The Tiffany Minx (Roberta Findlay, 1981)

Sex, money, rape, and murder all coalesce into one mighty fine stew in...The Tiffany Minx, Roberta Findlay's logical follow up to A Woman's Torment. Wait a second, follow up?!? Wasn't A Woman's Torment made in 1977? Yeah, so? Well, you have...The Tiffany Minx listed as coming out in 1981. Again, yeah, so? What I'm trying to say is, that's not exactly what I would call a "follow up" (four years is practically an eternity in erotic horror terms). In today's fact-deficient culture, who really cares about release dates? I mean, Marlene Willoughby's willowy frame and Crystal Sync's succinct cunt are patiently waiting to receive the fawning praise they so rightly deserve, and here I am talking about release dates? That's–and I'm sure most of you will agree–some pretty fucked up shit. Besides, it's obvious A Woman's Torment and...The Tiffany Minx were made at the same time. How so? I'll tell you how so, Crystal Sync wears the same dress in both films. And not only that, Jeffrey Hurst's back is hairy in both films as well. Think about it, if it was really 1981, don't you think that Jeffrey wouldn't have gotten it shaved, or, at the very least, trimmed a bit, by the time 1981 rolled around? No, these films are both products of the mid-to-late 1970s (and they have the hairy ass cracks to prove it). Um, that's great and all. But what about Marlene Willoughby's willowy frame and Crystal Sync's succinct cunt? Oh, yeah, I almost forgot about them. Just kidding, those two things are never far from my mind.
 

 

When I first saw the trailer for...The Tiffany Minx, I thought to myself: I need stop what I'm doing and go see...The Tiffany Minx. Brilliantly edited and narrated by a woman who seems to whisper all her lines, the trailer immediately sucked me into its melodramatic world of sex and violence. Oh, and the reason I pause every time I say...The Tiffany Minx, is because that's what the voiceover lady does in the trailer, and I just like the way it sounds. Anyway, the trailer's biggest draw was Marlene Willoughby's willowy frame and stunning face. In fact, every time Marlene Willoughby would appear in the trailer my guts would go gooey. I don't know, there's just something about her that brings out the animal in me. And by "animal," I mean a small woodland creature with low self-esteem.  
 

 

The moment I saw Marlene Willoughby's brief appearance in Waterpower (you might remember, she played the nurse who assists Dr. Eric Edwards with the film's first enema), I knew right away that there was something special about her; I'm convinced that the shape of her face has healing powers (though, it should be said, that I feel the same way about the faces that belong to Sharon Mitchell and Lois Ayres). After a lengthy period of time that boasted no Marlene Willoughby, I saw her again in A Woman's Torment. Unfortunately, her role was a non-sex-related. On the bright side, she does deliver a deftly comedic performance as the nosy Fannie Grudkow. While it was nice to see Marlene Willoughby in a film again, it was obvious, judging by my naked writhing, that I wanted more.
 

 

Will...The Tiffany Minx provide me the Marlene Willoughby that I so wantonly crave? Stay tuned to find out, as I, and by "I," I mean, "we," delve once again into the cinematic meat grinder that is the world of Roberta Findlay, and carefully examine the erotic tour de force that is...The Tiffany Minx.
 

 

Why is Carter Stevens, sans pants, cutting the garter belt attached to a passed out Robin Sane with a pair of scissors? I have no idea, but it's 2:30am and the fun has apparently just begun. Entering the room with a forceful swagger, a black hold-up stockings/satin panties clad Samantha Fox is ready to get fucked. Accompanied by her brunette boy toy (David Morris), Samantha asks Carter Stevens if they can violate the pussy of his passed out companion. While Carter Stevens goes to the kitchen to get a snack, Samantha Fox and David Morris proceed to rape the unconscious Robin Sane (who, according to Carter Stevens, drank two bottles of champagne). In order to get her in the mood, the brunette boy toy licks Samantha's pussy through her satin panties ("I like the feeling of satin rubbing against my pussy"). As the boy toy is giving Robin and Samantha each a piece of his cock, Carter Stevens is on the phone.  
 

 

As far as opening scenes go, the one in...The Tiffany Minx is pretty confusing. I mean, who are these people? None of them look like Marlene Willoughby or Crystal Sync. Well, Carter Stevens' phone conversation is the only aspect that's integral to the film's plot (the identity of the person on the other end of the line isn't revealed). Everything else is just Samantha Fox in black hold-up stockings-related gravy to feed the raincoat crowd.
 

 

Woo-hoo! The luminous Crystal Sync makes an appearance immediately after the boy toy had finished dispensing his future stain onto Samantha Fox's chest. Standing by the pool in a white bikini, Jessica Grover (Crystal Sync) is talking to her husband, Paul (Jeffrey Hurst), on the phone. While I can't remember exactly what the topic of their conversation was (I was too busy drinking in Miss Sync's sexiness), I bet it's got something to do with Anne.
 

 

Who's Anne, you ask? She's a woman who works with Jess's husband (real estate is his game). And not only that, Jess thinks Paul is having an affair with her. This Anne woman would have to be pretty spectacular to drive Paul to cheat. I mean, let's get real. His wife looks like Crystal Sync. It all starts makes sense once we get our first look at this Anne character. Do I have to spell it out? Anne is played by–yeah, you guessed it–Marlene Willoughby. Wait a second. You mean to tell me this Paul fella is married to Crystal Sync and is having an affair with Marlene Willoughby? Paul is my new hero.
 

 

Don't put your dick in Paul's ass just yet. You see, he's got a scheme going. A scheme? Yeah, a scheme. His wife is loaded. And according to the rooftop chat we're privy to that takes place between Paul and Anne, there's plan afoot to bilk her of her family fortune.

In meantime, Paul and Anne consummate their sinister alliance with a little bedroom sexual intercourse. Ah, bedroom sexual intercourse. It's where straight people fuck. You mean? Yes, we get to see Marlane Willoughby's slender body in the throes of passion. Tasty. Spoon position, moan, "I want it," your pussy looks like Gene Shalit, skinny arms, doggie style, blow job, moan, spoon position, male orgasm, pubic hair/stomach. I like the way Marlene Willoughby would occasionally look over her shoulder in order to keep tabs on what her lover's cock was doing to her shalit-esque pussy.

 

 

While Anne's 'O' face managed to retain its 'O'-ness throughout her encounter with her lover's cock, the same can't be said for the intruder/rapist who decides to pay Jess a visit. His 'O' face quickly turns to his 'Ow' face, as Jess plunges a pair of scissors into his back mere moments after he spewed his rape wad on her stomach. And get this, the intruder/rapist was played by Carter Stevens. You mean the same guy from the opening scene? The very same. Wow, I mean, wow. That's weird, wild stuff.
 

 

Calling her husband immediately, Anne comforts Jess (Marlene Willoughby and Crystal should hug more often) as Paul handles the police. Still stressed about the rape, and the fact that she killed a man, Jess tries to put it all behind her. Of course, seeing the newspaper, headline, "L.I. Woman Kills Rapist," isn't helping matters. To make things even worse, the byline reads: "Cool Canadian Air Due Overnight." That's it, blame Canada for all your troubles.
 

 

The alluring Marlene Willoughby gives the first of her many evil eyebrow lifts during a phone conversation with Paul. If you haven't guessed by now, they're up to something. Anyway, I dug the manner in which Marlene Willoughby says, "Yes, an accident...a fatal accident." The instant she says this, I preformed a mental fist pump. As in, yeah, baby! *mental fist pump* You're thin, you're fabulous, you're a colossal hosebeast, and you're campy as fuck. In other words, I love you.
 

 

A surprise birthday party for Jess doesn't go as planned as she loses her shit during the cake cutting ceremony (knives still creep her out). Realizing their plan is "on the verge of being a rousing success," Paul and Anne celebrate their duplicity by kissing one another. Little do they know, but Jess spots them swapping mouth fluid. Busted! Keeping what she saw to herself, Jess agrees that it's a good idea for her go some place quiet and secluded. Oh, I know where she should go, the Fire Island beach house from A Woman's Torment. It's almost as if she was reading my mind, because that's exactly where she decides to go.
 

 

A weird scene involving a guy named Matt (Robert Kerman) and two women, a blonde (Merle Michaels) and a brunette (Candida Royalle), fills the space between Jess's decision to go the beach house and her eventually arrival. After the blonde and brunette finish sixty-nining each other, Matt receives a blow job from the blonde.

 

 

We soon find out why Matt has been added to the mix, as he's in cahoots with Pinky (Jennifer Jordan), who just happens to be the woman who lives in the beach house next to the one Jess will be staying at. To welcome Jess to her new digs, Paul let's Jess sit on his cock, or I should say, Jess let's Paul put his cock where Jess sits.
 

 

I'm curious. How did Anne feel about all this cock sitting? Why don't you ask her? She's sulking in a slinky blue nightgown in the room next-door. Whatever. Even while sulking, Marlane Willoughby manages maintain her fabulousness. 
 

 

In the blue corner, weighing in at a hundred pounds soaking wet, wearing the green head scarf, from Detroit, Michigan, Marlene Willoughby. Willoughby!
 

 

And in the red corner, weighing in at none of your fucking business, wearing the white bikini, from parts unknown, Crystal Sync. Sync!
 

 

When we see Jennifer Jordan's Pinky sitting cross-legged on the deck of Jessica's beach house, are her shapely legs sheathed in: A) Hold-up stockings B) Stockings attached to a garter belt C) Suspender hose, or D) Pantyhose? To find out the answer to this question, you'll have to watch...The Tiffany Minx.  

 

 

Every time Pinky says her signature line, "If you know what I mean," you have to take a sip of tea. Did you just invent a... The Tiffany Minx drinking game? 'Well, whatta ya know? It looks like I just did. 
 

 

Who is...The Tiffany Minx? Personally, I think it's rather obvious. Nevertheless...The Tiffany Minx packs an emotional punch, with a twist ending that will leave you in awe. Okay, maybe that's a little on the strong side. Let's just say, the film's tag line, "the first adult film for adults," isn't that far off, as the film is surprisingly intelligent (the plot is as tight as Marlene Willoughby's mouth-watering pussy), it's violent, it's well-acted (the five principal actors are all uniformly excellent), and is quite sophisticated in places. The unedited trailer for...The Tiffany Minx can be found on the Roberta Findlay Cult '70s Porno Director DVD and the Doris Wishman Cult 70's Porno Director DVD. Beware...the minx.

an edited version of the infamous tiffany minx trailer has recently been uploaded by permateen (major kudos to them)

Come With Me My Love (Doris Wishman, 1976)

I didn't know guys with hairy taints performed cunnilingus in 1925. But according to Come With Me My Love (a.k.a. The Haunted Pussy), it was being dolled out like copious amounts of cotton candy. Which reminds me, it's not everyday that you see an erotic horror film that includes a prologue that takes place in the 1920s. But then again, Doris Wishman isn't your everyday kind of filmmaker. She sees things from a decidedly cockeyed point-of-view, and this film is proof of that. A supernatural thriller interspersed with scenes involving sexual intercourse with ghosts, the film is an epic tale about lust, jealously, desire, and revenge. And just like her previous masterpiece (and I use the word "masterpiece" sheepishly with a dash of sincerity), Satan Was a Lady, this film, featuring the groundbreaking cinematography of C. Davis Smith, takes place entirely inside a modest apartment building located near the park. However, its premise is bold and daring. Covering the topic of life after death in a thoughtful and intelligent manner, the film begs the question: Do the curtains match the drapes? If you have ever had the pleasure of watching a Doris Wishman film, then you know that's a loaded question. The chances the curtains would match anything, let alone the drapes, is highly unlikely. You see, Miss Wishman likes play around with our perception of what constitutes tasteful interior design. Pushing the limits of home decor to the outer reaches of gaudiness, this film will test the integrity of your eyeballs. But don't worry erection/wetness fans, the film is also filled with the kind of mid-70s-style fucking and sucking that will keep the contents of your respective crotches on their crotchety toes. Just thought I'd throw that out there just in case anyone was worrying that the film was exclusively an exercise in tawdry feng shui.
 

 

There are three separate events that occur before the ghost of a spurned husband from the 1920s can begin to have sex with a drugged woman that looks exactly like his dead wife. First, the curtains begin to ripple as  the result of an eerie breeze. Second, we can't help but notice that the sky looks like it's on fire. And last but not least, the blurry shape of mustached man suddenly appears in front of a wall covered with garish red and white wallpaper. And judging by the number of times the dead guy from the twenties has sexual relations with the 1970s version of dead wife's doppelgänger, we're going to see a whole lot of that wallpaper.
 

 

Welcome to Kenmare City. Where? You know, Kenmare City. Actually, to be honest, I've never heard of Kenmare City. It says here that there's Kenmare in North Dakota. But nothing about a Kenmare City. Here's an idea, maybe Doris Wishman simply made it up. Anyway, it's 1925, and Randolph (Jeffery Hurst) is creeping up the stairs; the black and white picture quality is grainy to give the film a 1920s feel. Opening the door to his apartment, he stumbles upon his wife (Ursula Austin) canoodling in the buff with a guy (Terry Austin) who is supposedly Randolph's best friend. They don't see him standing there, so they continue to canoodle. After awhile their canoodling morphs into the realm of oral sex. Oral sex?!? In the 1920s?!? Blow jobs I can see, as men have always liked to have their cocks orally serviced. But cunnilingus?!? I'm telling you, I just can't picture it happening back then. Really? You can't picture men going down on women during the so-called roaring twenties? Okay, maybe you're right. Forget everything I just said about oral sex and 1920s.
 

 

Visibly annoyed, okay, more like, enraged, Randolph interrupts them, pulls out a gun (maybe he didn't "stumble upon" them, after all), announces his displeasure, and proceeds to shoot his best friend in the chest. You would think that this would be the moment when Randolph's wife would start to scream (she just watched the guy whose face was just all up in her pussy shot to death). But no, she throws her wedding ring off in disgust and basically tells Randolph to go fuck himself. As she did that, I thought to myself, yeah, you go, girl. After shooting her in the head, Randolph turns the gun on himself.
 

 

Welcome to Kenmare City... Hey, man, didn't you already say that? Can't a brother finish a sentence? I'm sorry, go ahead. Welcome to Kenmare City, it's 1976, and Abby (Ursula Austin) is walking up the stairs to her new apartment. Dressed like Little Edie from Grey Gardens and carrying the world's reddest suitcase, Abby enters her new digs, which we get a brief tour of thanks to a spinning camera shot.
 

 

Meanwhile, at another apartment building, a guyed named Patrick (Robert Kerman) and a blonde woman, oh, let's call her, Beatrice (Nancy Dare), are engaged in the 69 position, when Lola (Vanessa Del Rio) shows up. Asking if them if she can join them, Robert Kerman pulls his face out of Beatrice's ass and replies, "Sure, come on over." I don't know what these people have to do with the plot. Nevertheless, they provide the bulk of the non-ghost sex in this movie. Oh, I remember, Abby knows Lola somehow, and she calls her every now and then. It doesn't quite justify they're presence, but at least they're loosely connected to the story.
 

 

Since Abby can't call Lola on her phone (the one in her apartment isn't hooked up yet), she uses her neigbour's phone instead. And you know what that means? That's right, it's time for Annie Sprinkle to make her shapely presence felt. Yay! I love Annie Sprinkle! Oozing a naive exuberance, Annie plays Tess Albertino, Abby's helpful next-door neighbour, like her life depended on it. She does what? Yeah, she has urgency about her that practically screamed quiet desperation. If you say so.
 

 

Maybe it's the new apartment (the carpet is blood red) or maybe it's the eerie creaking noises, but either way, Abby is having trouble sleeping. Suddenly, a bottle of sleeping pills magically appear on her nightstand. Doing what any normal person would do, Abby takes one of the mysterious pills, removes her sea green nightie and goes to bed. What occurs next is a sight we're going to be quite familiar with by the time this film is over, and that is: Curtains, sky, wind, wallpaper, and ghost. When you see these five things show up in this order (the "wind" is usually represented by the sight of Abby's hair being jostled by a stiff breeze), you know you're about to see something truly out of this world. Or more specifically, tiny droplets of ghost jizz sloshing around on Abby's naturally flat stomach with nowhere to go.
 

Emerging from the red wallpaper, Randolph's ghost walks up to Abby's bed and begins to grope her flesh. Besides the fact that he came out of the wallpaper, how do you know he's a ghost? Well, for starters, Doris Wishman shows us what's being in reflected in Abby's mirror. And what do we don't see? We don't see two people engaging in a raucous bought of mid-1970s-style sexual intercourse, we only see Abby, who, according to her mirror, appears to be hugging/humping no-one. The sight of Abby having sex with the air is hands down the film's most haunting image.
 

 

Wandering in the dark with only a candle guide her way (the lights in her apartment stopped working for some strange reason), Abby is trying to find the fusebox. What she finds instead is Tess' Movie Date (Levi Richards), who startles her by grabbing her arm. Taking him back to her apartment, Abby offers to get Tess' Movie Date a drink. She makes it all but four feet, when Tess' Movie Date grabs her again (this Tess' Movie Date guy, he's one grabby motherfucker), and steers Abby the direction of  her bedroom where they engage in, you guessed it, a raucous bought of mid-1970s-style sexual intercourse.
 

 

If you're wondering what Tess doing during all this. Wonder no more, because I'm totally about to tell you...for some inexplicable reason. Waiting in her apartment for Tess' Movie Date to show up, Tess, who looks sexy in a slinky black dress, taps her fingers on her hips and paces back and forth like a caged animal. Call me someone who is one gourd sort of a six pack, but I'd rather watch Annie Sprinkle act frustrated in a gaudily furnished apartment, than watch Levi Richard's unkempt ball sack bounce around inside Ursula Austin's mouth.
 

 

She might not kill with her cunt, but terrible things seem to happen to all those who enter its gaping expanse. Case in point, Tess' Movie Date leaves Abby's apartment the following morning, and goes home. While Abby did a pretty good job washing his genitals, you should really take a bath, you know, just to be on the safe side. Only problem is, your radio is sitting on the edge of your bath tub. Meaning, you're practically inviting a jealous ghost, one who is none too pleased that you just had sex with a woman who looks exactly like his dead wife from 1920s, to push the radio in the water. Oh, Tess' Movie Date, when will you ever learn?
 

 

Am I crazy, or does the 69 position really bring out the luster in Ursula Austin's thighs? What's that? You're saying I am crazy?!? Interesting. And here I thought I was being perfectly sane. At any rate, the curtains, the wind, the sky, the wallpaper, and the ghost return, as Abby is visited yet again by Randolph's phantom cock.
 

 

Oh, and don't feel sorry for Tess. Sure, she was stood up by Tess' Movie Date, but she has plenty of suitors who want to rake her proverbial cornfield. Inviting a slab of brainless man-candy (Roger Caine) over to fuck her on a drawer, Tess gets the ripe dicking she deserves. Even though the wallpaper nearly steals the scene, nothing beats the sight of Annie Sprinkle in black stockings, chunky black shoes, and a black garter belt. Nothing, I tell you. Nothing!
 

 

In the film's most bizarre sequence, Abby wanders the park during a blizzard. If the weather wasn't bad enough, some ponce starts throwing snowballs at her. What? Yeah, snowballs. Three to be exact. You're being inundated with paranormal penis on a nightly basis, so you go to the park to clear your head. When you get there, this asshole decides use you as target practice. That's some fucked up shit, if you don't mind my saying so. To make matters worse, when she gets home, a wedding ring suddenly appears on her finger. And, of course, she can't seem to remove it.
 

 

The curtains, the wind, the sky, the wallpaper, and the ghost appear four more times before all is said and done, as more hairy balls are gargled and more people end up dead. With Ernie Hudson nowhere in sight, will Abby be able to resist the horny ghost who lives inside her wallpaper? Who's to say, but Come With Me My Love is Doris Wishman at her most sinister. An erotic horror classic for the ages, the film is a must-see for fans of hairy taints, hairy balls, hairy vaginas, let's just say, hairy everything. Though, Annie Sprinkle's pussy is surprisingly hairless, and... Let me start over. If you like a pinch of horror with your porn, then you will want to go see Come With Me My Love. If this film is not currently playing at your local erotic theatre, make sure you tell the manager that you want them to screen Come With Me My Love.

Eaten Alive! (Umberto Lenzi, 1980)

You know how Tough Actin'® Tinactin® provides fungus-related relief to millions of Americans? Well, the same can be said for blow-gun darts dipped in cobra venom. Except, blow-gun darts dipped in cobra venom are not, I repeat, not, going to ease your athlete's foot, jock itch, or ringworm. What it will do, however, is attack your central nervous system, cause respiratory failure, and ultimately lead to your untimely demise. Call me crazy, but Tough Actin'® Tinactin® and blow-gun darts dipped in cobra venom seem to have nothing in common. You're right, they don't. You know what? Let's just pretend that didn't happen, shall we? A quick show of hands, who here is excited to watch yet another film that features real animal cruelty, simulated cannibalism, outdoor rape and indoor castration? Judging by the lack of hands being raised, I'm gonna assume no-one is. Which is a shame, because I've slowly become enamoured with Italian-made cannibal exploitation films. Don't get me wrong, I despise them with a fiery passion. But for some strange reason, I can't look away. Which is odd because Eaten Alive! (a.k.a. Mangiati Vivi!) is filled with instances where looking in the opposite direction is probably the correct course of action. Hell, even the characters that populate this cruel universe think looking away is the right thing do. In fact, one of them punches the other in the face (knocking them out cold) in order to shield their eyes from a particular bit of ghastliness. Enough with the hand wringing, deep down (yeah, yeah, "trauma hounds - run to corrode," we get it, you like Skinny Puppy) you love these movies. How do you know I love them? I didn't want to bring this up, but I've watched you browse the bins of your local video emporium, and I've noticed that you always seem to go straight to the cannibal section. Damn, you got me. You win this round, voice in my head.
 

 

You know how Tough Actin'® Tinactin® provides...Just kidding. Quick question. Yeah, hi. I couldn't help but overhear you say that this film, directed, of course, by Umberto Lenzi (Cannibal Ferox),  features "indoor castration," and was wondering: Does the inside of cave constitute as being "indoors"? Wow, that is an excellent question. I'm gonna say, yes, it does constitute as indoors. Any structure, whether it be a makeshift shelter in the woods or an imposing castle sitting on top of a hill, is technically a building. And like all buildings, there's an inside and an outside. And the castration scene in Eaten Alive! definitely takes place inside as supposed to outside. Anyway, I hope that clears things up.
 

 

I have a question of my own: Is this the first cannibal film to sport an opening sequence that takes place in Niagara Falls, Canada? I'm going to go out on a limb and say, yes, it's probably the first. I only ask because the sight of all that snow and ice threw me for a bit of a loop. I mean, for a minute there I thought I'd put in the wrong movie. That thought quickly evaporates, however, when a balding white man is shot in the neck by an ambiguously Asian man wielding a blow-gun. While the trip to Niagara Falls was somewhat jarring, the next scene brought me back to my comfort zone, as we hit the streets of New York City. Like Niagara Falls, the weather is snowy and cold; hence, the ridiculous fur coat worn by a blonde man who is shot in the chest by a, yeah, yeah, an ambiguously Asian man wielding a blow-gun. Just in case some people in the audience are having trouble connecting the two slayings, another man, this time a balding white man in a trench coat, is shot in the neck in front of a man dressed as Santa Claus.
 

 

What do these killings have in common? Frankly, I couldn't careless. That's funny, you strike me as the kind of person who usually cares a lot about these sort of things. Oh, don't get me wrong, I care. You could even say that I give a fuck. It's just that Janet Agren is about to start strutting her stuff down 42nd Street, and I don't want to have to worry about the  plot-based machinations of some cannibal flick. It's not that I find her attractive or anything like that (her cheekbones are stupid), I'm mainly excited to watch a blonde woman in a fur coat (unlike the blonde guy shot in the chest with a dart dipped in cobra venom, Janet looks chic in fur) walk up and down 42nd Street at a time when it was a seedy paradise.
 

 

Since the 42nd Street of today looks like a corporate cesspool, someone should open a museum dedicated to 42nd Street as it was during its heyday as a sleaze mecca.
 

 

Removing her fur coat to reveal a busy sweater (it's mostly red with black around the neck, but the left shoulder features red, white, and pink stripes), Sheila Morris (Janet Agren) sits down at the detectives desk, and is told that her missing sister, Diana Morris (Paola Senatore), might be connected to the recent spell of bizarre blow-gun murders.
 

 

It would seem that her sister has gotten herself mixed up with a purification sect. A purification what? Yeah, it's this sect who apparently worship the environment. I know, what a bunch of wackos. Actually, as the police describe Jonas (Ivan Rassimov), the charismatic leader of this particular sect, and his group's beliefs, I found myself agreeing with everything they stood for. Of course, I'm not saying I would hop on the next Pakistani Airlines flight to New Guinea to join up with these so-called "nutjobs," I just thought it was odd that what was once considered radical is now the norm. I love the look of horror on Sheila's face when the F.B.I. agent tells her that the sect are against pollution.
 

 

After talking with Professor Mel Ferrer (the name of his character is not important) about New Guinea, Sheila is on her way. Unable to transverse the harsh wilderness by herself (she's just a simple country girl from Alabama), Sheila picks out her guide. Only problem is, her potential guide, a whiskey-loving expatriate American named Mark Butler (Robert Kerman), doesn't really want to guide her anywhere at this juncture. And why would he? He gets by on the money her makes on the local backroom arm wrestling circuit (you know it's a legit arm wrestling league just by looking at the yellow headbands the competitors wear). Desperate, Sheila offers Mark, who's still busy implementing the "your problems are not my problem" routine, a ton of cash. After mulling it over for about five seconds, Mark agrees to take her to the village where Diana was last seen.
 

 

As they're paddling down the river, Mark, Sheila, and their two native guides, spot a monkey about to be devoured by a giant python. Also known as: the monkey with its head in the mouth a giant python scene, this infamous scene is hard to watch. Poor monkey, its agonizing final moments are captured on film forever. The look on its little face as it fruitlessly tries to prevent itself from being eaten was heartbreaking. But as Mark tells a visibly shaken Sheila, "You'll see worse before this is over." And you know what? I believe him. 
 

 

As expected, Mark and Sheila soon find themselves "up shit's creek without a paddle." In addition, one native guide is eaten by a crocodile and the other is killed by an unknown assailant. You know who else is killed? A native woman wearing a pink shawl. Well, actually, first she was raped, then she was killed. As the cannibals are dining on her entrails, Mark and Sheila stumble upon their unorthodox feast. Don't worry, though, the cannibals didn't spot them (Mark is able to stifle Sheila's gasp in the nick of time). Nevertheless, the area is swarming with cannibals.
 

 

Luckily, a reasonable fellow named Karen (Franco Caduti) and his merry band of Jonas-affiliated henchmen (you could call 'em The Jonas Brothers) find them first. To be honest, I don't know what's worse, being eaten alive by cannibals or being forced to listen to the mumbo-jumbo that spews from Jonas' mouth on a regular basis. In case you forgot, Jonas is the leader of Purification Village (come for the hallucinogenic Hawaiian punch, stay for the dildos dipped in cobra blood). After being brought before Jonas by Karen and the Paul Rudd-esque Dick (Carlo Longhi), Jonas' right-hand man, Mark and Sheila spot Diana while attending the funeral of one of the sect members.
 

 

What's interesting about the funeral sequence, besides the fact that Dick gives Mark a play-by-play of what is going on, is that Mowara (Me Me Lai), the widow, is forced to have no-nonsense sexual intercourse on her husband's ashes with her brother-in-laws in front of the entire village. Oh, and just in case you're wondering, all three men choose to employ the missionary position. It's true, the third brother-in-law lifts Mowara up slightly  in order to gain penetration leverage. But the fact that his humping style was somewhat different than his brothers indicated to me that he simply wanted his thrusts to stand out from the crowd.
 

 

We soon learn that Diana is not happy being a sect member. While that's great news and all, but how do you expect Mark and Sheila to bust Diana out when you take in account that the village is surrounded by cannibals. In other words, the choice is simple: You can remain with the purification sect or take your chances with the bloodthirsty cannibals.
 

 

One man whose had enough with both is Mark Butler, as he just wants to drink whiskey and count his money. An anti-hero in every sense of the word, Robert Kerman brings a take no guff righteousness to the grisly proceedings. Getting the better of every cannibal and henchman that crosses his path, I wouldn't mind seeing Mark Butler go up against Giovanni Radice Lombardo's Mike Logan from Cannibal Ferox in a contest to prove who's the bigger jungle badass. Of course, Mark would probably destroy Mike rather easily (Mike is only tough when his adversaries are tied to trees), but I still would like to see them go at it.
 

 

Special kudos need to go to Paola Senatore (Emanuelle in America) for her ballsy work during the film's gruesome final third. Now, I don't want to say what exactly happens to her. But let's just say, it makes the monkey scene look tame. Which is saying something since that monkey's head was actually inside a snake's mouth.
 

 

Oh, and forget using cyanide to wipe out your crazy religious cult. Try cobra venom. It's quick, relatively painless, and it's all natural. Cobra venom, the choice of a brainwashed generation.

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