The Gestapo's Last Orgy
The most extreme of the sadiconazista cycle, and the only one shaped like a love story.
479 entries. Curated, not exhaustive. A short shelf of things worth knowing about beats a long one nobody can navigate.
The most extreme of the sadiconazista cycle, and the only one shaped like a love story.
Rollin does an outbreak. A pesticide turns wine-country villagers into oozing killers.
Barbara Steele married to a necrophile surgeon, and Freda smuggling it past the 1962 censors on innuendo alone.
Deodato points Last House at a dinner party. Grubby, mean, effective.
Captain America and a Mexican wrestler fight Spider-Man, who is a murderer. Unlicensed, obviously.
Grim, well acted, and the best film in the cycle by some distance.
Not pinky violence. Fukasaku's handheld yakuza epic, and a classic.
Barbara Steele in a haunted house on a bet. Better than it sounds.
The one that broke kung fu in America, months before Bruce Lee did.
The film that made Nikkatsu's S&M line a going concern. Rope, and lots of it.
Fulci does a bleak, hallucinatory western. Four outcasts cross a hostile frontier. Most do not make it.
Jaws with a bear, pitched exactly that way, and it worked.
A bridal-couture killer who narrates his own psychosis, and the best ghost gag Bava ever staged.
A blind monk, a bladed hat on a chain, and a tournament. Perfect.
Honda's mushroom-people film. Far bleaker than anything else Toho made.
Kroger Babb toured it for twenty years with a fake nurse in the lobby.
They cast Sean Connery's actual brother. That is the entire idea.
A giant pig film shot like a perfume ad. Somehow works.
Meyer's biggest hit of the decade, and his cartoon violence at its most cartoonish.
The killer paralyses you first so you feel it. A first-rank giallo nobody name-checks.
Jimmy Wang Yu wrecks Sydney, with hang-gliding and a man actually on fire. Peak crossover.
A family curse, a killer in a red cloak, and a legend that kills every hundred years.
Anthony Wong won Best Actor for this. Then you find out what goes in the pork buns.
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.
Best title in the genre. Poe adaptation with Edwige Fenech and a black cat.
The blind masseur who is also the deadliest swordsman alive. The first of twenty-five-plus.
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.
Nothing to do with Django, and one of the strangest and cruelest westerns Italy ever shot.
More of the same, with flamethrowers and property developers as villains.
A man rebuilds his dead girlfriend from the parts of exploded sex workers. Exactly that stupid, and great.
Same Ilsa, new empire. The harem keeps the whip, loses the swastika.
Deodato's first pass. Slower, meaner, less interesting than what followed.
The eurospy archetype, from a French agent who beat James Bond into print by four years.