After the announcement of 10,000 B.S. the other day, The Rev D.D., one of our regulars, remarked, “Prehistoric Women…I haven’t seen the Hammer one. I have seen the one from the early ’50s, though, and…MAN that one was pain. Except for the “dragon,” which was one of the GREATEST THINGS EVER FILMED.” – a comment posted, as far as I can figure, about four hours after I finished watching Prehistoric Women for the purposes of this Roundtable.

Truthfully…I am just a little creeped out right now.

PREHISTORIC WOMEN (1950)

    In which the members of an all-female prehistoric tribe, who have been feeling – nudge, nudge – “restless”, are sent out by their Wise One to find themselves – nudge, nudge – “husbands”.

The result is a battle of the sexes dramatically highlighted by the savage attack on the tribespeople by a duck wearing a Halloween mask. As a bonus, the film comes with a narrator who helpfully explains EVERY SINGLE DETAIL OF EVERY SINGLE SCENE. Because, you know, the plot’s so complicated.

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WHEN WOMEN LOST THEIR TAILS
Regardless of whether or not the viewer is in line with When Women Lost Their Tails‘ political viewpoint, I think he or she has to agree that it is a much more interesting film with it than it would be without. The cinematic landscape is littered with knuckleheaded sex farces set against a broadly satirical historical backdrop – with not an inconsiderable number set in the Stone Age among them. But, with When Women Lost Their Tails, what we get is like the lyrics of a Gang of Four song acted out within the context of a slightly naughty fanfic version of The Flintstones. If nothing else, it certainly makes for unique viewing, and offers enough in terms of audacity alone to keep one watching until the end. What makes the journey a bit rougher, though, is the queasy disconnect between the film’s superficial layer of lounge-pop marinated goofiness and the unutterably bleak take on the human condition that festers at its core. With its vision of a human race whose existence boils down to either blinding, almost protozoan idiocy on the one hand or vicious, self-devouring avarice and cynicism on the other — with nothing in the middle — it’s enough to make even the most misanthropic giallo seem like a Frank Capra joint by comparison, ebullient Bruno Nicolai score notwithstanding.

I imagine some B movie fans might think they are getting something good with The Sword Of The Barbarians upon seeing the poster or the video box art. They are probably thinking, “A Conan clone done by the Italians? That should mean plenty of unintended laughs along with the majestic backdrops, bloody action, and women who like to show off their melon-sized breasts. And it was picked up by The Cannon Group, who knew a thing or two about exploitation.” Sad to say, the end results, save for the occasional laugh, are pretty dull. In fact, the movie is bad enough in so many ways to embarrass even Ator.

Plus: Vote for upcoming movies in Reader Revenge Month!  This week’s options: The Bloody Judge (1970), The Delta Force (1986), or Lethal Ninja (1993).

Let’s start at the end, shall we? Or, if you prefer, at the bottom of the barrel, so we can work our way upwards: Quest for the Mighty Sword (1990).

Here we have the third sequel to a movie nobody really wanted in the first place. We’ve got a plot that runs out of steam before it’s even got started… acting that gets worse on a logarithmic scale as the film progresses… a substitute Ator who’d much rather be doing comedy… leftover costumes from Troll 2… just about everything you’d need to push the whole “Sword and Sorcery” subgenre into obsolescence. Heck, the movie’s got Laura “Black Emanuelle” Gemser in it — but she stays fully-clothed, for Crom’s sake!

But the final indignity, at least as far as I’m concerned? Guess which famous story writer/director Joe D’Amato decided to rip off this time…!

And Jessica did send me a review. That, apparently, was the cue for me to leave my brain soaking in a pan in the basement… and I left it there so long I forgot I don’t even have a basement. It wasn’t until The Brain that Wouldn’t Die came up in the comments today that the re-animated monster of memory broke through the cellar door of my subconscious. And lit a fire under me.

So here it is, at long long last: Jessica’s account of the movie that was her gateway drug to B-movie depravity. Enjoy!

The other thing that these films have in common is that, in thus describing them, I’m using the word “hero” very loosely indeed…

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HIS BROTHER’S WIFE (1936) - which manages to transport Robert Taylor and Barbara Stanwyck from the nightclubs of New York to a laboratory in an unidentified jungle, and sees them swapping cocktails and gambling for spotted fever research. The results are about as credible as you might imagine.

DISHONORED LADY (1947) - in which disillusioned party girl (and closet nymphomaniac) Hedy Lamarr finds romance and a new way of looking at life when she falls for the poor-but-honest scientist living in the apartment below her own. However, her course of science for the soul is interrupted by a nasty case of murder…

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Pinilla was one of the first Colombian film-makers to turn his attention to horror and fantasy. Unfortunately for him, the Colombian film industry at the time expected its artists to make serious dramas, or short documentaries about poverty and social issues. Pinilla’s movies were considered an embarrassment. Even more embarrassing? The local audiences loved them: Pinilla’s first film held the box office record for a Colombian film for years.

Eventually, the Colombian film commission found a way to put him out of business in 1985*. But before that happened, he managed to put out a very unusual body of work. Funeral siniestro (1977), for all its rough patches, is still a remarkably assured first film; 27 Horas con la muerte has a story that Poe might have chuckled over (and then rejected); while Extraña regresion may very well be the film that got Pinilla the “Ed Wood” title.

* Thanks to afforable video, he’s now back making films.