Nightmare Beach (Umberto Lenzi, 1989)

In a Florida bar packed with rowdy spring breakers, a comely young woman named Rachael asks a boy named Skip to go for a walk. Now, here's the thing. Either I was too busy bathing in the dark, foreboding whirlpools that are Rachael's feverish eyeballs or I'm losing my hearing, but I don't think I actually heard Skip's reply. Wait, why is Rachael leaving? Or, I should say, why isn't Skip leaving with her? What's that? He said no?!? Who in their right mind wouldn't want to go for a walk with the most attractive woman in all of Manatee Beach? Hold up, forget Manatee Beach. Who in their right mind wouldn't want to go for a walk with the most attractive woman in all of Miami-Dade County? Oh, and don't give me any of this crap about him being depressed about losing the Orange Bowl. I mean, quarterbacks who blow big games can still walk, right? I know what's going on, Skip prefers light and sparkly to dark and foreboding. In other words, Skip has a thing for Gail the bartender, whose eyes are–you guessed it–light and sparkly. If that's the case, I'm going to have to cut Skip some slack, as I can't force people to like who I like. But dude, you were offered a night of mind-blowing sexual intercourse with the most attractive woman in all of Miami-Dade County, and what did you do? You dropped the ball (being a football player, you should know exactly what I mean).

And, yes, I realize she only asked you to go for a walk. But as everyone knows, all walks in Florida eventually lead to hours of mind-blowing sexual intercourse. And that's not just me taking a cheap shot at Florida (the state is a popular punching bag within the hack comedian community), I'm simply stating a fact.

I'm sorry, I totally forgot to mention the name of the movie I'm currently reviewing. Even though it's obvious, it's customary to at least mention the name of the movie you're reviewing. Well, here it goes, it's called Nightmare Beach (a.k.a. La spiaggia del terrore). And while it might look like your average spring break set slasher film, underneath that bubbly exterior lies a ferocious Italian giallo made by actual Italians.

I know, "Harry Kirkpatrick" doesn't sound all that Italian. Well, that's because "Harry Kirkpatrick" is the pseudonym being used by the one and only Umberto Lenzi. That's right, the director of Cannibal Ferox and Nightmare City. And just like in those movies, lot's of people die... horribly.

Since the film's cold opening is such a downer (a biker named "Diablo" is executed in the electric chair for a crime he claims he did not commit), the film tries to lighten the mood a bit by giving us a playful montage featuring cars, bikinis and sunshine.

I'm no math whiz, but I'd say at least ninety percent of the people frolicking on the beach in the opening montage had no idea they were in a movie. I'm not complaining, as I found their obliviousness to be actually quite refreshing. Nowadays, everyone acts as if they're staring in their own reality show. But back in 1989, people lived their lives with a certain degree of anonymity. Sure, a lot of them still wanted to be famous, but most had very little recourse in the getting famous department, and continued to toil away in the shadows with no complaints. Or, in this film's case, toil in the hot Florida sun (not to be a major buzzkill, but I'd say at least half the people in this movie went on to develop skin cancer in the mid-to-late '90s).

After the montage is over, we get our first stolen wallet and our first ghoulish prank. Usually occurring at the same time, the stolen wallet/ghoulish prank gag is implemented a total of four times over the course of the film. Did anyone else think the wallet thief and the ghoulish prankster were in cahoots? Just me, eh?

Sitting in the back of a friend's convertible with a haughty grace, teenage hellion in training, Rachael Bates (Debra Gallagher), is a walking, talking one woman adorable symposium. Noticing her father, Rev. Bates (Lance LeGault), chatting with Lt. Strycher (John Saxon) and Dr. Willet (Michael Parks), Rachael attempts to hide the can of beer she's holding. She might be adorable, but she really needs to work on her beer hiding skills. Despite being busted, Rachael remains defiant, and refuses her father's request to stay with her Aunt Agnes, a woman she calls a "senile old hag."

While that line is great, Michael Parks' drunken doctor tops it with relative ease when he delivers this gem soon afterward: "Welcome to Spring Break... the annual migration of the idiot."

Speaking of idiots, here comes Skip (Nicolas De Toth) and Ronnie (Rawley Valverde), two college football players hoping to put the memory of losing the Orange Bowl behind them by getting drunk and having lot's of casual sex. Well, at least Ronnie seems interested in doing those things. You see, it was Skip's interception that cost them the game. Meaning, he's in no mood to party in the late 1980s.

We get proof of this in the very next scene when Rachael approaches Skip and says, "Hi, you're cute. Wanna take a walk with me?"

This is the face Rachael makes when she hears Skip's answer.

Never in my life have I wanted to beat a man to death more than I did when I saw what Skip's response did to Rachael's face. And get this, this Skip fella is supposed to be the film's hero.

I'm not saying Skip had to agree to Rachael's request, I just think he could have handled it better. If anything, at least handle it in a way that will not cause Rachael make the face she sports seconds after hearing his reply, as I don't want to ever see that face again.

To be fair, Rachael isn't the only woman to be rejected by Skip in this movie. While attending a wet t-shirt contest with Ronnie, Skip looks depressed. Don't you think the women currently having water poured on their chests noticed this? Think about it. You're on stage, jiggling your tits for an enthusiastic crowd, then all of a sudden, you notice a man with a sour expression on his face. Wouldn't you take it personally? I know I would, and I don't have tits... at least not one's worthy enough to jiggle in public.

If that isn't enough, Skip actually rejects the woman he's supposed to be interested. It occurs when Gail, the bartender at a local bar (yes, the same bar Skip rejects Rachael at), who just spent a better part of the evening helping Skip look for Ronnie (who's gone missing), asks Skip if he would like to come in for coffee. Telling her "no thanks," Skip drives off, leaving Gail standing there in the shortest pleated yellow skirt the world has ever seen.

You could argue that Skip is playing it cool, but it was clear that Gail wanted his cock (for vaginal penetration purposes). And for Skip to not provide said cock (for vaginal penetration purposes) was not only the total opposite of cool... it was totally uncool.

At any rate, was anyone else amazed that Gail failed to furnish an upskirt during her lengthy time in that ridiculously short pleated yellow skirt? I know I was. Hey, Sarah Buxton. You owe me an upskirt.

You wouldn't know it judging by the words I've typed so far, but Nightmare Beach is actually about a serial killer who uses his or her (like in Nail Gun Massacre, the killer's gender in shrouded in mystery) motorcycle to electrocute his or her victims. However, since killing people in this manner has its limitations, the killer starts to employ more conventional methods as the film progresses.

That being said, if you were to ask Kimberly (Christina Kier), a popular masseuse, and Trina (Yamilet Hidalgo), a biker chick/denim vest enthusiast, I have a feeling that they would tell you that there was nothing conventional about the manner in which they were killed. Conventional or not, I'd say Kimberly and Lori's deaths were the best in terms of mood and gore. Oh, and don't worry, no one lays a finger on Rachael's pretty little head.

While not as mashugana as Creatures from the Abyss, Nightmare Beach is still a must-see for fans of Italian made horror films that are set in Florida.

Fatty Girl Goes to New York (Umberto Lenzi, 1982)

"First of all, what's the point of going to New York if everyone there speaks Italian? You might as well have called it "Fatty Girl Goes to Roma." Another clear giveaway was the fact that all the members of the television crew wore lab coats (something they only seem to do in Italy). And secondly, you expect me to believe that a slender disco queen in her mid-twenties is a fat teenager just because she wears high collars and turtleneck sweaters, and always seems to holding her breath? I don't think so." Hey, you! Get away from that keyboard. Yeah, you. Scram! C'mon, vamoose! What the hell did that pratt just write? Ugh, what a load of crap. I'm sorry, but looks like some wannabe "film critic" wandered into my realm and started typing words about the amazing Fatty Girl Goes to New York (a.k.a. Cicciabomba) without the express written consent of the House of Self-Indulgence. (Why don't you just delete what they wrote?) No, I want everyone to see what kind of lameness they would have to endure if I wasn't around to set them on the path towards righteousness. All right, now that I've done that, let's get this thing underway, shall we? It's racist, it's anti-gay, it looks down on fat people, it promotes bullying, and yet, it's totally awesome. And get this, it's directed by Umberto Lenzi. (You mean the guy best known for making Cannibal Ferox and Nightmare City?) Yep, that's him. Sure, there were parts of this film that made me uncomfortable, but any motion picture that goes out of its way to foster Italian legginess is okay in my book.

Growing up with a parent who had zero respect for the nation of Italy and not being a fan myself of mafia movies, I had a preconceived view about all things Italian. And let's just say, that view was mostly negative. As I grew up, I began to form my own opinions. And slowly but surely, I started to become exposed to Italian pop culture. At first, it started with horror movies. Then, in the spring of 2005, I discovered Italo Disco. Thanks to the internet, the powers that be (square, close-minded program directors) could no longer prevent me from hearing the music of the world. And after being given this new-found freedom of choice, I repeatedly found myself gravitating towards the synthy grooves of Italo Disco.

One of the first artists I came across who performed this style of music was Donatella Rettore. While technically not "Italo Disco" in the traditional sense (Rettore's music seems more influenced by punk, ska, and new wave, plus she sings, for the most part, in Italian - the majority of Italo Disco artists sing in English), she was close enough to fit the bill.

Looking like Anne Carlisle from Liquid Sky from certain angles (what am I talking about, she looks like Anne Carlisle from Liquid Sky from every angle), Donatella Rettore's brash appearance and slick sound really struck a chord with me.

However, when I heard that Donatella Rettore had starred in a movie that came out in 1982, the same year she released Kamikaze Rock 'n' Roll Suicide, I was somewhat skeptical. The reason? Well, for starters, the film's total lack of zombies, crazed killers in black leather gloves, women in prison or blood thirsty cannibals was troubling to me. And after my initial interest had faded, I sort of forgot about the movie.

Well, after giving myself a swift kick in the pants, I'm happy to say, I finally took the plunge, and I'm ready devour Donatella Rettore's film debut as Miris Bigolin with the full force of the area between my chin and forehead. (What about your genitals?) What about them? (Aren't they going to devour the film, too?) I guess. Anyway, ciao, and welcome to Happy, Italy. (That can't be right.) No, she said the town was called "Happy." (I don't know 'bout you, but that's kind of obnoxious. Nonetheless, don't forget to mention the opening credits.) Oh, yeah. They're set to a Rettore song and feature cartoonish drawings of the lead character getting into all kinds of comedic situations of a sticky nature.

Waking up at 6:35am, we quickly learn that Miris Bigolin (Donatella Rettore), who shares a room with her beauty queen sister Deborah (Gena Gas), doesn't like to be called "cicciabomba," which means "fatty girl." Her sister finds this out the hard way, after she receives to two pimp-quality slaps to the face. While Debbie is, according to her mother, "the pride of the village," Miris is a bit of pariah. You see, on top of being overweight (which I guess was frowned upon in early '80s Italy), Miris is causing headaches for the dipshits who run church radio station she works at. They want her spin classical music, but she insists on playing that newfangled new wave music.

As she's getting on her motorcycle to go to school, Miris gets in a confrontation with a waiter. The only reason I'm mentioning this is because Miris confronts the same waiter later on in the film. (Meaning?) Oh, I'm just pointing out, in my own awkward way, that the film isn't afraid to employ recurring gags.

Shirking complicated makeup effects, the makers of Fatty Girl Goes to New York basically stuff a couple of pillows underneath Donatella Rettore's clothes and shove cotton balls in her mouth. Oh, and to avoid using a prosthetic to give Miris a double chin, they simply cover her neck with scarfs and high collars. Though, they do use makeup to give Pinocchia (Adriana Russo), Miris' best friend, her trademark nose. (How do you know that's not her real nose?) Trust me, it's not.

While Pinocchia is obsessed with boys, it's obvious that Miris prefers cake. (Wow, that was a cruel thing to say.) No, Miris says, and I quote, "Boys?!? I prefer cake." Strangely enough, the boy Pinocchia is obsessed with, Mirko Mariani (Dario Caporaso), takes a liking to Miris. Well, not really, he wants her to do his Greek homework, which she agrees to do in exchange for a date. Before you call Miris naive for falling the oldest trick in the book, she has a trick up her clownish sleeve as well. Oh, and when I say, "clownish sleeve," I ain't being cute, her current wardrobe is beyond clownish.

After beating up a couple of homophobic scumbags (they were picking on Bimbo, the town's thoughtful Marilyn Monroe impersonator) and receiving a lecture from her lame bosses, Miris revels with her friends over the fact that Mirko was expelled for his Greek homework, or I should, say, her Greek homework (word on the street is, it was a tad on the crass side). Venting his anger at Miris and, what he declares, "The Ugly Girls Gang," Mirko vows to get his revenge.

Pretending to be "Angelo," Mirko pulls a nasty prank on Miris, one that culminates with Mirko and his sycophantic band of creepozoids hosing Miris with water while chanting "cicciabomba" at her. Had enough with being picked on, Miris decides to kill herself... Damn, this film took a dark turn. Don't worry, as she's preparing to seal her doom, she learns that she has just won a trip to New York City. So, in other words, suicide can wait, it's time to hit The Big Apple.

Barely off the plane, Miris is offered to be the spokesperson for a new weight loss program that involves swordfish extract or some bizarre shit like that by the hoty-toity  Baronessa Judith von Kemp (Anita Ekberg) and Arthur (Howard Napper), her English lackey.

Realizing that being the test subject for a new fad diet isn't all it's cracked up to be, Miris struggles to lose weight in the early going.

Then one night, while dreaming of food, Miris wakes up to get a snack. Passing a mirror on her way to the kitchen, she barely recognizes herself. Letting out a scream, Miris is suddenly svelte and... (Don't you dare say fabulous. She still dresses like a clown.) In order to complete her transformation, Arthur sicks a hairdresser and a stylist on Miris.

The newly refurbished Miris makes her debut on national television. Bursting through a photo of her former self, Miris is now a new wave goddess. And get this, she's a pop star, too. (Huh?) Just go with it, man. Now sporting shortish blonde hair, Miris, who is wearing a red blazer as a dress and a pair of red tights, performs a song about exploding heads and sandwiches. Accompanied by six or seven dandies in tuxedos, Miris is a hit. Meaning, everybody loves her.

(Are you sure this is the right message you should sending young people? Lose weight, get a new wave-friendly makeover, and people will like you.) I don't know. Who cares. (Oh, when you put it that way.)

Deciding to strike while the iron is hot, Miris does a series of photo shoots for magazines such as Time, Vogue and Life. And you know what that means? (Overexposure?) Well, yeah. But more importantly, more kooky outfits. My favourite outfit from the photo shoot being the black leather and lace get-up. In terms of the entire film, my fave would have to be the orange and purple new wave get-up with the Chinese theme.

You'll notice that newly refurbished Miris utilizes her legs more than she did before. In fact, I didn't even know the pre-makeover Miris had legs. At any rate, Miris uses her legs to her advantage on four separate occasions. (Are you sure it wasn't more like six?) Yeah, you could be right, she does flaunt her legs a lot in this film. And why wouldn't she? They're only her best new feature. If I was suddenly blessed with long, shapely legs, the kind that drive Italian men and their non-Italian allies wild with desire, I would flaunt them as well. Hell, I don't think I would wear pants ever again if I had Rettore's gams.

When Miris discovers that her legs look great in red nylons, black nylons and even white nylons, she decides to go back to Italy to settle a score. (You mean get back at Mirko?) Exactly. Reuniting with The Ugly Girls Gang, who, like, Miris, have who have all gotten makeovers as well, Miris wields her lengthy legs like they were two mouthwatering batons of corporal comeuppance.

Since she's going to need to do more than just thrust her lusty legs in the faces of her enemies, Miris, who is, it should be noted, now unrecognizable to most of the townspeople (even her delusional grandmother doesn't recognize her), hatches a plan to sabotage Mirko's engagement with the mayor's daughter.

Will Miris and The Ugly Girls Gang come out on top? Who's to say? All I know is, Fatty Girl Goes to New York was a refreshing change of pace from the stuff I usually watch. While I didn't agree with the message the film seemed to be putting out there, it's light and frothy fun from start to finish. (Are you sure about that? Two characters nearly commit suicide and Miris and The Ugly Girls Gang force feed Mirko's fiance junk food--making her fat in the process. And I don't want to alarm you, but I think Miris's grandmother might have Alzheimer's.) Okay, minus the moments you just mentioned, it's light and frothy fun.

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.

nsfw video uploaded by r0l00L