Violence and Flesh (Alfredo Sternheim, 1981)

Don't you just hate it when a movie doesn't list the names of actors and the roles they play? Well, that's exactly what Violence and Flesh (Violência na Carne) does and I'm not too happy about it. Sure, I might have been able to piece it all together if I was at all familiar with Brazilian celebrities from the late 1970s/early '80s. But I'm not. So, that means I'm going to have to give names to the eleven or so characters who populate this film's cramped universe. The first six characters we meet are a trio of criminals, who, from the looks of it, just broke out of prison and/or robbed a bank, and two lesbians and their lean live-in boy-toy. Now, the lean live-in boy-toy is going to be called just that, "Lean Live-in Boy-Toy." Did you just ask, why? Okay, well. Um. He's lean, oh, man, is he ever lean. He's a boy. And he lives in a house with two lesbians (I'll explain the "toy" part later on, if there's time). At any rate, instead calling the lesbians, long-haired lesbian and short-haired lesbian, I've decided to call the long-haired lesbian, "Staunch Lesbian," 'cause she seems more invested in her Samba-soaked brand of lesbianism, and the short-haired lesbian, "Reluctant Lesbian," 'cause she comes across a tad less, oh, how should I put this... (Less dykey?) Um, no. Well, yes. I was thinking more along the lines of "less lesbiany." Either way. Now, where was I? Ah, yes. When the film opens, the Staunch Lesbian and the Reluctant Lesbian are smooshing their tan-line adorned bodies against one another for strictly orgasm-related purposes, while the Lean Live-in Boy-Toy is doing Brazilian yoga on the beach.

Meanwhile, the aforementioned trio of crooks are planning their getaway. Since they set their getaway car on fire (with one of their partners in crime in it), they need to find a new set of wheels. And they find some when they steal the car belonging Hand Wound McGillicuddy. What's that? Why did I call him that? Let's see. He sports a hand wound throughout the film and I like the name "McGillicuddy." It's that simple.

As for the criminals themselves. This was a little more complicated. I was going to name their idealistic leader, "Reluctant Rapist." But I don't think that properly reflects his character. No, I'm thinking that the leader of this band of misfits and ne'er–do–wells should be called the "Doomed Dreamer." Mainly because he desperately wants Brazil to be better country. But forces beyond his control seem determined not to allow this happen.

The other two were easy to name, as they wear their heinousness on their sleeves. While the Doomed Dreamer is a complex idealist with a conscience, Redneck Raúl and Brazilian Peter Lorre are pretty much rapists and murderers. Though to fair, Brazilian Peter Lorre does take a moment, in-between raping the Lean Live-in Boy-Toy, to talk about his mother, which was on the cusp of being touching and junk. However, make no mistake, these two are the worst humanity has to offer.

As bad luck would have it, the Doomed Dreamer, Redneck Raúl and Brazilian Peter Lorre (with Hand Wound McGillicuddy in tow) show up at the door of the Staunch and Reluctant Lesbians. In an act selflessness, the Lean Live-in Boy-Toy tells the Lesbians to hide before the crooks come bursting in. Unfortunately, their ruse doesn't last long, as Brazilian Peter Lorre eventually finds the lesbians hiding in a closet.

The reason the fugitives decide to hold up at this particular beach house is because they're expecting a boat to come ashore that will hopefully whisk them away to freedom.

Since you can't really have a home invasion with only six characters (well, I suppose you could...), we're introduced to three more. Two women and a man, the women are both actresses, both brunette and both possess shapely booties. That being said, they do have distinctive personalities. I've chosen to call brunette #1 "Juanita Stockholm" because she falls in love with the Doomed Dreamer.

As for brunette #2. I was going call her Miss Yellow Dress, for obvious reasons. But then she goes ahead and changes into a tight pair of white satin disco pants midway through the movie. So, yeah. How 'bout this, I'll call her Miss Yellow Dress. But just remember that she changes into a pair of tight white satin disco pants later on.

Did anyone else let out an audible gasp when it's revealed that the yellow dress that Miss Yellow Dress is wearing is actually two pieces? Call me, oh, I don't know, fashionably challenged, but I could have sworn that it was one piece. As per usual, I kept imagining what I would look like in the dress. Despite the fact that yellow isn't my colour (even though marigold, butterscotch and canary are in right now), I decided... (What about the guy the actresses was with?)

Who? (You mentioned a man.) Oh, him. Fuck that guy. (I agree. But still, you should name him.) Okay, fine. The guy traveling with Juanita Stockholm and Miss Yellow Dress is "Johnny Not Raped."

Now, let's get back to that dress, shall we? Can you believe it wasn't one piece? I mean, I was, like, whoa. I did not see that coming. (Why is he called, "Johnny Not Raped"?) Well, if you must know. All the guy does for the entire movie is whine and complain, yet he's the only one who isn't assaulted. Hell, even Hand Wound McGillicuddy is shot in the hand, and he's forced to watch his beloved boy-toy raped by Brazilian Peter Lorre.

And get this, Johnny Not Raped has the nerve to blame Miss Yellow Dress for being raped. I know, what an asshole. Men who blame women for being raped are pure scum. So, fuck you, Johnny Not Raped. You worthless piece of shit.

Does Hand Wound McGillicuddy blame Lean Live-in Boy-Toy for his rape? Of course he doesn't.

Goddamn it! Just thinking about Johnny Not Raped is making my blood boil.

Yeah, I know. I should reserve some vitriol for Redneck Raúl and Brazilian Peter Lorre. But those two are unabashed low-lifes. In that, I expect them to be cruel and heartless. Johnny Not Raped, on the other hand, is supposed to be a good guy. Ahhhhh! This movie is so awesome, yet so awful at the same time.

Speaking of awful, Redneck Raúl and Juanita Stockholm prove once and for all that overalls look terrible on both men and women equally. Unless you're pitching hay, I don't want to see you in overalls. Wait. Six on Blossom can wear 'em. But that's it! No more overalls in non-farm, non-Blossom environments.

In conclusion (yeah, I'm afraid I'm done writing about this movie), Violence and Flesh is an excellent slab of Brazilian exploitation. Sure, it's basically a home invasion flick. But it's got enough unique flourishes to make it worthwhile. I'd recommend watching it alongside the sleaze-tastic Bare Behind Bars. Which is not only one of the best women in prison films ever made, it's Brazilian as well. Oh, and since there are no clips or trailers for this film on youtube (which is odd, as I thought everything was on youtube), I've decided to embed this clip from Bare Behind Bars instead. Edit: The entire thing can be found here.

Massacre in Dinosaur Valley (Michele Massimo Tarantini, 1985)

As I sit down to type words pertaining to my impromptu screening of Massacre in Dinosaur Valley, the Brazil-set jungle adventure film directed by an Italian, Michele Massimo Tarantini of Women in Fury fame, and starring an American, Michael something, the word "upskirt" is bouncing around inside my head like a superball. The reason being, I want to make sure that I remember it as I go forward with the word typing. It plays, as you will soon find out, a vital role when it comes to the film's overall distribution of enjoyment and other enjoyment-related products. You're joking, right? How could anyone forget to mention the word "upskirt"? I know, you'll probably come across millions of essays and dissertations that tackle this film that don't even bother to mention the film's flagrant upskirt abuse. But you have to remember, the people who wrote those articles are not normal. I, on the other hand, ooze normalcy. And not only that, I am able to spot upskirt abuse with my eyes closed. Upskirt abuse: What is it? And how does one spot it? Well, the former is easy, as it simply refers to the view you get when you look up a woman's skirt, or a man's skirt, or a skirt on a transwoman, for that matter (everyone wears skirts nowadays). Hence, the slapping together of the words "up," meaning something that is up as supposed to down, and "skirt," which is, to quote Lattis from The Lost Skeleton of Cadavra, a kind of "inverted cloth funnel." Okay, that solves the upskirt part of the equation. But what about the abuse? When does that occur? Discounting videos that are designed to cater directly to the upskirt community, I'd say upskirt abuse occurs somewhere around the third upskirt. Just the third? I thought you were gonna say, oh, something like, the sixth or the seventh. Oh, no. No, No, No. One upskirt is just that, one upskirt. Enjoy the view. Two upskirts is, well, that's probably an accident (or an "upskirtccident" as it isn't called). When you spot the third upskirt, you know something is up (no pun intended).
 

 

Somewhere out there a deeply flummoxed Michael Sopkiw (the American I alluded to earlier) is probably wondering to himself: Why on earth is this guy talking so much about upskirts? I mean, I wield a shotgun and have sex with Brazilian women, and not even in that order. Patience, Mr. Sopkiw, patience. I'll get to you in a moment. And besides, can't you see that I'm trying to make a point (one that could be viewed as salient) about the amount of upskirt abuse that takes place in this film.
 

 

Okay, where was I? Oh, yes. Something is definitely up when you spot a third upskirt. I'm curious, actually, I'm dying to know, how many upskirts are in Massacre in Dinosaur Valley? Are you sitting down? Oh, and before you sit down, make sure to cross your legs. You wouldn't want some pervert to catch a glimpse of your freshly laundered panties, now would you? But seriously, are you sitting down? All right, I counted a total of eleven upskirts. Eleven?!? You heard me, eleven. It's not even funny. Eleven. Are you sure about that? Let me see, one, two, three, four...yep, eleven.
 

 

How many upskirt shots does Star Wars have? I'll tell you how many: Zero. Okay. And how many upskirt shots does Massacre in Dinosaur Valley have? Say it with me: eleven. Yeah, but Princess Leia wears a gold bikini in the Return of the Jedi. Really? Well, how 'bout this, eleven.
 

 

Someone who, surprisingly, doesn't have a single upskirt moment in this film is Suzane Carvalho, the lead actress from Michele Massimo Tarantini's Women in Fury. Why's that? It's a simple matter of physics, really? Yeah, but you're a complete dumbass who knows nothing about physics. That's true. I am a dumbass. But I'm smart enough to know that even the most resourceful pervert is going to have trouble getting the upward view he or she desires when the subject's legs are in a post-crossed state. Sure, you could wait for them to be un-crossed. But look at you, you're sitting behind the subject. How are you supposed to get a glimpse of her panties from that angle? You can't. Unless you have partner who is willing to hold a mirror, you're not seeing any panties on this day.
 

 

Anyway, Eva Ibañez (the name of Suzane's character), the daughter of famed paleontologist Pedro Ibañez (Leonidas Bayer), who is sitting next to her on a hot, overcrowded bus traveling through rural Brazil, is minding her own business, when, all of a sudden, she notices that two passengers sitting behind her are scoping her legs, which, like I said, are firmly crossed. Realizing that they won't be catching a sneak of peek at her soaking wet crotch, thanks to her employment of the leg cross method of sitting and their overall proximity, she lets out a sly smirk.
 

 

Arriving at the hotel with her box intact, Eva and her father eventually go to their room. They would have had separate rooms were it not for Robbie (Roberto Roney), a fashion photographer, and his models Belinda (Susan Hahn), a vision in a blue dress, and the sultry Monica (Gloria Cristal), who ended up taking one of their rooms (they had reserved two rooms). Also arriving at the hotel is Kevin Hall (Michael Sopkiw), an American bone hunter (he collects dinosaur bones), who shows up on the back of a banana truck.
 

 

Who else is in this movie? Oh, yeah, a bickering couple, Betty Heinz (Marta Anderson, Bare Behind Bars), who looks like a demented Marilyn Monroe impersonator, and Captain Johnny (Milton Rodríguez), a grizzled veteran of the Second Indochina War, who we meet at a cock fight. A cock fight? Don't tell me, both birds die horrible deaths. Actually, the birds seemed fine. On the whole, I was surprised by the lack of animal cruelty in this film. Kudos to Mr. Tarantini for not killing animals in order to tell his story.
 

 

Hey, man, not killing animals is great and all, but what about those upskirts you were talking about earlier? Oh yeah, the upskirts. Well, five or six upskirts occur during a fashion shoot by the side of the road. Wow, five or six. In just one scene? That's right. Though, technically, you're going to have to watch the deleted scenes to see one of the film's best upskirt shots. It involves the gorgeous Susan Hahn–but then again, ninety percent of film's upskirt moments involve Susan Hahn–getting into the car, and it's a thing of beauty. I don't usually watch deleted scenes, but something compelled me to do so in this case. At any rate, a flurry of upskirts take place during the roadside photo shoot, as local models dressed a tribespeople poke at Belinda (black panties) and Monica (white panties) with their spears. And in doing so, create a...yep, flurry of upskirts (which amounts to something like, oh, let's say, five separate upskirts).
 

 

Upskirt six belongs to Monica. Now this is her last upskirt, so make sure you take the time to enjoy it. The situation surrounding its implementation is actually quite comical, as a drunk (Paul Sky) at the aforementioned cock fight grabs the bottom of Monica's dress and proceeds to lift it up with an untoward hiking motion. Taking exception with this bit of public molestation (the drunk is slobbering all over her miracle of Brazilian booty engineering), Kevin Hall steps in and throws the drunk into some tables. Only problem being, his decision to take exception with the drunk's lewd conduct has caused the drunk's musclebound brothers (Paolo Pacelli and Norton Kays) to take exception with Kevin's exception. Don't feel sorry for Kevin, though. Sure, the drunk's musclebound brothers beat the crap out of him, but was their misguided heroism rewarded with sexual intercourse with a Brazilian model at the end of the day? I don't think so.
 

 

As a result of machinations I don't feel like getting into, Kevin, Captain Johnny, Betty, Robbie, Belinda, Monica, Eva Ibañez, Professor Pedro, and their French pilot all hop abroad a plane to a remote corner of the jungle. Okay, I understand why Kevin and Professor Pedro want to go to "Dinosaur Valley," but why are the rest of them going? How 'bout this: Who gives a shit? That works for me. Crammed into the small plane like a bunch of sardines, the travelers busy themselves with various activities: Kevin eats a banana, Belinda and Monica brush their hair, and Eva and Betty exchange nasty looks.
 

 

Suddenly, the plane hits a patch of turbulence and starts to hurl toward the earth. As the dinky aircraft bounces around in the sky, so do the passengers. And no one more so than Belinda, who steps up to the upskirt plate to knock upskirt #7 and upskirt #8 out of the park (wee, I just used a baseball metaphor, woo-hoo! yay!). Struggling to remain in her seat, Belinda thrashes about like a rag doll, and in doing so, gives us two peeks up her light peach dress.
 

 

After they crash land, the survivors debate whether or not to stay with the plane. Having served three tours in 'Nam, Captain Johnny announces that he's in command, and that they're leaving. Trekking through the jungle to sound of techno pop, the survivors follow Captain Johnny, who says he's leading them to a river (don't blink or you might just miss upskirt #8 - Belinda flashes some internal skirt material while walking over a giant log). I'm telling you, this Johnny fella doesn't know what he's talking about it. I mean...Quiet. It looks like Belinda is having trouble with her shoes. Yes! It would seem that her heels are slowing her down. Say what you will about Captain Johnny's leadership skills, he sure knows how to cobble on the fly.
 

 

Sitting her down on a log, Captain Johnny grabs Belinda's shoe and proceeds to slice off the heel with his trusty machete.
 

 

Instructing her to take off her other shoe (it only makes sense to alter both of them), Belinda lifts up her leg and slips it off her foot. In doing so, she sets in motion the events that will lead to upskirt #10.
 

 

The sight of her white panties pressing tightly against her sweaty undercarriage causes Captain Johnny temporarily lose focus on the task at hand. Noticing that Johnny is starting to lose focus, Betty says, "Enjoying the view, Johnny boy?" Oh, that Betty. Her emasculation skills are first-rate.
 

 

After cutting her heels down to size, the group continue through the jungle, where they come across a bunch of heads on sticks, encounter snakes, leaches and piranhas, and engage in an epic power struggle; well, Kevin and Johnny engage in an epic power struggle, the rest just sort of watch from the sidelines.
 

 

Saving the best for last, upskirt eleven, that's right, eleven, occurs when the group comes across a pool of fresh water. Diving into the water with a reckless form of abandon, the survivors splash around for awhile before eventually taking a much needed rest. Uninterested in decorum, Belinda sits in a manner that allows the world to see how her panties are holding up. And by "world," I mean Johnny, who gets a second dose of Belinda's succulent drawers (lucky bastard).
 

 

Was I sad when Belinda was finally forced to remove her weatherbeaten light peach dress and her put through the ringer white panties? You could say that. However, I thought Susan Hahn's innate gorgeousness, no matter what she was, or, in most cases, wasn't wearing, managed to shine through the humid haze that is Massacre in Dinosaur Valley. Reminding me of Naomi Watts, Susan Hahn must have been a real trooper, as she is captured, re-captured, groped by a frizzy-haired lesbian, chased through the jungle, rescued by Michael Sopkiw (a shotgun wielding badass if I ever saw one), almost sacrificed to a dinosaur god, shot at by a slave trader with a beer gut (Andy Silas), and has her panties are leered at multiple times by a piggish Vietnam vet, and, not to mention, Carlito (Jonas Dalbecchi), a tubby fuck who drives the models to and from their photo shoots. Speaking of Carlito, make sure to check out the aforementioned deleted scenes on the Shriek Show DVD, as they help flesh out the characters, especially Carlito, a little more.

Women in Fury (Michele Massimo Tarantini, 1985)

It's got the word "women" in the title, and, as luck might have it, the very same title has also contains the word "fury," which is another way of saying, "uncontrolled anger," and I loves me some uncontrolled anger;  in fact, other than Kenneth, it's my favourite kind of anger. Anyway, this is what those of us in the women in prison appreciation racket like to call a "win win." It's got women, and they're furious. There's no way you could possibly mess this up. Wait a second. What's going on over there? It looks a man in beige slacks running down the street. Why, for the love of criminy, is a man in beige slacks chasing Jared Leto with a beard? (The man in beige slacks, by the way, isn't carrying a beard, it's just that the man he's chasing bears a striking resemblance to Jared Leto...you know, if he had a beard.) Huh. Well, hopefully we'll get back to the lady jail in order to see what kind of dehumanizing ordeal our plucky female protagonist is going to be put through next. Nope, it would seem that we're still watching the man in beige slacks in hot pursuit of his hirsute, Leto-esque prize. What the fuck is going on here?!? Who is this asshole? And why is hogging so much screen time? When I turned on Women in Fury, I was under the impression that there would be women in fury, not earnest prison doctors who wear beige slacks in fury. You'll have to excuse my petulance, this my third Brazilian WiP flick in as many days, and I'm feeling less cocksure than usual. What I mean is, I've come to expect certain genre specific idiosyncrasies to be present in my Brazilian WiP flicks, and when these structural characteristics fail to manifest themselves in an overly succinct manner, I get nervous; some might say, I get antsy. In a perfect WiP world, every WiP film would take place entirely inside the walls of a penal facility, whether it be a labour camp on the Eastern Front or a squalid hellhole teetering on the brink of anarchy out in the suburbs of Penetanguishene. But that world, unfortunately, doesn't exist, so directors like, Michele Massimo Tarantini, will continue to insist on telling WiP stories that involve scenarios that transpire on the other side of the concrete and barbed wire. 

       

 

In a veiled attempt placate my irritation over the inclusion of so many scenes that feature Dr. Cuña (Henri Pagnoncelli), a bushy-haired do-gooder who works as a prison doctor, let's change gears by focusing on the outfits the inmates are forced wear during their stay at this correctional institute for dangerous women. After all, the unveiling of the prison garb is my favourite part of the WiP experience. A precursor for things to come, the skimpiness of the uniforms usually tells me right off the bat if the film is going to be waste of time or a perverted delight. Sparsity in the fabric department is also great indicator of what kind kink the director likes with his coffee. Well, even though they're a little too bulky for my taste, I thought the costumes the ladies wore throughout Women in Fury were visually and functionally alluring.

 

Since the other two Brazilian WiP movies I've seen, Bare Behind Bars and Amazon Jail, seem to morph into fugitives on the run pictures during their final thirds, it only makes sense that Women in Fury continue in that tradition. And since the jungles of Brazil are quite unforgiving when it comes to basic survival, the wear and tear that occurs on their once cumbersome garments after spending a few hours in the rainforest causes them to grow exponentially sexier the longer they toil in the relentless heat.
 

 
If there's any chance that their outfits are going to get to the point where they're literally hanging on by a thread, the relative harmony of the prison population at large needs to be disrupted by an outside agitator. While her outward demeanour might not exactly scream sturm und drang, the wrongly convicted Angela Duvall (Suzane Carvalho) is just what the prison has been waiting for in order to create the necessary amount of dyke-based upheaval.
 

 

After being leered at by one of the guards who accompanied her during ride in the paddy waggon (the screw visually devours her stems with animalistic intensity), Angela enters the building she'll be spending the next eighteen years. Removed of her fancy courtroom clothes, Angela is quickly given a bluish robe and shown to her cell by the prison's head matron (Rossana Ghessa). Stepping forward in a manner that lead me to believe she was going to be the "Albina from Women's Prison Massacre" of the Woman in Fury universe, Neninia was a complete bust in terms of trying to fill Albina's lofty loafers. I mean, other than acting menacing while eating a banana, displaying some semi-threatening body language, and getting bit by a snake, she brings nothing to the WiP table. There was a second there when I thought she was going to be this particular film's Valeska from Bad Girls Dormitory (Neninia boasts to Angela upon meeting her that she's the girl who can "gets things"), but that didn't materialize either.
 

 

The action soon shifts to the prison's exercise yard, where we find Angela sitting on a bench, Soledad Miranda in Eugenie de Sade-style, with a despondent look on her face. It's a good thing Denise (Zeni Pereira), a large woman whose bra is always partially exposed, came along and befriended Angela when she did, or else Joanna (Gloria Cristal) and Paola would have made mincemeat of her. Well, Paola would have; Joanna doesn't want to kill Angela, she only wants to have unprotected lesbian sex with her. You see, Paola is intimidated by Angela. And not because she's tough or particularly strong, but because she's a hot piece of ass. She's worried the head matron is going to cast her aside and make Angela her go-to source for dew-laden girl pussy.
 

 

Do I blame her? Hell no. The head matron has already poked her nightstick underneath Angela's bluish robe to get a better a look at her right tit, and judging by the shit-eating grin on her face after she deposits the curvature of Angela's right tit into her woefully depleted spank bank, she likey, she likey a lot.

 

 

Actually, if you think about it, Paola is the only character in Women in Fury who comes the closest to channeling the exquisite insanity Albina from Women's  Prison Massacre was putting out there as that film's primary bully/stoolie/enforcer. While it's true, Paola doesn't quite share Albina's flair for the dramatic, she does have one shining moment in the WiP sun. It comes after Angela returns from lapping up the hypothetical contents congealing in and around the head matron's humid undercarriage. The idea of Angela slowly hiking down the head matron's black panties in her office instead of her, causes Paola to become incensed. Confronting her as Angela was trying to rest her overworked mouth and genitals, Paola tells her, "I'm built better than you! I've got hot blood in me!" I liked the way she opened her robe as she was telling her this. And, I have to admit, she's absolutely right, her body is a bronze-tinged masterpiece.
 

 

"Look, I'm the only one who knows how to please her, so stay away from her, you snotty cow!" ~ Paola
 

 

Luckily for Angela, the prison's most dominant lesbian, Joanna, steps in and saves her from the beat down Paola was surely to inflict on her. What gave you the impression that Joanna was the dominant lesbian at the prison? Well, when it comes time initiate Angela, her cellmates hold her down and hit her with wet towels. Lying spread eagle on her bed, Joanna, after they're finishing beating her, slinks over to the bruised Angela, and lies on top of her. The idea is to extract erotic pleasure from her organic structure via kissing and touching. But more importantly, the fact that she got first dibs to sexually assault Angela told me that Joanna, not Paola was the big cheese when it came to lesbian affairs.
 

 

As Angela is being hosed down, beaten with towels, and almost hanged in one scene, Dr. Cuña has taken upon himself to clear her name. Instead of gazing at his nurse's killer drawn on eyebrows in his free time, Dr. Cuña makes his mission in life to exonerate Angela, whom he thinks is innocent. Tracking down Sergio, her drug addict brother, Dr. Cuña slowly but surely uncovers a vast conspiracy. Okay, maybe it wasn't that vast. But it does involve the Captain Bonifacio (Leonardo José), a military general of some sort who runs the country's prison system. Either way, something stinks.
 

 

The manner in which Dr. Cuña seemed to thrust himself into Angela's business was really off-putting. Sure, he was just trying to help, but I have a nagging suspicion the only reason he gave a shit was because he thought she was attractive and wanted to temporarily store certain items (i.e. his penis, the tip of his tongue, etc. ) inside her lusty frame for salacious safe keeping.
 

 

Unfortunately, just as the prospects that Dr. Cuña might get his wish were starting to look halfway decent, a prison riot breaks out. Instigated as a result of a gruesome decapitation out in the yard, it's total chaos, as a handful of the guards have their rifles taken away from them. (Free tip to all you prison wardens out there: Never allow firearms to be carried within the walls of your prison.) While most of the inmates end up facing the watery sting of the water cannon and a throng of baton-wielding riot police, all the women from Angela's cell who still have their heads manage to escape into the jungle.
 

 

Since the film does a terrible job at creating memorable characters with distinctive personalities, the women, most of which don't even have names, are eventually whittled down to three. With no-one left to root for, Women in Fury pretty much turns into yet another chase movie. Other than the clever leaf transition scene (we follow a leaf floating down a stream as it goes from one location to another within the span of ten seconds), the rest of the film nothing but dogs barking and lots of running set to the sound of bongo drums. In other words, it's deadly dull.