Emanuelle Around the World (Joe D'Amato, 1977)

The plucky intrepid photojournalist from Emanuelle In America is back, and this time it's, um... I wouldn't say it's personal, as being forced to watch a dog rape a woman or a shapely milf show mild discomfort over the fact that her garter belt clip is digging into her thigh aren't exactly things I'd call "personal." Think about it, she is not an active participant, she is merely a spectator. No, I'd say it's more unsettling than anything else. I mean, imagine a world where stockings caused pain. Exactly, it's not a world I would want to live in, either. Now, granted, dogs raping women in Macau is pretty heinous. But I think most sane or close to sane people will agree that the sight of a milfy blonde experiencing garter-based distress is much more disturbing. To make things even more disturbing, her step-son and Emanuelle are hiding in a nearby closet.  Luckily for the milfy blonde, she has her girlfriend by her side to alleviate her hosiery troubles. And what happens after this nylon dilemma has been solved? Duh, cunnilingus. It's true, I'm trying to focus on one of the few scenes in Joe D'Amato's Emanuelle Around the World that doesn't end in an orgy of degrading sexual violence in order to maintain my mental health. But how long can I continue to talk about a five minute scene that revolves around stockings and cunnilingus?

I don't know, but I think I just gave myself a challenge. Let's see, where does the stocking scene fit in the overall scheme of this odious slab of Italian trash?

As most of you already know, Laura Gemser's Emanuelle is a reporter who travels the world in order to expose corruption and criminality of the unsavory variety. While in Rome, she convinces two women to join a sting operation to bring down a sex slave operation run by a deformed man with pus-laden right eye.

Never one to go into a sticky situation without a solid plan B, Emanuelle enlists the help of a mildly hunky motorcyclist. When the mildly hunky motorcyclist comes through in the clutch, Emanuelle decides to repay him the only way she knows how. That's right, she uses the soft confines of her buttery vagina to thank the mildly hunky motorcyclist for his services.

Well, she would like to do so. But she can't at the moment, as the mildly hunky motorcyclist's step-mom just came abroad the boat, with her girlfriend in tow, just as they were about have European-style sexual intercourse.

It's this exact moment when the mildly hunky motorcyclist's milfy step-mom begins complain to her girlfriend that the clips on her garter belt have begun to dig into her legs. While removing the stockings is the only logical way to alleviate her discomfort, the sight of her stockings being removed caused me to become quite enraged.

Actually, is it, though? (Is it what?) Is removing the stockings the only logical way to alleviate her discomfort? I mean, I'm sure two reasonably intelligent Italian women can figure out a way to solve this garter quandary without having to resort to drastic measures.

Nevertheless, the mildly hunky motorcyclist's milfy step-mom is rewarded with guilt-free cunnilingus. And at the end of the day, that's all that really matters. Though, I have to say, the cunnilingus, from my point of view, anyway, would have been a million times sweeter had the mildly hunky motorcyclist's step-mom's girlfriend's head, no doubt, bobby and weaving in the throes of performing hearty cunnilingus, been framed by the mildly hunky motorcyclist's step-mom's creamy, stocking-encased thighs as the mildly hunky motorcyclist's girlfriend dined heartily on her throbbing Italo-clit. I'm just... yeah.

It should go without saying, but all the women who appear in this film are gorgeous. As for the men, they are a disgusting bouquet of creeps and low-lifes. In fact, I would go as far to say that's there's not an attractive one in the lot.

I mean, it's pretty much one dysphoria-causing bearded face after another.

Seriously. Don't these scumbags know how to shave?

Oh, hello. Who are you? Now that's a sexy man. (Who are you talking about?) While Emanuelle is hiding in the closet with the mildly hunky motorcyclist, her partner, Cora Norman (Karin Schubert), visited by some shady characters. Anyway, I didn't feel dysphoric at all while their leader was on-screen. Sure, his bearded henchmen made me want to chop up my disgusting body and toss the pieces into the nearest active volcano, but still... I dug this guy. Of course, I disagree with what he and his henchmen do in this film (as you might expect, it's monstrous), but... yeah.

Have I mentioned that this film is refreshingly pornographic? No? Damn, I must be slipping or something. At any rate, I wish more films had a sprinkling of porn in them. Though, if you're going to use a body double for the lead actress when it comes time for a hardcore close-up, the least you could do is get someone who has the same skin colour. The woman they got to portray Laura Gemser's vagina as it plowed into a cock during an orgy wasn't close to being Gemser brown.  I don't why they couldn't have just painted her crotch and butt brown. I'm sure they had some brown paint leftover from the can they used on George Eastman, who plays an Indian guru.

Moving on. Whether you like it or not, the film's main theme by Nico Fidenco, which plays close to six times over the course of the film, will not leave your brain willingly. Neither will the dog rape scene, the wooden dildo party, the New York bum rape scene (a group of derelicts rape Miss Ohio for the amusement of a bunch of rich fucks) or the banana penetration scene.

It's not all beastly and foul, the lesbian scene between Laura Gemser and Brigitte Petronio (The House on the Edge of the Park) is kind of tender, as is the well-documented scene that takes place on the boat (ahoy! cunnilingus!). So, yeah. It's beautiful and unpleasant at the same time. Win-win.

Oh, and keep an eye for the cameo by adult film legend Paul Thomas (The Devil in Miss Jones 3: A New Beginning), he plays a truck driver (it occurs during the first few minutes).

The New Barbarians (Enzo G. Castellari, 1983)

If your idea of paradise is a world where every car is equipped with a dome-shaped sunroof, then you my friend will love the future depicted in The New Barbarians (I Nuovi Barbari, a.k.a. Warriors of the Wasteland), yet another Italian post-apocalypse movie from Enzo G. Castellari (1990: The Bronx Warriors), as it has more dome-shaped sunroofs than Ontario Place. (I don't care if no-one knows what Ontario Place is, I've always wanted to make reference to it, and I feel this is the best opportunity to do so to come along in years.) Fine. If that reference means nothing to you, how about this: If your idea of paradise is a car that has an elongated drill installed under the hood for the sole purpose of lancing other vehicles in order to exact homoerotic comeuppance on your enemies, then you my friend are gonna love The New Barbarians, as it has more elongated drills than the men's room at a Village People concert. If, however, you're not into those things–which, even I'll admit, are things with a very limited appeal–I'm afraid you're going to be hunted down and exterminated by an unruly gang of bearded fancy boys who wear white whenever they damn well please. Speaking of fancy, who designed their outfits? Whose outfits? The Templars–you know, the bearded fancy boys. Anyway, as I was saying, the outfits worn by not only The Templars, a gang who want to punish humanity for allowing itself to be destroyed by atomic weapons by killing everyone who had the gall to survive, but almost every citizen of this rubble-strewn universe is making a bold fashion statement. It's true, your average nuclear holocaust can be murder on your wardrobe. And I'm sure the most common question asked in this post-nuke realm is: Do these torn rags go with these hole-ridden shoes? Yet, looking at the people who kill and get killed in this movie, I don't think that question is asked very often.    
 

 

I know what you're thinking, how hard is it to scrounge around dilapidated sports stadiums to find old football pads? Yeah, but, you see, they don't wear discarded sports equipment in this film. The outfits they don are designer originals. Meaning, they were specifically made with the apocalypse in mind.
 

 

Okay, smart guy. How do The Templars, the self-proclaimed "ministers of revenge," who roam the wasteland in search of humans to exterminate, make their outfits? I mean, there are no lady Templars. Are you suggesting that a gang of  bearded men need a woman to make their outfits? In that, only a woman would know how to sew? Yes, that's exactly what I'm suggesting. Well, did it ever occur to you that The Templars are all card carrying Friends of Dorothy? What does that mean? They're gay! And what do gay men do? They make outfits. 
 

 

Determined to destroy what's left of humanity after the nuclear holocaust of 2019, the movie opens with The Templars arriving at a camp filled with humans who seem just as determined to carry on living. This desire to live irks The Templars, who want to punish them. And the best way they can think of to do so is by killing them. Circling the wagons sort of speak, the humans try to hold off The Templars. But it's to no avail, there are too many of them. Swarming their makeshift base with armoured cars and motorcycle troops, The Templars make short work of their defenses. Lead by Shadow (Ennio Girolami), an overly blonde man with a large mane of hair that made him look like The Cowardly Lion from certain angles (and by "certain angles," I mean every angle), The Templars finish off the stragglers utilizing their weaponized vehicles; the aforementioned Shadow uses the flamethrower feature on his car to dispatch one straggler and Mako (Massimo Vanni), a black-bearded Templar with a purple Mohawk, uses a bladed fan attached to the side of his car to decapitate another straggler.
 

 

You know how I said Shadow was the leader of The Templars? It would seem that One (George Eastman) is their actual leader. I just assumed Shadow was in charge, because, well, he oozes leadership. And, like I said, he has that whole Cowardly Lion thing going on. I guess One doesn't take part in raids. Anyway, One rips a Bible in two and declares the world dead.
 

 

In the past, I've stated many of what I think are the benefits to living in a post-apocalyptic world. And, I won't lie, most of them involve fashion. You see, thanks to the wanton destruction, the fascists who run the fashion industry are longer in control of what people wear. That's right, people can wear whatever they want. Yeah, I know, The Templars seem just as fascistic as the people in the fashion industry; they all wear the exact same thing (a white leather jumpsuit with testicle-shaped shoulder pads). But I don't think The Templars are supposed to represent freedom of choice.
 

 

The so-called "freedom of choice onus" is actually placed squarely on the shoulders of a loner named Scorpion (Giancarlo Prete), who we meet as he's blowing away a bunch of "crazies" (ragged nomads who wear welding goggles) and an archer named Nadir (Fred Williamson), an unflappable badass who seems to act as Scorpion's guardian angel. Here's some free advice, if you don't want to get shot in the head by one of Nadir's explosive-tipped arrow, don't bring up the the whole guardian angel thing, as he seems like the kind of guy who wouldn't like to be known as a "guardian angel." Come to think of it, I wouldn't use the word "unflappable" to describe him either.
 

 

After being introduced to Scorpion's mechanic, oh, let's call him, Timmy (Giovanni Frezza), a little blonde kid who, as we'll soon find out, wields a sling-shot with deadly accuracy, we're back on the road with The Templars, who have spotted an armoured van filled, no doubt, with pesky humans. Piercing its armour with his trusty hood-mounted battering ram, Shadow proceeds to spray the inside of the van with hot flames. Two of the occupants jump from the flame-engulfed van. The male occupant is quickly taken care of by Shadow (say hello to my little phallic-shaped hood ornament friend), while Mako and his male companion decide to have little fun with the van's female occupant.
 

 

They may be on friendly terms with Dorothy, but The Templars seem to have it in for all women not named Dorothy. Huh? They don't like women. All right.. At any rate, just as Mako and his male companion are about have their way with Alma (Anna Kanakis), Scorpion steps in to save the day. Oh, and when say, "have their way with Alma," I didn't mean to imply that they were about to rape her. It's more likely that were going to torture her before eventually killing her. Now that I have cleared that up. A visibly frightened Alma, who is wearing red-tinted goggles and purple leather tights, stands between two armoured vehicles. And just as Scoprion and Mako were about to ram into each other, Shadow intervenes just in the nick of time. It would seem that Scorpion has a bit of a history with The Templars. I don't know what exactly occurred between them in the past, but apparently if anyone is going to kill Scorpion it's going to be One.
 

 

As Scorpion is driving Alma to safety (she feels comfortable enough with him that she removes her goggles), Mako is planning his revenge. I thought you said that One wants to be the one to kill Scorpion? Yeah, but that doesn't seem to stop Mako, who gathers up a small group of Templars, from acting on his own. Fans of Italian exploitation will probably notice that Frank von Kuegelgen provides the voice of Mako in the English language version of The New Barbarians; his distinctive voice can be heard in Cannibal Ferox, The House on the Edge of the Park (two films where Frank's voice is used by characters played by Giovanni Radice Lombardo) and Hell of the Living Dead. Confronting Scorpion in what looks like an abandoned quarry, Mako and his men attack him with their vehicles and energy weapons. Holy crap, did you see that fucking mannequin head come apart? (Every time a Templar loses his life, a mannequin explodes into a million pieces.) As expected, Scorpion takes care of business, with, of course, a little help from Fred Williamson.
 

 

The scene where Fred Williamson scopes Anna Kanakis' legs, which, like I said, are encased in purple leather, using the scope on his bow was one the film's few instances where heterosexual titillation was paid any sort of lip service.
 

 

As far as synth-friendly music goes, it's a whole 'nother story, as The New Barbarians is chock-full of synthy goodness. The film's score, composed by Claudio Simonetti, is a synth-lovers dream. Check out the synth flourish at around the hour and twenty-three minute mark, it will blow your mind; it occurs when Fred Williamson is stalking Templars with his trusty bow.
 

 

A glorified western where the villains have traded in their spurs for jumpsuits that make them look like sperm, The New Barbarians is your classic gay vs. straight battle. On one hand, Scorpion and Nadir want to have heterosexual intercourse with Anna Kanakis (2019: After the Fall of New York) and Iris Peynado (a dreamy-eyed wasteland resident with the wasteland's most robust side-ponytail), while The Templars want to have gay sex with each other. You could say, since the gays are depicted as the "bad guys," that the film could be construed as anti-gay. But how can any film be classified as "anti-gay" when it features a mildly chiseled man wearing see-through, gladiator-style plastic armour during the film's man-penetrating climax? Don't look at me, 'cause I don't know. All I know is that the film, while anti-gay at times, can turn pro-gay on a dime. Which, given the circumstances and time period in which the film was made, is the best we can hope for. And besides, the film ends with an interracial "gimme five," something you don't see much of nowadays. Which is a shame, really, as I love interracial gimme fives, interracial gimme tens, and, of course, interracial fist bumps.
 

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1990: The Bronx Warriors (Enzo G. Castellari, 1982)

The world of motion pictures is made up of two separate yet equally important groups. First and foremost, you have the scumbags who are obsessed with telling a compelling story. As for the other group, well, they think every film needs to end with motorcycle helmet-wearing government troops on horseback setting people's faces on fire with flamethrowers. And which group do you think 1990: The Bronx Warriors belongs to? If you chose the latter, you're obviously well aware that this Bronxsploitation yarn was directed by Enzo G. Castellari, one of them inordinately Italian men I often refer to. Who else would feature something so exceedingly badass in their movie? No-one, that's who. I don't know what it is about Italians, the apocalypse, and flamethrowers (both Rats: Night of Terror and 2019: After the Fall of the New York boast scenes with flamethrowers), but they have taken the post-apocalyptic genre to a whole new level of awesome. Taking their cues from films like, The Warriors, Escape from New York, and Mad Max, the makers of this film envision a future where The Bronx, the northernmost of the five boroughs of New York City, is a lawless land overrun by gangs. The first thing you'll notice about the residents of this unlawful version of The Bronx is their sense of fashion; it's not only on the cutting edge, it serves a practically purpose in their day to day life. On the other hand, the uptight squares living across the river in Manhattan are all dressed in bland business suits. Proving yet again that instability is good for fashion, the gang members seen throughout this film are able to freely express their inner clothes horse thanks to society's undoing.
 

 

The practical purposes of the gang clothing worn in this movie are on full display during the film's stylish opening credits sequence. Featuring a black background, each credit is accompanied by an item of clothing, an accessory, a weapon, or an example of the makeup will be seeing over the course of the film. And judging by some of the weaponized accessories, elaborate lingerie, Toyah-esque makeup I saw during the credits, it looks like I'll be wallowing in my cinematic comfort zone for the next ninety or so minutes.
 

 

For those interested, the order goes something like this: Skull rings, makeup, knife knuckle dusters, green roller skate wheels, spiky elbow pads, an undefined skull, makeup (butterfly face paint), a spear, claw rings, makeup, another undefined skull, makeup, knife boot, and, last, but not least, lingerie!
 

 

The year is 1999, and there is no law...Wait a minute. Wrong movie. The year is 1990, and The Bronx has been declared a "no-man's land," one that is ruled by bikers, hot rod driving pimps, and bowler hat-wearing tap dancers. If that's the case, why is Ann (Stefania Girolami Goodwin), a Manhattan socialite, fleeing her cushy existence across the river? I don't know, but the second she crosses the bridge, she greeted by The Zombies, a gang of roller-skating fascists who wear white German army helmets paired with red and orange knee and elbow pads, and carry hockey sticks as weapons. Even though this gang is in desperate need of a stylist, they look quite formidable. Proving that looks are deceiving, The Riders, lead by Trash (Mark Gregory) show up to teach The Zombies a lesson or two in street fighting.
 

 

After the brawl is over, Trash goes over to collect his blonde prize. Now, you would think Trash would be hostile towards Ann; after all, she's from Manhattan. But much to my surprise, Trash let's Ann join The Riders. And, get this, he doesn't merely let her ride on the back of his bike like some "girlfriend." No way, Ann gets own bike. Which we can clearly see her on as Trash and the gang rumble their way underneath The Manhattan Bridge. Parked in a w-shaped formation, The Riders stare ominously at the body of one of their own as a loner drummer wails away on a drum-kit. I'll be the first to admit, I haven't done any research about the drummer. But I have a strong feeling that the bridge drummer from 1990: The Bronx Warriors has his own cult following, as the sight of him drumming for no apparent reason is pretty fucking cool. Oh, and I also liked how none of the other characters acknowledge his presence.
 

 

Even though the opening title card states that The Bronx is ruled by The Riders, the borough's largest gang are actually called The Tigers, a dapper group who take their cues from 1930s American gangster culture and mix it together with the gaudy swagger of your typical 1970s street pimp. Arriving under the bridge with a flamboyant aplomb (we're talking flame-adorned hots rods, baby), Trash requests to have a chat with The Ogre (Fred Williamson), leader of The Tigers, who, of course, smokes thin cigars and has a leggy sidekick named Witch (Betty Dessy). Telling Trash that the dead member of his gang was a spy, The Ogre says he'll let it slide this time and gives him a stern warning. It's true, I''m not that familiar with Fred Williamson as an actor, but even I know he's not someone to be trifled with.
 

 

Accepting what The Ogre told him to be the truth, Trash instructs his gang to hit the road. You'll notice that the bespectacled Ice (Joshua Sinclair), whose nickname should be Fisher Stevens, isn't convinced  that they had an informant in their midst, and starts to plant seeds of doubt in the minds of his fellow Riders. It's early on, but I can tell already that this Fisher Stevens fella is going to be trouble. And it's obvious he doesn't like the fact that Ann has joined the gang, either.
 

 

If you're wondering if anyone in Manhattan is concerned about Ann's whereabouts, we're introduced to The Hammer (Vic Morrow), a self-proclaimed badass who has been hired by some shady corporate types to bring her back safely.
 

 

Making his presence almost immediately, The Hammer guns down two Riders, Speedy and Sandy, in the stairwell of their dilapidated hang-out. You have to wonder why The Hammer chose to kill those seemingly random bikers. But his cruel actions do lead to one of the film's most memorable sequences. And that this, Speedy and Sandy's funeral. The cremation ceremony and the act of flinging their ashes in the East River (each biker flings a bit of ash) was downright poetic. Still not convinced that the Tigers are behind the series of setbacks that have befallen The Riders as of late, Trash must contend with Ice, who has managed to rile up the troops; some of which are calling for war with the Tigers. Having to deal with a gang that is fracturing, and the pressure that ultimately come with having a Manhattanite as a girlfriend, Trash heads to the beach to clear his head.
 

 

Leaving the sensible Blade (Massimo Vanni), a dead ringer for one of the guys in Man 2 Man, behind to keep an eye on Ice, whose got side deals going with The Hammer, a trucker named Hot Dog (Christopher Connelly), and Golan (George Eastman), the leader of the Zombies, Trash takes two of his men deep into Tiger territory. The plan is to ask The Ogre to form alliance with them, so that may defeat The Hammer and rescue Ann from the clutches of The Zombies. And while that sounds easy enough, they're going to have to get by The Jackals, The Scavengers and The Sharks. Now, I know the Scavengers are the one's in the ragged clothing who live underground. But I'm not sure about the rest.
 

 

Choosing my favourite gang from this movie was more difficult than I expected. The Tigers have great style, The Zombies wear white German helmets and get around on roller skates, and The Riders looked like they had just walked off the set of Cruising. However, after much deliberation, the tap dancing gang in the Toyah-inspired makeup and silver bowler hats, let's call them, The Dandies, were my gang of choice; you gotta love any gang that uses jazz hands to intimidate their rivals.
 

 

Picking my favourite gang member, on the other hand, was easy. What do you expect to happen when you put a lankly blonde woman in black stockings worn over black pantyhose, a black leather corset, and a silver cape? To put it in the simplest terms possible, Witch rules! Watching her dispatch Scavengers with her trusty whip and knuckle claws was downright electrifying. When we first meet Witch at the meeting between The Riders and The Tigers under the bridge, I figured she was just The Ogre's lady–you know, an accessory, like his thin cigars and puffy shirts. But the moment she springs into action, I was like, whoa, this woman is amazing. Looking at her bio, I was shocked to discover that 1990: The Bronx Warriors was her lone film role. Which is a shame, because she really has a great screen presence. The same goes for the bridge drummer. It should go without saying, but more films should feature unexpected drummers.

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2019: After the Fall of New York (Sergio Martino, 1983)

Riding on a crowded subway at the height of rush hour is nothing compared to being forced to eat sewer rats off the end of a skewer. At least that's what I kept telling myself as I basked in the entertaining glow of 2019: After the Fall of New York, a post-apocalyptic thrill ride that has more villainous, ponytail-sporting brunettes than every Hollywood film that it purportedly "borrows" its ideas from. Oh, and I don't mean to imply that I like riding the subway during the hellish period known as "rush hour." On the contrary, I would much rather live in the radioactive wasteland that's depicted in this film's universe. Why is that, you ask? Well, for starters, everyone is sterile. Which is perfect, as I'm always getting chicks pregnant; they don't call me the Reverse Creampie Champion of South Central Ohio for the nothing (check their non-existent website if you don't believe me). In a world without babies, who do you think would come out on top after the fallout had cleared? If you said those pesky Europeans. You would be right. You wanna know why the Europeans rule what's left of the world? It's simple. No, it's got nothing to do with their healthy attitude toward sex or their obsession with soccer. Remember that brunette with the ponytail I alluded to earlier? You do? Excellent. You see, she's a woman, and she plays an important role in the daily operation of Eurac (a Europe run alliance that includes Africa and Asia). Sure, she's not the biggest cheese in the drawer where the cheese and other cheese-related products are kept (that distinction goes to some bald motherfucker), but at least she has a hand in running things. Unfortunately, the same can't be said for the Pan American Confederacy, a small yet determined group of Americans who hope to recapture the ground they lost to the Eurac, in that, they have no women working in positions of power. At least none that I saw hanging around their antiseptic Alaskan compound.
 

 

In hindsight, maybe the Americans don't have any women. Hold on a second, that doesn't make any sense. I'm sure there are some ladies kicking around somewhere. Unless they were all killed while being experimented on. Typical male thinking. Oh-no, women can't get pregnant! What are we going to do? I know, let's perform experiments on them–you know, in order to find out what's wrong with them. Never once thinking to themselves that it's the defective sperm floating around inside their testicles that's the problem. No matter what the reason is, I think it's safe to say that I'm reading way too much into the film's imaginary take on gender dynamics.
 

 

Look at the once flourishing city of New York City, it's skyline is a smoldering shell of its former self. Who's responsible for this? The Eurac monarchy, that's who, a powerful Euro-Afro-Asian alliance who rained nuclear hellfire on the city. Claiming what's left of Manhattan as their own, the Eurac, and gangs of local mercenaries, like, the Harlem Hunters, scour the streets, armed with crossbow-style rifles, spiky clubs, and flamethrowers, in search of New Yorkers.
 

 

You can spot them by looking at the pus-laden lesions on their faces.
 

 

The idea is to wipe out, exterminate, if you will, the last vestiges of human life in the city, so that the Eurac may set the stage for their new society. Only problem is, there hasn't been a human baby born in over fifteen years. Anyway, the flamethrowers look cool and the crossbow-style rifles fired by the Eurac cavalry sound eerily similar to the phasers used in The Beast in Space.
 

 

As the Eurac cavalry and their flamethrower-wielding allies cleanse the streets of Manhattan, Parsifal (Michael Sopkiw) is about to engage in some vehicular combat out in the Nevada desert. A bloodsport, complete with prizes and a punk-friendly audience, the no-nonsense Parsifal battles other cars, most of which are equipped with cannons; think of it as a live action version of Twisted Metal: Black. Speaking of demented clowns, I want the female clown automaton who repeats the line, "To the victor: long life and happiness," after Parsifal destroys/kills all the other drivers. What do you mean, you want it? Exactly that, I want to own the the creepy female clown automaton from 2019: After the Fall of New York; the herky-jerky way she moved, the eyeball on top of her head and the deadpan  manner in which she spoke was very appealing to me.
 

 

One of the rewards for winning the car war is a brunette sex slave named Flower (Siriana Hernandez), who he puts on the back of his three-wheeled motorcycle, and proceeds to hit the road.
 

 

Deciding that owning a brunette sex slave isn't all it's cracked up to be, he let's her ride off on a horse belonging to one of the guys Parsifal puts out of his misery by the side of the road (they were coughing up green slime as a result of drinking radioactive water). Zapped by a stun gun (the prop master who worked on Barbarella just called, he wants his rayguns back), Parsifal wakes up in the secret hideout for the Pan American Confederacy, which is located somewhere in Alaska. What do they want with Parsifal? It would seem that the president (Edmund Purdom) knows the whereabouts of the world's last fertile woman, and wants Parsifal, of all people, to bring her back so that they [The Pan American Confederacy] may start producing babies again.
 

 

Suspicious of the president's motives, Parsifal approaches his offer with the right amount of caution. I mean, why should he trust him? After all, he's a politician. Mulling it over for a few seconds, Parsifal reluctantly agrees to go on the mission. Since the president doesn't trust Parsifal either, he assigns Bronx (Paolo Maria Scalondro), a claw-handed former New Yorker (the Eurac killed his family and made him watch) and Ratchet (Romano Puppo), an eye-patch-sporting strongman, to accompany him.
 

 

Did the trumpet player who toots his horn just out Manhattan remind anyone of the scene from Cafe Flesh where Max Melodramatic plays the trumpet during a break in the show? No? Okay, moving on. The plan is simple: Find the fertile woman, and bring her back to Alaska. However, as they soon find out, getting into Manhattan is easy. It's getting out part that is downright impossible. Though, I should say, getting in isn't that east either. Unless you consider crawling through rat-infested sewers easy.
 

 

After battling some Harlem Hunters at an abandoned bus depot (great location, by the way), Parsifal, Bronx, and Ratchet find themselves back in the sewers. It's here where we're introduced to the Rat Eater King (Hal Yamanouchi) and his merry band of Rat Eaters. The sight of the clearly demented Rat Eater King, his face covered with lesions, whipping rats with his trusty whip was the definition of badass. You see, by whipping them, the Rat Eater King stuns the rats in order that his fellow Rat Eaters can stab them with greater efficiency (a stunned rat is easier to stab than a rat that hasn't been stunned). As the Rat Eaters are stabbing rats, Parsifal notices a blonde Rat Eater poking rats like a pro. Even though I thought the bald chick with the lesions on the side of her head was the most attractive Rat Eater, I can't argue with Parsifal's choice. At any rate, before he can make goo-goo eyes with Giara (Valentine Monnier), the threesome must save a little person, who, of course, is named Shorty (Louis Ecclesia), from being killed by the Rat Eaters (they think little people are demons).
 

 

A brawl takes place, one where we get to see Ratchet's ball bearings in action (they're attached to a wire and hidden in his sleeve). Unfortunately,  Parsifal and Bronx, and Ratchet are outnumbered and are eventually taken prisoner by the Rat Eaters. Forced to watch them eat rats and perform some kind of campfire rape lottery, things aren't looking too good for our heroes. Will they be able to find the world's last fertile woman in order to save humanity. And if they do find her, is it really worth making more people if this is world they're going to be born into? These and many other questions are bound to answered by the time 2019: After the Fall of New York has decided that its dolled out enough awesome to satisfy the unwashed rabble lurking in the dark.
 

 

No one will deny that director Sergio Martini (Torso) was heavily influenced by films such as Escape from New York, Mad Max 2: The Road Warrior and Planet of the Apes (a half man half ape character named "Big Ape," played by George Eastman, shows up during the film's final third), but the cool thing about this particular film is that it manages to expand upon the films that initially inspired it. In fact, I thought this film was actually better than Escape from New York. While I realize a statement like that could be interpreted as blasphemy, the fact is 2019: After the Fall of New York is simply more entertaining and does more with the post-apocalyptic, New York City in ruins premise. And on top of that, Michael Sopkiw (Massacre in Dinosaur Valley) is just so darned likable.
 

 

I would be remiss if I failed to mention the stunning performance given by Anna Kanakis (The New Barbarians) as Ania, the Eurac's second in command. Channeling the Baroness from G.I. Joe, Valaria from Robot Holocaust, and Meg Foster's Evil-Lyn from Masters of the Universe, Anna Kanakis, her giant ponytail tied to perfection, imbues her character with enough ruthlessness and paranoia to sooth my wounded soul for at least six to seven hours. As I watched Anna stomp around Eurac headquarters in her black skintight outfit, I thought to myself: Fuck any film that doesn't feature a strong, fashion forward female villain at its centre. I mean, seriously, fuck them all. If you're not going to give me what I want, like, 2019: After the Fall of New York does and then some, then I'm afraid I'm not going to watch your lame ass movie with same amount of enthusiasm. Oh, sure. I'll sit in front of you for ninety or so minutes, but my heart won't be in it.
 

 

"My ponytail is better than yours. Deal with it." ~ Ania (Warning: This line is not actually uttered in the film.)

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Special thanks to The Film Connoisseur for suggesting that my eyes and their ball-like housing make a date with this totally righteous flick.