Cannibal Terror (Alain Deruelle, 1981)

"What's that over there? Oh, it's just a bird." Hello, before I go any further, I would just like to quickly inform you that particular line of dialogue is one of the few hings that makes Cannibal Terror a totally worthwhile experience. It's true, I had to wade knee-deep through a mile of festering garbage to hear it uttered, but when the line finally spews from the mouth of Silvia Solar, and we're shown stock footage of a bird sitting in a tree (the same exact footage of a bird we saw at an earlier point in the film), I fell headfirst into a five second giddy fit. While I'll be the first to admit that  five seconds doesn't sound like whole lot of time for one to engage in an action that contained enough giddiness to be considered full-on by any giddy means. But as those who have seen the film can properly attest, five seconds of giddiness is as good at it gets. Just for the record, the reason I enjoyed the bird line so much is because it's the kind scene you might find in a parody of a bad movie. However, this film, which is directed by Alain Deruelle and co-written by an uncredited Jess Franco (Devil Hunter), is no parody, it's deadly serious. Sure, I would have probably been a tad more forgiving had Jess Franco directed the film instead of this Alain Deruelle fella. But he didn't, so get over it. Oh, I will. It's just that Monsieur Deruelle doesn't know how to film a shapely woman walking down the street if his life depended on it. In fact, someone should ban him from owning and operating a camera, because he doesn't have the pervert's eye. The pervert's what? The pervert's eye. All European men are born with the eyes of a pervert, but it's up to the individual to maintain the health and well-being of their perverted peepers. And clearly the director of this barely competent cannibal opus has not done that.
 

 

The scene where the gorgeous Montserrat Salvador walks down the street was botched beyond belief. Of course, I'm not saying the entire scene should been nothing but close-up shots of her undulating buttocks. I just thought shooting the scene with a long lens from start to finish was a mistake from a filmmaking point-of-view. And, on top of that, it's not a smart way to introduce one of the film's key characters, as it keeps us at a distance.
 

 

Meanwhile, her bumbling accomplices, Mario (Jess Franco regular, Antonio Mayans) and Roberto (Gérard Lemaire), are down at the docks breaking into a boat in broad daylight. Well, at least they try to break-in to one. You see, while Roberto keeps watch, Mario is struggling to gain entrance to the cabin. Which is weird, because all that stands in his way is a flimsy-looking door. Anyway, as they continue to wallow in their own ineptitude, I couldn't help but notice that they're all getting close-ups. Nothing against Antonio and Gérard, especially Antonio, who's quite handsome, but I don't want to be staring at their stupid faces. Eventually breaking into the boat (the door was unlocked), Mario and Roberto make off with a bag of miscellaneous loot.
 

 

As the shapely Lina (Montserrat Salvador), perhaps named after Lina Romay (after all, their respective booties have a similar buoyancy about them), makes her way through the streets of an unnamed resort town, her womanly hips swaying side to side with a hypnotic brand of child-bearing confidence, Madame Danville (Silvia Solar) is getting her nails done at a beauty salon. A mature goddess in a pink on pink summer dress with a giant slit up the side, Madame Danville, sitting with her legs crossed as the manicurist works on her left hand, decides to let her daughter Florence ("The Little Annabelle," that's what it says in the credits) play out outside.
 

 

This decision, as we will soon find out, is going to having a lasting effect on everyone I just mentioned. You know who else it's going effect? That's right, Florence's father, Monsieur Danville (Jess Franco regular, Olivier Mathot), who Madame Daville and Florence call from the beauty salon. At first, the call seems to revolve you're typical husband and wife bullshit. But all that changes once Florence picks up the phone. I don't know, there's something disturbing about watching Olivier Mathot making cat noises over the telephone while a little girl, whose voice has been dubbed by an adult woman, tries to guess what animal he is.
 

 

Have I mentioned that Montserrat Salvador is stunning? If not, I just want to make it clear that, even though Alain Deruelle doesn't know how to film a statuesque woman walking down the street, the sight of Montserrat going for a stroll in her strappy heels and long blue skirt with green flourishes here and there was breathtaking. Now, I'm not 100% sure if Montserrat Salvador is the name of the actress who plays Lina (the credits aren't that reliable), but the name Montserrat Salvador seems to suit her. So, until anyone tells me otherwise, Lina, the sexiest kidnapper to hit the French cannibal circuit in ages, will be known as Montserrat Salvador.
 

 

Running into Florence on her way to a bar, Lina has a brief chat with the little scamp. Their conversation, while innocent in nature, is the catalyst for the coming events. Sitting at the bar, drinking her troubles away, Lina rendezvous with her partners in crime, Mario and Roberto; I must say, I was quite envious over the fact Roberto got to grope the softness of Lina's supple hindquarters upon meeting her (she obviously didn't mind as his face remained slap-free for the duration of their stay at the bar). Frustrated that they can't seem to land a big score, Lina, Mario, and Roberto try to come with some new ideas how to make money; the level of their frustration gets to the point where Lina ends up telling Mario, "My ass says go fuck yourself." I don't know what means, but anytime Lina refers her ass, I'm a happy camper.
 

 

As they're brainstorming, Lina remembers the little girl she met on the way to the bar. And just like that, a kidnapping scheme is hatched. I wonder how long it will take for the threesome to botch the kidnapping. Oh, sure, the kid was easy to grab (for some strange reason the actual abduction isn't shown). But remember, Mario and Roberto had trouble breaking into an unlocked boat. As expected, a mild snafu occurs, a fourth accomplice ends up in police custody (he was struck by a car while crossing the street), so they end up switching to plan B; which entails them flying to the jungle to wait further instructions.
 

 

While their plan is evolving, you'll notice that Montserrat Salvador has changed into a white dress. You better get used this particular garment, because it's going to be clinging to Montserrat's succulent frame for the rest of the movie. And you what? I'm totally at ease with that, as the dress looks fabulous on Montserrat; the matching white strappy heels were not too shabby either. Oh, and keep an eye on Montserrat's face when Roberto is being given instructions over the phone, her reaction acting is top-notch.
 

 

After enduring a quick plane ride, Lina, Florence (who doesn't seem to mind the fact that she's been kidnapped), Mario, and Roberto meet Mickey Morris (Miriam Camacho) in a field. Hired to take them to a safe house, Mickey, a luminous double-chinned flower goddess with crimped hair, tells them to hop in her jeep. First, she's got to get them across the border, which might require some trickery. But don't worry, Mickey's got the thighs for the job. Did you just say, "thighs for the job"? I did. Oh, okay. Just checking. The reason I stopped you was because you don't often hear that expression. Well, let me a bit more clear. While Lina, Florence, Mario, and Roberto travel on foot, Mickey needs to get the jeep past the border crossing. Of course, I don't why they couldn't have just driven the jeep the same way they went on foot (it is, after all, an off-road vehicle). But that's not important. What is important that Mickey says, "I know what to do." Call me deranged, but I believe her.
 

 

Driving up to the check point, Mickey simply lifts up her orange hippies dress, flashes the guard a bird's eye view of her left thigh, and three seconds later, she's on her merry way. As she's pulling away, one of the guards can be heard saying, "Nice thighs." To which the other guard says, "You can say that again." Are you sitting down? Because the original thigh-praising guard actually says, "Nice thighs," again. Unbelievable! Maybe this movie isn't as bad as I initially lead on? I mean, double-chinned hotties with nice thighs are all I really need for a movie not to suck nowadays.
 

 

Unfortunately, Mickey's life is about to come to a tragic end. What do you mean? I'd rather not get into it. Okay, let's just say her world class thighs are about to be consumed by a tribe of cannibals. 
 

 

Arriving at the safe house, the foursome meet Antonio and his wife Manuela (Pamela Standford from Lorna the Exorcist). Deciding that now is a good time as any to take a bath, Manuela removes her red dress and starts to wash her milfy body in an outdoor tub. She thinks she's alone, but Mario is watching her. Horrified when she discover she's being spied on, she runs into the jungle (which are more like woods, if you think about it). Tying her to a tree, Mario rapes Manuela. It was weird watching one Jess Franco regular treat another Jess Franco regular so shabbily, but this technically isn't a Jess Franco film.
 

 

If you thought Mickey's thigh flash was awesome, wait until you see Lina's attempt to seduce Antonio's guitar-playing house boy. Entering the room with a girlish thud, Lina puts her left hand on her left hip, and pretty much dares the house boy not to get hard.
 

 

Playing it cool (he barely acknowledges her), the house boy tries his best not to notice the shapely slab of feminine perfection standing before him. Realizing that the house boy isn't going to succumb to her charms so easily, Lina sits down underneath a zebra pelt and crosses her legs. Holding her right leg firmly in the crossed position with both hands for a period of time that can be best described as "lengthy," Lina throws the house boy a sly smile.
 

 

The blue macaw perched next to the house boy has no idea what kind of structural metamorphosis is taking place inside his jeans. But since I own a pair of jeans that are similar to the house boy's, I know exactly what's going on in there. Still plucking away at his guitar, the house boy doesn't know it yet, but he's about to come face-to-face with every breeders fantasy; a short-haired brunette built specifically for hot, throbbing, infant-producing sexual intercourse.
 

 

Moving closer to the house boy (making sure to push the blue macaw out of the way), Lina sits down, re-crosses her legs, and goes in for the kill. Allowing him free reign to massage the corporeal viscosity out of her calves and thighs, the house boy metaphorically dines on Lina's  wonderfully proportioned body with the a reckless form of heterosexual abandon.
 

 

As you might have guessed, I was quite taken with Lina's encounter with the guitar-playing house boy. It was not only sexy as hell, it also managed to relieve the icky feeling I got from the rape scene. On top of that, it's the only scene I wasn't tempted to fast forward past. Granted, the drunken, post-rape party sequence has its moments; one in particular features Montserrat Salvador staring directly at the camera during her dance number. But the scenes where Lina, Florence, Roberto, and the house boy (don't ask me what happened to Mario) wander the jungle were downright tedious. Pursued by Monsieur and Madame Danville, who managed to track down the kidnappers (Monsieur Danville calls a border guard a "cunt" at one point), the sheer amount of jungle wandering in this film was too much to take at times.
 

 

The only instances you need to look at the screen during their exhaustive jungle march are when Silvia Solar thinks she sees something in the trees ("it's just a bird") and the part where Lina lifts up her dress in a veiled attempt not get it wet while walking through a stream, and, in the process, reveals more of her gams. Hey, man, if there's one thing Cannibal Terror gets right, it's the amount of times we see Montserrat Salvador showing off her tasty thighs.
 

 

Everything else, on the other hand, is bungled beyond belief. The so-called cannibals were some of the least convincing "natives" ever to be captured on film, the film's editing is sloppy, the gut-munching scenes were bland and repetitive, the continuity is piss poor, you could see cars traveling on a nearby road during the scenes that are supposed to take place at the cannibal tribe's remote jungle village, and...well, actually, I could spend all day listing things that are wrong with this movie. But truth be told, I'd rather not do that. If you like buxom women with short hair and sturdy legs, one's who might respond to name Montserrat, then I'd say it's your duty to see this film. As for everyone else, steer clear of this abomination.

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Lorna The Exorcist (Jess Franco, 1974)

Resting her head in the vicinity of her intended victim's voracious vagina, a naive young brunette takes one last deep breath before beginning to explore the crevice-laden riches that lay beyond the generous mounds of curly blonde pubic hair with the rose-tinted contours of her immaculate face. Using the tongue that's been growing steadily in her oral cavity ever since she was born, a tongue that she has mostly used, up until this point, to taste sugary sweets, the naive young brunette, whose conduct is becoming more devilish the closer she comes to hitting minge-based pay-dirt, gingerly pokes around the outer layer of the festering sheath-like structure in search of hypothetical sustenance. Hi. In case you haven't figured it out yet, I am, in my own convoluted way, attempting to describe a scene that occurs in Lorna The Exorcist, yet another deliriously awesome film by Jess Franco that had me repeatedly, much like the impish brunette with the inquisitive tongue was doing during her cunnilingual refresher course, gasping for clean air. Lack of oxygen, notwithstanding, whenever I find myself in the presence of a Jess Franco film, a sense of ease seems to wash over my normally prickly aura. There's something about his films that cause me to become entirely transfixed by whatever is occurring onscreen. Whether it's the sight of a crazed brunette woman writhing on her bed as a result of her wonderfully unshaven crotch being inundated by an army of tiny cunt-conjured crabs or a sequence that features a crazed brunette woman in black hold-up stockings writhing on her bed for different, non-cunt crab-related reasons all-together, I feel as if Jess Franco knows exactly what my mind wants to see. His camera never fails to focus on what matters, and in this film, his camera always right on target.

 

 

As usual, the film opens with a number of close-up shots of nature (leaves and lemons mostly this time around). Set to the hypnotic music of classical guitarist André Bénichou, we're quickly ushered inside where we find a curly-haired slinky blonde woman not wearing pants. She is, however, wearing a lacy top (the kind that causes one to reveal the contents of their crotches whenever they shrug their shoulders or reach erotically for a jar of molasses that is just out of reach). Oh, and she's wearing a lot of eye makeup, too.

 

Lying on the bed, the slinky blonde begins to perform self-massage on herself. When the music starts to get even more hypnotic, that's Lina Romay's cue to enter the fornicating fray. Of course, she doesn't enter via the bedroom door. Don't be silly. She sort of just appears out from behind some curtains. Slowly approaching the slinky blonde, who is still groping her thighs with a shitload of gusto, Lina, her long mane of jet black hair no doubt causing the slinky blonde's vagina to become engorged with an ill-defined amount of wetness, offers her thumb as a corporeal gift.

After the slinky blonde has sucked her thumb to the point where its taste has become commonplace (even though it's been four days, I can still taste your thumb in my mouth), Lina rests her head right near the area where her pussy doesn't have anatomical jurisdiction. Her face might be out of pussy bounds, but that doesn't mean her tongue can't cross over to the pussy side of the tracks. And that's exactly what she does.
 

The music, the eye makeup, the curly hair-straight hair dichotomy, the taut flesh, the uncompromising camera angles, and the pussies all conspire to elevate this particular opening sequence into a mind-blowing work of erotic art.

 

It would seem that what we just watched was a sappho-drenched dream transmitted directly from the mind of Linda Mariel (Lina Romay), the daughter of a rich business man. Snapping out her trance-like state, Linda, who is wearing a modest light blue turtleneck, declares that she is bored. No matter. Excited about the prospect of celebrating her eighteenth birthday in Saint-Tropez, Linda is practically giddy. Suddenly, the telephone rings. Her mother Marianne (Jacqueline Laurent) answers it and tells her father Patrick (Guy Delorme) that it's for him. Who is it, he asks. Why, it's a "sexy female." That's weird, he probably thought to himself. I wasn't expecting a call from a "sexy female." His playful demenour quickly turns serious as the voice on the other end of the line identifies herself as "Lorna." Holy crap.

 

Meanwhile, at a clinic in another part of the country, black hold-up stockings and madness have a date with titillation, and prospects look very sexy. Sitting on her bed in a seductive manner, an unnamed brunette (Catherine Lafferière) is ripping pages out of a fashion magazine (judging by the size and the quality of the photos it looked like an issue of Vogue). Anyway, summoned by the clinic's chief doctoring guy (Jess Franco), the unnamed brunette is brought into his office sans panties; and like the slinky blonde in the opening scene, every time she raises her arms, we catch a brief glimpse of her vagina. Determined to find out who she is, the doctor demands that she tell him who commands her (he seems to think she is under the influence of an unseen entity).

 

 

While I loved the way her creamy, European thighs seem to glow effervescently between the blackness of her hold-up stockings and the harshness of her gunmetal dress shirt, someone get this woman some panties.    

 

 

Brought back to her room in a pantie-less heap, the unnamed brunette starts to, you guessed it, writhe around on her bed. Suddenly, she senses someone else in the room with her. I wonder if it's the same woman from Linda's dream. Yes, it is. It's Lorna! Oh, we don't see her, but I could totally feel her presence.
 

 

Angry when she finds out her father isn't taking her Saint-Tropez, Linda throws a hissy fit. Informing her daughter that eighteen year-olds don't throw hissy fits, Patrick convinces Linda that they must go to Camargue, specifically the commune of La Grande-Motte. Why must they go there? Well, that's where Lorna wants them to go. You see, as we will soon find out, there's a bit of a history between Patrick and the mysterious Lorna. And judging by the quickness in which Patrick changes his plans, Lorna, much like the unnamed brunette in the black hold-up stockings, has a profound hold on him.
 

 

Replete with provocative writhing, black hold-up stockings, and crazy eye makeup, you wouldn't think Lorna the Exorcist would need anything else to help bolster its status an alluring work of transgressive art. But that's where you would be wrong. A character onto itself, La Grande-Motte is a truly bizarre place. Giving the film an added sense of uneasiness, the pyramid-shaped hotels (designed by Jean Balladur) that dot the landscape of the seaside resort seem to play tricks on not only the viewer, but the characters as well, especially Patrick, who seems overwhelmed by the imposing nature of the resort's so-called "utopian architecture."
 

 

If you thought the hotels looked kooky from the outside, you should see what they look like on the inside; it's almost as if the rooms of the hotel were designed for a science fiction film. Either way, Patrick, Marianne, and Linda seem happy with their new digs. No doubt feeling a tad icky after travelling all this way (her legs and feet must be drenched in sweat after being cooped up in those knee-high leather boots for such a long period of time), Linda decides to take a bath. As she's soaping herself up, this eerie music starts to throb on the soundtrack. Which can only mean one thing, it's time yet again for Lorna make her presence felt. And she does so by getting in the tub with her. Licking Linda's birthday pussy with the care and dedication of a pussy connoisseur, Lorna straddles Linda in a manner that allows both their pussies to be licked simultaneously.
 

 

Unlike when we first met her during the film's opening scene, Lorna now has straight blonde hair and has applied a thick coat of green eye makeup to her ocular infrastructure. Fashion changes aside, Lorna has not asked Patrick to come here to show him her new look, she's here to collect Linda. What do you mean "collect Linda"? Well, apparently a deal was made, a Faustian deal, eighteen years ago, and Lorna is ready to collect her reward. After hounding him via the telephone, Lorna finally meets Patrick face-to-face. Having not seen each other in eighteen years, Patrick is not surprised at all to find that Lorna hasn't changed one bit since their last meeting.

 

Even though he agreed under duress (he was about to insert his penis into her vagina and obviously wasn't thinking straight), Lorna still expects Patrick to keep his end of the bargain; which is to give her his first born daughter when she turns eighteen. Despite owing his lavish lifestyle to Lorna (she made him incredibly wealthy after the deal was made), Patrick has no intention of giving his daughter to her (he's so determined that he asks the hotel manager to get him a gun). In order to prove that she's serious about wanting to possess Linda on her eighteenth birthday, Lorna instructs her man servant (Howard Vernon) to beat Patrick with a seashell.

 

Just in case we were starting to forget about the unnamed brunette in black hold-up stockings, Jess Franco periodically provides us with updates on how she's doing. As expected, her writhing has gotten more wiggly than ever, and she's starting to hallucinate. But on the positive side of things, her black hold-up stockings are holding up quite nicely.
 

 

Waking up in the harbour, Patrick, who is helped by a leggy onlooker smoking a cigarette, staggers back to hotel room. Battered and bruised, Patrick is relieved to find his wife (looking magnifique in an orange dress that sort of matches the walls of their room) and daughter safe and sound. Telling a concerned Marianne that there's a strange woman from his past bent on their destruction, Patrick doubles down (his gun has finally arrived). Which is ironic, since doubling down is what got him in all this trouble to begin with (Lorna helped Patrick, a degenerate gambler at the time, win big at the roulette table). 
 

 

It's a good thing the gun he ordered has arrived, because all hell is about to break loose. Now, in the majority movies, the expression "all hell is about to break loose" has come to mean an upswing in plot-based action. However, in the Lorna the Exorcist universe, it means vaginal crabs and odd-looking dildos smeared with hymen blood. 

 

Lavishing praise Lina Romay has become second nature to me; so much so, that her fearless, unselfconscious style of acting is the gold standard in which to judge gauge a performer's moxie. The slinky blonde, whose common sounding name does not do her unique aura justice, is the real power behind Lorna the Exorcist throne. Exuding a palpable stench that bled uncut eroticism, Pamela Stanford is a camp-adjacent delight as the titular troublemaker. Unflinching in the face of the exquisite largeness of Lina's bulbous behind, Pamela manages to create an air mystery around her character. Sure, the liberally applied green eye makeup helped a great deal in making us believe that a slinky blonde could cause brunettes the world over to writhe in erotic agony, but if you look past the makeup, you'll notice that Pamela's gaze is mesmerizing.
 

 

Oozing atmosphere like it were a second-rate bodily function, Lorna The Exorcist isn't a film you merely watch with your eyes, it's an all-consuming experience that repeatedly plunges your face, whether you want it to or not, into the dark recesses of your petrified subconscious. The fact that all the scenes take place during the day seemed to add to the weirdness, not diminish it, as you might expect. It also helped that the buildings all looked like the were spawned out of some kind of geometric nightmare. Starting with a muff diving bang and ending with an extended shot of what has to be the gape-iest maw in film history, Jess Franco has inadvertently fashioned an erotic horror masterpiece for the ages.

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