Short Takes: ‘The Female Bunch’ (1971) ★★

Poor Sandy (Nesa Renet). First, she’s left at the altar by her fiancée, and then the third-rate country singer she’s been boning on the rebound dumps her for that redhead who’s always sitting in the front row. What’s a girl to do? Swallow a bunch of sleeping pills, of course. She’s revived just in time by her girlfriend, Vegas go-go dancer Libby (Regina Carrol). Libby convinces Sandy that the best way to escape her man troubles isn’t with pills but by joining The Female Bunch, a group of young women living on a ranch where no men are allowed (an exception is made for Lon Chaney Jr., but he’s harmless, which is more than can be said for some of the real-life residents of the ranch location). To join, Sandy must allow herself to be buried alive for a few minutes, which is scary but still easier than joining the Kappas.

The ranch is run by Grace (Jennifer Bishop), a whip-wielding heroin addict. Sure, Grace may be a bitch, but she does take the girls along on drug runs to Mexico, allowing them to fuck the men at the bar while she meets with her connection. One of those men at the bar is Bill (Russ Tamblyn, better known today as Amber’s dad), who makes the mistake of accepting an invitation to visit one of the girls at the ranch, getting branded on his forehead for his trouble. He didn’t even get off first! Bill makes an even bigger mistake when he comes back for revenge. With shit getting real, Sandy reconsiders her membership to this gang of sexy, horseback riding criminals, but escaping might result in her getting buried for good.

The Female Bunch was directed by Al Adamson, so it goes without saying that it’s bad (Al had some help from John Cardos, but Cardos’ involvement doesn’t affect the movie’s quality one way or the other). That said, it’s not one of Adamson’s worst. Sure, the storytelling is sloppy and there’s only a passing concern for continuity and keeping shots in focus, but The Female Bunch manages to scrape by on sheer enthusiasm alone. Few of the females in this bunch can act, but that doesn’t stop them from biting into their bad-girl roles.

One of the females in that bunch who deserves special mention is trans actress Aleshia Brevard (billed as A’lesha Lee), who plays Sadie. Aleshia is generally overlooked by reviewers, most dwelling on how sad it is that this was Chaney’s last film. Hard to believe, given that once you see Brevard it’s pretty hard to forget her. Not only does Aleshia stand a foot taller than her co-stars, gaining extra height from big, flaming red bouffant (only Adamson's wife Regina Carrol’s hair is bigger), her performance is bigger, too. The way she channels her drag queen roots in portraying Sadie had me wishing she’d been made leader of The Female Bunch instead of Bishop. It would certainly be a more interesting movie if she had.

I read Aleshia’s first autobiography when it came out in 2001 (she published a follow-up shortly before her death in 2015) and was excited to finally see her in action. She may not have gotten many good roles (The Love God? and The Man with Bogart’s Face are two of Aleshia’s bigger films), but I’d like to think her work in exploitation films helped pave the way so trans actors like Laverne Cox could get more significant parts today. Though Aleshia is no longer with us, her website is still active and worth a visit for the photos alone.

Short Takes: 'The Hater' (2020) ★★★

Director Jan Komasa’s The Hater (Sala samobójców. Hejte) is about a young Polish man who finds success by using social media to foment hate and paranoia. Which, too soon?

Making it a little easier to watch is the decision to tell the story more as a slow-burn, semi-satirical thriller than a drama about far-right politics. Tomasz (Maciej Musialowski), the titular hater, begins his journey to becoming a Machiavellian master of media manipulation from a place of failure. He’s kicked out of law school for plagiarism, then has his heart broken when he learns what his childhood crush Gabi (Vanessa Aleksander) really thinks about him. The latter happens via some DIY electronic eavesdropping, which should teach Tomasz a lesson. It does, but it’s the wrong one.

Tomasz talks his way into a job at an ethics-averse PR firm, quickly rising through the ranks when he launches a successful smear campaign against a client’s rival, to the delight of his boss Beata (Agata Kulesza), who cackles maniacally watching the rival’s tearful apology video, and the ire of her abusive asshole right-hand Kamil (Piotr Biedron). Tomasz is then tasked with getting dirt on Pawel Runicki (Maciej Stuhr), a progressive candidate in Warsaw’s mayoral race (you can see Tomasz’s ears perk up when he’s told bugging offices isn’t off the table). He outs Runicki as a homosexual, but that causes only a momentary dip in the candidate’s numbers. Far more successful are Tomasz’s xenophobic and Islamophobic posts, of which we’re all too familiar. But Tomasz isn’t content to just fan the flames; he wants to cause an explosion, and so he recruits Guzek (Adam Gradowski), a neck beard who vlogs about his love of guns and hatred of immigrants, to be his detonator.

The Hater is a sequel to Komasa’s 2011 film Suicide Room. I haven’t seen it yet, but from what I’ve read it’s also a story about the evils of social media, only focusing on one of its victims. In The Hater, Tomasz is on the other side, doing what he does for no greater reason than the thrill of stirring shit up, regardless of the politics (he has no qualms about playing both sides). He’s not a white supremacist, he’s a budding sociopath. Musialowski’s performance as Tomasz keeps us guessing by showing us occasional flashes of empathy or fear, but by the movie’s end he’s gone full Patrick Bateman—or Damien.

The movie has its weaknesses. Much of Mateusz Pacewicz’s script is a bit too on-the-nose, as if it is illustrating key points culled from a Polityka article examining the forces behind democracy’s decline, with some characterizations being less satirical than full-on parody (the mustache-twirling villainy of Beata and Kamil; Gabi’s liberal elite parents). Luckily, Komasa and his cast manage to keep the story grounded, even during some of its more far-fetched moments. The Hater is still a good movie, it’s just not a good time.

Short Takes: 'Something Weird' (1967) ★ 1/2

I have the same co-dependent relationship with Herschell Gordon Lewis’ work that I have with Jess Franco’s: I know he’ll probably let me down, but I keep coming back because he showed me a good time once or twice. I came to my senses years ago with Franco (OK, I watched Bloody Moon last year, but what can I say? I’m weak), but I keep holding out hope that the next one of Lewis’ movies I watch will be a diamond in the rough like Suburban Roulette or Scum of the Earth or will at least equal the awful/awesomeness of The Blood Trilogy. It was this hope that led me to watch Lewis’ 1967 movie Something Weird.

The movie gets off to a haphazard start, opening with the murder of a woman by an unseen assailant, then jumping to a martial arts lesson in which the student and the teacher—both middled-aged white guys—demonstrate they still have a lot to learn. Then the martial arts student, Alex (wooden William Brooker), is about to get busy with a young lady when the movie smash cuts to a scene in which engineer Mitch (smarmy Tony McCabe) is electrocuted. Something Weird decides to stay with Mitch for a while, revealing that though the near-fatal jolt of electricity scarred his face beyond the repair of plastic surgeons, Mitch did get some psychic powers in the bargain. Mitch doesn’t seem to give two shits about his new power, squandering it by telling fortunes at $2 a pop.

Enter “the Hag” (Maudite Arums), who claims to have powers of her own: if he agrees to become her lover, she can restore Mitch’s face. Though the pair have the hammiest-member-of-the-high-school-drama club acting style in common, Mitch doesn’t think he can get it up for a woman with a face covered in green makeup and spitball warts. He changes his mind when he discovers that, after a forced kiss, the Hag transforms into a beautiful, vacant blonde named Ellen (Elizabeth Lee, who might be a sentient department store mannequin).

With his face now free of papier mâché scars and Ellen by his side, Mitch starts exploiting his special talent to the fullest by making a series of TV appearances, which attracts the attention of FBI agent Alex. You remember Alex, from earlier in the movie? Yes, that’s right, the failing judo student. (Or was it karate? It doesn’t matter.) Alex is trying to solve a series of grisly murders (also from the film’s beginning) and thinks someone with Mitch’s abilities might be able to help him in his investigation. To help Mitch, he offers the electric engineer-turned-psychic some chemical help: “What I have here is a drug, called LSD. Perhaps you’ve heard of it.” Mitch's trip and that murder investigation are put on hold, however, when Alex meets Ellen. Fuck getting a killer off the streets, Alex has got a hard-on!

Something Weird has its moments, including a WTF sequence when Alex is attacked by his own bedding, the camera capturing the dental floss used to manipulate the homicidal blanket, and some of Lewis’ signature gore, including a wig stand woman’s head set on fire. Unfortunately, while Something Weird lives up to its title, much of it also pretty fucking boring, having more in common with She-Devils on Wheels than Two Thousand Maniacs. The barely comprehensible story might be from the mind of screenwriter James F. Hurley, but this is very much an HGL movie. I could maybe forgive the bad acting and static camera work if I were able to overcome the overwhelming ennui felt watching it. It’s not the worst of Lewis’ movies I’ve seen so far, but that’s not saying much. At the end of the day, you’d do better to check out the video company that took its name and logo from Something Weird than watch the actual movie.

Short Takes: 'The Hawk and the Dove' (1981) ★★ 1/2

If you like looking at teenaged titties and listening to Neil Diamond, this is the movie for you!

The Hawk and the Dove (or Il falco e la colomba) is a romantic melodrama starring Fabio Testi as Michel, a low-level politician who, after being attacked by protestors, is tended to by Viva (Lara Wendel), a beautiful young model. Their interaction is brief, but since Viva’s young (very young, actually, but we’ll get to that later) and hot, Michel is immediately transfixed. He later encounters her in a restaurant (cue Neil Diamond’s “September Morn”) but is cockblocked by her sleazy boyfriend (Cannibal Ferox’s Danilo Mattei). Of course, Michel is married, but he’s not going to let that stand in his way. Besides, his wife Rita (Simonetta Stefanelli), the daughter of a prominent senator, is an emasculating bitch, so who can blame him for pursuing a side piece? The pair finally hookup (reprise “September Morn”), only for Michel’s fantasy of Viva to be shattered when he discovers she’s a heroin addict.

There is only one thing Michel can do: save Viva from herself. He checks her into rehab, and after her treatment Michel leaves his wife and the pair move in together. But they’re not even settled into their happily ever after (“September morn…we danced until the night became a brand new day…”) before Viva’s sleazy ex-boyfriend/dealer pays a visit, sending Viva and the movie into a rapid downward spiral.

The Hawk and the Dove is written and directed by Fabrizio Lori, and while he does fine in both of those roles, the movie never really rises above being just OK. Everything seems just a little forced, especially when the drama is cranked up to 11 for the depressing finale. It’s yet another movie that’s aimed for a female audience yet filmed for the male gaze (and definitely not male gays). Wendel’s body is showcased prominently in almost every scene she’s in. Even when she’s clothed her breasts are barely covered. Which, hey, I get it, she’s beautiful. She was also only 15 when she made this movie, and a body double wasn’t used for the nude scenes. I know, I know—it was a different time, and Europeans aren’t as stodgy as Americans when it comes to nudity. Still, unless you’re Josh Duggar or Jared Fogle, it’s hard not to feel a little icky watching a nude 15-year-old astride a costar 25 years her senior.

The movie’s also not helped by its English dubbing, which undermines all the actors involved (Wendel has a big dramatic breakdown scene that’s rendered laughable by the voice actor’s let’s-get-this-over-with line reading). I know it’s pointless to bitch about the dubbing since practically all Italian movies at this time were dubbed, but at least when dubbed in Italian the performances sound more authentic.

The Hawk and the Dove is a mildly interesting melodrama, but one you’re likely to forget a day or two after seeing it. Neil Diamond’s “September Morn,” however, will be stuck in your head for-fucking-ever!

Short Takes: 'Shallow Grave' (1987) ★★ 1/2

I remember seeing this title at one of the video stores I frequented in the early ’90s when I lived in Tennessee. Though mildly curious, I never rented it, dismissing it as just one more lazy cash-grab on the slasher trash heap. Decades later Shallow Grave ended up on Tubi, as lazy cash-grabs so often do, and since streaming has made me a much less discerning movie consumer, I decided to give it a watch. And, whadda you know, it’s not half bad.

Sue Ellen (Lisa Stahl), Patty (Carol Cadby), Rose (Donna Baltron) and Cindy (Just Kelly – no, really), four misbehaving students at a Catholic women’s college up North, take a road trip down to Fort Lauderdale. Their plans for beachside debauchery—including hooking up with the two cute guys they met on the road—take a detour when a flat tire strands the women in Medley, Georgia (Rose took out the spare for more luggage room, because girls, amiright?) What should be a temporary delay becomes a fight to stay alive when Sue Ellen witnesses Medley’s sheriff (Tony March, whose bare chest is photographed more admiringly than his female co-stars’) murder his side piece, Angie.

Shallow Grave is not so much a slasher as it is a hicksploitation thriller. Before you get to the good parts, though, you must make it through the first twenty minutes, which play like a lamer sequel to producer Allan Carr’s tacky Where the Boys Are remake. You’ll be looking forward to seeing the girls get terrorized by the time they reach Georgia, if not rooting for their demise. My sympathies increased as the characters—those that survive, at least—developed. This character growth, as well as the actors’ above-average performances, made the bleak ending even more impactful. There’s even a bit of racial commentary (inadvertent, I’m sure) when the girls are afraid to enter a barbecue joint with a largely Black customer base but dismiss the mostly white residents of Medley as harmless yokels.

Shallow Grave is no hidden gem—it’s got nothing on that other Shallow Grave—but it’s better than you’d expect, and certainly better than anyone would have expected from the director of Sorceress II: The Temptress. Besides, you could make worse choices on Tubi.

Short Takes: 'El mirón' (1977) ★★

Roman (Héctor Alterio), a successful architect married to the beautiful—and much younger—Elena (Alexandra Bastedo), should have little to complain about. Yet Roman is unhappy, for what turns him on is watching Elena have sex with other men. But as much as Elena wants to fulfill her husband’s voyeuristic fantasies, she just can’t get into Roman’s kink. It turns out, however, that Elena is only resistant to fooling around with the men her husband chooses for her. She’s much more open to extramarital play when she attracts the attention of her neighbor’s hot young lover (Pep Munné).

El mirón (a.k.a. The Voyeur) has the potential to be a twisted psychosexual drama and given that it’s written and directed by José Ramon Larraz one should expect it to be quite twisted indeed. But El mirón wasn’t directed by Vampyres or Black Candles Larraz. No, it was directed by the Larraz who gave us La muerte incierta and Symptoms, which is to say that if you’re expecting lots of nudity, graphic sex and unapologetic sleaze, you won’t find those things here. Instead, we have a meditative arthouse drama about a middle-aged man torn between being aroused watching his wife fuck middle-aged men and being insanely jealous when she, um, cheats (?) on him with a sexy younger man.

And it still might have worked had Roman and Elena been more compelling characters or had Larraz followed through with some teases of a more violent climax. Instead, El mirón is only mildly engaging. That the scenes of Elena’s tense exchanges with her sourpuss mother-in-law (Aurora Rodondo) are more entertaining than any of the movie’s sex scenes should tell you all you need to know.

Short Takes: 'Al tropico del cancro' (1972) ★★★

Dr. Williams (spaghetti western star Anthony Steffan, who also has a story credit), chief surgeon at a Port au Prince hospital, as well as the city’s meat inspector (?), has created a new drug during his free time, and since that drug is a powerful hallucinogen and not a vaccine, everyone wants to get their hands on it. But the doctor has no reason to suspect his friend Fred (Gabriele Tinti, before he married—and started doing softcore sex flicks with—Laura Gemser) of having any motives beyond enjoying an exotic holiday with his wife Grace (Anita Strindberg). Fred, however, definitely suspects Grace of wanting to bump uglies with Williams. (Who would blame her? Not only is Steffan ruggedly handsome, but unlike Fred, he is not a raging asshole.)

This one was a pleasant surprise. True, there are better giallos out there, but I found El tropico del cancro (a.k.a. Tropic of Cancer or Death in Haiti) a lot of fun, with generous helpings of sex, violence and weirdness. Directors Giampaolo Lomi and Edoardo Mulargia make the most of their film’s location, juxtaposing the exotic glamor of the tourist spots with the poverty of the people who live there. The locals themselves seem to be little more than colorful background, however, performing voodoo rituals, serving drinks and, in the case of the young manservant for flamboyant businessman Mr. Peacock (Gordon Felio, giving us a Divine-out-of-drag performance before Divine was even a star), providing more intimate services, or so it’s heavily implied. El tropico del cancro isn’t worthy of either a NAACP or GLAAD award but considering the time in which this was made it isn’t nearly as problematic as I feared it might be.

The movie’s most notorious scene — the one reviewers on IMDb bring up the most, anyway — is when Grace is drugged by Stewart’s potent hallucinogen and embarks on a trip that has her fleeing a colony of tarantulas and running down a deep red hallway, wearing nothing but a sheer dressing gown, while naked Black men reach for her. The scene culminates with Grace losing her gown and stepping into the arms of a well-hung voodoo priest, a moment prominently featured in the poster. Some of the negative reviews I saw cited this scene as the movie’s nadir, but I suspect that might have more to do with sequence featuring a lot of penises. (Calm down, fanboys, this movie features plenty of tits, too.)  The sequence is kinda’ silly, but it’s also trippy and sexy and deliciously ’70s— it looks like porno chic perfume ad — so I found it to be one of the movie’s high points. Also, did I mention the scene features a lot of penises?

Short Takes: 'Delitto carnale' (1983) ★ 1/2

The amoral family of a wealthy man gathers prior to his funeral at the hotel he owned, but the next funeral any of them is likely to attend will be their own. So, might as well get laid!

This movie’s a.k.a.’s include Killing of the Flesh and Sex Crime, but it should be known as Drink, Fuck, Repeat, because that sums up about two-thirds of this sleazy giallo from director Caesar Canevari. As intriguing as that sounds—it was enough to get me to seek out a gray market copy—the actual movie is a slog. Save for some lesbianism and incest, the couplings are pretty much vanilla and very repetitive. One gets the feeling that most of the script just instructed actresses to walk into a room, take off their clothes and act hysterical until a fellow fully clothed actor falls on top of them. Oh, yeah, this is yet another softcore movie where sex only requires women to remove their clothes. Then again, only a couple actors — Marc Porel and poor man’s Franco Nero Vanni Materassi — piqued my prurient interests, and mildly at that. If you like staring at tits and vaginas, however, Delitto carnale has plenty of them (future porn star Moana Pozzi is one of the featured cast members). It’s an even worse giallo, with the murders not happening until well-past the movie’s halfway mark, as if Canevari suddenly decided he wanted to make a giallo instead of a sex film. If you like your giallos on the sleazy side, check out Giallo a Venezia or Play Motel instead. They’re not much better but at least they aren’t as boring. If you like looking at tits and vaginas, well, you know where to go.