The Inconfessable Orgies of Emmanuelle (Jess Franco, 1982)

I'm not sure if Asunción Calero (credited as Ida Balín) was supposed to be Lina Romay's replacement in The Inconfessable Orgies of Emmanuelle (a.k.a. Emmanuelle Exposed). But either way, Miss Calero does a terrific job filling Lina's black stockings in this sun-drenched ode to sexual awaking. Even though I knew Lina wasn't in this film, I could have sworn it was her standing on the nightclub stage in the sparkly greenish zebra-print disco pants suit smoking a cigarette. Shot from a distance, the sight of Asunción Calero leering at the audience with Euro-fied contempt, the reflective straps on her heels coiling up her legs like two cunt-hungry serpents, had a distinct Lina Romay flavour about it. And I'm convinced this was on purpose, as nothing that appears in the films of Jess Franco is done by accident. Sporting a similar body type: strong, shapely legs; wide, garter belt antagonizing hips; a generously rotund backside; semi-ample breasts; and a set of succulent lips that look like bloodstained pillows when smeared with red lipstick, Asunción Calero was obviously hired because she boasts these particular attributes. I would have loved to have been at the casting session for this movie. The sight of a cavalcade of leggy brunettes coming into Jess Franco's office and standing in front of him wearing nothing but black stockings attached to a white garter belt must have been glorious. Anyway, let's just say, whoever gets the part, they will have big black stockings to fill.

(I don't want to sound like a dick, but you kind of already implied that Asunción Calero got part, and that she does a "terrific job" filling Lina Romay's black stockings.) I did? (Yeah.) Oh, well.

While it might sound like I'm bemoaning the fact–in my own long-winded sort of way–that Lina Romay isn't in this film, I'm not. On the other hand, if I'm watching a Jess Franco film that was made after, oh, let's say, 1973, I expect Lina Romay to be in it. And it doesn't matter if she's the star of the film (Macumba Sexual) or if she just makes a cameo (Diamonds of Kilimandjaro), I need to see Lina Romay's dark, piercing eyes at some point for me to feel safe and secure.

So, as you can clearly see, this film has caused a mild rift to occur in the nylon vortex that dictates the ebb and flow of my Jess Franco experience.

(Excuse me, are you finished not bemoaning the fact that Lina Romay isn't in this movie? The only reason I ask is because the sumptuous stems attached to the torsos belonging to the sensuous Asunción Calero and the mercurial Muriel Montossé--credited as Vicky Adams--are patiently waiting to receive the lavish praise they so rightly deserve. Yeah, yeah, I know, it's sad that Lina Romay and her black hold up stocking-covered legs couldn't appear in this film--trust me, I feel your pain. But you have got to get it together, man.)

Shot in Mojácar and Águilas, Spain (two small towns on the Mediterranean), the film opens with some brief, Jess Franco-approved landscape porn. After establishing that the landscape is indeed beautiful, Jaime Moraleda de los Enhebros, a.k.a. Marqués de Altuna (Antonio Rebollo), "Tony" to his friends, begins to narrate this salacious tale of lesbian sex, lesbian sex and lesbian sex.

I don't remember exactly what Tony says, but I do recall it having something to do with a couple named Emmanuelle (Muriel Montossé) and Andreas (Antonio Mayans), who are on vacation.

We meet Emmanuelle and Andreas just as they're about to enter a wax museum. (What's Muriel wearing? What's Muriel wearing?) Whoa, calm down, Skippy. She's wearing a kind of white shirt dress. (Is there a slit?) You bet there is. And it's a doozy. It goes all the way up to her hip. (Nice.)

Who would have thought that Liza Minelli would provide the film with its first nylon moment. (Wait, Liza's in this film?) Well, not really. However, her wax figure is. And since she's dressed like her character from Cabaret, she's wearing black stockings.

Kissing in front wax Humphrey Bogart, Emmanuelle and Andreas soon resign to the floor for some impromptu coitus. Tearing off her white bra, Andreas then pulls off her white panties in a non-gingerly fashion. The non-gingerly nature of Andreas' white pantie pulling technique causes Emmanuelle to sport an alarmed expression on her face. Now, I'm not sure if this was great acting on Muriel's part, or genuine surprise that Antonio pulled her panties off so abruptly. Either way, the shots of the wax figures faces edited together with their floor fucking was rather comical.

On top of being the only scene that features all five characters in the same room together, the nightclub sequence is also the most important, as it sets in motion the events that will dictate the paths the characters on this sex-fueled journey of self-discovery.

Clocking in at just over fifteen minutes, the nightclub sequence in The Inconfessable Orgies of Emmanuelle gets underway with the sight of  María (Asunción Calero) standing on stage in front of an audience filled with young people. With one hand resting on her hip and the other holding a lit cigarette, María hypnotizes the crowd by swaying back and forth.

The fact that her greenish zebra-print disco pants suit sparkles when it catches the light does nothing but accelerate this process, as the audience is practically eating out of the palm of her hand by the time she turns her back on them and proceeds to remove her belt.

When her sparkly disco pants suit falls to the floor, we get a great close up of her black stocking ensnared feet in a strappy pair of heels (the straps, like her disco pants suit, sparkle when they catch the light).

As María swayed, I began to wonder what was going on underneath that greenish zebra-print disco pants suit that sparkles when it catches the light. Was I delighted when it's revealed that María is wearing black stockings attached to a white garter belt? You bet I was. I was even more delighted when the music score goes from being jazzy to synthy the moment María's disco pants suit hits the floor; which, by the way, is covered with a cowhide rug.

Watching from the bar, Emmanuelle, Andreas, Tony, and her milfy friend Carmen (Carmen Carrión), look on with a mix of shock and amusement as María reveals her succulent pussy with much fanfare. Framed by her white garter belt, the audience gasps when they realize her pubic hair is a perfect upside down triangle. The reason it's upside down is because it acts as a sort of penile guidepost. Luring cocks and other objects into its clam-like opening on a daily basis, in terms of reproductive efficaciousness, the upside down pubic triangle is probably one of the most important shapes in the universe.

Adding arm-based gesticulation to her swaying motion, María kneels down on the floor, and invites an audience member to play with her pussy. Surprisingly, no one jumps at the chance to play with her pussy. Asking the audience again, this time Emmanuelle, who is drunk, accepts her invitation and staggers toward the stage.

While everything up until this point has been handled perfectly, the decision to shoot Emmanuelle as she approached the stage from a distance was ill-conceived. Unable to savour Emmanuelle's stocking-covered legs, which are poking out from a red dress and being poured into a pair of red pumps, the audience is denied the opportunity to relish the beauty that is Muriel Montossé's lanky frame. Things don't get any better when María tries to remove Emmanuelle's silky grey panties, as the tops of her black stockings are only visible for a brief moment. I know, it's pretty outrageous.

Disgusted by the sight of María and his beloved Emmanuelle engaged in the 69 position in front of a bunch of pimple-faced perverts in training, Andreas leaves in a huff. Have Emmanuelle and Andreas broken up? Who's to say. All I know is, nothing will probably come close to topping the nightclub scene.

While Emmanuelle is lezzing out with Carmen (she shows Emmanuelle the unexpected tightness of her mature body and it goes from there), María invites Andreas to a "party." Still wearing the heels with coiled straps from the night before, María seduces Andreas by flashing one of her tits and by giving him carte blanche to grope her legs.

Stumbling upon Carmen and Emmanuelle whilst in the throes of lesbianism, Tony interrupts them to declare Emmanuelle to be just his type: Blue eyes, soft skin, and a body made of alabaster like an amphora of the ancient Assyrians. Stop it, Tony, you're making Emmy blush. Tony gets his chance to wow Emmanuelle from a humping point-of-view at a later date, but botches it by employing a series of lackluster thrusts. Which is a shame, really, as we should all be able to fornicate with the things we love in an admirable fashion.

Is María really wearing lime green footless pantyhose as pants? I don't know why I'm acting surprised. After all, Maria Rohm, if you remember, famously wears black pantyhose as pants in Eugenie. Yeah, but, the opaque nature of her hose as pants at least obscured her pussy. On the other hand, the lime green footless pantyhose that María has sheathed her lower half in are leaving nothing to the imagination. Paired with a ruby red sparkly tube top and the strappy coiled heels, María gives Tony a chance to get back his humping cred by allowing him to fondle the living fuck out of her lime green footless pantyhose.

Even though the film uses the name "Emmanuelle," The Inconfessable Orgies of Emmanuelle is not an Emmanuelle film. While I should have stated this fact much earlier, I'm doing so now, as I don't want to give the impression that this some kind of sequel to the Just Jaeckin classic. Someone simply slapped the name Emmanuelle on the title in order to generate more revenue. In closing, if you were to take away the scene in the wax museum, the fifteen minute nightclub sequence, and Asunción Calero's lime green footless pantyhose, what you would be left with is a filmed travel brochure masquerading as a dull softcore lark.

Fascination (Jean Rollin, 1979)

Just to let you know, the image of Brigitte Lahaie stabbing that Max Perlich lookalike in the side with a dagger is constantly bouncing around inside my head as I start this review. If that's the case, why don't you continue down that road? I don't know, it seems a little obvious, don't you think? I mean, I watch a film that stars Brigitte Lahaie, and the first thing I do is go on some long tangent about, oh, let's say, her dark, piercing eyes. You know what, let me try a different track. If it doesn't work out, I'll go back to perving out over Brigitte Lahaie; after all, it's what I do best. If I were to tell you in advance that you were going die if you remained inside a chateau filled with hot French chicks wearing diaphanous robes when the clock strikes midnight, would you stay? The catch being, there are people outside the chateau who want to straight-up murder your French ass. The bullet they fired in anger that grazed your neck is all the proof you need to realize they're serious about setting in motion a series of events that will lead to your immediate demise. Well, that's the dilemma put in front of the nattily dressed thief at the centre of Fascination, a Jean Rollin film that begs the question: Should I stay or should I go? Stay, and you could be wallowing in the kind of vaginal riches the likes no man has ever experienced. Go, and you'll probably be shot in the face. The key word when describing the stay option is "could." Meaning, the vaginal riches are not set in stone. You could, as far as we know, be the main course on the menu that belongs to a deranged cabal of semi-shapely pseudo-vampires.

Much like the ruins in Lips of Blood, the oft-alluded to midnight gathering keeps the audience somewhat interested in the film's outcome. It's a clever technique that prevents those who are not used to Jean Rollin's lyrical brand of art-house erotic horror from bailing on the film all-together. I'll admit, when one of the characters mentions that some "friends" are coming over at midnight, I was rather intrigued. Since I'm being honest, the real reason I started watching this flick was see what Brigitte Lahaie was going to do with that giant scythe you see her carrying on the film's poster. Giving the poster the benefit of the doubt, I was comforted in the knowledge that, no matter happens, Brigitte Lahaie will be wielding a giant scythe at some point over the course of this film.

It's true, you do have to wade through your fair share of lesbian sex and ox blood taste testing to get some Brigitte Lahaie scythe action. But I'm sure almost everyone with a Brigitte Lahaie scythe fetish will agree that it's well worth the wait.

It's true, there's nothing duller than tasteful lesbian sex (no scissor position, me no likey). I am, however, intrigued by this so-called "ox blood taste testing."

I'll get to that in a second, the film actually opens with Brigitte Lahaie and Franca Maï dancing on a stone bridge. It's a great image, as they're dressed all in white and their phonograph record player acts as a sort of turn of the century boombox.

According to the doctor who is accompanying some proper ladies to the butchershop, the year is 1905, and everyone drinks blood. And not only that, it's great for the immune system. I don't know if I agree with that. But I will say this, we're only a minute into this thing and we've already had three striking images. The first, of course, being Brigitte Lahaie and Franca Maï dancing. The second is the sight of one of the proper ladies standing in a pool of ox blood. And the third is the close-up shot of one of the proper ladies rubbing ox blood over their lips. Sure, the latter two are kind of gross, but they're also strangely erotic, especially the lip rubbing one.

Meanwhile, in a nearby barn, a group of thieves are about to divvy up the loot (a satchel of gold coins) from a recent score. If one of the thieves, Marc (Jean-Marie Lemaire), the blonde dandy in the red and black blazer, looks a little out of place amidst this sea of unkempt crooks, that's because he's not with them. Don't get me wrong, they're on the same team. It's just that, I don't think they trust him. The feeling is mutual, and when Marc notices a slight shift in their attitude, Marc pulls out a gun, grabs the loot, and takes the lone female thief (Myriam Watteau) hostage.

My favourite part of Marc and the female thief's brief trip through the countryside was when the female thief tries to use her breasts as bargaining chip. What I liked about it was the way Marc laughed at her, as if to say: Put your tits away, honey. I'm an ass man. Only problem being, the exaggerated nature of his laughter allowed the female thief to get close enough to knee him in the groin and escape into the woods.

Quickly reuniting with her comrades, the gang of unruly thieves (who are basically three dudes and a lady) begin to chase Marc across the lush landscape that is rural France circa 1905. Realizing that he can't run forever, Marc heads toward this sort of creepy-looking chateau that's surrounded by a moat.  Using the stone bridge that leads to the front door–the very same bridge Brigitte Lahaie and Franca Maï were seen earlier dancing on–Marc cautiously enters the chateau.

What he finds inside are two women, a brunette named Elizabeth (Franca Maï) and  a blonde named Eva (Brigitte Lahaie), who tell him that they're "ladies-in-waiting." In-between the parts that feature mind games and ill-fitting old-timey underwear (no turn of the century corset can contain Brigitte Lahaie's delightful bosom), we get lesbian sex, heterosexual sex, a shoot out, and French chicks with daggers.

Don't get too excited, it's not as awesome as it sounds. No, things don't really start to pick until Brigitte Lahaie decides to head outside and take care of business, if you know what I mean. If you don't know what I mean, let me put it this way: Brigitte Lahaie has a giant scythe and she knows how to use it.

With midnight fast-approaching, Marc must choose whether to stay or go. Since there wouldn't be much of a movie if he just up and left, Marc decides to stay. And in doing so, comes face-to-face with Elizabeth and Eva's "special guests." Now, I don't want to reveal who these guests are exactly. But let's just say, they haven't come over to drink tea. Played by  Fanny Magier, Muriel Montossé (Cecilia), and three other actresses who shall, for some strange reason, remain nameless, the women seem intrigued by the handsome thief.

Are they vampires? Or are they merely a bunch of, to quote Marc, "bourgeois crackpots"? Who's to say? The swagger Brigitte Lahaie displays when she goes out to "greet" the thieves was very vampire-esque. But then again, it was the middle of the day. Yeah, but since when do Jean Rollin vampires play by those silly rules? Either way, the film, while not as entertaining as say, The Demoniacs and Lips of Blood, Fascination does have a certain ethereal quality about it that was on the cusp of being appealing at times, and Brigitte Lahaie's gorgeousness is undeniable.

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Devil Hunter (Jess Franco, 1980)

One woman is chased through the jungle by a furious throng in furry thongs, while another is pursued through the streets by hordes of photographers in tan slacks. The people chasing the former want to feed the woman's still beating heart to their scantily clad god, while the one's pursuing the latter want to sell her image to the highest bidder. What's the difference, you ask? In a way, it's cultural. However, writer-director Jess Franco (Eugénie de Sade) and writer Julián Esteban go one step further in Devil Hunter (a.k.a. Sexo Caníbal), a cannibal movie with brains and little else. On the surface, the film seems like yet another attempt to cash in on the whole cannibal craze that was sweeping Europe during the disco era. Yet bubbling underneath all that gut-munching nonsense lies a blistering satire, one that takes a sharp look at the wonky state of white supremacy in the late twentieth century. Judging by the frantic screams coming from the woman being chased through the tropical undergrowth, it was obvious that she didn't want the bug-eyed deity, the one currently growling menacingly in her presence (and in desperate need of some Visine®), to eat her heart out. In other words, the fact that she resisted was all the information I needed to tell me that the practice of eating the hearts of women who are still using them is morally repugnant. (Eating the organs of the recently deceased is on the cusp of being acceptable, but eating the organs of the living crosses the line as far as I'm concerned.) As her now heartless body hung there naked from a tree, I couldn't help but wonder why no-one had tried to help her. It would seem that the life of a black woman with no connections to show business doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things. Whereas, a white, skinny, blonde woman with no personality whatsoever has dozens of her fellow white people bending over backwards to save her heart from being the next meal of a clothes optional cannibal god.

 

The way the opening scene captured the nonexistent dichotomy between so-called civilized and uncivilized cultures was a stroke of genius. The skimpily-attired tribesmen running after the unnamed woman, who, from now on, will be known as "Rahmatulah" (Ana Paula from Cecilia), want something from her, and so do the pantyhose clad kidnappers who are after Laura Crawford (Ursula Buchfellner), a well-known untalented actress. They both want to exploit their victim's femininity in order to gain power: the tribesmen want to appease their god, while the kidnappers want to appease their bank accounts.

 

Why do white people always act surprised when the non-white locals indigenous to the far-off lands they insist on travelling to on a regular basis try to kill them? It's a question that has not plagued white people since the beginning of time. 

 

The majority of white people lose their lives at the hands of non-white locals for a number of different reasons. The most common reason being greed. While the blood that once flowed through Rahmatulah's heart is about to start running down the cannibal god's chin, Laura Crawford, her white counterpart, is being showered with praise; well, at least she thinks she is. Wearing a pink one piece bathing suit, Laura waves at the passersby as her convertible rolls through a bustling, unnamed beachfront community. Do they know who she is? It doesn't matter, she seems to think they do, and, from the perspective of a mind that's been properly deluded, that's all that really matters.

 

Purportedly in town to check out locations for her next film, Laura is unaware that she is being stalked by a blonde woman named Jane (Gisela Hahn), or is she? You see, moments after we see Jane behaving oddly near the beach where Laura is frolicking with her dog, we see them sitting together. I'm confused, why would Jane need to spy on someone she's clearly acquainted with? I don't know, but it would seem that Jane is Laura's assistant, and they're busy watching a private bathing suit fashion show together.  

 

While the sound of bongos and flesh tearing are the soundtrack to Rahmatulah's gruesome demise, the sound of chloroform being sprayed and splashing water are the last things Laura hears as she comes face-to-face with her worst nightmare: a greedy, two timing assistant with bills to pay. As she is taking a bath, Jane and two men wearing pantyhose on their heads swoop into Laura's bathroom. Knocking her out with the aforementioned chloroform (now available in an easy to use spray bottle), the men drag her naked body out of the tub.  

 

Waking up chained to a wall in a dilapidated building in the jungle, Laura Crawford is probably thinking to herself: why were the men wearing pantyhose on their heads? I mean, they're not wearing them now. Actually, the chances that Laura would think anything, let alone the reasoning behind her kidnappers lack of disguises in the post-bathroom abduction phase of their criminal undertaking, are pretty remote. I'll be blunt, Laura is profoundly stupid. She doesn't seem to have a clue about anything whatsoever.

 

Anyway, Laura hasn't got time to worry about that, because Chris (Werner Pochath), one of the kidnappers, is starting to lose it. Unaccustomed to the jungle way of life, Chris rants against what he calls, "a fucking awful place." This scene manages to be comedic and sexy simultaneously. How so, you ask? Well, the frazzled kidnapper provides the funny, as his delivery while uttering the following, "This wild vegetation gives me the creeps," "Damn it, damn it, damn it, damn it," and, my personal favourite, "Flowers shit!" was outstanding. And the alluring Ursula Buchfellner brings the sexy as she hang there in her pink, thigh-friendly, strategically torn, jungle captive-wear. In order to help sell the sizzle, Jess Franco pans up Ursula's unpretentious frame in a slow, deliberate fashion.

 

 

Desperate to find an activity that will take his mind off the jungle, Chris decides to threaten Laura with a nasty-looking knife with a curved blade, while a fellow kidnapper named Pablito (Melo Costa) laughs in the background.

 

Hired by Laura's agent, the rugged Peter Weston (Al Cliver) is told to bring the kidnappers six million dollars in exchange for the blonde's safe return. He's been given 200,000 dollars for expenses, but he's informed on the way out that if he brings back Laura and the six million, he'll get 10%. Now, I'm no math whiz, but that sounds like a pretty sweet deal. Meanwhile, back in the jungle, Chris is still ranting and raving. While I can't say that I really blame him (the bird noises alone are enough to drive even the most hardened of kidnappers up the wall), someone should tell him to get his shit together, or, at the very least, give him a good slap in the nuts.

 

Luckily for the kidnappers, Thomas (Antonio de Cabo) is there to give the criminal undertaking an air of dignity and class. Okay, maybe that's pushing it, after all, he does rape Laura while she's chained to a wall (a vile act a poncho-wearing Jane tries to watch from the comfort of a hammock, but she is quickly told to beat it). But there's no denying that Thomas is clearly the brains of the operation. 

 

 

After being given a message at a hotel by a mysterious woman wearing white cowboy boots, a woman who is credited as "Girl on Yacht" (Cecilia's Muriel Montossé), Peter hops aboard a helicopter, piloted by a Vietnam vet named Jack (Antonio Mayans), and heads to Santos Island. You would think that Jack, being a veteran of a war that took place mainly in the jungle, would be used to the tropical climate. But that's where you would be wrong. Traumatized by the experience, Jack is complaining, in a ridiculous-sounding southern accent, about the humidity no less than five seconds after landing on the island.  

 

The prospect of earning 10% of six million dollars was obviously in the back of his mind, as Peter tries to pull one over on the kidnappers (the bag containing the money was filled with blank sheets of paper). However, in his defense, Thomas does try to screw over Peter as well (his lackies hiding up on a cliff open fire on Peter and Jack during the botched exchange), so it was only fair that Peter give duplicity a go. Either way, both their plans end up backfiring, as Laura runs off into the jungle during the commotion. Without Laura, the kidnappers have nothing to bargain with. It's not all fun and games for her so-called rescuers, as they have nothing to show for their effort, either.
 

 

As the two sides fall into disarray (some nursing bullet wounds), and Laura is busy stumbling mindlessly through the jungle, a murderous fiend has quietly gained the upper hand. They don't realize it yet, but their all being stalked by a naked man with bloodshot eyes. If you thought the sound of birds chirping was creepy, wait until you hear the sound of a cannibal with bronchitis, it will rob you of at least four drops of your semi-precious pee ("semi-"precious because it's just pee).
 

 

The rescuers do manage to gain a bit of an advantage when they stumble upon the kidnapper's yacht, a yacht that features–you guessed it–Muriel Montossé's "Girl on Yacht." She may only be "Girl on Yacht," but this is one yacht-based woman who knows a thing or two about the locals. Even though she's working for the kidnappers, she doesn't seem to mind giving Peter and Jack the skinny on the cannibals. Speaking of skinny, or not skinny in this case, Muriel Montossé's trademark big French booty is fuller than ever in Devil Hunter, as we see it briefly as it struggles hang onto a skimpy pair of bikini bottoms (five, count 'em, five coin slot's worth of ass crack are on display for your corporeal enjoyment).

 

Even though I repeatedly mocked her lack of intelligence, Ursula Buchfellner should be commended for her fearless performance as Laura Crawford, the poster girl for vacuous hose-beasts. Raped, drugged, tortured, carried down cliffs, bathed against her will (hell, the gorgeous Aline Mess even massages her with flowers at one point), and shackled to just about everything you can imagine, Ursula may not have much to say in terms of dialogue (her verbal output in this film is limited to whimpering softly and screaming loudly). But she more than makes up for it with sheer moxie, which is what ended up making Devil Hunter the passable slab of untoward entertainment that is ultimately is.

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