Convent of Sinners (Joe D'Amato, 1986)

Here's a wacky idea, if you don't want the nuns living in your convent to turn to the soft embraces and gentle caressing that only properly administrated lesbianism can provide, don't put them in black hold-up stockings. If you do that, you're just asking for trouble. What's that? You say the lead nun, the so-called "Mother Superior" who runs the nun joint at the centre of Joe D'Amato's Convent of Sinners, is a card carrying member of The Cunnilingus for Ladies Club? (The Cunnilingus for Ladies Club: Supplying cunt-based cunnilingus for discerning lesbians since 1569.) Well, I don't know if she's a card carrying member, but she definitely digs chicks. How can you tell? You're kidding, right? She practically throws herself at the convent's newest nun the first chance she gets. Won't that make her current girlfriend, a conniving c-nun-t who sees herself as the heir apparent, a tad upset? You better believe it will. It's this bitter conflict over the ownership of a pair of fully-engorged bee stung lips that is the meat in this nun-tastic stew. Hold up, "nun-tastic"?!? Weren't the one who just said that you were pretty much finito when it came to nunsploitation films? I would never say anything like that (especially the word "finito"). You totally did. When? In your review for Bruno Mattei's The Other Hell. Oh, well, who reads my reviews? Really? That many, eh? What can I say? I lied. Besides, if Joe D'Amato (Beyond the Darkness) makes a movie about a reluctant nun with fully-engorged bee stung lips, you bet your bottom dollar that I'm going to watch the living shit out of that movie. And like I said, this one has black hold-up stockings in almost every scene, so, in other words, I had no qualms about ignoring my no nuns allowed rule.

The reason the rule was in place in the first place was because of the fact that I don't find nuns to be attractive. Um, I don't think you're supposed to find nuns attractive, that's why they're called nuns. Even the word itself, "nun," is a turn off. Again, I think you're missing the point, nuns don't exist for the benefit of your perverted fantasies.

Then why make movies about them? I think it's an Italian thing. You see, unlike all you godless heathens out there, Italians grow up around nuns. And sometimes these nuns act badly. Which is the reason Italian filmmakers are drawn to the nunspolitation genre; they're lashing out against the very system that abused them. It sounds like you just pulled that theory out of your ass. You're right, I have no idea why anyone, let alone a bunch of Italian men, would want to make a movie about nuns. However, in the case Convent of Sinners, I'm sort of glad Joe D'Amato did, as it's probably the best the genre has to offer.

Sure, I've only seen a handful of nunsploitation films, but Convent of Sinners had more a women in prison feel to it. Instead of a shower scene, they had a mass wash basin scene. Instead of a cruel, sadistic lesbian warden, they had Mother Superior and her toadying henchnun. And instead of a... well, you get the idea. Oh, and the fact that the new nun (or in w.i.p. terms, "the new fish") constantly feels like she's a prisoner was the very appealing to me.

I don't know exactly what century this film is supposed to take place in, but I know they didn't have elastic bands or garter belts back then. Actually, they might have had garter belts, but these nuns definitely didn't have access to them. What am I babbling about? Well, what I'd like to know is, how did the nuns manage to keep their black stockings up? I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say, they held them up through the power of prayer. Quit joking around. What was holding them up? Okay, maybe they didn't use the power of prayer; even though I love the idea of keeping one's stockings up that way. But something was causing them to stay wrapped tightly to their pristine thighs, and I'm not going to rest until I find the answer.

In the meantime, we're treated to some table-based father-daughter incest. Do the white stockings Maria Susanna Simonin (Eva Grimaldi) wears on the outside represent innocence and purity, and do the black stockings she wears in the convent represent sin and wickedness? I don't know about that, but there's nothing pure about being raped by your father on the kitchen table. And, not to mention, having your mother blame you for being raped and punishing you by sending you off to become a nun at a convent run by an unruly dyke.

Did they really send her to a convent? Yep, and she's getting her habit as we speak. Is it normal for new nuns to stand on a table while the other nuns gawk at her as she gets dressed? I guess. How the hell should I know? Either way, Maria Susanna Simonin is reborn as Sister Susanna, the most pillowy-lipped nun ever to don that weird diaper-like underwear they make them wear. I dig the black hold-up stockings, but those panties are an abomination; I get a rash on my taint just thinking about them.

You would think the moment the black robe goes over Sister Susanna's head would be the last time we'll being her pert tits for quite some time. Well, think again, sister. The always horny Mother Superior (Aldina Martano) has got her eye on Sister Susanna, much to the chagrin of Sister Teresa (Karin Well), who is clearly jealous of the new nun.

As she's been shown her cell, Sister Susanna says... Hold on, cell?!? That's what the nuns call the places where they sleep. Cells are for prisoners. Couldn't they call them sleeping rooms or restrooms. Or how 'bout this, bedroom. Yeah, bedroom. I like that. It's a room that contains a bed, hence, bedroom. Anyway, after being shown where to pray and where to sleep, Sister Susanna says she'll be happy here. Happy, eh? Um, I don't think so.

You never know, she might like being a nun. I mean, check out that shirtless water boy. On top of shirtless water boys, you get free meals, and, if you happen to have pillowy lips, Mother Superior will tuck you in at night. I'm no expert when it comes to relationships, but won't Sister Teresa being upset when she finds out Mother Superior is tucking in Sister Susanna at night? How will she find out? You're obviously new around here, Sister Teresa always knows what's going on; her talent for lurking around convent hallways is second to none.

Now, I'm not sure if Don Moral (Martin Philips), the convent's father confessor, likes puffy bee-stung lips, but he's clearly taken with Sister Susanna when Mother Superior introduces him to her.

It's not like Sister Teresa needed another reason to resent Sister Susanna, but she gets one, nevertheless, when Sister Susanna gives Mother Superior and her fellow sisters an impromptu harpsichord concert. Seething with jealous rage, Sister Teresa seems powerless as she watches her influence with Mother Superior slowly slipping away. "Don't deprive me of your affection," she begs Mother Superior at one point. But it does her no good, as Mother Superior has made her choice, and that choice involves groping Sister Susanna a semi-regular basis.

Do you think Sister Teresa is going to sit idly by and watch everything she's worked for turn to shit? If you think she will, it's obvious you don't know Sister Teresa; she's what we like to call in the nun racket a "real go-getter."

You might have noticed that during the past couple scenes that Mother Superior coughs. Yeah, so, she probably just has a cold. That's true, but people who cough in the 1600s usually end up dead within a week or two. Oh, I see. How does this help Sister Teresa? Don't you see, without Mother Superior around to stick up for her, Sister Teresa can destroy Sister Susanna without having worry about the consequences. Won't the other nuns kick up a fuss? What are you kidding? Sister Teresa has slowly been currying favour with them. For example, she totally didn't punish Sister Agatha when she caught her molesting a male statue. So, what you're saying is, she's turning all the nuns against Sister Susanna? Exactly.

Don't get me wrong, Sister Susanna still has allies in the form of Don Moral and Sister Ursula (Jessica Moore). But, as we'll soon find out, they're a pretty feckless lot. In other words, Sister Susanna better watch out. And I mean, like, right now.

You know she's in trouble when Mother Superior coughs onscreen for a fourth time. Telling her that her skin is soft like marble ("fresh and beautiful"), Mother Superior enjoys Sister Susanna's body one last time, as she slowly morphs into a bedridden mess.

It starts when Teresa instructs Sister Susanna to scrub the floors, and eventually graduates to poisoning her. Don't worry, it's not a lethal dose, just enough to make her foam at that mouth, giving everyone the impression she's possessed by the Devil. Bursting into her bedroom, er, I mean, cell, Sister Teresa and her goons pussy whip Sister Susanna. They did what? They whipped the area where her pussy lives. You know, the part where... I know where a pussy is, I just never heard the expression "pussy whip" used so literally before.

Call me, I guess, sick and twisted, but liked how Eva Grimaldi's pubic hair poked out of the sides of her nun diaper as she was being pussy whipped. On top of being aesthetically pleasing, it signaled to me that Eva Grimaldi was fully committed to the role. Not that she needed to. I mean, she is, after all, raped by father in the film's opening scene. Nonetheless, I nodded ever so slightly as the nuns whipped her pussy in her cell, as I knew right then and possibly there that Eva Grimaldi is all right in my book.

After being subjected to beatings, holy water douches, exorcisms, and an extended stay in the convent's rat-infested dungeon, you would think Sister Susanna would be ready to give up. Think again. Actually, with no allies left, Sister Susanna is pretty much destitute. However, her defiance exposes the hypocrisy of the other nuns, as everyone around her so determined to protect their place in the church, that they seem to have forgotten what it means to be a Christian. And, at the end day, that's what I took away from Convent of Sinners. People, no matter how pious they pretend to be, will stop at nothing to advance their own self-centered agenda, even it means destroying a woman with fully-engorged, pillow-like, bee stung lips.

Burial Ground: The Nights of Terror (Andrea Bianchi, 1980)

Standing in the doorway of her bedroom, the look on little Michael's face as he watched his mother's current boyfriend penetrate her soft and tender places with his uncompromising penis sent shivers through my, now, I wanna say, "spine," but that doesn't quite cut it when it comes to justifying the wide array of shivers I felt while looking at little Michael leer at his spread eagle mommy. Let's just say, my entire body was engulfed with a sticky substance that smelled like pure, undiluted terror and call it a day. The next morning, we see little Michael sitting at the breakfast table with his mother, her current boyfriend, and the rest of their party, and... Oh my god! He's still wearing that look on his face. You mean to tell me that little Michael is going to be wearing that look on his face for the entire movie? Please tell he is. If so, I think I better go change into a diaper, because there's no way my pants will be dry when all is said and done. And get this, he's not even a zombie! Oh, sure, the chances of him becoming a zombie later on in the film are pretty high. But right now he's not a zombie, and–to be blunt–he's freaking me out. You could say that Burial Ground: The Nights of Terror (a.k.a. Le Notti del Terrore) is a complete and utter failure as a zombie movie, especially when you consider the fact that the film's scariest character is a twelve year-old boy who desperately wants to stroke his mother's pithy thighs in an erotic manner. However, not only will I not say that, I'll go even one step further by saying that this film is work of absolute genius. The screaming is top-notch; the zombies, while extremely slow (even by Romaro and Fulci standards), are quite resourceful; there are a lot of close-up shots of maggots squirming around inside crusty eye sockets; the deviants in the audience have not one, not two, but three different pairs of knee-high boots to savour over the course of the film; and, last but not least, there's this little boy with an insatiable need to press his face against his mother's breasts in a non-nurturing fashion; actually, name any part of her grope-worthy anatomy, and I guarantee he'll want to dribble some of his weird ass drool all over it.

If I happen to sound giddier than usual while talking about little Michael (Peter Bark), well, that's because he pretty much saves this film from being an unmitigated disaster. Now, I'm not saying that I couldn't have salvaged the experience of watching Burial Ground: The Nights of Terror by focusing instead on something else altogether; like, for example, the three female leads or the burlap sack-inspired garments the majority of the zombies sport in this movie. In fact, I still might have to resort to doing that in the not-so distant future. But until that time comes along, I must get down on my hands and knees and thank the incest-loving overlords that live inside my tum tum for delivering little Michael, the creepiest, most perverse twelve year-old ever to wear a dark blue turtleneck sweater in an Italian zombie movie.

Of course, by praising little Michael, I risk the chance of sounding like a hypocrite. You see, I'm usually against non-zombie children being allowed to live long and prosper in zombie movies (zombie children are fine). And for me to be in favour of little Michael's presence flies in the face of everything I hold dear, zombie-wise. That being said, Peter Bark isn't your average twelve year-old. How so, you ask? Well, for one thing, Mr. Bark is probably in his mid-twenties. Also, he reminded me of Topher Grace–you know, if he had Leukemia. Okay, I understand how Peter Bark being twenty-five makes it closer to being acceptable, but how exactly does the sickly Topher Grace angle work? I'm not entirely sure, either. But trust me, it just does.

It's a good thing twentysomething Topher Grace with Leukemia shows up when he does, because up until then Burial Ground: The Nights of Terror was beyond tedious. Opening with some scientist guy with a beard poking around in some cave, the film drags like you wouldn't believe. Sure, the zombies make an appearance (they attack the scientist despite the fact that he tries to convince them that he's their friend). But as far as pre-opening credit sequences go, the prospects look pretty grim. The credits themselves aren't that interesting, either, but you'll notice that the cars are driving on the left side of the road. Which, I know, is still not that interesting. However, as most people know, Italians drive on the right side of the road. Maybe the film is supposed to take place in England (the castle and surrounding gardens were very English). Interesting, eh? Well, at least I thought so. Don't laugh, but I'm sort of proud of myself for picking up on this minor detail, as stuff like that usually goes straight over my head.

Anyway, back to the movie. Arriving at a remote castle in the middle of nowhere, three couples, and, of course, little Michael, who we get our first glimpse of while he's sitting in the backseat of his mom's car, pass through its creaky gates without a care in the world. Greeted by the castle's staff, the couples and little Michael are quickly ushered to their rooms. Damn, these people don't waste anytime, because before you know it, they're all fornicating like a bunch of small animals who have a reputation for fornicating quite frequently. Well, Janet (Karin Well) and Mark (Gianluigi Chirizzi) aren't exactly moistening the sheets, if you know what I mean (their linen's were completely devoid of recently expelled seminal fluid or tiny droplets of grool), and little Michael is sleeping all by himself. Why is little Michael all alone? It would seem that his pleasantly-shaped mother, Evelyn (Mariangela Giordano), has brought some asshole named George (Roberto Caporali) along with her. Meaning, little Michael won't be sleeping with mommy tonight (he does, however, succeed in ruining the structural fortitude of George's erection with some well-timed doorway lurking).

The other couple, Leslie (Antonella Antinori) and James (Simone Mattioli) are the only one's who allowed are to fuck in peace. The main reason for this fucking success had a lot to do with Leslie's decision to put on some dusty vintage lingerie she found languishing in the back of a closet.

Oh, and the reason Janet and Mark aren't making any fucking leeway is because Janet had a dream that involved the dead rising from their graves to feast on the living.

It's morning, and the couples and little Michael are sitting around the breakfast table. Still seething over the fact that his mother has replaced him with this George fella, little Michael shoots many looks of disdain in their general direction. Breaking off into small groups, Mark takes pictures of Janet (who looks angelic in her blue turtleneck sweater) in the castle's garden, James and Leslie frolic in the vicinity of some shrubbery, and George teaches Evelyn how to shoot a pistol (little Michael can be seen glowering in the background). As all this outdoor fun is going on, these slow-moving creatures sheathed in burlap and covered in maggots are starting to amass around the castle. Of course, none of the couples know what kind of hell is coming their way. Though, you would think that Janet might be a little on edge–you know, since she just had a dream about them. But she's too busy getting her thighs stroked to notice (all the couples have to chosen to spend the morning making out with one another either under trees or near bushes). Just in case you're wondering: yes, there's quite a lot of thigh touching in this movie.

You better get used to the pained expression on Karin Well's face, because you'll be seeing a lot of it over the course of the next seventy minutes. You see, when the undead finally do strike, they cause Mark and Janet to flee. And while doing so, Janet steps in a bear trap. Shot from every angle imaginable, Janet's agony was downright orgasmic. I didn't have a stopwatch handy, but I could have sworn that her screaming fit went on for at least five minutes straight.

As Mark struggles to free Janet, while fending off zombies at the same time, Evelyn, George, little Michael, and George's red turtleneck sweater are having zombie problems of their own. Luckily, George just happens to carrying a pistol. Only problem is, he hasn't seen Hell of the Living Dead, and ends up wasting most of his ammo by shooting them in the chest (the zombies in this movie, by the way, have yellow blood). I don't want give to away what happens next. But let's just say, the way George's bleeding organs commingled with his red turtleneck sweater as they spilled out of his body was colour coordinated bliss. Speaking of red sweaters, Leslie, whose red v-neck sweater is paired with a white skirt and a pair of white knee-high boots, and James are having issues pertaining to grabby zombies as well (it's just one of those days). But unlike Mark and Janet, their fleeing doesn't result in one of them being caught in a bear trap. In fact, it allows them to help Mark, who is still having difficulty freeing Janet's foot from the jaws of the trap.

Even though James, Mark, and Leslie demonstrated a fair amount of skill when it came time to dispatch the zombies who were threatening to eat Janet's freshly-groped thighs, it's Evelyn who displays the most zombie-killing moxie during the film's early going. Cornered inside a barn-like structure that could have been a barn, Evelyn and little Michael are harassed by a couple of ragged flesh-eaters. A quick thinking little Michael tells his mommy to set them on fire using the buckets of paint lying on the floor, which she does. If the look of discomfort on Karin Well's face was the film's best torment-based expression, the fiery guise Mariangela Giordano sports as the zombies burned was hands down the foremost when it came to looks that centred around zombie combustion.

With the exception of George and his red turtleneck sweater, all the characters manage escape their initial encounter with the zombie horde. Regrouping at the castle, the couples, including Evelyn and little Michael, barricade the door and board up the windows, and await the inevitable onslaught. The castle's maid, Kathleen (Anna Valente), learns the hard way that these zombies don't play by rules. Blessed with the ability to manipulate tools and weapons, one of the zombies is able pin Kathleen's left hand to a wooden window shutter with a knife, while his zombie pals manage to remove her head with a scythe. As the zombies feast on the servant's severed head, another zombie decides to climb the castle's wall. Is there anything these zombie's can't do?

While the zombies are banging at the castle door with axes and clubs, and James is shooting the non-door banging zombies from the relative safety of a balcony with a shotgun, Leslie checks on Janet's injured leg. Reddish and swollen, Janet's throbbing abrasion was a definite scene stealer. Yeah, you heard right. Even though it's only onscreen for less than ten seconds, I thought Janet's sprain had a certain swagger about it. As in, someone get this misshapen scrape a modeling contract, it's going places. Unfortunately, Janet puts her boot back on, and that's the last we see of her acclaimed laceration. Don't fret, though, Karin Well walks with a limp for the rest of the movie, so we can still imagine what's going on inside the humid confines of her stylish boot as she is staggering.

Now, you'd think with all these men around to protect her, that Evelyn would be content to rest on her ass-kicking laurels. Think again, pal. If a zombie even as much as looks at little Michael in a threatening manner, Evelyn will definitely have something to say about it. And she does. When the castle's library is overrun with zombies, Evelyn is forced to chop some of them up with a sword. Since decapitating the undead is exhausting work, Evelyn and little Michael decide to take a breather on one of the castle's many ornate couches. You can't really blame little Michael for being turned on by Evelyn's swordmanship (the image of Mariangela Giordano wielding a sword is a powerful one). You can, however, blame him for taking his excitement to a plane of groping truth. Some overindulgent mother-son kissing is, I guess, sort of acceptable (after all, this is Europe), but the thigh stroking was totally inappropriate.

Distracting her face with kisses, little Michael tries to sneak his hand up her camel-coloured dress without her expressed written consent. But let's get real, everyone knows Evelyn's thigh cognizance is off the charts when it comes to being aware of untoward fondling (even the slightest of breezes will send her thigh bells a ringing). Slapping her son across the face, Evelyn sends a clear message to little Michael that her thighs are off limits when it comes to gentle caressing. Running off in a sickly huff, little Michael comes across what looks like zombie Meg White. Except this chick ain't the drummer for The White Stripes, no, what she wants to do is eat little Michael for dinner. With Evelyn still trying to come to grips with her son's thigh touching escapade, who will protect little Michael from harm? Ugh, I can't think about it.

Meanwhile, the zombies outside are using a battering ram(!) to bust down the front door. And you know what that means? It's only a matter of time before these creatures are inside the castle. Sporting the exact same boot to skirt length ratio, the film's female characters will have to run for their lives if they want to survive this ordeal with their knee's intact. Yeah, that's right. The men of the Burial Ground: The Nights of Terror universe are completely useless when it comes to protecting their shapely ladyfriends from hungry zombies (their flailing extremities are always on the verge of being bitten, chewed, or worse, masticated). Oh, and as is the case with the majority of Italian exploitation movies made during this era, dubbing artist extraordinaire Carolyn De Fonseca (Women's Prison Massacre and Beyond the Darkness) provides the voice for one of the actresses doing the fleeing; this time around, it's the alluring Mariangela Giordano who gets her dialogue "De Fonsecated" (I knew it was Carolyn's voice the second she told little Michael to stop groping her inner thigh). Don't tell anyone, but my new goal in life (fuck the NFL) is to watch every single film that features the voice of Carolyn De Fonesca.

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