A Frank Review of "I Spit On Your Grave" (1978)

The Short Version? Woman gets raped forever, then gets bloody revenge.
What Is It? Grindhouse Trash
Who's In It? Nobody.
Should I See It? No... and no means no!

The film originally called as "Day of the Woman" in 1978 eventually launched a thousand rape-revenge flicks upon rerelease in 1980 as "I Spit On Your Grave" with the tagline, "This woman has just cut, chopped, broken, and burned five men beyond recognition... but no jury in America would ever convict her!" The film's poster became a pop icon and it's subject a cultural reference point. Shame that, truthfully, the film is utterly awful and lacks any merit whatsoever.

The film's director has tried to claim a true life incident as inspiration, but the film is a pretty naked reworking of only the most base and exploitative elements of "Deliverance" and "Last House On The Left." The film lacks a score, decent audio, competent direction, coherent screenplay, and dramatic acting outside the calibre of a MadTV skit. After twenty-one minutes of watching our heroine drive a car, read a book, skinnydip, canoe and do some writing without the benefit of dialogue or monologue, the violent harassment by local rednecks begins. At the twenty-four minute mark, the rape sequence begins in earnest.

Actually, calling it a "sequence" downplays the monstrosity of the movie. You are essentially given a three act play running twenty-three minutes centered on a multitude of violations. The worst part, as sickening as this is, is that the acting is so atrocious as to outpace the deviant acts' race to the bottom of the barrel. The simulated sex and violence are so poorly handled, it is almost comical, but even my humor doesn't run that black. This is also the point where any semblance of logical thought or human motivation goes right out the window.

Where to begin? How about the victim's choice not to report the crime, even though she'd tried that exact act during her rape, and despite her seeming knowledge that her attackers were intent on murdering her? If we can work that out, it might explain why, rather than begin her vengeance planning straight away, she goes back to writing her book and lounging around the house? Ooo, ooo-- if we can work that out, maybe we can make sense of her seducing two of her attackers? I don't mean just lulling their defenses down with her feminine wiles-- I mean actually fucking them, consensually, without a condom, before murdering them? Surely, having worked out some reasonably insane motivation behind all of this, we can stop replacing "don't go in the basement!" callbacks with "don't leave a trail of evidence for mass homicide back to your doorstep after you've healed from any sign of your brutal, 23 minute long rape! Haven't you ever seen 'Quincy?' 'Perry Mason?' 'Scooby-Doo Mystery Hour?'"

For fuck's sake, rather than exploit the illusion of her death, she just loiters for ten minutes before being rediscovered, and only then initiated planning for the comeuppance. She doesn't actually turn the tables until an hour and fifteen minutes in (y'know, after her latest round of full-frontal nudity and consensual sex,) meaning she spends just 25 minutes "avenging" her 23 minute rape and torture, and that includes the time she spent fully nude jerking off another assailant in the bathtub (with the clear insinuation she'd already had consensual, probably unsafe sex with him.) Can you feel my disgust at the poor craft and general nature displayed by this film?

Mr. Mind's Venusian Decoder Card (1996)

When you need something a bit stronger than Interlac! As I understand it, DC gave these cards away for the price of a self-addressed stamped envelope, so readers of "The Power of Shazam!" could decipher what the little mind-controlling worm was saying in its native language at times. You can tell the card was trimmed by hand. I got mine in a trade during my comic shop days.

Suicide Squad: From The Ashes

The first John Ostrander comic I ever read was an issue of "Legends," but I consider my true introduction to be "Grimjack." I hated that first issue, in part because it was a political satire in the hands of an oblivious twelve year old. Second chances turned "Grimjack" into one of my favorite series in my teenage years. I blame the fact that I once had a mullet on Jim Twilley, but we didn't even have a name for them back then. I followed Ostrander on several other series, and once thought of him as among the finest writers in comics, until I spent three years with my nerves racked by his horrendous run on "Martian Manhunter." I so hated and found such great fault in that book, it called into question whether Ostrander was ever any good. Maybe it was just a temporary lapse in taste, like the years I wasted following Rob Liefeld?

Blessedly, Ostrander's return to another much-lauded series, Suicide Squad, calmed any fears about my judgment. The new mini-series launched with a time capsule back to the days when the U.S.S.R. was still the Evil Empire, with great fun being had with long forgotten menaces like the People's Heroes. From there, the focus tightens on Rick Flag, the presumed dead hardcase leader of the comic book equivalent of the Dirty Dozen. It's a credit to Ostrander's ability that his plot was engaging enough that I didn't mind spending much of the trade with one of the least interesting members of the Squad. In fact, if there's any flaw to be found here, it's that we spend too little time with favorites like Amanda Waller and Deadshot, though they're perfectly handled again when they do show. The absence of the real Captain Boomerang is also deeply felt, but at least his son offers a nod and a new dynamic. Once a contemporary team is in place, the action expands and is as fast and furious as ever.

Since so few former members of the Squad were made available to Ostrander, he had to dig up mothballed losers like Twister and Windfall. However, he offers them new history and motivations that turn them into fascinating figures at the turn of a page. Classic members may be gone, but the magic most definitely is not. Folks may be surprised at the body count when everything comes to a head. The familiar double dealing and sordid revelations are a glory to behold.

So to is the art of Javier Pina. Had DC tapped him to finish "Final Crisis" in the stead of J.G. Jones, I'm not sure readers would have missed the beat. This low-selling mini-series was done a real disservice by the retro covers of John K. Snider, which might have played like Matt Wagner on "Green Arrow" is the title were similarly high profile. Instead, I expect most presumed the interiors were as crude as the frontpieces, where Pina's interior art is lush and graceful. He's a talent I expect to hear more from. Pina had a few deadline troubles of his own, which Jesus Saiz covered capably. Less so Robin Riggs, a fantastic inker, but not the pencil artist one would approve of in this company. A nod must also be given to Jason Wright, whose color work is lovely. Art fans would be well served to pick up the book on their merits alone.

I've been disappointed by the Checkmate revival and the general direction of DC Comics since "Infinite Crisis." It seems like a lot of cues have been taken from the '80s Suicide Squad, and as with the legacies of books like "Watchmen" and "Dark Knight Returns," they only match the sizzle of this steak. Do yourself a favor and read one of the only recent DC trades worth the effort.

Emmanuelle Goes to Cannes (1980)

Character Name: Emmanuelle
Actress: Olinka Hardiman
Actual Movie Title: Emmanuelle Goes to Cannes
Known Aliases: "The Elementary Stud"
Country of Origin: France
Character Nationality: French
Occupation: Stripper-Prostitute-Adult Actress
Religion: Catholic
Married: Single
Locales: Cannes
Release Date: 1980 (France)
Director: Jean-Marie Pallardy
DVD: Emmanuelle Goes to Cannes (1985)
Stats: Pseudo-Emmaneulle

Story: This shouldn't take long. "Emmanuelle" is completely delusional, up to and including being named Emmanuelle in a movie actually titled "Emmanuelle" that has absolutely nothing to do with the real "Emmanuelle" and not even have the goddam common courtesy to add or remove letters from the name. She thinks she can dance, but she cannot. She thinks she looks like Marilyn Monroe, which means she's done everything she possibly could do to look like Monroe, and still looks a '70s porno actress. No, not a lovely soft core porno actress, but the chick with zits on her ass who humps some guy toward the back of an orgy, mostly blocked by the leads and secondary performers. I'm sure there's a term for that. You figure an extra wouldn't have actual sex, and a stand-in wouldn't be filmed. In this era of gonzo filmmaking, Stunt Twat wouldn't apply without bedposts or barnyard animals coming into play... Cameo cunt? Works for me.

Where was I? Oh yeah, "Emmanuelle" is delusional. Her boyfriend Frank is her "business manager," which means when she's not stripping blandly, she's turning tricks. Just to insure that no one can derive sexual gratification from this movie, she actually sobs for minutes and has to be cajoled into doing a john that looks like an illegal. These two have "sex" that's so hilariously exaggerated and filled with faux-o faces, I half expect they're both virgins. Believe it or not, Emmanuelle spent her childhood in a convent. Oy, vey.

Meanwhile, Frank fucks another terrible stripper who may or may not have had a mustache and unibrow in her very near future (our distant, regrettable past.) Bearded Frank also tongue kisses Frida Kahlo in that hideous manner I've only seen in creepy Asian videos, where their faces are about a three inches apart.Is there a market for that? Emmanuelle busted the pair, had a brief threeway, and left her abusive relationship to network at the Cannes Film Festival. Oh and a random couple joins the Mile High Club, interrupted for something like a quarter hour with intermittent bullshit doc footage from Cannes. My penis hasn't so much as twitched, I tell you!

Let me explain this again. At the twenty minute mark, the title of this picture strikes with full effect. Emmanuelle has gone to Cannes. There she is. Wandering around. Continuing to offer demented yet inane first person narration while the "director" shoots nothing remotely interesting, except for a few random chicks at a nude beach. A terrible skin flick, but the camp factor and incredible stamina of the voiceover actress are endearing. Still, next sex scene: 23 minutes later. With an old man dressed like Mr. Rogers playing a film producer. This landed her a part in an adult film involving straight and lesbian "action." Yawn. The voiceover continued throughout. Later, she makes out with an ice cream cone. Cheese flavored.

Things get bleak in the last ten minutes. The film career doesn't pan out. Emmanuelle starts turning tricks for rent. Finally, in tears, she calls her cheating pimp boyfriend Frank, who helps her stiff a hotel bill and drives her back home to Shittown. Don't you just love those "up" endings, like "Electra Glide in Blue?"

Well, the dame's got moxie, but this has got to be among the saddest, most wrong-headed and prick-shrinking entries in not just the Emmanuelle series, but even the annals of Fake Emmanuelles. The direction by "Emmanuele 3's" Jean-Marie Pallardy is so inept, it makes Joe D'Amato look like Sam Peckinpah. In fact, Jean-Marie Pallardy casting himself as a lead with his shirt unbuttoned to his navel would have, and may Jesus have mercy on my soul for saying this, made the movie steamier. Watch it with someone you love, but do not want to "love." Meet a nice bottle of hooch. Love that together instead.

Audio Neurotic Fixation: "Bastards of the Beat" by The Damnwells

This is an audio compilation I made featuring excerpts from the Damnwells 2003 album "Bastards of the Beat." I was introduced to the band when they opened for Juliana Hatfield a number of years back, and they ended up being the highlight of that show. Certainly a group deserving of more attention, and an album that can be enjoyed all the way through without skipping. Here's a brief review of each track.

1. "Assholes": A really nice way to start the album, at only about 30 seconds, and rather mellow for its pissy intent. There's a full version of this one out there, but it's tricky to come by, so I'm a bit miffed by that.


2. "What You Get": Rousing, radio-friendly pop-rock in the Bryan Adams tradition. No really, I don't mean that critically. It's a good time, with peppy guitars and a callback.


3. "Kiss Catastrophe": Another pleaser, as a n'er-do-well sings to the girl with whom he has a conflicted relationship.


4. "I'll Be Around": The line "you know my demons are too bold for hell" is a great one, but just does not belong in such a tame song. I do like the horns, and it generally sounds like a lowkey Crowes number, but lead singer Alex Dezen cannot sell a bad boy image.


5. "Newborn History": Now playing plaintive, Dezen's all over. This is a pussy-wettener you don't have to feel guilty about, thanks to the critical tone of the lyrics.


6. "I Will Keep The Bad Things From You": See above, replacing "critical" with "ironic." Grand promises are made in the name of love, then immediately undercut by lowered expectations. Just a great song; a wolf in sheep's clothing.


7. "Sleepsinging": We've hit the album's sweet spot, though I confess bias here, as this was the theme song of a break-up I had years back. "Each day you bring me closer to going nowhere; like sleep walking I'm sleepsinging."


8. "The Sound": ...and we're back to the unit-shifters, but damnit, this is good for what it is. I'd evoke the Eagles, but I fucking hate the Eagles.


9. "The Lost Complaint": As above, so below. I dig that chorus.


10. "Electric Harmony": I know it must seem like damning with faint praise, but these days an album that consistently entertains without excessive variation is pretty uncommon, right?


11. "New Delhi": A bit more jangly than the rest, and snarky as fuck. This one's about a problem child, y'see?


12. "Star/Fool": Another standout, as it's heavier and somewhat more sparse, but still pop at its core.


13. "Texas": A dreamy, romantic number to close things out... except there's that bane of the CD listener's existence: the hidden track. God damn the Beatles for starting that shit! Kicks in at 7:05, and a bit dreary thanks to the organ and vocal delivery. Not bad, but not worth the wait.

If you'd like to hear more, here's my favorite cut off the album, "Sleepsinging." I'd have posted the official video, but embedding was disabled. You can see it here.

Project Rooftop is Bullshit

As I mentioned a ways back, I offered a submission to the Project Rooftop/Harris Comics Vampirella ReVamp contest. Like the kid who threw together a science project the night before the fare involving Styrofoam cups and glitter, my piece left a lot to be desired...




...so when I failed to be among the nineteen winners and honorable mentions, I was cool with that. My design wasn't even quite what I had in mind when I first considered the project, and if I made it in within deadline, it was by the skin of my teeth. However, this was before Project Rooftop posted a second batch of honorable mentions. That's what turned them into motherfuckers. 40 additional pieces were shown, bringing the total to 59 out of "over 100" entries. Now, that could mean 101 or 125, but likely closer to the former. In effect, Project Rooftop declared that over half of all submissions they received were too worthless and ugly to offer on the site.

It gets worse, as the Project Rooftop editors have always flouted their own guidelines, though never so grievously as here.

3. Keep in mind, the task is not to re-imagine the characters, but to revise their costuming. Think of it as if you’ve just been assigned to the series, and have been asked to redesign the character’s costume, not the character. Try to create a BETTER costume than the one currently in use, not just a variant.

8. If you have to put the character’s name in the image, you haven’t done your job. So don’t even bother with that.

How many entries featured a Vampirella completely unrecognizable, either as a character or even as a generic vampire?

4. Be sure to include enough visual information in your drawing that another artist could draw your costume without having to invent much of it themselves. Generally, a full-body frontal shot is the most easily accepted, but feel free to include multiple shots in one image.

A number of entries featured images of Vampirella that are heavily shadowed or have swaths of her costume obscured.

7. We recommend not trying to redesign Superman.

Unless they're running a Superman: Man of Style month. It seems like a lot of A-listers get attention during their contests, as though they needed to be redesigned.

So in order to cut through the bullshit, let me offer my own addendum to the Project Rooftop guidelines:

10. If you hope for serious consideration, be sure to redesign your super-hero so that they look as much like any random hipster asshole on the street as possible. We are ashamed of spandex, capes, sashes, and most every other mainstay of comic books. Converse All-Stars, hoodies, jeans, and other youthful casual wear are greatly preferable.

11. If you do not have access to digital coloring softwear, do not waste out time. Colored pencils FTL.

12. Unless you are a professional caliber artist, please draw in as simplistic and childlike a manner as possible. Cute rules, but no crayons. See rule # 11.

13. If you are a professional caliber artist with quality coloring softwear, you can totally bullshit your way past offering an actual design. Drip honey/blood/body paint or whatever over the naughty bits, and so long as we can spank to it, you're aces for an honorable mention.

14. Likewise, if you're just a really bitchin' artist who should just be drawing your own damned comics, feel free to turn in lukewarm or highly derivative designs. Especially if you're a cute Asian chick.

15. Elseworlds, people! Fetish and period workings make us cream in our jeans.

Hopefully taking these additional guidelines into consideration will secure myself and my fellow 41+ wastes of space who bothered to submit entries with an honorable mention next time...

1970 National Periodical Publications Movie Posters Ad

The Wild Bunch! Bullitt! Bonnie and Clyde! The Illustrated Man. Dracula Has Risen From The Grave. The Valley of Gwangi. The Fox? The Madwoman of Chaillot? The hell?

I never knew DC Comics was in the movie poster business, but here's one of their ads for a mix of great and not so flicks of the period. $1.50 each, huge 27" x 41" size!