Fantom Kiler 3 (Roman Nowicki, 2003)

After the debacle that was Fantom Kiler 2, you would have thought I would have learned my lesson. But, no, here I am, ready and willing to debase myself in public by admitting to the world at large that I watched Fantom Kiler 3 utilizing my own freewill. I mean, it would be one thing if someone held a loaded gun to my head and forced me to watch these movies. But that's clearly not the case. (Quit your bellyaching, deep down you know you like these movies.) No, I don't. I find them to be morally objectionable. They're the kind of violent, sexiest trash that only a diseased mind would enjoy. (Whatever. Didn't you whisper in my ear that the walls of the auto repair garage toilet reminded you of the gatefold sleeve of a certain live album by the Revolting Cocks?) I don't remember whispering that. (You totally did. As the ultra-leggy Eliza Borecka, who's back with a vengeance after her tepid, not-so leggy turn in Fantom Kiler 2, is about to sit down to take a pee, you said, and I quote: "You Goddamned Son of a Bitch!" At first I was like, what the fuck? But then you explained to me that that's the name of the live album Revco put out in the late 1980s. Anyway, only a person with a deep seeded love for these movies would take the time to notice the makeshift pornographic wallpaper plastered all over the walls of the film's primary auto repair garage toilet. And I don't give me no line about how you were so bored that you were reduced to noticing the wallpaper, you're a closet Fantom Kiler fan.)

While I wouldn't exactly go that far. I think I may have unlocked the secret behind the reason "Fantom Kiler" is spelled the way it is. Let's say you're a faceless serial killer who wears a black leather trench coat and a black Panama hat, and you want to leave a calling card at the crime scenes you create. Now, writing your name in blood is an excellent calling card. It's straight-forward and to the point. That being said, have you ever tried to write your name in blood? No? Well, neither have I. But I can tell you this, I bet it ain't easy.

Okay, and, now, let's say your name is the "Phantom Killer" and you have just killed a nightclub singer/exotic dancer with wonderfully natural breasts. Gathering up as much blood as you can, you begin to write your name on a mirror. Then it hits it hits you like a ton of bricks, you could save a lot of time and, not to mention, a lot of blood, if you simply replace the 'Ph' in Phantom with an 'F,' and drop one of the 'l's' in Killer. And just like that, you have doubled, maybe even tripled, your productivity.

The next time some geek/know-it-all comes up to you and launches into some spiel about how his favourite actor raped him with a Mr. T Pez dispenser in the parking lot of an aluminum siding convention, cut him off mid-Pez dispenser rape brag, and start explaining to him why the titles of the Fantom Kiler movies are spelled the way they are. It doesn't matter if he hasn't heard of the Fantom Kiler series, you'll blow his mind.

Actually, I'm not entirely sure if this theory of mine is on the level. So, I might want to tread lightly when dealing with the Mr. T Pez dispenser rape guy (who's not a real person, but a composite of the kind of people who go to aluminum siding conventions). But you have got to admit, as far as theories go, it's pretty rock solid.

If you're beginning to think that I'm spending way too much time going on and on about the origins of the name, "Fantom Kiler," you're right, I am. However, since the first, oh, let's say, fifteen minutes of Fantom Kiler 3 are a complete waste of time, you'll agree that my rambling is highly appropriate. Unless, of course, you consider the sight of Magda Szymborska oiling her fake breasts while leaning on the hood of her car to be worthy of your time. If you do, feel to paw at your genitals, that's what they're there for.

In the meantime, the rest of us (i.e. us relatively sane people) will be patiently waiting for ultra-leggy Eliza Borecka to appear onscreen.

You would have thought that Roman Nowicki would have improved his special effects during the time between making Fantom Kiler 2 and Fantom Kiler 3. But, no, the stabbing of Magda Szymborska's character looks just as fake in this film as Katarzyna Zelnik's stabbing did in the previous film.

Out in the woods to take erotic pictures of herself next to her yellow car, Madga Szymborska is suddenly attacked by a faceless killer. When this happened I was like, whoa, I didn't see that coming at all. I mean, a naked, oiled up Polish woman with cuoco-esque tits is attacked by a faceless killer wielding a knife? Seriously, who comes up with this stuff? It's crazy!

On the one hand, I have to commend Magda for wearing a black leather mini-skirt with a slit down the side. On the other hand, I must scold her for not wearing stockings. Bad Magda, bad Magda. Here's a huge wad of złotys, go to the lingerie store in Łódź and pick up some black stockings. Tell them Yum-Yum sent you. Oh, and Magda, never, ever appear onscreen without stockings on your legs. You got that? Good, now get your ass to Łódź.

After a pair of detectives are done wasting our time pretending to investigate Magda's murder, we enter an auto repair garage, where two mechanics are busy admiring their giant wall of erotica.

Interrupting the fellas is the leggiest woman in all of Poland. Pushing her car into the garage, Eliza Borecka is now on the screen. Sure, she ain't wearing stockings either. But at least her breasts are real. Anyway, wearing a caramel mini-dress, it would seem that Eliza's car isn't running properly.

If the mechanics had said something to affect of: "I can't wait to look up her exhaust pipe," I would have been fine with that. But, no, these assholes have to spend the next ten minutes throwing every car-based sexual innuendo they can think of at Eliza Borecka as she stood by her broken car in a leggy manner. We get it, when you say you want to "check under her hood," you're not talking about the hood of her car.

Luckily, nature calls, and Eliza Borecka asks to use their toilet, which thankfully ends the barrage of car-based sexual innuendos. And just like the walls of the garage, the walls of the toilet are covered in erotica. A confused-looking Eliza Borecka can't seem to decide what she finds more disgusting, the wall of garish Eastern European porn or the shit-stained toilet. Did anyone else find it odd that Eliza Borecka didn't flush the toilet before using it? Just me, eh?

It's true, I've been shaking my head in frustration a lot during this film. But I did start to nod ever so slightly when the one of the mechanics tells Eliza Borecka that she has the legs of a dancer. Finally, someone decides to say something that actually makes sense. Because, up until now, it's been nothing but wall-to-wall incoherent gibberish.

With no way of paying the mechanics to fix her car (one of the mechanics stole her money when she wasn't looking), Eliza Borecka is told to put those dancer's legs to good use. Reluctantly, Eliza Borecka agrees, and begins to perform a striptease for the sleazy mechanics. Take note, when Eliza Borecka's caramel mini-dress hits the ground, it's the last time she will be seen with clothes on. (You mean the mechanics are about to kill her?) Don't be ridiculous, this scene has at least another twenty minutes to go. (What?) All right, at least another eight minutes.

Just as I was about to lose hope that Roman Nowicki didn't have any surprises left up his sleeve, he unleashes what has to be one of the best sequences of the Fantom Kiler series so far. Of course, no one will be surprised when the mechanics douse Eliza Borecka's naked body with motor oil. However, it's when Eliza Borecka decides to fight back against her grease monkey tormentors that things start to get interesting. (Hold up, "interesting"?!? Are you sure you're talking about Fantom Kiler 3?) That's exactly what I said. But take my word for it, things get interesting.

When I saw the chainsaw hanging over by the door of the toilet my initial reaction was: What kind of auto repair garage needs to have a chainsaw on hand? In true Fantom Kiler style, the sight of the chainsaw did noting but confuse the hell out of me. Then, as the mechanics began to harass Eliza Borecka, I realized that the anachronistic chainsaw was about to be employed as a weapon. However, Eliza Borecka was the last person I expected to see using it in a manner that its designers hadn't intended.

The mechanics, now armed with metal pipes, confront Eliza Borecka, who just stabbed one of them in the leg with a screwdriver. Since it's obvious to her that her long, Polish gams are no match for metal pipes, Eliza Borecka grabs the chainsaw (which, like I said, is hanging near the toilet) and proceeds to saw her way out of this sticky, elongated pickle of a situation. If the sight of a naked Eliza Borecka holding a chainsaw doesn't excite the shiftless rabble who watch these films, then nothing will; keen observers will notice Eliza Borecka's hair goes from being up to down between shots.

If that wasn't enough, Fantom Kiler 3 gives us an extended nightclub music sequence courtesy of electroclash superstar Melochna Naskovystylist (Alicia Malikova), a singer/stripper who entertains the detectives in-between murders. While not as leggy as Eliza Borecka, Alicia is all-natural and has a modicum of charisma.

Since the film's twist ending involves a Fantom Kiler regular, I won't mention her name. At any rate, I have to commend Roman Nowicki for at least trying to breath new life into his flagship franchise.

Fantom Kiler 2 (Roman Nowicki, 1999)

Turn on the smoke machine and dust off your Polish-English phrase book, it's time once again to enter the shadowy, clothes-optional realm of... the Fantom Kiler. (Wait, didn't you already watch and review that movie?) You see... (Oh no, don't tell me, they made a sequel, didn't they?) Yep, they most certainly did. That's right, turnip lovers, I finally decided to get off my freshly shaven ass/taint and tackle Fantom Kiler 2 with the full-force of my fucking face. Lacking the rectal wooden spoon antics, janitors with fake mustaches, nonsensical dialogue and the naked barbed-wire fence traversing that made the first film such a goofy delight, writer-director Roman Nowicki is all business in this time around. Resembling a real horror film at times (the key phrase there being "at times"), part two has the Polish police investigating a string of grisly prostitute murders. I know, Polish police investigating crimes, what is this, Polish Law and Order? Well, I don't know about that (doink doink), but it does feel like that season three episode of Miami Vice where a crazed Vietnam vet is killing dark-haired prostitutes with a ka-bar. (You mean, "The Savage," a.k.a. "Duty and Honour"?) Yeah, that's the one. If that particular episode taught us anything (besides the fact that Sonny Crockett looks damn good a dark teal sports coat), it's that in order to catch a serial killer who is butchering prostitutes, your wisest course of action is to entrap them by using live bait.

Since the killer seems to be only targeting female prostitutes, that rules out using a male police officer as bait. No, what Detective Uri Polanski needs to do is enlist the help of a female police officer, a shapely female police officer. And that's where Officer Kinska (Katarzyna Zelnik) comes in.

Since the scene where Kinska gets tarted up is still a ways away, let's lavish some praise on the gorgeous Liliana Cybulska in the meantime, shall we?

After listening to some industrial-sounding techno music and enduring a brief scene where the detectives explain what happened in the first flick, we get our first taste of the film's most attractive cast member. Now, the majority of you will remember that I thought Eliza Borecka was the most attractive woman who appeared in the first movie. But not anymore. For one thing, she doesn't wander around the woods in nothing but a pair of chunky black heels. Nor does she traverse any barbed wire fences in the buff. Boo!

Smoking a cigarette in the misty part of town just outside of town, Ramona (Liliana Cybulska), who is wearing is a red wig and a short blue skirt, is waiting for someone to come by and purchase a reasonably priced ticket to ride her pulsating Polish pussy all the way to Poundtown, population, your Polish penis. Suddenly, another Polish prostitute (Magda Szymborska) shows up and tells Ramona a sob story about how she needs to turn tricks to support her family. When the last customer of the evening comes by, Ramoma, a seasoned whore, allows the neophyte sex worker to get in the car.

Little does she know, but Ramona, the self-proclaimed "Patron Saint of Prostitutes," will never see that Polish prostitute alive again.

Brought in for questioning, Ramona and Det. Polanski have a chat. Since the inside of the police station is not as misty as the misty part of town just outside of town, we get some great shots of Ramona's outfit. Wearing a short black fur coat, a pink top, white nylons and black high-heel boots, Ramona plops down on the chair in front of Uri's desk.

After arguing about the merits of prostitution, Ramona decides to have some fun with the humourless detective. Noticing that he can't stop looking at her legs, Ramona calls out Uri's gratuitous gam gandering the only way she knows how.

Lifting up her legs and placing them on his desk with a playful thud, Ramona proceeds to entice the detective by stroking her calves in a seductive manner.

Boasting of their softness like a proud parent, Ramona is relentless when it comes to wielding her legs for erotic purposes. Hiding behind her knees in the most sheepish fashion ever to be recorded on film or video, the wide-eyed Polish prostitute continues to do so until Uri explodes with a weird mix of  ecstasy and frustration.

Okay, and... I'm done. Well, that was a fun movie. Who wants to get rhubarb pie? What do you mean it isn't over? I don't care if it's not over. There's no way Roman Nowicki can top the leg-tastic splendour that is the scene where Romana, the self-proclaimed Patron Saint of Prostitutes, turns a misogynist fucktard into a quivering bowl of impotent molasses simply by caressing her knees.

Sure, I'm sort of curious to see him try. But throwing one scene after another at us that involve naked chicks with fake-looking tits covered in oil being chased by a faceless killer isn't exactly going to cut it. That's true, I don't know if every scene that takes place after Pani Cybulska's stem show is going to play out this way. However, the chances they might, given the franchises oily naked chicks being chased pedigree, are pretty freakin' high.

What's that? Fine, I'll continue to type words about this movie. But just to let you know, my heart's not in it. Just kidding, my heart's always in it, especially when it comes to movies that shamelessly sport leggy Polish chicks pretending to be prostitutes.

(C'mon, it's not that grim, is it? I mean, word on the street is, Katarzyna Zelnik wears a belly chain and strappy black heels at one point.) Yeah, she does. But get this, that's all she wears. (How is exactly is that a bad thing?) Um, hello? I watch movies to see hot chicks in clothes (this not a porn blog, this is a fashion blog!). Where have you been for the past twenty years? Everybody knows this. So, anyway, the prospect of watching a movie that seems obsessed with filming oiled up naked women being stabbed isn't all that inviting... I mean, enticing.

Nonetheless, Katarzyna Zelnik's Officer Kinska is dressed up as a prostitute and sent out into the street. What the... Since when has a coat, a belly chain, and a pair of strappy heels been considered dressing up as a prostitute? Where are the fishnet stockings, the red leather mini-skirt, the zebra print top and the fingerless opera gloves? And don't give me this nonsense about the police being on a tight budget. I want to see Katarzyna's legs in fishnet stockings and I want to see them now! Since the film was made some time in the late 1990s, my demand, unfortunately, was not even close to being met.

Even so, let that be a lesson to all you young filmmakers out there, make sure your prostitutes are dressed like first-rate whores.

Anyway, the idea is to lure the killer out in the open and then arrest him when he tries to harm the undercover Kinska. Using a radio to keep in contact with her, Uri constantly badgers Linska, telling to act more slutty. Sitting next to Uri is Ramona, who is there to tell him when she sees the killer's car. Other than the camera pan that went up the entirety of Katarzyna's body, the stake out since is overlong and dull (Ramona seems to think so too as she yawns several times over the course of the stake out scene).

When the killer finally does get around to stabbing someone, the wounds caused by the retractable knife are non-existent. In other words, the special effects are downright  laughable. That being said, the scene where a real prostitute is slashed in the vagina by a large knife with a serrated blade was actually well done, gore-wise. And not only that, the actress playing the real prostitute, Natasza something, is wearing black stockings. So, yeah, the film manages to get at least one thing right.

Will I be watching part three? Oh, how do I know there's a part? Trust me, there's a part three. To answer my own question, it depends. 1) Are the women wearing clothes at any given time? And 2) Is the naturally attractive Liliana Cybulska in it? If part three manages to answer these two questions to my satisfaction, I might watch it.

Fantom Kiler (Roman Nowicki, 1998)

What do you call someone who has a thing for naked women? A nude buff? A bare lover? A heterosexual man with ill-defined abandonment issues? The reason I'm asking is because I'm always trying to understand the kind of mindset that would freely admit to being into such an unsavoury fetish, as the idea of looking at a person who isn't wearing any clothes is the epitome of mundane debasement. A compromise is sort of made in the erotic horror film, Fantom Kiler, a rare cinematic entity that dares to mix unconventional intercourse with acts of atypical homicide. Check this out: the women appear clothed and naked simultaneously. How is this done exactly? Why it's a simple editing trick. From of the perspective of the men doing the leering, two janitors (one sporting a faker-than-usual fake mustache) at a train station in rural Poland (or it could have been regular Poland, what do I know?), we're privy to what they see: the clothed reality (which, in most cases, could be called "a barely clothed reality," but a clothed one, nonetheless), and a place conjured up by their perverted imaginations where attractive women go about their daily routine in nothing but high heel shoes (the synthetic leather straps employed to keep the shoes affixed to their feet no doubt slowly digging into their limber ankles with every step they take). Interchanging between clothed and naked with the rapidity of a gazelle in a garter belt, director Roman Nowicki, a two-legged mammal who obviously has a soft spot for female nudity, must have realized that his bevy of babes couldn't start a scene off in a state of absolute nakedness. I mean, who wanders through an ominous-looking forest without any clothes on right from the get-go? In order to get his characters into an unclothed situation, one that is on the cusp of being plausible, he devises a series of half-baked yet ingenious scenarios.

The scenarios I dug the most were the ones that involved things as varied as blouse-destroying shrubbery (the pricklier, the better), nylon-based fan belt remedies, and feats of strength that revolved around anal fortitude and wooden spoons. Of course, not every victim in the Fantom Kiler universe is lucky enough to get a kooky clothing removal scenario to go with their ghastly demise. No, I'm afraid when time is limited, their clothes are unceremoniously ripped from their taut bodies like a slab of inexpensive burlap. I'm referring in particular to the agonizingly long sequence that takes place on the side of the road. The killer–who I'll dub, for the time being, "the cloth-like gauze killer"–is just about hammer his trusty chisel into the rectum of a hapless jean shorts enthusiast, when all of a sudden, this blonde woman (an Anne Heche look-a-like with low self-esteem) pops out of nowhere to ask the killer if he needs any help (she can't see the rectum or the woman attached to it). First of all, concealed rectum, notwithstanding, who asks a masked man in leather holding a hammer and a chisel if they need any help? And secondly, where did she come from? Anyway, he nonchalantly walks up to her and rips her clothes off; no fuss, no muss, no underwear.

His identity may be shrouded in mystery, but his hatred of women is right out in the open. Lurking in the forests of Poland, a faceless assassin has been eluding police for years now. Targeting women near a train station, we're subjected to a series of murder scenes involving a killer who dresses like Nash the Slash and a member of The Klinik circa 1988 (it's true, they dressed in leather coats as far back as '85, but I mostly know them from their late '80s "Plague" era). While some of the victims are dispatched in quick flashbacks (like the girl who writhed while a drill bit teased her hairless crawl space) or as a grisly afterthoughts (oh, Anne Heche look-a-like with low self-esteem, we hardly knew ya), the majority of the set pieces focus primarily on three winsome women of Eastern European extraction.

A bespectacled gal (Eliza Borecka) wearing a long black skirt with a humungous slit in the front is the first of the three women to get her moment in the stalker sun. Wandering into a busy (well, busy by Fantom Kiler standards) train station, the sophisticated woman, unabashedly flaunting the unequaled shapeliness of her left leg (it seductively pokes out from her skirt's ample slit every now and then), can't help but notice two janitors standing off to the side making a succession of lewd comments about her as she tries to light a cigarette. Imagining what she would look like without any clothes on, the two mop jockeys watch as she bounces back and forth from being clothed and naked over the course of the next few minutes.

Unnoticed by the bulk of the saps sitting in the audience, but the conflict that takes place between dressed and undressed in Fantom Kiler officially gets underway during this particular sequence. The carnage in the early going was staggering, as the amount of nudity on-screen was devastating. Other than a pair of black high heel shoes (with a matching lunchbox purse), loop earrings, glasses, a thong-shaped tan line (in my mind, tan lines count as clothing), and a modest patch of pubic hair cultivated in a manner that caused it to resemble a furry piano key, the woman was pretty much reduced to a walking bag of skin.

Severely wounded, the dressed faction launch a fierce counter attack by having her slip and fall in front of the two janitors. As you would expect, the tumble exaggerates the insanity of her skirt's slit, which, of course, produces a healthy dollop of titillation. You see, the skirt may be super long (the bottom grazes the straps of her shoes whilst standing), but the slit is so large that it negates the skirt's longness at every turn. If that wasn't enough, the fall somehow causes the buttons on her white blouse to become unbuttoned. The hiked up skirt combined with the unbuttoned blouse enables the advocates for a world where fully-clothed erotica still matters to even up the score. Of course, I'm not going to do a detailed, to use the sports metaphor, "play-by-play," of each encounter that pits the clothed against the unclothed. I just thought the dichotomy that took place between the two distinct brands of smut in the film's opening scene to be truly fascinating and worthy of some analysis.

Anyway, losing her car keys while slipping in front of the janitors, the slit lady finds herself lost in the woods. She figured it would be a quick and easy way to get home, but the deeper she penetrates the misty underbrush, the more she unwittingly becomes ensnared in the killer's web. A thorny bush takes care of her blouse (it's literally torn from her body), an equally thorny wreath of barbs manages to undo her bundled hairdo, and a barbed-wire fence forces the not-so wily business woman to make a wardrobe decision that could alter the very fabric of the universe.

Approaching the barb-covered impasse with much trepidation, the topless woman, whose long brunette locks are now free to tickle her freckled shoulders with impunity, attempts to navigate the fence while wearing her slit-heavy garment. After trying many different ways to manipulate her skirt's slit in a way that would allow her to traverse the setaceous obstacle unscathed, she finally decides to rid herself of the movement-constricting piece of clothing. Filmed from myriad different angles–you know, in order to properly capture the awe-inspiring lustre of her angular frame–she gingerly makes her way through the fence, one shapely gam at a time. Marking her fence success by employing a much deserved celebratory hair flip, she thinks she's out of the woods (no pun intended). Unfortunately, there's still a psychopathic madman to contend with–and you thought prickly bushes and barbed-wire fences were tough. Noticing that her skirt is missing (she left it on a fence post), she slowly backs away from the scene of the skirt theft and into the knife-wielding arms of the cloth-like gauze killer.

Meanwhile, back at the train station, one of the janitors (the one with the faker-than-usual fake mustache) is told that he is getting a new assistant. Wearing a red and white top, one that barely covered her nipples (they kept popping out of their candy cane-coloured prison), red high heel shoes (covered in a multitude of straps), and a pair of jean shorts that repeatedly made a mockery of the word "shorts," the bubbly blonde (Katarzyna Zelnik) is featured in what I consider to be the greatest scrubbing montage in film history. Cleaning the office with a back-breaking vigour, while taking the occasional porn break, the reigning Miss Butt Beautiful also gives her hirsute co-worker a refresher course on how to obtain a firmer bum. Dumping her skimpy top and fabric-challenged denim shorts (you can't exercise in clothes that tight, no matter how nonexistent they may be), Panna Zelnik shows him how to improve the physical characteristics of his buttocks and thighs.

After they finish, you better buckle up, because you're about to witness the strangest interpretation of the King Arthur myth ever committed to film. Giving him the gist of the Arthurian legend, Katarzyna hands him a wooden spoon and tell him to lube up the handle. What? Why she is telling him to do that? Well, it seems that she wants him to stick the spoon in her ass. What kind of answer is that? Naked and on all fours, the janitor is given a full minute to extract the wooden spoon from its rectal pokey or face, I wanna say, "consequences," but I don't think there will be any; there was a wager made, but I forget what it entailed. Um, let's just say the scene where a man with a faker-than-usual fake mustache has a minute to remove a wooden spoon from the gay vagina of a Julie Delpy clone was kinda weird.

The brother of the one the janitors (the one who was suspended and replaced by the gal in the denim diaper) just happens to be one of the detectives in charge of the murder case. In an attempt to clear his brother's name (he's the prime suspect), the detective tells him to describe what kind of shenanigans he and co-worker got up to while working at the train station. What transpires is a montage showing a gaggle of Polish women being leered at and mentally undressed by a couple of uncouth custodians. The clash between the naked and the clothed hits its apex during this sequence, as the two methods fight for the attention of your forthcoming erection. The clothing of the four Polish women featured in this scene ranged from vulgar elegance (thigh-high hooker boots) to librarian chic (glasses and black pencil skirts with modest slits).

The fifth Polish woman (Magda Szymborska) in the naked-clothing montage becomes the primary focus of the next fifteen or so minutes, as we follow her as she leaves the station. Hailing a taxi in the dark, the dirty blonde woman, wearing a white off-the-shoulder top and a pair of jean shorts (one's that were more in line with the Daisy Duke ideal), can't help but notice that her driver is wearing a mask of some sort (his face looks like it's been wrapped with gauze). At any rate, the two chat about work (she's a draughtswoman), dating (she thinks all the men in her town are creeps), and life in general. It's a surprisingly informative sequence, as we learn a lot about the driver and his passenger.

The invisible overlords that oversee my cinematic well-being must have been in a good mood, because what happens next was a misguided dream come true. Pulling over to the side of the road as a result of car trouble, the driver pops the hood and tries to locate the problem. It seems that there's an issue involving the fan belt, so he asks her to donate her pantyhose to help the cause. First of all, I didn't even know she was wearing any (an embarrassing oversight on my part). But get this, apparently pantyhose are a great temporary fix as far as broken fan belts are concerned (learning is fun).

While handing over her pantyhose, oh, I would just like to quickly point out that the camera angles used while she removed her tights were wonderfully perverted (mind you, not as wonderfully perverted as the barbed-wire fence scene, but w.p., nonetheless). Okay, where was I? Oh yeah, the pantyhose hand off. Giving the driver her tights, she returns to where she left her jean shorts (on top of the roof of the car), only to find that they have vanished. After some mild to moderate investigating (by the way, her lack of underwear and pubic hair was causing her Polish undercarriage to get chilly), she discovers that her jean shorts are underneath the car. Located in a hard reach spot (preventing an easy crouch and grab), Magda must immerse herself in the leafy muck to retrieve her beloved jean shorts. Not wanting to ruin yet another article of clothing, she doffs her off-the-shoulder top and gets down to the business at hand.

Sporting the longest legs in all of Radomsko County, the gorgeous Eliza Borecka gives my favourite performance out of the film's three main actresses. Whether she was clumsily dropping cigarettes in train station lobbies, clawing at her hair or hopping barbed-wire fences in the buff, Panna Borecka exuded a quality that set her apart from her naked peers. The naturalness of her body (while her organic structure seemed unprocessed, the majority of the "actresses" appear to had their breasts surgically augmented) combined with the unnatural manner in which she moved (every gesture was awkward and self-conscious) created an aura around her that was decidedly off-kilter.

Creating an atmosphere that felt weirdly surreal at times, Fantom Kiler is an odd mishmash of Café Flesh, Blood and Black Lace, and an undervalued Polish porno. The latter two are obvious because of the appearance of the killer (a fedora-wearing assailant in a white mask) and the sheer abundance of naked Polish women. However, I mentioned the Rinse Dream classic because of its abnormal temperament (the whole thing looks it was filmed in a smoke-filled warehouse in Sheffield). Sure, I'm not a big fan of watching women being stabbed in odd places with knives, drills, spoons, broom handles and chisels (even though it's not as graphic as it sounds), but the techno-industrial soundtrack, surplus of jean shorts, bizarre dialogue, and scintillating encounters with barbed-wire fences were enough to make me overlook its shortcomings.

...