The Toolbox Murders (Dennis Donnelly, 1978)

For all intents and purposes, you can pretty much stop watching The Toolbox Murders at around the twenty-eight minute mark. Why is that, you ask? Well, other than the scene that involves a creepy/deranged Cameron Mitchell sucking on a lollipop while a bound and gagged Pamelyn Ferdin looks on in tear-stained horror, there's nothing much to cling to as far as drama goes. Oh, who am I kidding? I have no interest in drama. The problem is, no one is slaughtered after the twenty-eight minute mark. I know, that sounds like a terrible thing to say. But let's be honest, most people don't watch films with the titles like, "The Toolbox Murders," for the out of left field plot twists. No, what they want to see is attractive women, preferably one's that are on the cusp of being scantily clad, murdered with items found in your average toolbox. Since you're being honest, why don't you tell them the real reason you were upset with the direction this film took. Okay, fine. Now, I don't know what the consensus is regarding the legacy of this film, but I think most people–and by "people" I mean perverts–will agree that without the presence of the lovely Kelly Nichols (a.k.a. Marianne Walter) this film would have been a tedious slog indeed. Think about it. Imagine if this film, directed by Dennis Donnelly, didn't have the close-quarter murder sequence where a naked Kelly Nichols tries to rebuff the unfriendly advances of a nail gun-wielding maniac in a ski mask. Pretty frightening, right? You could say the reason nothing came close to matching the sheer awesomeness of the Kelly Nichols sequence was because the bar had been set too high. In other words, there was no way they could top that scene, so why even bother trying?

  

The latter scenes will be very appealing to those who have a thing for bondage and domination, as the film features many shots of Pamelyn Ferdin tied to a bed. However, since I pretend to not subscribe to that particular kink, I can't endorse these scenes with the fullness of my heart. No, what I think I'm going to have to do is cover the events of the first thirty or so minutes, while making the occasional remark related to what occurs afterward. Which, like I said, isn't that interesting.

Since I've decided to treat The Toolbox Murders like were a short film, that means I could end up going on and on about, oh, let's say, the shape of Kelly Nichols' soap dish. But let's hope it doesn't come to that.

Is it okay if I tell everyone that the opening scene reminded me of Night Moves? That depends. For starters, what is "Night Moves"? Well, you might know it as "Night Walk," but when I watched the "show" it was called "Night Moves." Anyway...Wait, why did you put the word "show" in quotes? That's because Night Moves wasn't really a "show," it just something that was on television. As I was saying, Night Moves was a "show" that Global TV aired from 2am to 5am on weekdays. Its premise was simple: a point of view tour of Toronto after dark set to jazz music that was apparently filmed some time in 1986. And you watched this? Yep. And get this, I did so while completely sober. I'll wait a few seconds for the gasps to subside. 1, 2, 3. So, yeah, the opening of The Toolbox Murders reminded me of Night Moves.

A mysterious figure is making his way through an L.A. neighbourhood in a large automobile, when, all of a sudden, we're treated to a flashback detailing the aftermath of a deadly car accident. Flopping out of the wrecked car is the lifeless corpse of Kathy Kingsley, a teenager who had her whole life ahead of her; or maybe she didn't, what do I know. Either way, she's dead, and her father, Vance Kingsley (Cameron Mitchell), blames society for what happened to her. Egged on by one of them radio preachers, Vance shows up at El Patio del Sequoia, a large apartment complex, with an equally large toolbox. Don't tell me. Oh, I'm telling you.

When he enters the apartment of Mrs. Andrews (Faith McSwain), a drunk, divorced floozie with a thing for country music, we're shocked to find out that she seems to know the man carrying the large toolbox. And not only that, she's doesn't run screaming when he pulls a drill out of his large toolbox. Her blue bathrobe is no match for his drill, and neither is her skin, as it tears through both with an alarming ease; they don't call them power drills for nothing.

After putting the finishes touches on Mrs. Andrews, Vance puts on his trademark ski mask. Hold on, if it's his trademark, then why wasn't he wearing it when he dispatched Mrs. Andrews? I guess he didn't want to arouse suspicion. Nevertheless, he's not done this evening. And judging by the amount of time we spend with her as she goes about her routine, I would say Debra (Marciee Drake), or "Debbie," as her girlfriend likes to call her, is next on Vance's hit list.

Just as I was about to question Debra's decision to step into the shower with her clothes on, Vance knocks her unconscious and drags her into the nearby stairwell. Before I continue, the reason Debra stepped into the shower with her clothes on was in order to get a shot of Debra with her top off. Still, I don't know why she couldn't have just turned the water off from outside the shower? I mean, if you're worried about getting your shirt sleeves wet, simply roll them up, baby. I don't think you heard me. This was done for sole purpose of us giving us a glimpse of Debra's naked breasts. Are naked breasts that important that they would make a semi-intelligent character behave in such an illogical manner? Yes. Yes they are. Good to know.

As Debra lies dead on the floor, the back of her head bashed in with a hammer, next to her dead girlfriend Maria (Evelyn Guerro), her guts stabbed with a screwdriver, Vance stares menacingly out the window at the apartments belonging to Dee Ann (Kelly Nichols) and Laurie Ballard (Pamelyn Ferdin), two young women who live decidedly different lifestyles. Nonetheless, both will, if the staring is any indication, end up being the target of Vance's next foray  to El Patio del Sequoia.

Did you happen to notice the last name of Pamelyn Ferdin's character? Yeah, it's Ballard. Like author J.G. Ballard. Where are you going with this? Don't you see, Vance's daughter was killed in a car accident. And one of J.G. Ballard's most famous books is called "Crash." Didn't you think the flashback sequence pertaining to Kathy's accident was a tad on the erotic side. No? Well I did. Anyway, car crash fetishism aside, Vance decides that he wants Laurie Ballard to be his new daughter. You mean he doesn't want to shoot her through the head with a nail gun? No, he's saving that tool for someone extra special.

If you thought Vance had problems with a drunk milf and a couple of closeted lesbians, wait until he meets Dee Ann, a chronic masturbator/exhibitionist with pillowy lips, his ski mask will probably burst into flames. Unfortunately for Dee Ann, Vance's ski mask doesn't burst into flames. Thankfully for us, however, we're treated to one of the greatest slasher film set pieces in movie history.

Clocking in at around eight minutes long, the sequence that pits Vance, who is wielding a battery operated nail gun (one that can apparently penetrate concrete), vs. Dee Ann, who is wielding nothing but her pert tits, is the stuff of horror legend. Why is that, you ask? Well, for one thing, Cameron Mitchell and Kelly Nichols are fully committed to the scene. In other words, no one half asses it. On top of that, the nail gun is probably one of the worst horror weapons currently on the market. Sure, it's basically no different than your average gun, but there's something about it that just doesn't sit right; it shoots nails...through concrete.

In the middle of washing her knees in the bath, Dee Ann, who is listening to the aptly titled "Pretty Lady" by George Deaton on the radio, begins to rub her soaking vagina. After awhile, it's obvious that Dee Ann is no longer "taking a bath." As Dee Ann is busy pleasuring herself, Vance enters her apartment. Standing in the doorway of her bathroom, Vance points his nail gun at Dee Ann. Jumping from the tub like a bolt of lightening, Dee Ann makes a run for it.

The dichotomy between the two combatants is rather striking. Whereas Dee Ann, minus a few stray bits of soap, is completely naked, every inch of Vance is covered with some sort of article of clothing. This gives the scene an extra layer of unpleasantness it didn't really need. Given the unfair nature of the fight, Vance eventually comes out on top. Yet, even Kelly Nichols' final moments are drenched in awesomeness.

Well, I'm afraid that's it. I know, we're only twenty-eight minutes into this thing, but you're not going to find anything that comes close to topping the sight of a bloodied Kelly Nichols leaning against a wall that boasts a poster of...Kelly Nichols!

The film soon morphs into a forced confinement movie, as Laurie Ballard is kidnapped by Vance while enjoying a Diet Pepsi. Now, the detective in charge of the case, a Det. Jamison (Tim Donnelly), will tell you that Laurie was enjoying a Pepsi when she was kidnapped. But it was clearly a Diet Pepsi. What's my point? My point is this Jamison fella isn't a very good detective. Someone else who probably realized that Det. Jamison wasn't up to the task was Laurie's brother, Joey Ballard (Nicholas Beauvy), who starts own investigation along with his friend, Kent Kingsley (Wesley Eure). And yes, I'm aware that Kent has the same exact last name as Vance. Nonetheless, many yawns are expelled whenever Joey and Kent are onscreen.

If I were to single out a scene worth checking out after the twenty-eight minute mark, it would have to be the one where Cameron Mitchell enters Laurie's new room singing, "L-o-double l-i-p-o-p spells lollipop." Railing against the evils of the world while sucking on a lollipop, Cameron Mitchell's monologue while a bound and gagged Pamelyn Ferdin listens is pretty chilling stuff. I love the way he says "unnatural" three times in quick succession. Not to be out done, Pamelyn Ferdin describes heaven as a purple lollipop. Which makes perfect sense given the fact her psyche has been inundated with lollipop-related imagery over the course of the last five or six minutes. In fact, I was dying to suck a lollipop after the film was over. But don't worry, I didn't succumb to my craving, and my twenty year streak of no lollipops remained in tact.

video uploaded by DIOTD2008

Corruption (Roger Watkins, 1984)

Blue stockings, red stockings, black stockings. Is there any significance to the order in which the stocking-clad women who greet a confused businessman in the ultra-creepy, ultra-weird Corruption? Why do blue stockings come before red stockings? And why do black stockings come last? Is the colour blue meant to represent something? Maybe the colour was used to give the scene a sort of a cool, detached flavour. In other words, you can looking at my legs encased in blue hold-up stockings, but don't you dare touch them. Yeah, that makes sense, as the next pair of nylon-clad legs are sheathed in red stockings. And we all know that red represents fire, the complete opposite of cool. What about black? Good question. What does black mean? Hey, sorry to interrupt this nylon-based chromatic dissertation you having with yourself, but isn't this kind of movie you're supposed to masturbate to? First of all, I wouldn't call what I was doing a "dissertation," they're way longer than a few sentences strung together; incoherent blather would be a more apt description. And secondly, "masturbate to"? Don't be vulgar. This film was made by Roger Watkins (The Last House on Dead End Street), one of the few visionaries working in the consecrated cesspool that is x-rated cinema. You don't masturbate to his films, you clasp your hands by your chin and nod ever-so slightly as you soak in the artistry. Nevertheless, getting back to my original point, there is definitely a hidden meaning behind the colours of the stockings. I mean, there has to be. And get this, the colour of the lingerie matches the walls as well. Don't tell me, is this one of those flicks where a character goes from room to room, having sex with scantily clad women along the way? It is, isn't it?
 

 

One of the pleasures of watching an x-rated film that was clearly made by an artist, and make no mistake, Roger Watkins is an artist, is picking out all the subtle details that the raincoat crowd would surely miss. Oh, that reminds me. One of the primary reasons I responded so positively to Corruption, besides the fact that the film features the pleasing shape that is Tish Ambrose's ass, was the fact that the so-called "raincoat crowd" (a.k.a. dedicated patrons of erotic movie houses) probably despised this film. And, no. It's not because they dislike things are awesome. Mainly because a pussy isn't penetrated by a penis until we're well into the production. Oh, sure, fingers and tongues come close on several occasions to hitting vaginal pay dirt in the early going. But the raincoat crowd is going to need to see a lot more than a slight labia dusting to achieve the liquid-based satisfaction they so wantonly crave.
 

 

And they're definitely not going to get it by watching the opening scene, as Mr. Williams (Jamie Gillis) tries to reassure a seated Mr. Franklin (Michael Gaunt, a.k.a. Larry the Lineman from A Woman's Torment) that he "believes in business." From the looks of it, Mr. Williams was given something by Mr. Franklin and his associates, and they seem to expect something in return. What it is they want from Mr. Williams exactly isn't quite clear. But I'm guessing it involves power. And what represented power during the 1980s? That's right, a nondescript briefcase. It doesn't matter what's in it, just as along as you're holding one.   
 

 

You know how I said that Mr. Franklin has "associates"? Well, it would seem that Mr. Williams has some as well. And one of these "associates" is entering a mysterious building while electronic music throbs on the soundtrack. The music heard during the build up to this scene sounds like it's from The Thing, but I'm not 100% sure about that. Anyway, this "associate," who is probably more of an errand boy that an associate, is actually a man called Alan (George Payne), and he's about to go on a strange erotic trip.
 

 

In order to go on this "strange erotic trip," he must first get past the "person behind the desk," a.k.a. "woman at desk." Played by Samantha Fox ("Lisa" from Her Name Was Lisa), the woman behind the desk confuses Alan with cryptic language. You'll notice that Samantha Fox is reading Cosima Wagner's Diaries 1878-1883. Which makes perfect sense since Roger Watkins'  porn nom de plume is Richard Mahler, an amalgamation of the names of classical composers Richard Wagner and Gustav Mahler. Well, enough about that, Alan is about to enter the first room. Why is he going in there? The woman behind the desk told him that if he wants what he's looking for, he's going to have to enter that room to get it. Okay, that sounds simple enough. Oh, you're so naive. I'm talking about Alan, not you, by the way.
 

 

Told immediately to sit down, Alan is greeted by the "Woman in Blue" (Tanya Lawson). And by "greeted." I mean she proudly flaunts her hairy pussy (which is beautifully framed by a pair of blue stockings) with much fanfare. Itching to show off her vagina in a more flattering light, the "Woman in Blue" sits down on a blue chair and spreads her legs (a surefire way to get your genitals more word of mouth). Instructing him to "do nothing," the "Woman in Blue" pulls down the breast-covering mechanism attached to her blue corset and begins playing with her nipples. When she's done doing that, she beckons him to smell her pussy; that's right, smell. When she feels that he has experienced everything her cunt has to offer odor-wise, the "Woman in Blue" pushes him away, and proceeds to finger herself for an extended period of time.
 

 

If you're confused by what just happened, you're not alone, as Alan seems more perplexed than ever. After the extended period of time I alluded to earlier runs out, the "Woman in Blue" informs Alan that what he's looking for is beyond that door. You mean? Yep, another room, and another colour-coordinated lingerie-enthusiast to contend with. This time it's a woman in red lingerie, oh, let's call her the "Woman in Red" (Marilyn Gee), who greets Alan. However, unlike the "Woman in Blue," the "Woman in Red" wants Alan to do more than smell her pussy. You guessed it, she wants him to eat it.
 

 

Sliding off her red panties in a gingerly fashion (she obviously doesn't want to disrupt the structural integrity of her equally red stockings), Alan seems to relish this opportunity to get his face smeared with vaginal wetness. His relish is rewarded when she puts his cock (the male equivalent of a pussy) in her mouth. Of course, she doesn't just leave it in there, she removes it every so often, like she was sucking on a Popsicle. As she is, as the kids like to say, "blowing him," Roger Watkins gets in touch with his inner Jess Franco by giving us a gratuitous leg pan. Just as he's about to deposit his load skyward, or downward, depending on the viscosity of his wad, the "Woman in Red" removes his cock, denying him the opportunity to spew his seed. What are you trying to say? Let me put this way, there will be no clean up necessary in the red room on this day.    
 

 

Even though the women who have greeted Alan so far have been alluring in terms of sex appeal, nothing could have prepared me for the shapely perfection that is Tish Ambrose's pale ass. If that wasn't enough, the scene where Alan meets the "Woman in Black" (Tish Ambrose) starts off with a top-notch synth flourish. Up there with the likes of Rinse Dream and Gregory Dark, Alan's "confrontation" with the "Woman in Black" is as dark and twisted as porn can get it. Oh, don't get me wrong, the sex itself is pretty straightforward. It's that the atmosphere is so off-kilter. Lounging in black stockings, the "Woman in Black" asks if Alan is ready to renounce love. See what I mean? There's no love in pornography.
 

 

In the 1980s, power was more important than love, so Alan has no trouble whatsoever renouncing it. In return for renouncing love, Alan is allowed to penetrate the "Woman in Black" with his long suffering penis. Before he does that, however, he removes her black panties, in a gingerly fashion, of course, and throws his face in the general direction of her clitoris. If you listen carefully, you can hear a mass sigh of relief fall over the audience when Alan's penis finally enters her vagina. In my mind, waiting eighteen minutes doesn't seem that long a time to wait for a penis to be inserted into a vagina. But to the raincoat crowd, it must have seemed like an eternity.  
 

 

As Alan plows into the "Woman in Black" doggy style (the blackness of her stocking's garters tear across her ashen thighs like crumpled bolts of polyester lightning with every thrust), it occurs to me that I need more Tish Ambrose in my cinematic life. Everything from her wide, expressive eyes to the birthmark on her left breast (they're nature's tattoos) was appealing. Nearing the end of his thrusting capacity, the "Women in Black" tells Alan, "Don't cum inside me!" After dispensing his future stain across her ample backside, she curtly instructs him to leave. Ending up back where he started, Alan notices a briefcase sitting on Samantha Fox's desk.   
 

 

Meanwhile, Mr. Williams, the guy who sent Alan on that crazy errand in this first place, is at home with his wife Doreen (Tiffany Clark). Since this film is technically a pornographic film, Jamie Gillis and Tiffany Clark have sex, but not before exchanging some esoteric dialogue. In order to placate said esoteric dialogue, a scene where Mr. Williams watches (through a crack in the door) his wife's younger sister, Felicia (Kelly Nichols), masturbate on her bed in purple panties and white hold-up stockings. While the scene with Felicia feels superfluous, it actually sets up her character and the voyeurism of the next few scenes rather nicely.
 

 

When Mr. Williams finds out what Alan has done (the contents of the briefcase are his), he heads down to a local bar to ask his half-brother, Larry (Bobby Astyr), for help. In keeping with the film's odd tone, the bar is a sort of a cross between the Bang Bang Bar in Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me and the joint from Café Flesh. Dancing on a stage is, to quote Larry, "a half-wasted broad shaking her ass," named...actually, she doesn't have a name. Well, despite that, she's played by Nicole Bernard, and she continues to dance as Mr. Williams and Larry discuss the whereabouts of Alan.  

 

Similar to the scenes where Alan goes from room to room, Larry takes Mr. Williams to a subterranean hallway that contains three red doors. Now, what lies behind these is not anyone's guess, as each door is equipped a reverse peephole. Telling Mr. Williams that he must watch what takes place behind each door before they can continue, the frustrated businessman is subjected to bathroom lesbianism (a wonderfully bruised Alexis X and Sabrina Vale); dungeon-based sadomasochism, a dominatrix in fishnet stockings (Melissa Strong) demands that a man in a leather mask lick her boots; and, believe or not, necrophilia. While the lesbianism behind door number one is a pleasant diversion, what Mr. Williams sees through the other two doors will cause him quite a bit of distress.
 

 

A true work of subversive art, Corruption, with its total and utter disregard for the needs and wants of your pathetic genitals, is a rare of example of what porn can become if put in the hands of a thoughtful director. On top of that, the acting by Jamie Gillis, Samantha Fox, Bobby Astyr, Michael Gaunt, and Vanessa del Rio (who shows up near the end of the film) is excellent across the board. I would compliment Tish Ambrose on her acting as well, but I was too busy admiring the smoothness of her backside to notice her acting. Just kidding, her lines are read with just the right amount of forcefulness.

video uploaded by permateen