The Hot Nights of Linda (Jess Franco, 1975)

You're initial thought might be, as you begin to enjoy Jess Franco's The Hot Nights of Night (a.k.a. But Who Raped Linda?), how much longer do we have to watch Alice Arno–who is, to the best of my knowledge, not wearing nylons on her shapely, Arno-ian legs–walk around Paris, France in a bulky winter coat? However, once she has finished walking around Paris, France and arrives at the location of her new job, you will no doubt start to miss the streets of Paris, France. In fact, you will probably wish they would cut to anywhere in the world after you have spent a day or two with the Steiner family in their Greek-style castle/home on the ocean, or was it on the sea? No matter, the film, like the best Jess Franco's films, manages to create a world unto itself. You see, by ignoring what's going on beyond the walls of the film's primary location, the film slowly begins to develop its own unique ecosystem. And if, say, you were to own a noodle factory similar to mine, the first thought you would have is: Why can't I get a job at a Greek-style castle/home where a nympho-virgin prances about in black stockings and where said nympho-virgins eat penis-shaped fruit in an erotic fashion? And after that thought had subsided, your second would most likely be: Are the women in this film writhing on their beds in order to escape their dreary existences or are their backs simply itchy?

First of all, there's nothing dreary about living in a Greek-style castle/home with a nympho-virgin. (Yeah, maybe for you, but what about the nympho-virgin? Don't you think she wants more out of life?) And secondly, you're kinda right. They do want to escape. And best way to do so is to grind your naked body into the bed your currently lying on.

(Are you sure that's the best way? I mean, wouldn't the front door be a more effective way to escape?) It's true, doors are a terrific root to go when trying to leave somewhere (as someone who has used doors all his life, I can attest that what this person just said is indeed a factual statement), but The Hot Nights of Linda isn't about providing easy ways out, it's a... (Wait, let me guess, is it a psycho-sexual maelstrom of perverted proportions?) Hell yeah. That's exactly what is.

Let's see how that looks when written out as a semi-proper sentence: "The Hot Nights of Linda is a psycho-sexual maelstrom of perverted proportions." - Yum-Yum, House of Self-Indulgence

Oh, yeah. We have a winner. Put that sucker on the box, baby. Do it. What are you waiting for?

What do you mean Severin Films isn't going to put that quote on the back of their handsomely produced The Hot Nights of Linda Blu-Ray + DVD Combo Pack? You're not going to come across a better blurb than that. What's that? Uh-uh, I see. Well, it would seem the reason my quote is nowhere to found on the artwork of the combo pack is because it's already in stores. Meaning, I'm a little too late. *sniff*

Anyway, getting back to grinding and writhing. Even though it's physically impossible to grind your way to freedom by writhing on your bed without any clothes on, the message you are sending to the world is loud and clear.

While the primary purpose for the all writhing is no doubt connected to the desire to flee, you could argue that a large chunk of the writhing has a lot to do with pent-up sexual frustration. Speaking from personal experience, whenever I find myself writhing in the nude, it usually has nothing to do with wanting to getaway and everything to do with heterosexual ineptitude.

(Enough about writhing, what's this film actually about and is it any good?) Uh, yeah, about that. Believe or not, but those are some pretty tough questions you're asking there, budski. I mean, I could try to explain the film's plot. But then again, I don't want to damage my brain while doing so. As for being good. What does "good" even mean? Seriously, can you tell me?

(I'm sorry, pal. I can't help you there. What I can tell you is, if you patiently wade through this film's...) "psycho-sexual maelstrom of perverted proportions"? (Yeah, that... you'll be generously rewarded with the sight of Lina Romay sunbathing in the nude, Lina Romay peeling and sort of eating a banana, and Lina Romay putting on black stockings--roll them up into a little ball and slip them onto your sturdy legs, you brown-eyed harlot.)

If you watch Les Nuits Brûlantes de Linda, a rare cut of the film that comes with the Severin Films Blu-Ray + DVD Combo Pack (limited to the first 2500 copies), you will be generously rewarded with the sight of Lina Romay sucking on some retards uncut cock, Lina Romay performing cunnilingus on a couple of well-made cunts, and Lina Romay allowing the genitals attached to some retard spew their probably retarded load all over her stomach. Oh, and when I say, "retard" and "retarded," I don't mean it in a Lindsay Lohan sort of way, the retard in question is actually retarded.

The best part about this particular cut of the film is the fact that the scene where Lina Romay puts on black stockings includes some garter belt adjustment--the softcore version omits the garter belt adjustment scene all-together. (Are you sure the best part of this particular cut wasn't the sight of Lina Romay wiping up a dollop of the retard's snot-like jizz with her hand and proceeding to consume with her mouth?) Oh, I'm sure. It should go without saying, but garter belt adjustment is way hotter than eating pearly droplets of spunk.

In order to not cause any unnecessary confusion, I'll stick to referencing to the softcore cut of the film from now on. Even though, deep down, I kinda prefer the hardcore version. (Are you sure you want to do that? I mean, Lina Romay rapes her invalid cousin with a banana in the hardcore version.) A banana, eh? You know what? I'll mention both. Let unnecessary confusion reign!

If you're wondering where Alice Arno fits in all this... What's that? You weren't wondering that. I see. Well, either way, she plays Marie-France Bertrand, and she gets a job working as a nurse/teacher at the home of Radic Steiner (Paul Muller), who lives with his invalid daughter Linda (Verónica Llimera from Tombs of the Blind Dead), his sex maniac niece Olivia (Lina Romay) and Abdul (Pierre Taylou), their retarded houseboy.

Since the sex scenes in the non-hardcore don't take up as much time, the running time needs to be padded with filler. And that's where a photographer (Catherine Lafferière, who played the sex-crazed mental patient in black hold up stockings in Lorna the Exorcist) and a detective (Richard Bigotini) come in. They appear onscreen every now and then. But don't ask me what their connection to the main plot of the film is, cause I haven't the slightest idea. Well, that's not entirely true, I have a general idea, but it's not really worth getting into.

The only aspect of this subplot that held my interest was when we get a Jess Franco orchestrated close up of Catherine Lafferière's creamy thighs as she is attempting to climb a fence.

Highlights of the softcore version include: the scene where Alice Arno meets Lina Romay for the very first time. Filing her toenails, smoking a cigarette, and drinking Champagne (the girl knows how to multitask), Lina tells Alice that life in this town is monotonous and dull (hence the reason she writhes so much). What makes the scene so great is that Lina and Alice stare at each with a fiery intensity.

You gotta love the film noirish scene where Lina and Alice chat while smoking.

And the scene where Lina, who is wearing black boots, toys with Abdul by peeling a banana in a–you guessed it–erotic manner. You probably already know this, but Lina Romay does everything in this movie in a manner that could be construed as erotic. (Everything?) Yeah, you heard me, everything.

These three scenes are not in the hardcore version, so... enjoy them, I guess, because nothing in the hardcore version comes close to topping them in terms of  non-threatening titillation.

My only complaint, besides the boring bits, is the fact that the lovely Monica Swinn's part as Lorna, Paul Muller's dead wife, is so skimpy. There's a scene where she is having straightforward bedroom intercourse with her lover while wearing back hold up stockings, but the lighting is so dark, you can't really appreciate the shape of Monica's Jess Franco-approved curves.

 

Tombs of the Blind Dead (Amando de Ossorio, 1971)

A cat jumps out of nowhere, startling our leggy heroine while snooping around some ruins, and a crusty, Dick Miller-esque librarian fleshes out the film's mythology when he reluctantly tells it to a couple of mythology-craving fashion victims during an impromptu visit. It's true, these are well-worn cliches that can be seen in almost every horror movie ever made. However, do any of the films that happen to sport these tired bits have blind mummies on horseback? I didn't think so. Slowly lurching, yet at the same time, galloping quickly, the zombies that populate Tombs of the Blind Dead (a.k.a. La Noche del Terror Ciego), Amando de Ossorio's eerie contribution to the undead pantheon, are peculiar brand of flesh-eater. For one thing, they carry broadswords and they perform their stalking mainly by ear–much like Gary Stevenson, the producer of Go West's self-titled debut album, stalks your eardrums with smooth basslines and fakakta keyboard explosions. Attracted to everything from the sound of you loudly chewing your grandma's paella to the thumping rhythm of your Iberian heartbeat, the dead in this film will find you (no matter what occurs). If you should manage to escape their clutches, don't get cocky, because they can ride horses as well. And while a visual impaired corpse on a horse doesn't sound that menacing, the sight of twelve of them barreling down on you in slow-motion will definitely cause you run in the opposite direction. I'd even go as far as to say that one might find themselves waist deep in a tangy pool of the yellowest fear-centric pee money can buy after experiencing the nightmare that is the bony horde.

After a spooky opening credits sequence, one that does an excellent job of familiarizing us with the woebegone location we'll be spending the bulk of our cinematic time, we're about to witness one of the most awkward reunions ever to be staged between two former college roommates at a Portuguese resort in a mummy movie that's about equestrian zombies.

Lounging on a deck chair with her favourite magazine, her black and white bikini accentuating the health of her attractive frame, Virginia (María Elena Arpón) spots a woman in a red and white bikini showering poolside–the cool water, slowly trickling down her firm body, is absorbed by the flimsy fabric of her na moda bathing suit. Removing her large sunglasses glasses, she calls out to the moist woman. It turns out it's Bette (Lone Fleming), Virginia's best friend from college. The two of them, while cordial at first, start taking subtle jabs at one another. You would think the introduction of Virginia's "friend" Roger (César Burner) would quell some of the verbal sniping, but that's where you'd be wrong.

Even though it's viewed from the side, the perturbed expression on Bette's face when Virginia refers to her mannequins as "puppets" went way beyond my expectations of what a woman should look like when her vocation is dismissed by a former college roommate in a public forum. Ill at ease with the sheer amount of vitriol oozing in front of him, Roger suggests that Bette come along with them on a trip (and it is trip). At this point, it's Virginia's turn to look annoyed. But after some mild arm twisting, they all agree. Of course, Virginia secretly hopes that Bette doesn't show up at the train station. Clearly aware of her third wheel status, Bette gives them opening to give her shapely, sanely symmetrical backside the boot just before the train's about to leave. But Roger insists that she come.

As the train is chugging through the countryside, we learn why Virginia and Bette are so socially inept around one another. Apparently the two of them used to be more than just friends. In other words, the inside of their pretty mouth's have felt the billowy softness of each other's exceedingly wet undercarriages on more than one occasion. Now I realize that everything after "in other words" was completely unnecessary, as "more than just friends" would have been more than adequate. But what can I say? I love cunnilingus.

A brief soft focus flashback showing Virginia and Bette in their old college dorm room giggling over magazine articles, dancing in their nightclothes, and playfully loosening the binds of their uncommitted pigtails hammers home the potency of their lesbian relationship. Alluring and erotic as it may be, the awkwardness between them is too much for Virginia, so she decides to ditch Bette and Roger. Yeah, that's right, she impulsively hops off the train like some kind of high-strung hobo. Hoping to spend a night of Bette-less bliss in a town she spotted off in the distance, Virginia hits the dirt with a thud. Unfortunately, the town she is beginning to wander towards is called Berzano, the kind of place that makes plucky waitresses drop their trays at the mere mention of its name.

The horror aspect of Tombs of the Blind Dead really begins to kick in once Virginia, utilizing the inordinate length of her exquisite gams (which have been genetically designed to withstand the elements), starts snooping around Berzano. Investigating every nook and cranny the town has to offer, all she comes across are creaky doors, empty buildings, faulty stairs, and weed covered walls.

Settling in for evening in one of the town's many abandoned buildings, Virginia sheathes her sexy body in a blue sleeping bag. Hearing what sounds like horses galloping in the distance, Virginia gets up, puts on her denim short shorts (with a cheeky pocket on the front), and comes face to face the blind dead of Berzano, a slow moving, yet persistent horde of cloaking-wearing miscreants. As with most upright zombies, the walking blind dead are easy to avoid. However, it's a completely different story when the cavalry wing of the blind dead of Berzano set about looking for your denim-covered ass. Meanwhile, Roger and Bette are starting to worry about Virginia. Sure, she ditched them and all, but Bette feels responsible for her abrupt exist–you know, because of the whole lesbian flashback triggered in the train's caboose. And Roger, well, she's her "friend."

Holding court at her mannequin workshop (the flashing red light was a terrific touch), and sporting a stylish green, yellow and blue shirt with geometric motif, Bette, determined to find out what happen to Virginia, teams up Roger. An elderly librarian (Francisco Sanz), while spinning a yarn about the blind dead's occultist roots (one that includes the torture and eating of a sacrificial maiden), puts them contact with his smuggler son, Pedro (José Thelman), a shifty man who operates near Berzano. Actually, the first person to find out what really happened to Virginia was a grinning morgue keeper (Simón Arriaga) who torments frogs in his spare time. But the less said about him, the better.

Your average mannequin factory and the local morgue may have a lot in common, but that doesn't mean they would make good neighbours. A recently re-animated victim of the blind dead, one who wanders over to the mannequin factory in search of sustenance, thinks they have stumbled upon an easy meal in the form of Nina (Verónica Llimera), the world's cutest mannequin factory employee. But they're about to find out that mannequin factory employees are extremely averse to having their flesh consumed by people who think strips of gauze can be worn as lingerie. Unabashedly brunette and wearing an unexpectedly chic sea green lab coat, Nina handles the undead threat with a clunky grace.

Despite the fact that I thought Pedro's introduction scene was a tad on the long side, it is, however, the one responsible for inserting the luscious force of nature that was María Silva into the proceedings. Eating men for breakfast, brunch, lunch, high tea, dinner, and a bowl of cold cereal in nothing but your underwear at 1am, María Silva, with a giant slit in her gray skirt for maximum thigh-based titillation, is a total sex goddess in Tombs of the Blind Dead. Hell, she even had Roger wrapped around her sultry little finger, and he's an interior designer! Oh, and I loved how the majority of Maria's anecdotes seemed to revolve around drinking booze, doing drugs, or engaging in the act of sexual intercourse with grown men that are five or six years older than her.

Countering Maria's cavernous slit with an orange skirt (one with a modest slit in the front) and white knee-high boots, Lone Fleming, and her wild, untamed Spanish eyes, dominates the blind dead showdown at Berzano with a stylish aplomb. Okay, maybe she didn't exactly "dominate," those who have seen the film will no doubt agree (her fleeing with a limp technique could definitely use some work). But she does look amazing, nonetheless.

Making a bold fashion statement in almost every scene she appears in, Lone Fleming's fabulous wardrobe–designed by Humberto Cornejo–is exactly what I would expect a woman who owns her own mannequin factory to look like. Her swanky vests, saucy berets, hats with wide-brims, shirts with strange floral patterns, and white footwear (including the aforementioned knee-high boots) all managed to dazzle the eye and uplift the spirit.

The jarring and wholly original sight of cloak-wearing zombies on horseback; the coolness of Bette's mannequin factory; the skimpy outfits of the three main actresses; the morgue guy's sinister grin; and the creepy atmosphere of Berzano were all key components that went into making this unique zombie/mummy/devil-worshiping Knights Templar experience the mild success that it is.

video uploaded by 2ombieboy

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