The Kiss of Her Flesh (Michael Findlay, 1968)

If I wasn't so anal-retentive, I would have skipped doing a review of the third chapter in the Findlay's Flesh Trilogy all-together, and gone done something more productive. (Like what?) Oh, I don't know, I could always alphabetize my prized collection of Russian flags. Of course, I would put them in three separate groups (I'm no idiot): And they would be organized as such: Republics (including Mordovia and the Udmurt Republic), Krais (featuring the Kamchatka Krai and the Krasnodar Krai), and, my personal favourite, the Oblasts, baby (a group that boasts the Kaliningrad Oblast and the Kostroma Oblast). (But you don't have a Russian flag collection.) Whatever, man. The point I'm awkwardly trying to make is this: I don't want to review The Kiss of Her Flesh, the third chapter the epic story of a man determined to murder every single woman on Earth. I know, why wouldn't I want to a review movie where a woman is killed by poisonous sperm? It's simple, really. Anyone care to guess as to why? Damn, am I that predictable? You're right, though, the film's total lack of stockings, garter belts and high heel shoes sent me into fetish-based tailspin. If I was sitting in the audience at one of the 42nd Street cinemas that was showing this movie in pre-Jimmy Fallon New York City, I would have jumped to my feet and started yelling obscenities like a half-crazed lunatic. (You wouldn't do that.) Oh, wouldn't I, eh? (That's right, you wouldn't.) You know what? You're probably right, I wouldn't do that. But you can bet your bottom dollar that I would be sporting an annoyed expression on my face for the rest of the day.

It wouldn't have been such a big deal if the previous chapters hadn't been so robust in the lingerie department. Actually, if you think about it, it's my fault for assuming the third and final chapter in the trilogy would be filled with stockings and garter belts. Either way, the moment it finally dawned me that there would be no go-go dancers wearing stockings and garter belts in this movie whatsoever was so depressing. In fact, just thinking about that moment makes my heart sink, as I was ultra gung-ho to watch this movie. You should have seen me, I was literally bouncing off the walls with anticipation.

(No stockings or garter belts, you say?) Yep. (What about panties and bras?) Yeah, there's some of those. (Why don't you talk about them?) I have no interest in bras. And the cut of the panties featured throughout this film failed to meet my  frightfully specific pantie needs. You see, I have this pantie itch, and The Kiss of Her Flesh repeatedly dropped the ball when it came time to scratch it.

(What about poison sperm? That sounds intriguing.) Yes, yes, yes, poison sperm! And get this, Richard Jennings (Michael Findlay) doesn't just poison his sperm after he's ejaculated it... (Don't tell me...) You got it, he has somehow managed to make his sperm poisonous. Meaning, it's always poisonous. Let's say you're giving Richard Jennings a blow job, and you're the kind of person who prefers to swallow (no fuss, no muss). Well, you didn't just ingest sperm, you ingested poisonous sperm! (Even though you didn't really need to explain that part in such lurid detail, I dig your enthusiasm.)

The cool thing about the poisonous sperm scene is that it's immediately followed by an acid douche. And, yes, it's as painful as it sounds.

I just remembered that I usually comment on the film's the opening credits at around this time. And just like, The Touch of Her Flesh and The Curse of Her Flesh, The Kiss of Her Flesh goes that extra mile to make their opening credits somewhat memorable. While not as clever as the previous opening credits sequences, the credits appear on lip-shaped pieces of paper that are placed all over Uta Erickson's naked body. If you were to corner me in alleyway and ask me what my favourite opening credits sequence out of the three would be, I would have to say, the one from The Curse of Her Flesh; the sound of freshly urinated piss cascading against cheap porcelain made my spirit soar.

Quirky fun-fact: The man kissing Uta's flesh is none other than Earl Hindman! You know, the guy who played Tim Allen's neighbour on Home Improvement. I never watched the show, but I know enough about it to know that only the top part of his face ever appeared onscreen. Well, in The Kiss of Her Flesh we get to more than the top of his face; Uta crams a string of beads up his ass, and then slowly pulls them out.

While gathering fire wood near a snowy beach somewhere in New England, Richard Jennings stumbles upon Cleo (Donna Stone), a thick brunette. Grabbing the nearest weapon he can find (a tire iron), Jennings hits her over the head with it.

"I do a service to all mankind with every Jezebel I kill," sneers Jennings, as he removes Cleo's clothing.

Tying her to the kitchen cabinets, Jennings proceeds to torment Cleo with a lobster claw (scratching her cleavage in the process). After he's bored with doing that he grabs a knife and says, "Let's cut away these underpants to more easily get at the source." It should be noted that Jennings uses tongs to aggravate her thighs as well. Tired of messing around, Jennings hooks Cleo up with wires and begins electrocuting her using what looks like a car battery.

Meanwhile, somewhere in New York City, Maria (Uta Erickson) and Don (Earl Hindman) are busy groping one another. As I already stated, Maria shoves beads up Don's ass. So, instead of rehashing that part, I'll mention that Maria has a scab on her left knee and we see Maria's pubic hair, something we have yet to see in The Flesh Trilogy. It's true, we get a hint of Cleo's bush during the lobster claw scene. But like I said, we only get hint of it. In the scene between Maria and Don, we get full bush.

Getting a call from her sister telling her that someone electrocuted her one of her friends, Maria knows it has to be the work of Richard Jennings. Determined to stop his reign of terror, Maria hops on the next train to New England to confront Jennings and, if she has time, have sex with her sister. Knocking on... (Wait a minute, did you say, sex with her sister?) Is that not normal? (I don't want to sound like a prude, but, yeah, it kinda is.) Well, Maria and Doris (Suzzan Landau) don't seem to think so.

Knocking on the door of her sister's house, Maria waits outside as her sister gets up to answer it. (Where are you going with this? Oh, no. I don't tell me... you dug the way she got up to answer the door, didn't you?) You got that right. In the film's sexy moment, Doris, who is knitting with her legs crossed, hears a knock at the door, gets up and totally answers it.

It wouldn't surprise me to learn that Doris knit that short dress she is wearing. Unfortunately, they never imply that she knit it herself. Though, the fact that Doris is a knitter, has lead me to believe the chances that she makes her own clothes are pretty high. Anyway, while I would love to tell you what kind of panties Doris is wearing, I can't because the garment she is wearing is too thick (maybe someone should go easy on the yarn... Doris, perhaps?) Nonetheless, I'm sure we'll find out more about her panties soon enough.

And wouldn't you know it, after some perfunctory sister-on-sister chit chat, Maria and Doris head upstairs for some not even close to being perfunctory sister-on-sister cunnilingus. "No one but you can satisfy me," Doris coos to her sister as she gingerly removes her black lace panties. I'm sure am glad she said that using her indoor cooing voice, as Mona (Janet Banzet), her under the weather lesbian lover, might have overheard her and taken offence (she's recovering from the flu in the room next-door).

What's next? Well, you're just going to have to watch yourself. Okay, I'll give you a hint: Jennings plays doctor. But be warned: There are no stockings, garter belts or high heels whatsoever in this film.

All right, that about does it. Oh, before I go, here are my "Top 10 Murder Techniques Implemented by Richard Jennings in The Flesh Trilogy" -- 1) Poison semen; 2) Acid douche; 3) Lobster claw/tongs/car battery; 4) Poison cat paws; 5) Blow torch; 6) Poison g-string; 7) Table saw; 8) Blow gun; 9) Poison rose; 10) Knife stab. Ironically, four out of the top five murder techniques are featured in The Kiss of Her Flesh. So, what the film lacks in stockings, garter belts and high heels, it makes up for it in creative kills.

The Curse Of Her Flesh (Michael Findlay, 1968)

He's back! Everyone's favourite eye-patch-wearing, misogynist, spurned weapons expert turned deranged serial killer is back. What's that? You say he was killed with a crossbow at the end of the previous chapter? That can't be right. Oh, wait a minute. Come to think of it, I do recall a woman with substantial junk in her trunk wielding a crossbow during the film's climatic showdown. Well, the crossbow arrow to the chest clearly had little effect on his ability to stalk and kill strippers, go-go dancers and prostitutes, as he's up to his old tricks in The Curse of Her Flesh, the Michael Findlay-directed film that guarantees to have thick, not even close to being malnourished thighs encased in stockings or your money back. Sure, you're going to have to wade through a heck of a lot of softcore groping in order to be exposed by these stocking encased delights, but trust me, the hardship you endure is well worth it. As a reward for your patience, there's even a third act pantyhose moment that sort of just comes out of nowhere. Almost as if to say: Hey, all you perverts out there. We're terribly sorry for all the softcore groping you have had to experience over the past seventy or so minutes. And to show our appreciation for your Herculean brand of stoicism in the face of so much softcore groping, he's a quick shot of Eve Bork removing her tan pantyhose. I know, you would probably much rather see Sally Farb removing her tan pantyhose, but Miss Bork's the best we could do on short notice. Enjoy!

Now, the scenario I just created most likely never happened. However, that doesn't mean that every sleazy moment that occurs in this, or any of the films in the Flesh Trilogy, wasn't meticulously thought-out in advance.

It's true, The Curse of Her Flesh features only one instance where a garter belt is removed from a go-go dancer's waist and tossed gingerly to floor. Whereas, The Touch of Her Flesh boasts a total of four instances where garter belts are tossed gingerly to floor. That doesn't mean the film is deficient when it comes to women in garter belts. Far from it. In fact, the garter belt worn by Sally Farb gives off tiny flashes of light. Meaning, it possesses the power of four garter belts!

I'm well aware that what I just said might not make a lot of sense, but once you see what kind of damage Sally Farb can cause while wearing a garter belt covered in sequins, you will agree that I'm right.

When I saw the opening credits for The Touch of Her Flesh projected onto the naked body of Roberta Findlay, I thought to myself: That's how you make people pay attention to something as stuffy as an opening credits sequence. The question on everyone's mind as The Curse of Her Flesh gets underway is not the number of garter belts they will be basking in over the course of the film, but how will they (the Findlay's) top the opening credits from the first chapter?

Since there's no way they can top them, they can still make them memorable. And boy are they... memorable, that is. Crudely written in black marker on the wall of the men's room of a strip club, the camera slowly pans across the wall (stopping to reveal credits every now and then) to the sound of a man urinating. I don't know 'bout you, but I think these credits perfectly sum up the trashy nature of these films (check it out, someone crossed out a swastika and replaced it with a hammer and sickle). This might come across as odd, but I can't wait to see what they (the Findlay's) come up with, credits-wise, for the third and final chapter.

If you remember correctly, when we last saw Richard Jennings he was chopping his cheating wife's head off with a table saw. Well, after a brief recap of the events from the previous chapter in the Richard Jennings saga (one that is factually inaccurate), we learn that everyone's favourite woman-hating psychopath is now hiding out in a threatre. In fact, I think he might even own the theatre. But he also wears a fake beard and pretends to be the janitor on occasion. It's complicated.

I don't know 'bout you, but I think the decision to open the movie with a scene that features Sally Farb dancing erotically in vivacious lingerie was the correct one. Sure, her character has nothing really to do with the plot, but I could watch her bump and grind for hours. I hope we see more of her as the film progresses (fingers crossed).

Okay, now I know why Jennings is wearing a fake beard and pretending to be a janitor, that's his public persona. You see, he doesn't want anyone to know that he's "Richard Jennings," the man wanted in connection with over a dozen gruesome homicides. And he definitely doesn't want Steve Blakely (Ron Skideri), a struggling actor who shows up at the theatre for an audition, to know his identity, as he's the guy, if you remember, he caught groping his voluptuous wife. As Steve is in the men's room, a bearded Jennings pulls out a sword from the handle of his cane and is about to stab the unsuspecting actor in the back. But he doesn't, as he's got something especially heinous planned for Steve.

In the meantime, Steve recites a bizarre monologue in the vicinity of a fall-out shelter while two curvy chicks dance to rhythm and blues music in stockings and g-strings made out of money. I'm still trying to get my head around the scene, as it doesn't seem to make any sense. Are the curvy chicks in the fall-out shelter the women Steve's character is looking for? Ah, you know what? It doesn't matter.

One of the curvy chicks, Adele (Jane Bond), is approached while sitting at a bar by a... Oh shit! Run, curvy chick, run! That's Richard Jennings! Of course, she doesn't know what Jennings looks like, and politely declines his offer to buy her a drink. Her attitude changes, however, when Jennings introduces himself as Joe Davidson, the owner of the theatre she was just performing her strobe light-assisted lingerie dance.

And before you know it, the two are having drinks back at her place. Look at the way Adele sits with her legs crossed while chatting with Jennings/Davidson, it's absolutely sublime.

At any rate, you won't believe the manner in which Jennings decides to dispatch Adele. I'll just say three words: Poisoned cat paws.

The next scene is rather long, but since it boasts Linda Boyce in black lingerie and black boots whipping a bound Uta Erickson on a smoky stage, I'll let its excessive length slide.

After she's finished whipping her, Linda Boyce, or I should say, Stella, begins to lick Uta's whip marks. After removing her black bra with a switchblade, Stella proceeds to hike down her zebra print panties. As she's doing this, Uta would periodically cry out for more.

When the shows over, Stella heads backstage to hang out with, you guessed it, Jennings. (Hang out?) You're right. What I should have said was make out, as Stella straddles Jennings (who she knows as Davidson) for quite some time.

"Do you know what a dildo is?" And with that question, Stella is sent on a secret mission, a secret lesbian mission. Remember Adele's co-star in the strobe light-assisted lingerie dance? Well, Jennings sends Stella over to her apartment to seduce her. After taking a bath together, the lesbian action quickly moves to the bedroom. Getting on top of her, Stella begins to prod the cunt attached to Adele's co-star with a dildo. Looking down mid-prod, however, Stella is horrified when realizes that this is no ordinary dildo. You could say, it's an Armageddon dildo.

In order to take care of Stella and her co-star, Jennings laces their g-strings with a substance that unleashes a poison when mixed with vaginal secretions.

Giving new meaning to the expression, "leggy tour de force," Sally Farb continues the perform the routine we saw her giving at the beginning of the film. Utilizing her stocking-encased legs in ways I didn't think possible, Sally knows exactly how to work an audience into a psycho-sexual frenzy. If I had my druthers, the whole film would have been nothing but Sally Farb stripping from start to finish.

To complete his masterpiece, Jennings sets in motion an elaborate plan to kill Steve Blakely by employing the help of his new wife Paula (Eve Bork). It's a complicated plan, one that involves squash porn, tan pantyhose, a spear gun, a cheap room divider and a machete. (Wait, did you say, "squash porn"?) Yep, you read right, squash porn is an integral part of Jennings' plan. While the squash porn definitely came out of left field, the machete fight on the back of a moving truck was the film's biggest surprise.

Despite the fact that Jennings' eye-patch seems to disappear randomly during the melee, the machete fight on the back of a moving truck was an unexpected treat. I mean, up until this point, the film has already given us everything one could want from a motion picture. But to give us a machete fight on the back of a moving truck as well? Bravo, Michael Findlay. Bravo!

The Touch of Her Flesh (Michael Findlay, 1967)

You know how some movies act as comfort food? Everyone has them. They're certain films that are always there for you whenever you need them in a pinch, and, as of right now, I'd say Richard Elfman's Forbidden Zone is a film that currently occupies that spot as my go-to slab of cinematic comfort food. Well, I would classify The Touch of Her Flesh by Michael and Roberta Findlay as a sort of break glass in case of emergency type of film. Let me explain. You see, I was all set to devour a film by a porn director whose been called the heir apparent to Rinse Dream. Excited to finally watch one of his films, I knew right off the bat that this was a bad idea. It was so antiseptic and bland. Fake boobs, no lingerie, cheesy mid-'90s techno music, it was awful. Now, I don't want to mention his name (feel free to guess if you want - and I tell you if you're right), but I will say that the experience left me somewhat shaken. Since I ended up fast-forwarding through most of it, I was able to free up a huge of chunk of time. Meaning, there was still a chance to salvage the evening. I know, why I didn't go outside and play instead. I'll tell you why, I had a hankering for sleaze, and no insipid piece of pompous pornography was going to prevent me from getting my pervert on.

Looking over the modest pile of unwatched movies sitting on my coffee table, I set about choosing my sleaze. Anyone care to guess what was on the top of the pile? That's right, first chapter in the Flesh Trilogy, the Findlay's epic journey into the mind of a deranged serial killer who targets go-go dancers, strippers and prostitutes. Grabbing it without fail, I put it on and hoped it would remove the foul taste of mid-90s pornography that was still lingering in my mouth.

As the fleshy opening credits began to throb and heave across the screen in not-so glorious black and white, I felt a profound sense of relief wash over me. Now this is sexy, I thought to myself, as the titles cleverly appeared all over  Roberta Findlay's shapely bits and pieces.

It's just a hunch, but I think the crossbow Richard Jennings (Michael Findlay) is playing with at the beginning of the film will probably be employed later down the road.

Anyway, as he's about to catch a train to Boston, Richard says goodbye to his wife, Claudia Jennings (Angelique - I don't need no stinkin' last name), who's sleeping on the couch in heavy eye makeup (I like this chick already).

No longer asleep, a fully-refreshed Claudia is sitting cross-legged on a chair in the living room in a tight cocktail dress and heels. It would seem like she's waiting for something. But what? What is she waiting for? Suddenly, there's a knock at the door. Ah, she's not waiting for a what, but a  who. She's waiting someone, not something. (No shit, Sherlock.) Shut up.

Do you know what this means, right? (Um, she's going to answer it?) Well, yeah. But don't you see, there's at least ten feet that separate the chair she is currently sitting cross-legged on and the door that is being knocked on. (Oh, okay. I get it now.) Exactly. She's going have to uncross her legs, get up, and walk across the room. This is going to be sweet!

All right, here she goes. I knew it. (Knew what?) I knew her voluptuous figure would look amazing as it pressed against the fabric of her cocktail dress as she walked. (You have got to be the most perverted person on the face of the Earth.) Thanks. However, it's got nothing to do with being a pervert. I don't know how many of you know this, but I have a very keen erotic eye. Some might say it's a little too keen, if you know what I mean.

The level of my keenness aside, the sight of Angelique's Claudia walking around her apartment in a tight cocktail dress and heels is, to put mildly, aesthetically pleasing as all get out.

I don't want to alienate my base, but I must have watched Angelique uncross her legs, get up and walk over to the door at least twenty times.

What am I talking about? If anything, that will make my base like me even more. And if that's the case, I should come clean and tell them that half of those twenty times were viewed in slow motion. Oh, if only the disorganized collection of creeps and weirdos who saw this film on 42nd Street back in the late 1960s could see me now. *single tear*

Since I'm pretty much an expert when it comes to watching Angelique uncross her legs (which are, of course, sheathed in tan stockings), get up (she uses the chair's arms for leverage) and walk over to the door (each step causes her ample curves to careen violently against the inside of her dress), thanks to my over-indulgence, we can now safely move on to discuss the undressing process.

I'm sorry, I forgot to mention that Claudia was waiting for Steve (Ron Skideri), her lover, to arrive. Greeting him at the door, they kiss. After they're finished, Claudia leads Steve to the bedroom.

Leaving Steve by the bed, Claudia goes over to another part of the room to undress. Unzipping her dress, she pulls it down to reveal a black bra, black panties (though, we kind of already knew she was wearing black panties given her due to the extreme nature of her pantie line, so no real surprise there), a black and white garter belt and tan stockings. You'll notice that Claudia's first attempt to kick her dress (which is now in a clump around her ankles) to the side fails (the dress has become ensnared on her right foot). Realizing this, Claudia simply tries again. Successful in her second attempt to kick her dress to the side, Claudia sits down and begins to work on her stockings. Whereas the second stocking is merely tossed like a rolled up sweat sock being put in a laundry basket after a long day, the first stocking flies gently through the air like a gossamer bolt of mist on a wretched October day.

Meanwhile, an agitated Richard Jennings is wandering the bus station in a daze. Deciding to give Claudia a call, Richard, who has just written a book about weapons, grows concerned when the line is busy. Heading back home in a hurry, Richard is not going to like what he sees when he gets there. Storming out in a huff, the sight of Claudia and Steve rolling around together causes Richard to run wildly through the streets. Eventually, he's hit by a car.

Temporarily paralyzed and missing an eye (the accident was obviously worse than it looked - the car barely touched him), a now wheelchair bound Richard Jennings recites his new mission in life in the form of an anti-women screed. The montage the accompanies his screed (a screed that includes the line, "slash open the very core of your perversion") is the film's most artistic from a film-making perspective.

The opening salvo in his war against what he perceives as the millions of whores who tempt men with their naked flesh lands squarely at the feet of a black go-go dancer (Vivian Del Rio) with substantial, drink coaster-size nipples. In order to flesh out her character (get it, flesh out...), we're shown her dancing at a nightclub and getting undressed backstage. I prefer the latter scenes, as they give us a nice peak into the day-to-day grind of being a go-go dancer. And we get to see her hanging out in black stockings (mmm, busty black babes in black stockings).

Anyway, I won't say exactly how Richard Jennings kills the black go-go dancer. But let's just say it's a prickly affair. Transported to the woods, we watch as a thick woman named Janet (Suzanne Marre) makes her way to a wood working studio. Once inside, she finds Claudia playing the piano. Sitting on the couch, Janet proceeds to remove her leather jacket, her gloves, her dress, her slip, her tan stockings, her white garter belt and her white bra. It would seem that Janet is there to model for Claudia, who's bit an artist. Nonetheless, Claudia is having a hard time concentrating, as her mind is preoccupied with Richard Jennings (she thinks he's stalking her).

Attending a burlesque show, Richard targets a stripper (Sally Farb?) during her routine (again, like the go-go dancer hit, his technique is unorthodox - though, I shouldn't be surprised, he is a weapons expert after all).

Unable to locate Claudia, Richard uses a hooker friend of Janet's to find out where his cheating wife is hiding. This leads to another terrific scene involving stockings and garter belts, as the hooker (Peggy Steffans) slowly strips in Richard's apartment.

Tracking her down at the wood working studio, which is in Oyster Bay, Richard Jennings confronts Claudia in the classic horror movie style (chasing after her with a crossbow - I knew we would see that crossbow again). At any rate, in a perfect world, every film would mix horror and eroticism the way Michael Findlay does in The Touch of Her Flesh. Curvaceous chicks in lingerie being slaughtered in creative ways by a madmen in an eye-patch. It doesn't get better than this. Let's just hope the next two chapters in the trilogy are as good as this one.

The Oracle (Roberta Findlay, 1985)

Her arms--sheathed, no doubt, in sleeves that are puffy in nature--always hang stiffly at her side, especially when she investigates strange noises in her apartment. And her tongue has a peculiar habit of periodically protruding from her mouth whenever she finds herself wearing a saucy beret in the vicinity of The Magickal Childe. Who am I describing, you ask? Why, I'm talking about Caroline Capers Powers, a woman who winds up on the fast-track to becoming an oracle in Roberta Findlay's spine-tingling The Oracle. (Are you sure the reason your spine felt tingly didn't have something to do with fact you watched the film without a shirt on an itch-inducing couch?) Ha, ha. Very funny. No, I'm sure the only plausible explanation for my lumbar-based predicament is the frightful temperament of this supernatural masterwork. Exact causes relating to backbone distress, notwithstanding, I have to say, Caroline Capers Powers is a pretty cool name for a character. What's that? You say the name of the character at the centre of The Oracle is actually Jennifer, and that Caroline Capers Powers is the name of the actress. (If that's the case, why did you imply that Caroline Capers Powers was the character's name?) Oh, I don't know, I just kind of wish it was. Either way, that doesn't diminish the fact that Caroline Capers Powers gives a breathtaking performance as a suddenly clairvoyant fashion icon. (First of all, "breathtaking"? You're aware that this film is listed as Caroline Capers Powers' lone screen credit to date? And secondly, "fashion icon"? She dresses like a matronly schoolmarm; one who looks like she just fled a sparsely attended square dance being held on the outskirts of a poorly run polygamist compound.) You sniveling little weasel. How dare you talk about Caroline Capers Powers that way. Why, I ought a pound you. (Calm down, buddy.) Okay, I'm sorry. Let me gather my thoughts and come back at a latter date to make a staunch defense of my new favourite actress. How's the next paragraph sound? (Perfect.)

Since when does an actor have to appear in dozens of movies in order to be called "breathtaking"? (Yeah, but, if she's so "breathtaking," as you claim, why didn't she appear in any other movies?) Again, genius doesn't work that way. And besides, maybe Caroline Capers Powers felt that she had hit the peak of her acting game with her breathtaking turn in The Oracle and decided to go out on top. (Actually, that's a pretty sensible theory.)

The real reason I got so upset was because you had the unmitigated gall to call Caroline Capers Powers' wardrobe square. You cellar-dwelling reprobates and your unhealthy obsession with cleavage, when will you ever learn that's there more to sexiness than fissure-exposing low-cut garments? Not one to follow the trends, Caroline Capers Powers dances to a different beat when it comes to fashion.

Filled with frilly collars, stuffed with puffy sleeves, not bereft of berets and chock-full of chokers, Caroline Capers Powers' closet is the closest thing to perfection. What I mean is, her closet is the envy of the world. (Did you happen to see the red overalls she wears in her first scene? I don't envy them at all.)Yeah, but, to be fair, though, those were her, "I'm doing laundry in the basement" overalls.

Looking for the laundry room in the new building she and her reporter husband have just moved into, Jennifer (Caroline Capers Powers) stumbles upon some boxes containing the belongings of a fortune teller/oracle who, according to the building's superintendent, Mr. Pappas (Chris Maria De Koron), disappeared recently.

Taken with a mysterious box she finds in a trunk, Mr. Pappas informs Jennifer that it let's you speak to the dead. Since it's the Christmas season, Mr. Pappas generously allows Jennifer to keep the box. And so begins Jennifer's ardous relationship with the planchette. (A plan what?) A planchette. It writes notes written by ghosts and demons. (How does it work exactly?) Well, let's see... No, wait, Jennifer will give us a demonstration in a minute.

In the meantime, we're introduced to a fascinating character named Farkas (Pam La Testa), a woman who is currently scouring 42nd Street in search of low cost poontang. A three hundred pound lesbian assassin with severe mental problems, Farkas looks like she just wandered off the set of an early John Waters movie. Channeling the likes of Divine, Nancy Parsons, with a little Joe Spinell thrown in there for good measure, Pam La Testa is the gift that keeps on giving, as her bizarre performance is just what this movie needed.

Picking up prostitute named Tammy (Alexandria Blade), a Marlene Willoughby-esque vision of loveliness in shiny, black thigh-high boots, Farkas takes her to a cheap motel and proceeds to stab her repeatedly with her trusty switchblade. As you might expect, the mess she leaves behind is quite grisly (the bed and the walls are covered in blood).

If you're wondering why Farkas' voice sounds strange throughout the film, it's because Roberta Findlay, who thought Pam La Testa's real voice was too girly(!), decided to change its pitch to a much lower octave during post-production. You really get a sense of how odd her altered voice is she's talking on a payphone at a diner. In an ironic twist, the Pam La Testa's new voice has a distinct Baltimore flavour to it (all of John Waters' films take place in Baltimore).

This is Joan Leonard, she plays the diner waitress. She wears pink lipstick and chews her gum in a nonchalant manner.

You know how I mentioned earlier that Caroline Capers Powers is a bit of a fashion inspiration? Well, while Farkas was out killing hookers and the diner waitress was out chewing gum in a nonchalant manner, C.C.P.'s Jennifer was debuting the first of her many awesome shirts.

The shirt she wears on Christmas Eve--her husband, Ray (Roger Neil), have invited their friends, Cindy (Stacey Graves) and Ben (G. Gordon Cronce) for dinner--is my favourite, as it combines all the attributes that make her shirts the must-have items of the season. This particular one is not only frilly, it has puffy sleeves as well. And get this, she's wearing a choker with it, too. (Wow, I guess you call her shirt a triple threat.) You got that right, voice in my head. If you had hands, I'd give you a high-five.

(Not to rain on your shirt admiration parade, but didn't you find the fact that Ray and Ben had the exact same mustache to be somewhat distracting?) Now that you mention it, I did find it somewhat distracting. Here I am, trying to drink in the majestic splendour of Jennifer's shirt, and along come these two mustachioed prats doing their darndest to kill my shirt buzz. Assholes.

(Since your shirt buzz is already starting to wane, I should inform you that Mr. Pappas and a soon to be introduced male character all have mustaches as well.) What the...

Dying to show Ray, Ben and Cindy her new toy, Jennifer breaks outs the planchette. A box containing a pad of paper, a creepy bluish hand and quill (which you attach to the creepy bluish hand), Jennifer invites them to partake in a demonstration. This, however, doesn't go as well as she had planned, as Ray, Ben and Cindy act like a bunch of goofballs. I don't know if Ben knows this or not, but he ain't getting any tonight because of his goofy behaviour. (You mean no Christmas Eve pussy?) Nope.

It's too bad the planchette store is probably closed on Christmas, as I would have suggested that Ben try to make it up to Jennifer by buying some paper for her planchette.

(Why would the planchette need paper, she just got it?) Well, first of all, you can never have too much planchette paper. And secondly, the planchette is going to be writing up a storm over the holidays.

Getting written messages from a dead man named William Graham, Jennifer learns the truth regarding how he really died. Contacting his widow, Jennifer slowly but surely pieces together what really happened the night he died of carbon monoxide poisoning in his car. Guess who's front and centre in one of Jennifer's visions? Yep, it's Farkas. Except, Jennifer thinks she's a man.

In order to speed things up, the planchette causes weird shit to occur. (What kind of weird shit?) Well, let me tell you. Despite its length, the scene where Jennifer is blown around her apartment is my favourite of these occurrences. Mainly because Jennifer wears a check shirt with puffy sleeves (dig the red belt, girlfriend). And, to a lesser extent, because we get out first real taste of Caroline Capers Powers' powerful shriek. Now, those with sensitive ears might be put off by Caroline's unique manner of screaming, so be careful when watching The Oracle. I, other other hand, got used it after awhile.

Remember when I said that Tammy the prostitute sort of looked like Marlene Willoughby? Well, Marlene makes a bit of a cameo in The Oracle when we see a brief clip of A Woman's Torment playing on the television Jennifer is watching in bed.

You know the film is about to get good when Jennifer dons her sauciest beret and heads down to The Magickal Childe for some free advice. If you didn't think Caroline Capers Powers' performance was interesting enough already, she starts doing this strange thing with her tongue. Wasn't there someone, like, Roberta Findlay, to tell her not to do that? Actually, what am I saying? I'm glad she sticks her tongue, once outside the magic shop, and once inside the magic shop, as it does nothing but elevate the cult status of her performance.

Who wants to watch a film that features a female protagonist whose scream doesn't hurt your ears, who wears shirts with sleeves that are not even close to being puffy, and never sticks their tongue out like a lizard who is tasting the air and the temperature of their environment? (Oh, you're asking me? No, I don't want to watch that film.)

As expected, the deeper Jennifer gets involved, the more her life is danger.  However, Jennifer is a lot harder to kill than you would think. Don't believe me, just ask Farkas; Jennifer goes all Eating Raoul on her chunky ass during their confrontation in her kitchen.

Boasting an eerie atmosphere, authentic New York City locations, a memorable villain, effective gore, great shirts, and an unorthodox female lead, The Oracle, despite the abundance of mustachioed men, is low budget horror done right. In fact, I'd be comfortable putting this film alongside the work of Tim Kincaid. I know, you're thinking to yourself: Is it that good? You better believe it is.