I Drink Your Blood (David Durston, 1970)

Enjoy her large, broad hips and her thick thighs while you can, fellas, because she's totally about to give each and everyone of you a serious case of rabies. Presenting one of her inner thighs like it were prize-winning piece of meat, Sylvie (Iris Brooks), the leggiest hippie Satanist/drug abuser with full blown rabies in the entire state, stands pantless before an unwashed gaggle of horny construction workers. You could call them a walking, talking kerfuffle symposium just waiting to happen. But I don't really feel like doing that at this juncture (maybe later). After taking turns redecorating the gluey walls of her stout vagina with wad after wad of their unsentimental seminal fluid, the now less horny construction workers await their fate. Little do they know, but they're about to become a highly organized gang of machete-wielding psychopaths. Just in case you haven't figured it out yet, I'm laying the groundwork for yet another nonsensical movie review. (Hey, don't be so hard on yourself, you can be very sensical when you want to be. However, judging by the way you have started your review for I Drink Your Blood, it would seem that this is not going to be one of those occasions.) At any rate, the second point I'd like to make (the first, as you know, had to do with pointing out the fact that Iris Brooks has great gams) has to do with the difference between hippies with rabies and construction workers with rabies. Did anyone else notice the difference? All right, I'm sensing that some people picked up on this. Hippies with rabies are literally all over the place. Attacking everyone they see, a hippie with rabies is a loner who views even their fellow rabid hippies as something that needs tearing apart asap. Whereas, the construction workers with rabies work together to achieve their goals. Sure, that goal still involves killing everything in sight, but at least there's a semblance of teamwork to their rabies-fueled madness.

I guess the next question has to be, why the disparity? Is it because the construction workers were already a tight-knit unit before becoming rabid? And therefore were predisposed to work as a team? Possibly. While, on the other hand, the hippies were a fractured group when they were infected with rabies. Hence, the first to feel the brunt of their rabid-brand of violence were themselves.

Actually, the first to feel the brunt of their hippie-based hydrophobia was a non-infected hippie named Shelley. Oh, and don't let the feminine name fool you, Shelley is all man. In fact, he's played by Alex Mann.

As I watched a rabid Rollo (George Patterson), the group's resident black drama queen, repeatedly stab Shelley with a dagger, it slowly dawned on me that Alex Mann is the same Alex Mann who played Tony, Kim Bentley's pimp in Malibu High, and the same Alex Mann who played the doctor in Satan Was a Lady. I'm no math whiz, but it looks like I've seen and reviewed three Alex Mann movies (someone should give me a prize if I see and review a fourth Alex Mann movie).

Did I finish making my point? (What point?) The point about the difference between rabid hippies and rabid construction workers. (Let me see... Well, not quite. You laid a pretty good foundation, but your theory didn't really go anywhere.)

Says you! I think most of you will agree that I clearly pointed out the differences between the two groups infected with rabies. The rabid construction workers represent the hive mentality (i.e. communism) and the rabid hippies represent individualism (i.e. free market capitalism).

(What about those who are neither hippies or construction workers?) You mean the old man, the little kid and the owner of Mildred's Bakery? They're fascists, pure and simple.

Now that that's been taken care of, let's shift our attention to the otherworldly beauty that is Lynn Lowry (Score, Cat People), shall we?

In a minute, the Sons and Daughters of Satan, or SADOS, are about to perform a nude campfire ritual. Holy crap! Look at Sylvie's hips! They're so freakin' wide. Dang! Get me a heterosexual penis, stat! I want to put a baby in there.

Anyway, flaunting his pubic hair like it was a purified patch of pure resplendence, Horace Bones (Bhaskar) leads his small congregation of Satanists in an ancient ritual. Declaring Satan to be an acid head, Horace says, "pass the acid," and the group begin to chant. After they sacrifice a chicken, which bleeds onto Sue-Lin (Jadin Wong), the group's cheongsam-sporting spiritual leader, Horace notices someone is watching them from the woods.

Oh, don't worry, that's just Sylvia Banner (Arlene Farber), a local gal. If Horace heard me say that, he would slap me silly. But since he didn't hear me, he slaps Andy (Tyde Kierney), the group's resident Stellan Skarsgård lookalike, instead. After all, it was Andy who allowed her watch in the first place. However, since Horace has a strict no outsiders policy, this Sylvia chick must be taught a lesson.

Just to let you know, Sylvia, the local gal played Arlene Farber, and Sylvie, the acid head played by Iris Brooks, are both listed as "Sylvia" in the credits. To prevent there from being any confusion, I've changed Iris Brooks' Sylvia to Sylvie. Actually, maybe I should change it to Mitzi or Blanche, 'cause I'm still confused.

Even though we don't exactly see what happens to her, it's obvious judging by her bruises, that the members of SADOS were a tad rough with Sylvia. Staggering home, a badly beaten Sylvia is helped by Mildred Nash (Elizabeth Marner-Brooks) and her younger brother Peter Banner (Riley Mills) who come across her while making a delivery (Mildred is the owner of, you guessed it, Mildred's Bakery). What's cool about this scene is the fact that Sylvia and Mildred are both wearing mini-dresses.

Actually, I misspoke. What's cool about this scene is that it features a rare occurrence. And that is, we see a leggy woman help another leggy woman. (I'm sorry, maybe I'm a tad naive, but don't leggy women help each other out all the time?) No, I'm afraid they do not. Instances that boast the leggy helping the leggy are, unfortunately, not something you see that often. Chalk it up to jealously or just plain vindictiveness, but being leggy comes with a price. And one of the biggest prices is the inability to assist your leggy brethren in times of leggy need.

Meanwhile, the hippie Satanists are having car trouble, or, I should, they're having hippie van trouble. Displaying his playful side for a change, Horace coaxes the others to push the hippie van over a cliff. (I don't get it, what's so playful about that?) What's playful is that Shelley was sleeping inside the hippie van when they pushed it off the cliff. (You know what? You're right, that is playful.) Oh, and don't feel too bad for Shelley, he wasn't hurt.

I am somewhat surprised that Horace didn't ask Sylvie to help push the hippie van off the cliff, as her strong, lusty thighs would have made pushing that hippie van seem like a walk in the park. I guess writer-director David E. Durston thought it would be more humourous if the extremely pregnant Molly (Rhonda Fultz) helped push the hippie van off the cliff instead; pregnant women aren't usually asked to perform manual labour.

In one of the weirdest coincidences I've experienced in recent memory, just as I was starting to think that the timber of Elizabeth Marner-Brooks' voice had a distinct Tantala Ray quality about it, the industrial noise coming from the nearby construction site, where Mildred's boyfriend Roger (John Damon) is the foreman, is becoming audible. (I don't get it.) Don't you see, the industrial noise sounded exactly like the industrial noise that is heard throughout Café Flesh. Which stars... Tantala Ray!

Speaking of things that sound industrial, the film's synth-friendly music score, by Clay Pitts, is a wonderful cacophony of eerie electronic noise.

Without wheels, the hippies find themselves stuck in Valley Hills, population: 40. Well, the population is now 48, as the hippies set up shop in an abandoned, rat-infested hotel. After taking care of the rats, the hippies cut the bottom of Shelley's feet, and perform a blood ritual in the attic (they swing him from the rafters). When word gets out that the hippies were the one's that roughed up Sylvia, her grandpa (Richard Bowler) heads over there to confront them. Even though he was wielding a double-barrel shotgun, Horace is not intimidated one bit.

As he lay on the floor as a result of a punch to the gut, Sylvie (a.k.a. Mitzi and/or Blanche), crouches down, utilizing her sturdy thighs for leverage, licks grandpa's face ("He's pretty yummy for a dirty old man") and gives him a tab of acid.

Annoyed that the hippies beat up and gave his grandpa LSD, his grandson Pete is planning to get back at them. And, to sort of quote Peggy Gravel from Desperate Living, Congratulations, hippies. You're about to be infected with rabies.

This just dawned on me, I think the reason the hippies reacted differently to having rabies than the construction workers is because the hippies were on acid as well. In other words, the combination of the acid and the rabies made them even more insane. At any rate, when the hippies figure out that something was put in the meat pies they ate, it's too late for them to plan their counter-attack, as they quickly turn on one another. Scattering in every direction, the hippies flee into the night, as an axe-wielding Rollo is the first to fully embrace the rabid hippie lifestyle.

Employing her mouth-watering lower half to great effect, Sylvie manages to bum a ride from a group of construction workers. Telling her to get her "pretty little ass" in the back their truck, the construction workers... Wait a second. C'mon fellas, let's get real. Her ass may be pretty, but there ain't nothing little about it. Taking her and her junk-laden ass back to their barracks, the construction workers clearly dig Sylvie's construction (one of them grabs a chunk of her thigh in triumph after she presents it to him with much fanfare), and declare her ready to be riveted (their words, not mine). Giving at least twenty guys rabies, Sylvie's impromptu gangbang antics intensifies the situation to outbreak status.

Nearby, the gorgeous Lynn Lowry, who plays a deaf-mute Satanic hippie acid head, is cutting off the hand of a housewife with an electric carving knife. Up until this point, Lynn Lowry might not have done all that much in terms of being an obnoxious hippie Satanist on acid. But I think most people will agree that just her presence alone manages to elevate the proceedings whenever she's onscreen, as she has a quality about her that transcends talking and doing stuff.

Should I end there? Yeah? Okay. Let me just add that with its racially diverse cast, its dedication to leggy chicks in mini-dresses, and its abundance of frothy-mouthed psychopaths carrying severed heads, I Drink Your Blood is sleazy, violent, fast-paced fun for the entire family. Yeah, if your family is the Manson Family. Zing!

Cat People (Paul Scrader, 1982)

Dare I fetishize thigh-high hip waders? (What are you talking about? You better fetishize thigh-high hip waders. I mean, I didn't click on your review of Paul Schrader's for you not to fetishize thigh-high hip waders.) Fine. I'll fetishize thigh-high hip waders. If the reason the name "Paul Schrader" sounds familiar, it's because he wrote Taxi Driver. (Hey, what do you think you're doing?) Um, hello? I'm writing about Cat People. (I can see that, but what about the thigh-high hip waders? I'm no brain doctor, but the thigh skin that periodically pokes out from the top of  Nastassja Kinski's thigh-high hip waders while fishing for some crawfish from a Louisina river ain't going to describe itself.) But I read somewhere that it's mandatory to mention the fact that Paul Schrader wrote Taxi Driver when doing a review of Cat People, or any other non-Taxi Driver-related Paul Schrader film for that matter. (Since when do you do what's mandatory? You're going to stand out from the crowd if you blather endlessly about the brief scene where the too luminous for words Nastassja Kinski wears thigh-high hip waders.) But won't I come off as perverted and weird if I do that? (Yeah, but you want to come off as perverted and weird.) I do? (You know it.) Okay, if you say so. All right, let me think, how does one craft a movie review that centres around thigh-high hip waders? (Well, first of all, you should stop calling them "thigh-high hip waders." Think about it, how can they be thigh-high and go up to your hip at the same time?) You mean I should call them thigh-high fishing boots instead? (Or better yet, just drop the "hip.")

You would think Paul Schrader was channeling Jess Franco by the way his camera focuses on Nastassja Kinski as she struggles to deposit some recently caught crawfish into a bucket. (Are you implying that Paul's decision to show Nastassja bending over with her back to the camera was gratuitous? 'Cause if you are, you would be dead wrong. The reason he does this is to show that the curator of the New Orleans Zoological Park is developing amorous feelings towards Miss Kinski.) Don't you think it's obvious that he's developing amorous feelings towards her? He did, after all, land her a sweet job at the zoo's gift shop. (That's true, but nothing sends prudish American men over the titillation edge more than the sight of an ambiguously European woman bending over in thigh-high fishing boots. It's science! Okay, maybe it's not an exact science; more like a loose collection of half-baked theories and asinine brain anomalies. But can you think of anything else that's sexier than the sight of Nastassja Kinski in thigh-high fishing boots?)

Oh, I don't know, how about the sight of Lynn Lowry (Score) in black stockings? (Holy crap, that is sexier.) Told you. And get this, I've always thought Lynn Lowry had a bit of a feline vibe about her. (But she doesn't play a cat person in Cat People.) I know, but she plays a prostitute who attracts a cat person. (I think I get it. She's not a cat person.) Right. (But cat people find her attractive.) Keep going. (Hence, she has a feline vibe about her.) Bingo! (I can't believe I'm about to say this, but that makes perfect sense.)

Cat people might find her attractive, but that doesn't mean they're not going to try to tear her apart. You see, cat people can only have sex with other cat people. No matter how appealing they may look in black lingerie, the desire to rip the flesh from their bones is unstoppable.

Now, someone, like, say, a cynical prostitute with a flat stomach, might have no trouble whatsoever deciding that it's probably a bad idea to get romantically involved with a cat person. But what if you're a mild-mannered curator of an old-timey zoo (one that stills uses cages with bars) who falls in love like it were bodily function, what advice would give them?

Step softly and always have enough rope on hand, as you never know when you might have to tie your cat girlfriend to a bed. (Yikes, that sounds kinky.) Yeah, I guess it sort of does. But then again, I was mildly turned on by the scene where Ruby Dee explains the origin of character's name, so, maybe I'm not the best person to decide what is kinky and what is not kinky.

(Don't worry, you're not in danger of losing your kink cred. The scene where a human male ties up his human/black leopard hybrid girlfriend so he can have sexual intercourse with her without having to worry about being torn apart during the post-coital aftermath is definitely kinky.) That's a relief, for a minute there I thought I was being a fuddy-duddy.

Just curious, am I the only one who thought Ruby Dee was smoking hot in this movie? Interesting, none of you have your hands raised, but I'm noticing some slight nodding here and there. Meaning, I wasn't the only one. Sure, her basement is filled with the half-eaten corpses of hookers and teenage runaways, but her accent is sexy and her bone structure is sublime.

Speaking of bone structure, Nastassja Kinski! Oh my god! Talk about sublime. I can't believe this is my first Nastassja Kinski film. (Are you sure about that? Maybe you should skim through her film credits.) Nah, I don't feel like doing that. Besides, this is definitely the first Nastassja Kinski film I've seen in the past ten years. Either way, I would have loved to have seen this film in theatre when it came out in the early '80s, as I would have loved to have heard the loud gasps coming from the audience the moment when Nastassja Kinski first appears onscreen. She is simply stunning.

Meeting her long lost brother Paul (Malcolm McDowell) at the airport in New Orleans, Irena (Nastassja Kinski) seems excited to start her new life in The Big Easy. Taking her to his fancy house on Weird French Name Street in the Gumbo District (Go Saints, Go!), Malcolm, I mean, Paul, introduces Irena to Ruby Dee's Female (pronounced "fee-molly"), a Renfield-esque woman who takes care of Paul's affairs when he's out busy doing cat stuff.

After some awkward brother-sister closeness (I totally thought they were going to kiss at one point), Irena goes to sleep. But does Paul go to sleep? I don't think so. Donning a black tank-top, Paul, after doing some awkward brother-sister lurking in Irena's bedroom, heads out for the evening.

Even though we don't see Malcolm McDowell for quite some time, I'll go ahead and assume that he has transformed into the black leopard that is currently resting underneath a bed in a cheap hotel. Sitting on said bed is Ruthie (Lynn Lowry), a sexy prostitute who is dressed exactly the way a prostitute is supposed to dress.

Let's give her hooker ensemble a quick once over, shall we? Black bra? Check. Black stockings held up with black suspenders? Check. Black garter belt? Check. Black heels? Check. You see, she's perfect.

(Wait, you forgot to ask if she has a nasty gash on her right ankle.) Why would I ask that? Hold on, the black leopard resting underneath the bed she is currently sitting on is starting to get grumpy. You know what that means? Nasty gash on her right ankle? Check.

Here's a fun-fact: It turns out the gooey residue cat people leave behind when they transform from humans to leopards is edible. Gooey residue, it's what's for dinner...after you have just torn apart the bubbly blonde chick who gives sage advice to not-so bubbly brunettes from The Beach Girls; I'm talking about Tessa Richarde, by the way, she plays Billie, a ditzy gal who comes face-to-face with Paul's inability to get hard when he's with women who are not his sister.

Also struggling to come to terms with the fact she can't have sex with humans without getting the urge to tear them apart afterwards is Irena, who takes a liking to Oliver (John Heard from C.H.U.D.), an easy-going zookeeper. Someone should tell Irena to look somewhere else, but Alice (Annette O'Toole), a fellow zookeeper, is going out with Oliver. Oh, and before you say: Who wouldn't dump someone in order to go on a sexual bender with Nastassja Kinski? Please remember, Alice is played by Annette O'Toole. Who's she, you ask? Um, she's a redhead. And no no bra-wearing piece of Euro-trash can tarnish the intrinsic allure of a well-moisturized redhead.

This "intrinsic allure" could be real, but Oliver is totally making a play for Irena (he got her a job at the zoo's gift shop). I wonder if he knows that she's the descendent of an ancient tribe of leopard people? I don't think it matters, these cat folks have a way about them that causes non-cat folks to lose their kitty litter.

I know someone else who might have a problem with this cross-species relationship, and his name is Paul. Oh, yeah, I forgot about him. Torn between the human world and the animal kingdom, Irena must decide which realm is for her. Actually, the choice is actually between BDSM and incest, if you think about it.

With help of Italians Ferdinando Scarfiotti ("visual consultant") and legendary electronic music producer Giorgo Moroder, Paul Schrader has made one of the sexiest American horror movies of all-time. (So, what you're saying is, if it wasn't for the two Italian men you just mentioned, the film wouldn't have been sexy?) Yeah, that's exactly what I'm saying. I mean, would someone who wasn't under the influence of Italians have Annette O'Toole wear mismatched bra and panties? I don't think so. Featuring vibrant colours and a great location, Cat People is a rarity: A glossy Hollywood movie with a wonderfully perverted European sensibility.

Score (Radley Metzger, 1974)

Lesbian and gay sex painstakingly manufactured for the bi-curious, the openly perverted, and those still on the fence as to whether or not their heterosexuality is completely authentic, Score never wavers in its single-minded desire to promote deviant alternatives. Intelligent without being pedantic, brainless without being moronic, esteemed filmmaker Radley Metzger (Camille 2000), the crown prince of high class titillation, brings his usual flair for depicting sexual congress in a semi-interesting way to this bubbly tale about two couples–with vastly different views on love and marriage–spending a wild, drug-fueled evening with one another. Full of sharp, tersely worded dialogue; subtle straddling; and just the right amount of playfulness (too much would have been revolting), the film wonderfully builds toward its climax: The infamous duel same-sex swinger sequence–a mirror-infused, strap-on heavy, hairy ass crack affair that will confuse the living viscosity out of your woefully undereducated genitals.

A predator in the classic sense of the word, Elvira (Clair Wilbur) has been stalking her prey for months now. However, unlike the traditional hunter and hunted relationship, the hunter doesn't want to eat the object of its lust. Instead it just wants to aggressively massage the supple warmness of its taste test epicentres with their tongue for an extended period of time. Of course, a real tight wad might say what I just described sounds an awful lot like a meal being consumed. But let me assure you, Baba Ghanoush, there are no nutrients whatsoever being devoured during this oral groping; the eating in this case is strictly ceremonially.

Okay, now that I've cleared that up, Elvira is married to a guy named Jack (Gerald Grant), and together they lure unsuspecting couples (or whoever happens to be walking by at the time) to their swanky pad located in the picturesque town of Leisure (Bakar, Republika Hrvatska), so that they may perform sexual experiments on them.

Wearing their open marriage on their sleeve, Elvira and Jack set their randy gaze on a prudish couple named Betsy (Lynn Lowry) and Eddie (Calvin Culver), and hope to "score" with them before the night is over. It being the early 1970s and all, Elvira's loins are hungry for Betsy, while Jack would like to insert his hard manhood into Eddie's seaworthy asshole. You'd think they'd be craving the orifices of the opposite sex–you know, since they're a man and a woman. But Score is not about flying through the air at a normal trajectory, uh-uh, this javelin wobbles and skitters before finding a hole it feels comfortable in.

Clearly aware of the uphill battle she has in store for her, Elvira invites Betsy over to her home with the sole purpose of making her watch as she fornicates on a rug with a phone repairman named Mike (Carl Parker). She figures that this carnal display will shakeup Betsy's prissy demeanor and set the groundwork for their eventual rug-based rendezvous; which is still hours away.

The moment we've all been waiting for finally comes when the foursome of Elvira, Jack, Eddie and Betsy gather for a night of booze, weed and anal sex. Talk of dreams and aspirations leads them to playing dress up. The darkly handsome Jack dons a sailor getup, the wide-eyed Eddie does the cowboy thing, Betsy reluctantly chooses some skimpy black lingerie, and Elvira, not one to be upstaged, dresses as a coquettish nun.

The confusion I alluded to earlier really comes to the forefront the instant Elvira and Betsy go upstairs and Jack and Eddie proceed to the basement. It doesn't have to be said, but Jack and Eddie would have gone upstairs earlier if it had not been for Betsy's unexpected sabotage during their ascent.

The look on Jack's face as his cock was being blocked was priceless.

Anyway, the way this sequence of events is filmed is downright revolutionary. I mean, never have I seen lesbian and gay sex so comfortably intertwined with one another.

Now, at the time, most raincoat jockeys were probably enraged with the way the scenes that featured the gorgeous Claire Wilbur kissing the elfin Lynn Lowry were so closely associated with the ones with Gerald Grant and Calvin Culver doing the same. The ability to masturbate to Claire and Lynn in a cohesive fashion is severely hampered by the inclusion of the two guys. And I couldn't be more pleased by the thought of a bunch wanking enthusiasts not being to touch themselves in the style in which they are accustomed.

If I could choose to watch anyone be poked from behind by Claire Wilbur sporting a strap-on penis in a mirrored environment while high on amyl nitrite it would definitely be Lynn Lowry, one of the most uniquely beautiful people to grace the sullied screen. Giving a brilliant portrayal of a woman unsure of herself sexually, Lynn imbues Betsy with a pushy form of naivete. Part of you will be cheering Elvira on as she attempts to corrupt her innocence, yet another part of you will wondering why is it taking Elvira so long to entice Betsy into her debauched hemisphere?

Seriously, I loved her bashful, unsophisticated temperament, especially when she's in the same room with the more experienced Miss Wilbur. Plus, I dug the way her character praised the length of Elvira's superb legs, while at the same time, stood up for the smallness of her breasts.

In closing, a Radley Metzger film is a work of art, not some crass piece of filth that solely exists for the benefit of your wretched, self-induced orgasm.

video uploaded by DVDFilmFun

...