99 Women (Jess Franco, 1969)

Timing it so that when the new prisoners (a.k.a. "the new fish") are brought in, it's the first thing they see, Rosalba Neri makes sure they get an eyeful of her reclining in her black stay-up stockings. It's obvious that Zoe (Rosalba Neri) knows exactly what she's doing. Fiddling with the tops of her stockings the same way a car mechanic fiddles with an engine, Rosalba Neri has powerful stems, and it's clear from the get-go that she isn't afraid to wield them in a manner that will help her curry favour with others. When incarcerated in a prison located on an island off the coast of Panama, some people use their wits to survive, others use brute force. Well, I got news for you, honey, Rosalba Neri, a.k.a. Prisoner #76, uses her gams. You would be surprised how much one can get done when you own a shapely pair of Italian legs. Who needs cigarettes when you've got legs for miles. If you think it's strange that I've mentioned Rosalba Neri four, wait, make that, five times, even though I have yet to mention the name of the film, you clearly have no idea who you're dealing with. To not open with a bit on Rosalba Neri's stocking-encased legs as they appear in 99 Women, the Jess Franco (R.I.P.) movie that became the blueprint for almost every women in prison flick that followed it, would be an act of pure dishonesty. Staring me square in the face at all times, to not comment on the full-court leg show Rosalba Neri puts on in this film would be a tell tale sign that I have completely lost my mind. And, as you can plainly see, judging by the content of some of the words I've assembled so far, my mind is not even close to being lost. In fact, you could say, my mind is sharper than its ever been. And to think, I have Rosalba Neri, and her scrumptious calves, her smooth thighs, her pert feet, and, not to mention, her sturdy knees, to thank for keeping my mind in tip-top shape. 
 

 

After Bruno Nicolai's "The Day I Was Born" has finished being awesome on the soundtrack, and the new prisoners have been processed, Rosalba Neri's Zoe greets Helga, a.k.a. Prisoner #97 (Elisa Montés), who shows up dressed like a Las Vegas showgirl, Natalie Mendoza, a.k.a. Prisoner #98 (Luciana Paluzzi), a heroin addict in a red sweater, and Marie, a.k.a. Prisoner #99 (Maria Rohm), a naive blonde, by taunting them with her sturdy, black stocking-covered legs.   
 

 

Her legs dangling seductively from a drab, oversize, blueish work shirt, Rosalba Neri tells them, "Welcome to the club," while boasting a catty smile. Adjusting the makeshift ties that keep her stockings up as the new fish find their bunks, it's obvious that Rosalba Neri enjoys her stockings just as much as I enjoy writing about them.
 

 

You have to wonder, though, why does Rosalba Neri get to wear stockings? I mean, Helga enters the prison, which has been nicknamed "The Castle of Death," wearing a pair of showgirl issue fishnet pantyhose, yet you don't see her wearing them after she's been processed. Her legs are just as unadorned as everyone else who is not named Rosalba Neri. Why is that? What is so special about Rosalba Neri? You kidding, right? Oh, I know, she's gorgeous beyond belief. Yeah, but, Thelma Diaz (Mercedes McCambridge), the prison's sappho-aligned superintendent, doesn't seem like she's the kind of person who would allow such rules to be violated. And it's obvious that this prison has a strict dress code.
 

 

In fact, violating the dress code is the sort of thing that would land you in one of the prison's infamous "punishment cells."
 

 

Are Thelma Diaz and Rosalba Neri's character super-secret lovers? Maybe. The superintendent does seem to go easy on her. No, think about it. Even though Rosalba Neri is caught fighting on several occasions, I don't ever recall seeing her in one of the punishment cells. Good point. But did it ever occur to you that Thelma just wants, like any sane individual, to see Rosalba Neri's wheels sheathed black nylons around the clock?
 

 

After all, Rosalba Neri was the hottest stripper in the underground lesbian bar scene. In other words, dykes dig her. Interesting. What's interesting? Nothing. No, c'mon. Tell us. Okay, I couldn't help but notice that you used the past tense when describing Rosalba Neri's time as a stripper. Right. Well, for one thing, she's currently in prison. But even if she wasn't, in prison, that is, I don't think she would doing much stripping at bars that cater to discerning lesbians. You see, we learn, via flashback, that Rosalba Neri worked at as a stripper at an underground lesbian bar. You already mentioned that. Oh, yeah. The woman who hires her, a sophisticated lesbian named Grace, is pissed that Rosalba Neri plans to marry her boyfriend.
 

 

Angry that Rosalba Neri is about to waste her hotness, and, not to mention, her first-rate stems, on some heterosexual man with a penis, Grace confronts her with a gun.
 

 

As we soon find out, Rosalba Neri is not someone to be trifled with. A struggle ensues, and, after one thing leads to another, the gun goes off, and just like that, Rosalba Neri finds herself in a drab work shirt with the number seventy-six written on it.
 

 

The great thing about the Rosalba Neri flashback sequence is that it's quite lengthy (it fleshes her character out more than all the other cast members combined), and it wonderfully showcases her beauty in a non-prison environment. Seriously, if you thought Rosalba Neri looked good in a drab work shirt and black hold-up stockings, you should see the candlelight stripetease number she performs for a small gathering of lesbians; it's out of sight.
 

 

If I wasn't convinced that Rosalba Neri was leggy cognizant before the stocking flaunting scene, the scene where she shows Marie her leg in a boastful fashion sealed the deal for me. Recovering from the injuries she suffered in a fight (one that Helga totally started) in the prison's infirmary, Rosabla Neri, who seems to have hurt her left leg during the melee, hovers menacingly over Marie, who is crying in her bed.
 

 

Telling her, well, telling her first to, "shut up," Rosalba Neri then says, "You hurt my leg. My beautiful leg." And as she is saying the second part, she extends the damaged gam (revealing the full force of its gammage) and mock gestures towards it like it were a new car waiting to be won on The Price Is Right.
 

 

It should go without saying, but Rosalba Neri's ostentatious leg display in the infirmary scene is probably one of the greatest leg moments in film history. And the fact she is still wearing a stocking on her uninjured leg makes it even greater.
 

 

Struggle, straddle. Straddle, struggle. Light jazz. Rinse and repeat.
 

 

In a veiled attempt to make this look like a legitimate movie review, here's bit about the film's plot: The prison's stern superintendent, Thelma Diaz, is being evaluated by an idealistic woman named Leonie Carroll (Maria Schell), a young up-and-comer in the cut-throat world of women's corrections. Dismayed by Thelma's harsh treatment of the prisoners, Miss Carroll tries to placate her harshness with a softer, more humane approach to incarceration. While these two butt heads with one another over their respective rehabilitation techniques, the island's governor, Governor Santos (Herbert Lom), is mainly concerned with satisfying his carnal lust.
 

 

To the surprise of virtually no-one, Miss Carroll's kid gloves approach fails miserably, as Marie, Helga, and Rosalie (Valentina Godoy), a short-haired redhead with a wonderfully round bum, flee into the jungle when no-one is looking. And why was no-one looking, you ask? Ask Miss Carroll. It was her bright idea to take the guards off night watch. In her mind, the prisoners won't want to escape if you treat them with respect. Anyway, I started to lose interest once the film turned into a jungle fugitive flick. I mean, if you're not going to bring Rosalba Neri along, what's the point? Exactly. There isn't one. No Neri, no watchy. It's that simple.
 

 

Lacking the graphic violence of its cinematic cousins, such as Bare Behind Bars, Women's Prison Massacre, and Jess Franco's own Barbed Wire Dolls, 99 Women has quality acting (Mercedes McCambridge and Herbert Lom are both excellent) and old school titillation (two words: Rosalba Neri) on its side, as the film trades over the top gore for thrills of a more subtle nature.
 

 

Don't be alarmed, though, the film still packs quite the wallop, as they say. It's got a cruel warden, a piggish governor who dresses like a German World War I officer, a naive new girl who doesn't know the ropes, cat fights (no shower fights, or shower scenes, for that matter, but one of the girl brawls is water-based), and one helluva dyke bar flashback. Employing words that are slightly different than the one's I just used, it's got all the ingredients any reasonable person could possibly need to make one delectable women in prison treat.

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The Sect (Michele Soavi, 1991)

It's all Soavi, all the time, and I'm lovin' it. You could say that my brain is now officially a citizen of the U.S.S.R. Get it? My cranial allegiances are now squarely with the United Soavi Socialists Republics. Wow. You noticed that the name, "Soavi," the surname of the writer-director of The Sect, the latest mind-scrambler from Michele Soavi (Stage Fright), sort of sounded like "Soviet," and you somehow manged to tie them together. Very clever. No, seriously. I'm impressed. It's not everyday you come across someone who is openly willing to point out the similarities between "Soavi" and "Soviet." But here you are, doing exactly that. I must say, I commend your dedication to your craft. Okay, that's enough praise for one day. Let's focus our attention on The Sect, shall we? Word on the street says that it's got mischievous bunny rabbits and surprisingly chic grey blazers that were both, get this, purchased on a German teacher's salary. Oh, yeah, there's a movie to write about, and a delightfully fucked up one at that. First things first, was it wrong to feel gladness in my tum tum when a bunch of hippies are murdered by a gang of devil worshipers in the California desert in the early 1970s? Really? So, you're saying that's the correct thing to feel. That's a relief. I mean, here I was, feeling guilty about being all glad and junk that an entire commune of hippies, including their annoying children, were sacrificially slaughtered by the aforementioned Satanists. But it turns out, it's completely natural to want hippies to be murdered. What about bunny rabbits, is it okay to want them to die as well? That's a little more tricky. You see, humans care more about animals than they do people, so you better careful. Besides, bunny rabbits bring joy to millions, while everyone hates hippies. Just kidding about the over the top hippie animosity. In reality, I'm indifferent to their earth tone promoting, headband-friendly lifestyle.
 

 

I did, however, wind up developing an intense dislike for the hippies that appear in the opening scene of The Sect. I don't know, there was something about the way they implemented their hippie-centric point-of-view that rubbed me the wrong way. Taking the living on the land thing to whole new level of obnoxiousness, the hippies communing with nature in this flick are visited by a hirsute Rolling Stones fan. Reciting the lyrics to "Sympathy For The Devil" (I heard the Laibach version first, so I view it more as a Laibach song), Damon (Tomas Arana), a Christ-like stranger wanders into their patchouli-drenched fold. The fact that Damon doesn't seem visibly irked by the hippie woman who insisted on guessing the name of the Stones' song he was reciting in a menacing spoken word fashion was odd because I desperately wanted to tell her to shut her gaping pie hole.
 

 

Don't worry her pie hole won't tasting any pies where she's going. Wait a minute. That doesn't make a lick of sense. What I think you meant to say was: Her pie hole has tasted its last pie, as Damon and his bike-riding, devil worshiping friends slaughter them without mercy (some have their faces ripped clean off and tossed in a nearby  campfire). Yep, I'm afraid, on top of pies, these hippies have painted their last boob, destroyed their last clock (time is an artificial construct, man), as they all fall victim to a, and I quote, "blood thirsty demonic sect."
 

 

Flash-forward to 1991, Frankfurt, Germany, where a nondescript woman is window shopping one moment, and the next she's being stabbed to death by Giovanni Lombardo Radice; isn't it weird how these things happen? Anyway, caught carrying her heart on the subway (a pickpocket inadvertently tries to steal it), Giovanni flees the train only to end up cornered by police. Realizing that he's got nowhere to go, Giovanni shoots himself with one of the policeman's guns.
 

 

Meanwhile, in another, less gruesome part of town, a mysterious old man (Herbert Lom) is preparing for a trip. It would seem that he's not coming back, as he let's his canary out of its cage and mumbles to himself: "It is time at last. It is time." Time for what, I don't know. But you know it's going to involve some seriously weird shit. Seemingly oblivious to the news reports blasting from a portable television being watched by the other passengers pertaining to the recent slaying, a slaying that's been connected to a series of killings that revolve around the aforementioned blood thirsty demonic sect, the old man, clutching a package, rides the bus with a purposeful placidity.
 

 

"Don't touch my package!" He screams at his fellow bus riders as they attempt to help him when he starts to convulse. I'm no detective, but I think there's something important in that package of his. Either way, after putting in some strange eye drops, the old man seems fine. At a rest stop, the other passengers are getting snacks and relieving themselves. But not the old man. No, he's standing in the middle of the road. He seems to be waiting for someone. But who? Who could he be waiting for at a random rest stop? As expected, the old man is nearly run down by a woman wearing a grey suit.
 

 

Now lying in the middle of the road, the old man eventually opens his eyes only to find that there are a bunch of people standing around him. Feeling terrible about what happened, Miriam Kreisl (Kelly Curtis), the woman driving the car that almost hit him, offers to take him to her house to rest. That's right, Miriam, an attractive woman who rocks a grey pencil skirt with a matching jacket like nobody's business, just offered to take a dishevelled old man carrying a strange package home with her.
 

 

I don't think this is a good idea, Miriam. What? You don't care. Fine, don't listen to me. But don't come crying to me if you wake up with mealworms coming out of your ears.
 

 

We get a great shot of Miriam's grey suit as she's making tea in the kitchen. What the fuck? You're making tea for him?!? Are you blind? He's up to no good. Look at him!
 

 

Despite my objections, Miriam welcomes the old man into her home, which, get this, he says is very familiar. You see, right there. That's a definite red flag. Very familiar my ass. Introducing him to her nameless bunny, a bunny that will be surprisingly integral to the film's plot later on, Miriam and the old man relax in the living room to discuss life and the Rolling Stones. Hold on. Isn't that the same band the guy from the 1970s...I'm way ahead of you.
 

 

Holy crap! She's letting him spend the night. I'm surprised she didn't let him sleep in her bed. What's this? The old man is opening his package. This can't be good. Okay, he's now walking upstairs. Again, nothing good can come from this. Standing over Miriam, who's snug as a bug, the old man starts to fiddle with something. It's funny you should say, "snug as a bug," because the old man is putting a live insect on her face. Oh, look. The insect just crawled up Miriam's nose.
 

 

As the insect makes its way through Miriam's nasal cavity, we're zapped into her subconscious. Containing a lush field covered with red flowers, Miriam's brain might seem like paradise. But lurking underneath all that berenyian lushness lies something sinister. While Miriam was doing the whole exploring her dream realm in a nightgown thing (watch out, that giant bird wants to peck your neck), it suddenly dawned on me that Kelly Curtis has an electrifying screen presence. And, get this, she spends most of the movie in a drab grey suit. I would definitely put Kelly Curtis' performance in The Sect in the same category as Mia Farrow in Rosemary's Baby and Catherine Deneuve in Repulsion in terms of frazzled white women in peril.
 

 

After the old man opens a secret door in Miriam's basement (a door Miriam had no idea existed), the film's surreal plot starts to thicken. A young doctor named Frank (Michel Adatte) and Miriam's friend Kathryn (Mariangela Giordano from Burial Ground: The Nights of Terror), a fellow teacher, are soon added to the mix. And just in time, as Miriam needs all the help she can get in order to maintain her sanity. A demonic wash cloth with a mind of its own is turning people into raving lunatics, Miriam's water has blue slime in it (check out the "pipe cam" scene, as we follow the bluish water to the tap), pesky Asian women who randomly show up in her German basement (Coming this Fall to FOX: There's an Asian Woman in My German Basement - starring Brenda Song and Franke Potente), and her pet bunny watches television (and I don't mean it simply stares at the television, it uses the remote to change the channels and everything).   
 

 

You know for sure that things are about to go off the rails when Carla Cassola shows up as Dr. Pernath, an understatedly leggy surgeon/Satanist who sort of looked like an Italian version of Helen Mirran. I don't know, there was something about her that practically screamed cult member. Sure, she's got a wrist tattoo to prove she's in league with Satan, but her greyish bob hairstyle and affinity for white nylons were dead giveaways as far as I'm concerned.
 

 

I loved the face ripping hooks, the giant stork, the necessary close-up of Miriam's nylon encased feet, the creepy well in Miriam's German basement (you know, the one that is replete with Asian ladies), the morgue scene, and the shot of Kelly Curtis' climbing out of a wrecked car in a torn nightie. I love them all. But what I don't understand is, why do the sect members seem shocked, especially the old man, when Miriam doesn't act enthusiastic when it comes time to ask her to join their demonic club. You can't expect a grown woman, one who has a sweet teaching gig that allows her to wear grey suits on a daily basis, to suddenly fall head over heels for Satan. It doesn't make any sense. I mean, you would think they'd have planned a little better. After all, they've had thousands of years to prepare. But that's just a minor quibble. In the grand scheme of things, The Sect is yet another awesome helping of Italian made crazy, one that repeatedly fingered my sweet spot.

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