Boardinghouse
The first shot-on-video horror feature, blown up to 35mm and just as ugly as that sounds.
reelscum catalogues 176 exploitation films credited to the USA. They were released between 1932 and 1996. The subgenres that appear most often are Blaxploitation (29 films), Splatter (26 films) and Slasher (18 films).
The busiest decades in the catalogue are the 1970s (96), 1980s (42) and 1960s (24). Directors with more than one entry include Herschell Gordon Lewis (7), Jack Hill (6) and Russ Meyer (6).
Entries include Boardinghouse (1982), Penitentiary (1979) and Petey Wheatstraw (1977). Each links to its own page with a verdict, rating axes and where to watch.
The first shot-on-video horror feature, blown up to 35mm and just as ugly as that sounds.
Prison-boxing blaxploitation that out-grossed every indie of its year and got forgotten anyway.
Rudy Ray Moore makes a deal with the Devil to come back from the dead. Deranged and delightful.
H.G. Lewis hands the gore to a real biker gang. The acting is a crime; the piano wire is the point.
Cirio Santiago's Manila blaxploitation at full tilt, remembered for one fight staged in the dark.
Exactly what it says, at half the pace you want.
The definitive Doris Wishman roughie: grimy, deranged, and edited by someone allergic to faces.
One of the most profitable independents ever made. Nastier than its reputation.
Al Adamson's grimiest, shot partly where the Manson family was living.
A flamboyant pimp fights to stay on top as everything closes in. Sharper and sadder than most.
A biracial cop pairing hunts jewel thieves in Detroit. Tarantino re-released it for a reason.
The Canadian Deliverance, and grimmer than the nickname promises.
Herschell Gordon Lewis invents the roughie the same year he invents gore. Busy man.
Brown, Williamson and Kelly against a plot to poison the water supply.
Dwain Esper's roadshow lunacy. A man eats a cat's eye. Not the 1980 film.
Revenge via Haitian zombies. The best of the blaxploitation horror crossovers.
The most elegant film ever filed under sexploitation, and the reason Metzger belongs in the canon.
Half drama, half documentary of 1970s Oakland. The real players are in it.
A girl gang robs, kidnaps and worse. Written by Ed Wood, which explains everything.
Pam Grier as the sadist for once. Bleaker than its stablemates.
Jonathan Demme's first script, produced by Corman. Rashomon on bikes.
An art film that was sold as a vampire picture. Recut and buried for decades.
A dead 1940s gangster possesses a mild law student. Blaxploitation crossed with the supernatural.
The film that invented nazisploitation six years before Ilsa made it a genre.
Made by the couple who then wrote American Graffiti. A nightmare that never explains itself.
Jack Hill's first, Lon Chaney Jr's last good role. Very odd and very fond.
Funnier and better than the first. Sid Haig is having an excellent time.
Herschell Gordon Lewis signs off with a meat tenderiser and a gag about chocolate milk.
A stage magician whose tricks are real. Lewis's most interesting idea.
The blaxploitation Exorcist. A minister's wife is possessed by a sex demon. Warner Bros sued.
Linda Blair goes to prison. A sleazy 80s update of the formula, with a corrupt warden and a hot tub.
Technically inept and completely irresistible. Boom mics in every other shot.
The women-in-prison film as its own punchline, fronted by the lead singer of the Plasmatics.
The rare sequel that adds Pam Grier and a shred of dignity.
Jack Hill doing Othello with teenage gangs. Much smarter than it needs to be.
Jack Hill and Pam Grier invent the modern formula in the Philippines.
The first Billy Jack film, and much nastier than the sequels.
The Arkansas Bigfoot docudrama that invented an entire regional-monster format on a hundred grand.
Cool to the point of refrigeration, scored by Marvin Gaye the one time he ever bothered.
Isaac Hayes in front of the camera for once, and Nichelle Nichols swearing.
Corman's Argentine Conan-with-women, honest bottom-shelf swords and loincloths.
A batch of ten-year-old LSD makes people go bald and homicidal. A great, paranoid premise.
A parasite gives a young man euphoric highs in exchange for feeding it brains. Addiction as horror.
Vietnam veterans as cannibals. Sillier and kinder than the jungle cycle.
Lewis finishing his gore trilogy. A painter, and his pigment source.
Esper again. One reefer leads directly to nude swimming and death.
The most political film the blaxploitation boom made, pulled from cinemas and buried for thirty years.
Jim Kelly karate-chops the mob to save a Watts dojo. Blaxploitation meets kung fu, joyfully.
The Defiant Ones with Pam Grier, shot in the Philippines by a Filipino who actually knew the terrain.
Two Harlem detectives chase a stolen fortune hidden in a bale of cotton. The one that opened the door.
A detective investigates random killers who all say God ordered it. It goes somewhere insane.
Larry Cohen's weekend sequel to Black Caesar, rougher and more berserk than the original.
An undercover cop infiltrates a high school drug ring. Reefer, hot rods and Jerry Lee Lewis.
Satanists chase a Winnebago across Texas. Better than that sounds.
Underwater Nazi zombies rise off a tropical island. Peter Cushing, John Carradine, and real dread.
Historically pivotal, formally inert. Watch ten minutes and read about the rest.
A proto-slasher that front-loads its nastiness, then becomes a different and stranger film.
Body piercings, a penis monster, and Lemmy on narration. Troma's actual masterpiece.
Lustig doing it straight. Robert Forster deserves better and knows it.
Trucker versus the cartel. Earnest, blue-collar, better than expected.
Larry Cohen shooting Harlem guerrilla-style. James Brown scores it.
Tamara Dobson, six feet two, government agent. Shelley Winters overacts gloriously.
Larry Cohen, a dragon over Manhattan, and a great Michael Moriarty.
Electrified worms in Georgia. Rick Baker's early effects are the draw.
Grim, well acted, and the best film in the cycle by some distance.
Troma's toxic high school, second only to Toxie. Exactly as stupid as you want it to be.
Jaws with a bear, pitched exactly that way, and it worked.
Kroger Babb toured it for twenty years with a fake nurse in the lobby.
Meyer's biggest hit of the decade, and his cartoon violence at its most cartoonish.
Mannequins that move, telekinesis, and a masked killer. Far stranger than a slasher should be.
The one that made the money and triggered the obscenity fight.
Delphine Seyrig as Bathory in an empty Ostend hotel. Genuinely elegant.
Corman in Argentina. The genuine article, for better and worse.
Ninety minutes of driving and one of cinema's great abrupt endings.
Linda Blair, a frat hazing, an old dark house. Atmosphere over arterial spray, and better for it.
People melt in primary colours. Tasteless, inventive, weirdly beautiful.
Curtis Mayfield's score critiques the film it's in. Remarkable object.
The best Amicus omnibus, and Joan Collins versus a killer Santa two years before Black Christmas.
Burt Reynolds, moonshine, and the blueprint for a decade of Southern comedy.
The first gore film. Barely competent, historically unavoidable.
Jonathan Demme's debut, and it is visibly a Jonathan Demme film.
A man rebuilds his dead girlfriend from the parts of exploded sex workers. Exactly that stupid, and great.
Saul Bass's only feature. Ants, geometry, and an ending nobody saw for 40 years.
Written as satire, shot straight, and stranger than either choice on its own.
A three-bladed sword that fires two of the blades. Sold on that alone.
A rock star is elected president and puts everyone over 35 in LSD re-education camps.
93 cars destroyed for real. The director broke his own ankles. Worth it.
The biker cycle's Jack Nicholson entry, shot by Laszlo Kovacs and a cut above the AIP norm.
Tobe Hooper does a carnival slasher. A deformed killer, a hall of mirrors, and real dread.
Stan Winston effects and a good twist. Underseen.
Divine's crime spree as performance art. Waters at his most focused and vicious.
Romero's vampire film. A boy who needs blood, and no fangs, cape or certainty that he is one.
A deaf runaway searches for her brother in Haight-Ashbury. Nicholson with a ponytail and a band.
Paul Schrader script, and the last twenty minutes are perfect.
A teen suspects his rich family are not human. The finale proves it, wetly.
Abel Ferrara's debut. More interesting as a document of downtown New York.
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