Rolling Thunder. One of the purest exploitation transmissions I’ve encountered in a minute: a gnarly, race-based rednecksploitation revenge wavelength that, like the best of this sort of nasty drive-in fare, has far more on its mind than cheap thrills (but still manages to deliver those in spades as well). The titular Native American warrior is named for the mushroom burst that erupted at a nearby weapons testing site on the day of his birth, thus predicting how the rest of…
Only knew this trio of Lorenzo Lamas trash action titles by reputation, but GOT-DAMN if the rest are as utterly bananas as this then I’ve been sleeping my whole life and need to apologize to anyone who’ll listen. A bargain basement Canuxploitation FIRST BLOOD riff where a rogue vice detective/Special Forces operative goes on a personal mission to murder the shit out of a clan of rapey rednecks, this just tosses one absurdity into the mix after another. Naked drug…
"I'm certain that my creature will give you a demonstration of its virility that no human being could be capable of imagining. You will see, dear Doctor, and appreciate the immolation of the chosen virgin who, without realizing it, will be sacrificing herself to science."
Is this the most vile thing on my shelf? Probably not (*side-eyes WATER POWER*), but it’s certainly in the conversation.
Grim Rene Cardona true crime recounting of Jim Jones’ infamous mass suicide that totally eschews the hangout vibe of his other features for a stone faced fictionalization of a cult in decline. Worth it for Cardona’s usual out of the blue exploitation shock tactics, such as public (and racist) sexual humiliation, plus underage torture via genital electrocution. Unsure why they portrayed Jones as an absolute uncharismatic maniac, though, as you can’t figure out why anyone would follow him anywhere. Anyway, the very definition of a curiosity from a notorious director whose films are already outliers for even the most devoted cult cinema knuckleheads.
Grim, nasty Canuxploitation that’s surprisingly forward thinking in its plea for tolerance and acceptance of gay folks, making the villains little more than rampaging, merciless homophobes who will execute you without a second thought if they think you don’t belong in their straight, hyper-masculine world. Similarly angry in the same way Lustig’s VIGILANTE is, as the police and common law won’t save you from the animals who prowl the streets. It’s up to you to take up (automatic) arms and mow these motherfuckers down. This is your Waterloo, baby. TAKE IT.
THE PURGE: YELLOWSTONE
Forgot how much I love this dumbass series. This one's sort of like if you locked some wannabe ‘70s John Sayles spec in a bunker with nothing but Monster energy drinks, Cake weed vapes, and back episodes of Chapo Trap House. Stupid. Ultraviolent. Painfully earnest. Great exploitation. Understand why many get hung up on the pedantic nature of its lunk-headed politics, but the constant genre shifting keeps every installment engaging and suitably weird. What if THE PURGE,…
One of only a handful of productions from the Scotti Bros. - music/media moguls Tony/Fred, plus former NFL Defensive Back Ben - who primarily made their bones via their record label, which repped everyone from ROCKY training montage champs, Survivor (who, you guessed it, wrote the song the movie is named for), "Living In America" era James Brown, and even Weird Al Yankovic. A full blown exploitation picture that feels ported in from the '70s heyday, Gary Busey (!) is…
Day of the Jaeckel. My favorite Grefe thus far, as our misunderstood shark enthusiast wreaks havoc on everyone who has done him or his best man eating buddies harm. A post-JAWS WILLARD, with all the Florida exploitation trimmings (including Buffy Dee as a cigar-chomping power player of sorts who keeps his cocktails in a flask around his neck).
Totally still lives up to its gnarly reputation of wanting to deliver little more than the scummy thrills you'd expect when buying a ticket for a 42nd Street exploitation revenge thriller called THE EXTERMINATOR. If James Glickenhaus knew one thing as a director, it was this: just throw as much gratuitous violence at the camera as your budget allowed. Bonus points for the greatest "trailer line" in cinema history that would never be allowed in any trailer anywhere (well, OK, maybe in Times Square, but then again, see the above).
Sits at an unpredictably comfortable intersection between Sean Baker and Abel Ferrara; full of empathy, humor (Nicholas Braun doing "White Trash Cousin Greg" is a welcome surprise), and intelligence while never getting bogged down by its own "how we live now" zeitgeist chasing design. The very textbook definition of "elevated exploitation" that knows exactly when to get the hell off its own grubby, fluid-stained digital stage.