Tag: psycho

Me, You, Madness

  By

★★
“American Psychette.”

I wanted to like this considerably more than I actually did.  The idea of a supremely self-aware female serial killer – not just comfortable in her psychoses, someone who actively revels in them? Colour me intrigued. Throw in any amount of eighties tunes, super-lush production design and photography, and this should have been right up my neon-lit alley. Yet, it very much runs out of steam. When perhaps the most memorable joke is an argument over the difference between a couch and a sofa… Yeah, there are some significant structural problems which need to have been addressed. 

The “heroine” (quotes used ironically) is hedge fund manager Catherine Black (Linton, also the writer), who has risen to the top with ferocious aggression. She has embraced her psychopathy, and in her beautifully appointed mansion, has multiple freezers full of dismembered bodies. Her next intended victim is Tyler Jones (Westwick), a con-man who is posing as an intended house-sitter. However, for the first time, Catherine finds herself unable to go through with her habitual slaughter, instead making an unexpected connection to the thief. Even after he absconds with one of her cars and a slew of her jewellery, part of her is still willing to forgive Tyler his trespasses, and brings him back by threatening to expose his previous crimes to the authorities. Yet will these new feelings of humanity and kindness be enough to overcome Catherine’s deep-seated and long-standing urges towards murder and cannibalism?

It appears this is Linton’s debut as both writer and director, and seems she bit off a bit more than she can chew. I think, in particular, it’s the script which is the issue. Crammed full of breaking the fourth wall and other advanced techniques, there’s no denying its ambition; unfortunately, Linton as writer doesn’t appear up to the task. Instead, she tries to run before she can walk, never managing to establish Catherine as a complex character. Indeed, it never puts enough effort into establishing her even as a murderous psychopath, until well after the point at which she has fallen for Tyler. That’s another problem, because the film doesn’t provide sufficient justification for thus: there’s precious little given to the audience that make us think, “I get what she sees in him,” rendering all that follows contrived and unconvincing.

While I certainly appreciated the nostalgic soundtrack, it does seem an odd choice given the contemporary setting – Linton was aged two when Blue Monday was originally released. Perhaps an older actress, such as a Naomi Watts or Catherine Zeta-Jones, would have been a better fit? But I guess, when you have decided you are going to be an actress, director and writer, and can find financing for it, then it’s full steam ahead. If much credit is due to her for seizing the opportunity, and there’s enough here to suggest a vision, it’s definitely too unpolished. She would likely be better off focusing on one area, rather than attempting to become a Jill of all trades.

Dir: Louise Linton 
Star: Louise Linton, Ed Westwick, Shuya Chang, Tyler Barnes

Braid

  By

★★½
“Uncomfortably numb”

For most films. I’ve usually got a fairly good idea of what is likely to be the final review grade, inside about 30 minutes. It may drift half a star up or down, but it’s relatively rare for there to be more variation than that. This would be one such case, which started off as underwhelming, went through a brief surge of “Oh, yeah – I get it!” in the middle, before returning to the mediocrity from whence it came. At various points, this could have been anywhere between ★½ and (although briefly) ★★★★. Well done, I guess?

It’s the story of two young women who are drug dealers: Petula (Waterhouse) and Tilda (Hay), though the former’s name is pronounced as “PET-chu-la” rather than “Pe-CHU-la. Which irritated me, for some reason. Anyway, a police raid leaves them eighty grand in the hole to their supplier. To fix this little issue, they resolve to visit and rob a strange little friend from their childhood, Daphne (Brewer). After the death of her parents, this thoroughly weird girl lives in a decrepit old mansion where there is, apparently, a safe full of cash, hidden somewhere on the property. Finding it will require Tilda and Petula to play along with Daphne’s very strange games of “Let’s pretend”. These are carried forward from their childhood days together, and the dealers will have to become Daphne’s child and a visiting doctor respectively.

As things progress, we gradually discover more about the trio’s earlier relationship. During that time, Daphne fell from a tree-house, perhaps a factor in her current idiosyncrasies, shall we say. But it also slowly becomes apparent that her guests may not be entirely stable either, especially after a cop (Cohen) comes calling at the house in search of them. The question of who is using who becomes increasingly blurred, and Daphne’s unbreakable house rules also start to look very ominous:  everyone must play, no outsiders are allowed, and nobody leaves. This is a world in which everything is uncertain, both for the characters and the viewer, and the dilapidated nature of the property reflects its owner’s grip on sanity.

At its worst, this is self-indulgent nonsense, in near-perpetual danger of vanishing up its own tree-house. At its best – probably the sequence backed by “Largo al factotum” from The Barber of Seville – it showcases some gorgeous cinematography and captures a glimpse into what experiencing being insane might feel like. The balance, unfortunately, is tilted toward the former, and it doesn’t help that there’s hardly a sympathetic angle to be found for any of the characters. I get the feeling there’s some deep symbolism intended here, such as each of the women being intended to represent aspects of a single personality, i.e. id, ego and superego. There may in reality be three girls, one or even none: perhaps the entire world in a fabrication of Daphne’s young mind after her accident. I don’t know. But, guess what? I find it kinda hard to care either.

Dir: Mitzi Peirone
Star: Madeline Brewer,  Imogen Waterhouse, Sarah Hay, Scott Cohen

She Wolf

  By

★★½
“The black-and-white widow.”

Turns out, interesting is not the same as good or entertaining. Who knew? If you watch this unaware, as I did, you are certainly going to be very, very confused initially. What’s important for you to know, is that the lead character is played by three completely different women (Lairana, Docampo and Ariza). This wasn’t because the first two died or anything: it’s a deliberate artistic choice, with the trio representing different aspects of her personality. It’s quite a trip, because they swap in and out between scenes as appropriate, or sometimes even during the same shot. There’s Lobo, the violent one; Rubia, the nymphomaniac; and Joven, who is shy and as close to normal as you’ll find here. You’ll understand why it took me a while to figure out what was going on.

Our “heroine” [or “heroines”?] is a serial killer, whose territory covers the streets and, in particular, the subway of Buenos Aires, the capital of Argentina. She preys on men, going back to their place and indulging in their sexual fantasies, before offing them with poison. [As the tag-line above suggests, I’d have said this was more the behaviour of a black widow than a she-wolf, though this is going off what I’ve seen on the Discovery Channel] But one of her targets – who almost gets her before she can get him – turns out to be a cop. Garcia He is hunting the serial killer – yet, not necessarily for justice, as there’s something creepily personal about his search. There’s also a young guy called Leo, living in her apartment building, for whom at least one of her personas begins to have feelings. And by that, I mean ones which do not involve his death.

This is certainly for mature audiences, with the sex scenes pulling almost no punches – some of the dialogue is perhaps more graphic than the images. However, it just goes to prove that sex is not intrinsically interesting (well, if you’re not taking part!), even when artfully photographed in moody black and white, as is almost exclusively the case here. Another issue is the lack of development. Until the final twenty minutes or so, once you’ve wrapped your mind around the basic ideas, not much more happens. Things perk up somewhat towards the end, with the three personalities starting to show up simultaneously, as they seem to battle for domination. Will Joven prove capable of retaining her innocence, or will she succumb to the dark desires of her other facets?

I must confess, I wasn’t particularly enthralled to find out. That’s probably a good thing, since the ending here is as inconclusive and ambivalent as everything which had preceded it. This would likely have made an amazing short film, with a very good idea at its core. Stretching the material out to feature length, however, leaves it perilously thin. It’s just not enough, with 80% or more feeling like empty padding.

Dir: Tamae Garateguy
Star: Mónica Lairana, Guadalupe Docampo, Luján Ariza, Edgardo Castro
a.k.a. Mujer Lobo

The Plagues of Breslau

  By

★★★★
“Siedem”

The above is the Polish for “seven”, and in the first half-hour, you’ll be forgiven for thinking that’s what you’re watching: a Polish knock-off of David Fincher’s Se7en. Homicide cop Helena Rus (Kożuchowska) is struggling to come to terms with life, after her boyfriend is killed by a drunk-driver and, for political reasons, the criminal is allowed to go free. A welcome distraction comes in the shape of a series of ritualistic murders: every day at 6 pm, a body turns up on the streets of Wroclaw. The victims have been killed in strange and unusual ways – the first, for example, is sewn inside a cow-hide, which shrinks as it dries, crushing the victim to death. Each has a word branded into their flesh, such as “Degenerate”.

To help her, a profiler is sent from the capital, Warsaw: the equally brusque Magda Drewniak (Widawska), who quickly identifies that the perpetrator is replicating the titular incidents – Wroclaw was previously known as Breslau. In those, the ruler cleaned up town by selecting a criminal each day for gruesome public execution. So far, so Se7en. But just as we were settling in comfortably, the film hurls an absolute doozy of a twist at the viewer, and from then on, all bets are off. It becomes less of a whodunnit, and more a whydunnit, with the killer having a very specific agenda, which might be considerably closer to Helena than is comfortable for her.

Director Vega was previously seen here with Pitbull: Tough Women and Women of Mafia, but has stepped up his game a notch with this. Not least, in the spectacularly grisly nature of proceedings, with some disturbingly realistic deaths and corpses: you will need a strong stomach for a number of moments. However, both Helena and Magda make for excellent characters. The former is perpetually soft-spoken, yet takes absolutely no shit from anyone, despite possessing arguably the worst hair-cut in cinema history. And Magda’s impeccable knowledge of subjects from Polish history to coma recovery, makes her a force to be reckoned with as well. However, they’re facing a killer who is always one step ahead of them, and whose plan will come right into police headquarters.

It ends up being a little Se7en and a little Dragon Tattoo, yet has more than enough of its own style and content to stand on its own terms. It does perhaps stretch belief in some of the elements: a couple of the killings feel like they would require a road-crew to assemble, rather than being the work of a single person. However, in Helena Rus, we’ve got one of the most uncompromising heroines to come out of the European noir scene, and I’d love to see more of her cases in future – even if the ending makes that… somewhat uncertain, shall we say. Just be prepared for a film which is short on genuinely likable characters, and long on carnage. In particular, I recommend having a shot of vodka at hand for the guillotine scene.

Dir: Patryk Vega
Star: Małgorzata Kożuchowska, Daria Widawska, Tomasz Oświeciński, Maria Dejmek

SheChotic

  By

★½
“You’ll need a break.”

Within about two minutes of starting this, I realized I had made a terrible mistake, and was watching something barely reaching the amateur level of film production. Still, I soldiered on – albeit for some loose definition of “soldiered” – until the bitter end, mostly so I could issue an informed warning about this to any prospective viewers. Maxine (Mitchell) is rather upset when she discovers her boyfriend, music video producer Lance (Watts) has been cheating on her with Lana (Bryant). Mind you, she’s clearly a bit unhinged already: for example, telling him she’s pregnant when she isn’t. So it’s not much of a surprise when her reaction to his two-timing is to kidnap Lance, tie him up in her basement and submit him to various indignities, along with seeking revenge on Lana. Which, apparently, includes sleeping with her father (Walker).

If this all sounds like completely ludicrous and implausible nonsense… I have done my job as a reviewer, because that’s exactly what it is, buttressed by poor audio quality, questionable directorial decisions (the conversation where the camera spins around the participants like a hyperactive house-fly was an especially dubious choice) and a final twist which managed to be both out of left field and entirely predictable at the same time. About the only thing which I did quite like, was the way Maxine’s personality splits into two distinct characters. One is urging her on to do ever more malicious deeds, while the other is trying to take a higher moral path. Surprisingly – considering the ineptness everywhere else – it’s decently handled on both sides of the camera. Even if I doubt anyone ever thought, “I want an erotic thriller which largely avoids actually nudity, with a black, female version of Gollum in it,” this aspect is likely responsible for this avoiding a dreaded and rarely awarded one-star rating.

I was amused by the po-faced disclaimer from the director which opens this: “Due to my strong convictions, I wish to stress that this film in no way endorses support of violence, abuse against women or other subject matter that may be considered offensive.” Several points come to mind. Firstly, if you have to add a disclaimer to your film like that, you’re doing it wrong. Secondly, it’s little more than empty virtue signaling anyway: It’d be far more notable if a director stated “I wholeheartedly endorse violence.” Thirdly, any abuse here is far more by women: what is Mr. Fiori’s stance on that? Sadly, it appears we will never know, save for the unlikely event of there being a SheChotic 2. Fourthly and finally, it’s never a good sign when the text which starts your movie is worthy of deeper analysis and commentary than 95% of what follows it. Though if it had instead simply read, “Abandon hope all ye who enter here,” it would certainly have been equally valid.

Dir: Leandre Fiori
Star: Erica Mitchell, Robert D Watts, Brittany Bryant, Jason Walker

Cats Kill

  By

★★
“Dead cat bounce.”

It’s quite a feat for a film which runs a crisp 67 ½ minutes to outstay its welcome, so… Well done? The problem is mostly that far too much time is wasted on the set-up, introducing us – in quite excruciating detail – to characters in whom we have little or no interest. These would be the friends who decide to spend a weekend in upstate New York, unaware they are about to cross paths with a pair of bored locals who have decided to alleviate the tedium by going on a killing spree. When one of them gets cold feet, however, it’s left up to Cat (Rafferty) to follow through on the original plan, which she does with some enthusiasm. Just a pity this doesn’t happen until roughly the final twenty minutes.

Up until that point, the film makes the mistake of concentrating on the victims. They are, by and large, not people with whom you would want to spend more than five minutes. To the movie’s credit, this does appear to be deliberate, yet it renders every moment an increasingly aggravating experience. That’s especially the case, when contrasted with the lack of motive provided for Cat and her partner, who simply choose to become murderers in virtually the first scene, with little or no justification. More time spent building towards that decision, and less watching the Big Apple pals swapping tedious banter, would certainly have been a wise move. Heck, hanging out with the New Yorkers for a bit first would surely convince anyone about the wisdom of murder as a moral imperative. No jury in the land would convict.

Indeed, the whole spree-killing couple angle is given such short shrift, I was left wondering why the directors bothered. However, this isn’t necessarily a bad thing, as when it’s just Cat operating by herself, things get done at a considerably brisker clip, which is certainly to the film’s benefit. [I’m not certain the likes of Milton Bradley, Victoria’s Secret and John Deere will be quite as enamored by the name-checks their products receive over the course of proceedings here – particularly the last] After capturing and disposing of a set of victims, it ends with Cat going up against final girl Alana (Loren), and it’s then that the film is at its bes… uh, least underwhelming.

Definitely a case of too little, too late however, even with the final twist, which I’ll admit gave me a dark chuckle. The makers here claim they were going for something giallo-esque. I know giallo. And this is no giallo. Given the complete lack of style shown, it’s more like a bad eighties straight-to-video slasher pic, with all the lack of gore, shortage of tension and terrible pacing that implies. Rafferty gets a full pass and Loren a partial, with their more energetic performances something the rest of the cast would have benefited from following. Otherwise, it’s hardly catnip for horror fans.

Dir: Alexander Cherney, Gregory Casino
Star: Alanah Rafferty, Kay Marie Loren, Daniel J. O’Connor, Will Scarlett

What Keeps You Alive

  By

★★★★
“Predatory lesbian.”

In the modern, politically-correct era, it’s less common to see a film which has a sexual minority as an unabashed villain. Something like Basic Instinct got a lot of flak at the time, and would likely be rejected out of hand by gay-friendly Hollywood these days, as would Silence of the Lambs. So it was kinda refreshing to see a movie which brings us an unashamedly psycho lesbo in the form of Jackie (Anderson). Yet it’s not her sexuality which makes her evil, though she does feel she was “born this way” – or, as Jackie puts it: “It’s nature, not nurture.”

Certainly, the warning signs are there early, when she and her wife Jules (Allen) go for a first anniversary weekend in Jackie’s remote family cabin by a lake. Strike one: we rapidly discover Jackie is a fake name, something she hadn’t told her other half. Strike two: singing a song to Jules with lyrics like “There’s a demon inside / Blood, let it out.” Strike three: telling a story about a childhood hunting trip and a deer, ending in the line, “I just stood over it for the next 20 minutes and I watched the life slowly fade from her eyes.” If you’re not hearing alarm bells ringing loudly, you’ve clearly not seen enough movies. Jules, blinded by love, is about the only one apparently oblivious to the foreshadowing.

To the film’s credit, it doesn’t stretch this out [the trailer, below, is similarly open about the dynamic here], and it’s not too long before Jules is propelled off a cliff to her apparent doom. Except, by the time Jackie meanders down to the foot, ready for a tearful call to the authorities, the body has gone. The fall wasn’t as fatal as intended, and the rest of the film plays like a two-person version of Revenge, with Jules deciding, “I’m not going to let you do it again.” For did we mention Jackie’s first wife? Or the childhood friend who ‘drowned’ in the lake? Because she certainly does…

Almost inevitably for the genre, some suspension of disbelief is needed here. The injuries suffered by Jules in the initial fall are all but forgotten by the end, and there’s other foreshadowing which seems less than subtle, such as the very obvious gun hanging on a wall And was Jules a failed medical student? There’s one line of dialogue hinting towards that, and it would go some way to explaining a number of things. Couldn’t it perhaps have been made clearer?

Yet these are minor issues, which certainly did not impact my sheer enjoyment of this very much. There are two excellent lead performances, in addition to solid work by Minihan, which cranks up the tension impeccably – a rowing race across the lake is a particular highlight. It all makes for a sharp improvement on the director’s previous feature, It Stains the Sands Red – which also starred Allen and put her character in similarly perpetual peril – and is a fine example of a B-movie that punches above its weight.

Dir: Colin Minihan
Star: Hannah Emily Anderson, Brittany Allen, Martha MacIsaac, Joey Klein

Lady Psycho Killer

  By

★★½
“Teenage angst with a body-count.”

Ella (Daly) is a shy college student, whose psychology lecturer gives the class an unusual project: break a sexual norm. Unfortunately, Ella is rather confused about the intersection between sex and violence, in part because of genetics, for her father was a serial killer, before abandoning her pregnant mother (Heinrich). As a result, Ella’s attempt to carry out the assignment by auditioning at a strip-club, ends with her slitting the throat of the owner (Ron Jeremy, being appropriately grubby). This awakens the serial killer dormant inside her, and she starts taking out the sleazy men around her. The problem is nice guy Daniel (Andres), whose unwillingness to match her stereotypical opinions of masculinity, triggers further conflicting feelings in Ella, as her acts of murder become increasingly more blatant.

A lack of subtlety is also a problem when it comes to the film’s social commentary, though some credit is due for being a couple of years ahead of the #MeToo movement. Still, the almost constant use of voice-over as a narrative tool is lazily problematic, even if you can get past the ludicrous nature of the plot, or that Michael Madsen plays the least convincing college professor in movie history [Malcolm McDowell fares better as Ella’s creepy next-door neighbour]. The most interesting thing is perhaps the heroine’s relationship with her mother, which plays a little like a suburban version of Carrie, without the religious angle to the over-protective mom. I’d like to have seen this explored further.

Daly’s performance isn’t bad, having to cover a lot of emotional range from naively innocent to stone-cold killer, while also portraying the confusion of transforming from a girl into a woman. It’s a role that would challenge any actress, and hardly a surprise that Daly can’t quite convince across all the necessary aspects. She does fare better than the men in the script, who are given almost nothing to work with beyond “be creepy.” Perhaps this is intended as a sly commentary on the shallow depiction of female victims in many horror films? Let’s charitably assume that is indeed the case, though this could equally well just be more lazy writing.

For it is the script which hampers the film most of all, with almost every development triggering a roll of my eyes. What college professor would really hand out such an assignment? What cop would just let a confessed killer go, without any interrogation or further investigation, simply because a similar murder took place? What mother would affect little more than mild concern – especially, knowing her familial history- when her daughter comes home from a date, covered in blood? By coincidence, the day after seeing this, we re-watched American Psycho, a film which is clearly a significant influence on Oliver, in more than just its title (especially the original one, which omitted the word “Lady”). Its superiority is equally undeniable: he’d have benefited by learning a bit more from the source, especially in the area of writing.

Dir: Nathan Oliver
Star: Kate Daly, Dennis Andres, Meredith Heinrich, Josh Dolphin

Tragedy Girls

  By

★★★
“Like, rather than retweet.”

Playing like a more social media-conscious version of Heathers, the central characters are high school girls McKayla (Shipp) and Sadie (Hildebrand). They believe their town of Rosedale is the hunting territory of a serial killer, whom the police won’t acknowledge, and the girls have a (not very successful) blog, Tragedy Girls, about the case. The pair succeed in luring out and capturing the killer (Durand), and discover that if they continue operating in his name, they and their site experiences a rise in popularity.

Except, murderin’ ain’t easy, especially when their initial crimes are dismissed by authorities to avoid causing a panic. McKayla and Sadie clearly need to step up their game. Except as things escalate, there’s a growing sense of dissension in the ranks, both with regard to the directions each feels they should take with their efforts, and over Jordan (Quaid), a cute classmate who help edit videos for the site… Will it be “Sisters before misters”? Or are those creative differences going to lead to the band splitting up, just as they achieve their desired fame?

The target here is obvious, yet certainly worthy of repeated stabbing with a sharp object. I have a deep disdain for the vapid lives of Internet “celebrities”, who measure themselves purely in the number of likes, follows and shares social media, and will do whatever it takes to get them. The reductio ad absurdum in this case is that even cold-blooded murder is not beyond the pale, if it gets these attention-seekers what they crave. It’s a depressingly accurate view of unformed teenage morality, that the end justifies the means.

Credit MacIntyre for clearly knowing his horror stuff, from an opening scene which is as much a parody of slasher films as an introduction. Chris initially mistook it for the real thing, turning to ask me with dripping sarcasm, “And what is the title of this gem?” [A subsequent, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it reference to the amazing Martyrs, was the point in my initial viewing where I stopped, realizing this merited watching with her]. He also has the guts to take the premise to its logical, and very dark, conclusion –  here, it does surpass Heathers, which in one early version ended in the entire school blowing up. Given current cultural squeamishness led to a TV series based on Heathers being canned entirely in the US, this is no small feat.

Yet in other ways, it’s still well short of its inspiration. Neither of the leads have the likeability Winona Ryder brought to Veronica Sawyer, everyone else is here depicted as little more than occasionally useful idiots, and the dialogue fails to ‘pop’ in the immensely quotable way Daniel Waters’ script achieved. These factors help lead to a middle section in desperate need of both escalation and an antagonist – other than the one who spends most of the film locked up in a basement. If still worth a look, and rarely less than interesting, I doubt anyone will be rebooting this in 25 years.

Dir: Tyler MacIntyre
Star: Alexandra Shipp, Brianna Hildebrand, Kevin Durand, Jack Quaid

Lizzie Borden’s Revenge

  By

★★★
“It’s just a bunch of hot chicks in their nighties, playing Truth or Dare.”

It would, certainly, be easy to look at the poverty-row production values here, and dismiss this contemptuously as a bad film. I mean, the very first shot supposedly sets the scene at the infamous New England house in 1892, where Lizzie Borden took an axe and gave her mother forty whacks. But take a look. I’m fairly sure the trash cans to the right of the house are not of 19th-century vintage. And I am almost certain the palm trees on the left are not native to Massachusetts either. Given this, the awful use of CGI blood, etc. if you were to dismiss the film as the kind of sloppy work that gives B-movies a bad name, I wouldn’t argue.

And, yet… The line of dialogue which is the review tagline above, shows impressive self-awareness, while  the storyline seems deliberately cheesy: A bunch of sorority sisters on campus lockdown stage a seance. As one of them says, “With a blood relative of Lizzie Borden sitting right in the centre of our circle, something is going to happen, I just know it!” No prizes for guessing what. To quote the film once more, “We conjured up the ghost of Lizzie Borden and now her lesbian ass is haunting our sorority house?” [This isn’t for titillation: okay, not just for titillation: one theory about Borden involves her relationship with actress Nance O’Neil]

It is at its most amusing when pushing this knowledge of horror tropes, such as when the dwindling band of sorority sisters refuse to split up, leading to a conga line through the house. The characters in question may be stereotypes – the bimbo, the nerd who spouts bizarrely incoherent lines such as “A statistically higher chance of probability”, the troubled one, etc. – but most of the performances are decent enough, and it’s all impressively gynocentric. [This movie would pass the Bechdel Test, though perhaps indicates once more the uselessness of that ludicrous metric.] The men are relegated to minor roles of no real importance, and are, if anything, even more two-dimensional than the women. They also don’t shed their clothes as much: at the risk of stating the obvious, I am fine with this.

Ricci, who plays Lizzie’s descendant Leslie, is an adult star of some renown, yet is perfectly adequate here. Overall, I’ll confess this kept me considerably more amused than I expected from the early going, when the performance of the actor playing Mr. Borden almost had me reaching for the off button (it may have been saved by the always welcome presence of cult icon and scream queen Brinke Stevens, playing his wife). Certainly, you have to get past the shoddier, cringe-inducing aspects; having a taste for the trashy end of cinema is also necessary. However, director Devine is a veteran of horror as well as exploitation genres, and inserts enough sly nods to its conventions and cliches, that I was entertained. 

Dir: Dennis Devine
Star: Veronica Ricci, Shanalynne Wesner, Jenny Allford, Mindy Robinson