Death Walks at Midnight
Ercoli's brighter, faster Death Walks. Nieves Navarro sees a murder and nobody buys it.
479 entries. Curated, not exhaustive. A short shelf of things worth knowing about beats a long one nobody can navigate.
Ercoli's brighter, faster Death Walks. Nieves Navarro sees a murder and nobody buys it.
A prince and a thief, master and pupil in disguise. Lau Kar-leung's wittiest choreography.
The Italian Road Warrior with sand instead of the Bronx, muscle car included.
Ito's last. Kaji drags a severed arm through Tokyo in the opening minutes.
An art film that was sold as a vampire picture. Recut and buried for decades.
Bleeding skies, a forehead-splitting alien, and an ending with no comfort in it whatsoever.
A dead 1940s gangster possesses a mild law student. Blaxploitation crossed with the supernatural.
A couple litter, and Australia decides to kill them. Excellent.
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.
Rollin at his purest. Two women in clown costume, a castle, almost no dialogue.
The best-shot Santo film. He wrestles twice for no reason at all.
The Japanese entry, and formally the most accomplished of them.
The naked snow swordfight. Everyone remembers it; the rest is decent Meiji melodrama.
Jack Hill's first, Lon Chaney Jr's last good role. Very odd and very fond.
A DPP video nasty far better known for its poster than for anything in the film.
The title is the pitch. Delivers on it with unusual formal care.
Funnier and better than the first. Sid Haig is having an excellent time.
The standard-issue Wallace krimi. Hood, abbey, inheritance, fog.
Cushing called it the worst film he ever made. He was being generous.
Herschell Gordon Lewis signs off with a meat tenderiser and a gag about chocolate milk.
Convent politics played as Renaissance power-drama. More Borgia than bondage.
A whip-wielding monk killing heiresses. Closest the krimi got to giallo.
A stage magician whose tricks are real. Lewis's most interesting idea.
Coffin Joe returns, still hunting the perfect woman, and the film turns Technicolor to show you Hell.
D'Amato and Eastman's Mad Max in a cowboy hat. Assembled entirely from better films.
The blaxploitation Exorcist. A minister's wife is possessed by a sex demon. Warner Bros sued.
Jess Franco's contribution to the cycle. Cheap, delirious and utterly shameless, even for him.
Borowczyk brings his erotic art-house eye to the convent. Beautiful, explicit and barely plotted.
Linda Blair goes to prison. A sleazy 80s update of the formula, with a corrupt warden and a hot tub.
Fulci does Conan through so much fog you can barely see the gore. Somehow that helps.
Technically inept and completely irresistible. Boom mics in every other shot.
Mexico's caped vampire, fanged on screen a year before Hammer got there.
Lau Kar-leung's revenge epic. A survivor spends years learning the one style that can beat the villain.
Rollin's best, and the one where the pretty dream logic finally grows teeth.
Fukasaku's nastiest. A gangster too unstable for organised crime.