having sex with her teenage son. Lying motionless as the sun's rays pierce her exquisite curves, Lina half listens to Cecilia (whose stunning frame is sheathed in a black one-piece bathing suit) and Andre as they blather on and on about their relationship ("our love will only grow stronger").
 

 

When they're back on dry land, Lina and her son George (Antonio Vasco) give Cecilia, Andre, Antonio, and Antonio's girlfriend a sneak preview of their incestuous stage show. Swaying her hips in a pink full length gown as she stands before her son (whose eyelids, by the way, have been painted with dots that make him look like his eyes are open when they are in fact closed), Lina proceeds to suck his thumb as some dude wearing a blindfold plays a rudimentary harp. Eventually working her way down to his penis (removing her clothing along the way), Lina ends the show by writhing naked on the shag carpeting. Which, in case you don't know, is her subtle way inviting the audience, which, of course, includes Cecilia, who's wearing a leopard print headband, to mock feast on the moist folds of her well-rounded flesh.

 

 

Fans of France Lomay (Oasis of the Zombies) will want to stick around for the swanky party scene that takes place at the exact same location where Cecilia and Andre first met. Why? Well, if you loved the sight of France schmoozing in an orange dress, you'll definitely want to see her schmooze in a pink dress. This particular party scene, the one where France wears a pink dress, is also worth checking out for the moment when an author tells a group of hangers-on that her novel "Neither Virgin nor Martyr" was inspired by her first abortion.
 

 

You can't help but be impressed by Muriel Montossé as the titular Cecilia, as every gesture she makes is steeped in eroticism. This movement themed saturation hits its boiling point when she finds herself all alone in the house. When smelling flowers in nothing but strappy heels starts to lose its appeal, she takes a bath. While staring out the window in a nightie and a pair of, it should, by now, go without saying, strappy heels, the phone rings. It's Andre, and apparently he's going to be busy for the next couple of days. How much longer do you expect Cecilia to wander the corridors of her spacious mansion? Are you asking me? If you are, I have to say, I could watch Muriel Montossé do pretty much anything for an inordinate amount of time.

      

 

Tired of waiting for her waiting for her husband to come home, Cecilia decides that she needs some cock. Who am I kidding? She needs lots of cock, and finds it waiting for her at a cave-like structure where Kam's brothers hang out. The first thing that shocked me about this scene, which we'll call, "Cecilia's Impromptu Cave Gangbang," was that she wore black pumps for the occasion. That's right, she's put the strappy heels away. I guess she figured that the strappy heels wouldn't really go with her black stockings (wrong as she may be, I respect her decision). At any rate, she gets up on the table, and removes her ruffled prom dress to reveal a black garter belt, which is digging into her child-bearing hips like you wouldn't believe. Kicking away her dress in an authoritative manner, Cecilia invites Kam's two brothers and their two friends have their way with her.

 

 

Satisfied by how the gangbang turned out, Cecilia decides to treat herself by going horseback riding on the beach. Whoa! I'm no gynecologist, but horseback riding, especially naked horseback riding, is the last activity I'd recommend to someone who has just participated in a gangbang. In her defense, it was the early 1980s. What does that mean? Well, most people back then lacked, what I like to call, "crotch cognizance," a state of mind where you are always aware of what your genitals, and, I guess, you could include your anus in this specific mindset, are up to at any given moment.
 

 

Trees, flowers, synths, strappy heels, black stockings (worn with black pumps), and Muriel Montossé, that's all I really need when it comes to cinema. And, as it turns out, Jess Franco's Cecilia was able to provide all of them in equal measure; well, more black stockings would have nice, but I digress. Now, I don't usually express the desire to go anywhere–you know as far as travelling the world goes. However, Sintra, Portugal is a little different in that regard, as it seemed to capture my imagination. Which is a rare occurrence. I mean, most films leave me feeling a sense of shame; like, why did I just watch that? But this film was like receiving a tonic, one that not only promoted the power of love, but seems to enrich the lives of everyone who happens to find themselves under its unsavoury spell.

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