Satan's Blood (Carlos Puerto, 1978)

First off, I just want to say how happy I am to be nuzzling up against the pulsating bosom that is Euro-sleaze. It's been too long. Don't get me wrong, I like other genres, too. It's just that I feel most at ease when the film flickering in front of me has a distinct Euro-sleaze sheen to it. And Carlos Puerto's Satan's Blood (a.k.a. "Escalofrio" and "Don't Panic") is definitely sleazy. Sure, it's not as sleazy as, say, The Mad Foxes, or even as sleazy as Juan Piquer Simón's Pieces. But as far as Spanish films about suave Satanists go, it's like a finely knitted sweater. Comfy and warm, the film... Wait. Why did I just compare this film to a freakin' sweater?!? Oh, yeah, that's right, the luminous Mariana Karr wears a sweet-ass sweater throughout this movie. In fact, it was Mariana's sweater that beckoned me to watch this film in the first place. The DVD put out by Mondo Macabro has four images on the back designed to pique my interest (or I should say, piquer my interest - Juan Piquer Simón is uncredited as the film's co-director). Anyway, the images included a severed head in a freezer, a skull, a woman being choked and a woman in a beige, brown and white turtleneck sweater. While I'm a big fan of severed heads, skulls and strangulation, I must confess, I'm an even bigger fan of sweaters with high necks. Of course, the question on everyone's mind is: Did Mariana Karr's turtleneck sweater manage to live up to the hype? What do you think? This review wouldn't exist if it wasn't for Mariana Karr's turtleneck sweater. Actually, I'm sure I could have focused on something else if Mariana Karr's sweater had been a let down. (Something else?!? You mean like, Sandra Alberti's strappy heels/white nylons?) Exactly.

Unfortunately, and this might sound a tad off-kilter, but the sheer amount of nudity in this film, some Satan-based, some bathing-based, put severe limits on the amount of time Mariana Karr appeared in her turtleneck sweater. Luckily for us, Annie (Mariana Karr) and her husband Andy (José María Guillén) didn't pack a suitcase when they decided spend the night at the creepy house that belongs to a couple of kinky Satanists.

Though, to be fair to Annie and Andy, they didn't know beforehand that they were going to spend the night. And they certainly didn't know that they were Satanist. Speaking as a non-practicing Satanist, spotting Satanists isn't as easy as it sounds.

Okay, fine. But Annie should have realized that something sinister was afoot when she noticed that glossy book on Satanism sitting on their bookshelf. In her defense, however, it was the 1970s. In other words, if you didn't have at least one book in your house on Satanism, you were looked at with suspicion. Seriously, Satanism and all things occult were seen as cool back in the 1970s.

On the other hand, eating your food like a dog has never been cool. And that's exactly what Annie catches one of her hosts doing at one point. A normal person would have politely excused themselves after witnessing this canine display and ran for the exit when the opportunity was right. But since it's the... (Yeah, yeah, it's the 1970s. People put up with all sorts of weird ass nonsense back then.) Either way, no such opportunity arises, and Annie and Andy, and, I suppose their dog, Blackie, are stuck there.

Stuck where, you ask? Well, Anna (who is four months pregnant) and Andy decide to spend the day cruising around the city, Madrid, I think. While driving home, Bruno (Ángel Aranda) and Mary (Sandra Alberti), the people in the car next to them, seem to think that they know them. It turns out that Bruno went to school with Andy. Even though Andy doesn't remember him, he agrees to go over to his house for drinks.

Truth be told, Annie and Andy had plenty of opportunities to flee. I guess you can't underestimate the power of Satan! I'm just kidding. I have no idea why they didn't leave. I mean, the Satanism book, the sight of Mary eating food (human organs) out of a dog bowl, not to mention, the spooky-looking doll in the living room, everything about this place practically screams psychosexual torment. Yeah, but it also screams ritualistic psychosexual satisfaction, and maybe, just maybe, Annie and Andy are proponents of Satanic orgies. After all, it's the... (Let me guess, the 1970s?) Bingo.

Quirky fun-fact: At least seventy percent of children born in Europe and the hipper parts of North America during the 1970s were conceived at Satanic orgies.

Personally, I would have turned around the moment I found out that the gate at Bruno and Mary's house made a creaking sound every time you opened and closed it. But then again, if they had turned around, we wouldn't have gotten to watch Annie, Andy, Bruno and Mary have crazy naked sex together on a black blanket with a pentagram on it.

At the end of the day, the question every Spaniard must ask themselves is this: Do you want to continue living an uneventful life in your matchbox-sized Madrid apartment, or do you want to embrace the dizzying world of clothing optional Satanism? Luckily for us, Annie and Andy choose the latter. Well, they don't exactly choose the latter. The Satanism lifestyle is more or less thrust upon them. Nevertheless, Annie and Andy end up partaking in a Ouija board session (or, I should say, Ouija table session - now that's a nice Ouija table), which leads to playful bathing, rough lesbianism and the mother of all creepy doll attacks.

The three things I just mentioned, by the way, are three of the main instances where Annie is seen without her trademark turtleneck sweater. It's a good thing Mariana Karr is so darned attractive (nudity looks good on her), or else I would have thrown a massive hissy-fit every time she took off her sweater.

If I had to point out a flaw, it would have to be the handling of Sandra Alberti's white nylons/strappy heals. Never shot in a manner that I found satisfying, the way they (the filmmakers) seemed to go out of their way to not give us any close-up shots of her white nylons/strappy heals was frustrating. That being said, I did appreciate her overall look (on top of wearing white nylons and strappy heals, Mary wears a chic red coat - with a matching purse - and a chunky necklace), and I found her cannibalistic dining habits to be wonderfully dog-like. I know, cannibals rarely ever use a knife and fork. But still, I liked the way she went to town on those tasty organs (which, I assume, used to belong to the guy in the freezer).

Anyway, despite the lack of leggy friendly camera angles, and the fact the film features way too much nudity for my liking, Satan's Blood is a definite must-see for fans of well-made Euro-sleaze. Boasting a foreboding atmosphere from start to finish (the ritualistic murder/groping that opens the film is first-rate softcore porn and the twist ending is pure gold) and a swirling organ score, the film harkens back to a time when horror and eroticism were paired together quite often. And I miss those days. Oh, and I'm just kidding about there being "too much nudity." Only a real square would say something like that, and I'm no square.

Pieces (Juan Piquer Simón, 1982)

The word "Euro" is shorthand for Europe (a large landmass just north of Algeria) and the word "sleaze" is derived from a Polish colloquialism that means "inexpensive." Put them together and what you'll most likely get is an intoxicating mishmash of violence and titillation. Inundating the psyches of audience members who have forgotten, or, in some rare cases, never experienced at all, what it's like to be sleazy and European simultaneously, this potent elixir is a controversial reminder of how closely aligned the world's of erotica and horror can be at times. Saturated with enough Euro-sleaze to keep the economies of five moderately sized industrialized nations up and running for over a thousand years (provided that these nations can run solely on the rejuvenating nectar that only the finest Euro-sleaze can furnish), Pieces is a detestably awe-inspiring example of how to make a purposeful film about campus dismemberment not only entertaining, but also hilarious at the same time. Awash with accidental mirthfulness, chainsaw gore, scantily clad co-eds, refrigerated severed heads, an aerobics sequence (rife with thigh-high leg warmers), random kung-fu instructors, multiple scenes of garden hose quality blood loss, the silhouette a semi-flaccid cock shimmering in the moonlight, and a punctured waterbed, the film, by director Juan Piquer Simón, is a stalking delight from the head ventilating start to the crotch ruining finish.
 

 
The expertly crafted endeavour is basically about everyone's innate desire the put back together the pieces of one's damaged childhood by utilizing the non-holistic method known as "cadaver accumulation" (the incessant collecting of body parts in order to satisfy a misguided yearning).
 

 
Commencing with the sight of a young boy axing his mother in the head after she takes exception with his playing with a pornographic jigsaw puzzle, the film jumps forward forty years and lands us squarely on the palatial grounds of some Boston college.
 

 
Its palatial temperament is sullied somewhat when a lithesome coed studying on the grass of a grassy patch of grass (the creamy backs of her alabaster calves roasting in the sun) finds her head removed without her expressed written consent by the rotating blade of a yellow chainsaw. This unlawful (at least I think it was unlawful) act of decapitation attracts the attention of the local branch of the department in charge of enforcing the law and junk, as it is just the first of many gruesome murders to besmirch this formerly serene learning facility.
 

 
Sending over their most unskilled detectives, Det. Lt. Bracken (Christopher George) and Det. Sgt. Holden (Frank Braña), the police find themselves up against a chainsaw-wielding madman who preys primarily on attractive females.
 

 
Flummoxed by the killer and his not-so-subtle brand of dispatching his victims (he uses a loud, engine powered cutting device used mainly for clearing brush and impressing chicks named Wanda), the wily investigators employ the help of a student/ladies man/suspect named Kendall (Ian Sera) and enlist the services of a policewoman, Mary Riggs (Lynda Day George), to go undercover as a tennis coach.
 

 
As the body count rises, the lead detective is reduced to chomping on his unlit cigar and calling the killer "creepy," while his partner spends his time enjoying the greasy taste of his Wendy's fries and promising to send helpful peers boxes of lollipops.
 

 
The afro-ed Kendall is very eager to assist in the capturing of the campus psycho, but the inherent womanliness of Lynda Day George's tennis instructor has rendered the unlikely Lothario inert. It's no wonder so many shapely coeds had to buy it, and so horribly, I might add. I mean, with a group like this, I'm surprised there were any students left alive at the end.
 

 
At the end of the day, Miss Day's threefold verbalization of the word "bastard" at the top of her lungs captures this sleuth-based frustration perfectly.
 

 
My love of supple coeds and astute blood-shedding is repeatedly put to test in Pieces, as both come in close contact with one another with an uncomfortable regularity. The fact that the majority of the victims all had it going on in terms of being attractive didn't help matters.
 

 
As wonderfully shameless as it is, this heady mix of alluring and bloodcurdling had me questioning my loyalties at every turn. Take, for example, the aerobics sequence. A scene like this is my reason for living (I was like a malnourished kid in a leotard store). The synthesizer music (with vocoder-enhanced vocals), the kicking in unison, the super-tight exercise clothes (their respective crotches no doubt overwhelmed by the leotard's excessive tightness), and the overall chromatic splendour of it all was a thing of perverted beauty.
 

 
Only problem is, one of them has to be murdered to move the plot forward. It's quite the dilemma, and it's not the only time it happens. Every coed who comes face-to-face with the killer's chainsaw is just so darn cute and sexy, that it's a shame they all have to be violated in such a grotesque, yet highly creative manner.
 

 
Just for the grisly record, the waterbed stabbing and toilet evisceration were my favourite death sequences. In the case of the former, victim was clearly chosen because of the exquisite shape of her delicious gams (like I said, the killer is collecting body parts). And the fact that she wore tan pantyhose during her demise only exacerbated the quality of her legginess.
 

 
Luckily, the grotesqueness is balanced with a wicked sense of humour. Now, whether the film's comical moments were intentional or not is irrelevant. It's extremely funny and that's that. As is the case with most films by European directors that take place in a North American setting, the awkwardness of the cultural transition can't help but make even the most serious of scenes appear nonsensical. This happens over and over again, despite the mostly American cast (which includes Paul Smith and his world famous stink eye).
 

 
However, in the long run, it is this clumsiness that makes Pieces the comedy/horror/erotic classic that is. I highly recommend seeing this film, like I did, with a packed audience filled with smart ass horror fans. The level of snarky applause that greeted Lynda's multiple bastard line was glorious.

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