(1980)
Dir - Marino Girolami
Overall: WOOF
Exploitation filmmaker Marino Girolami's Zombie Holocaust, (Zombi Holocaust, Doctor Butcher M.D., Island of the Last Zombies, Queen of the Cannibals, Zombie 3), is as comatose-inducing as cannibal/mad scientist/zombie movies ever get and ergo an insultingly wretched piece of celluloid. Euro-cannibal sleaze is inherently awful in its one-note nastiness and while this example features the prerequisite amount of primitive natives running around without clothes on who capture and immediately stick their fingers into anyone that they can catch for a nice, tasty meal, it adds insult to injury with a completely dormant sense of pacing to go along with its grossness. Every scene is maximized for the least possible engagement as if Girolami was hellbent on utilizing each piece of footage that was shot. Whether it is characters standing around watching a surgery, standing in other rooms talking, standing in huts talking, walking around the jungle, running around the jungle, being slowly, (slooooowwwllly), led to a sacrificial alter, being left on an operating table to slowly, (slooooowwwllly), cut themselves free with a scalpel, it is all so unwaveringly lifeless that when the ridiculous gore does rear its ugly head, you will probably miss it on account of having long fallen asleep.
(1984)
Dir - Franco E. Prosperi
Overall: MEH
Another in a steady tradition of low-budget exploitation movies to put its actors in as much physical danger as could legally be allowed, Wild Beasts, (Wild beasts - Belve feroci), is the final directorial effort from Franco E. Prosperi who appropriately and primarily worked in the mondo documentary genre before this. As the title would logically advertise, it features a handful of animals, these ones escaping from the Frankfurt zoo after ingesting PCP in their water supply and then going berserk on anyone that is unlucky enough to cross their path. Long before the days of CGI and presumably made without strictly adhering to the "no animals were harmed in the making of this movie" proclamation, it is a jarring watch that opens with a decapitated horse head and ends with a bunch of children who have also ingested the contaminated water and are now up to typical unwholesome "kids in horror movies" shenanigans. In between all of that, rats attack and get set on fire, tigers get let loose on the streets as well as on, (hopefully), stunt performers, actors get up close and personal with bears, and elephants stomp on people. While it actually possess a narrative, maintains a sincere tone, and does not seem to have caused lifelong traumatic physical injuries to its cast unlike Noel Marshall's crime against humanity Roar from three years prior, it is still a repetitive, poorly shot, and unpleasant experience.
(1989)
Dir - Alessandro Capone
Overall: MEH
Mostly shot in Florida with an American cast, Witch Story, (Streghe, Superstition 2), is the directorial debut from screenwriter Alessandro Capone. A bog-standard slasher via "condemned practitioner of the Satanic arts vowing vengeance upon the angry villagers while being burned alive" framework unfolds, with a dose of a creepy kid who shows up out of nowhere without anyone blinking an eye, of course always asking if someone wants to play with her. There are several characters to keep track of, (none of them likeable), as the supernatural witch entity or demons or whatever take turns possessing their bodies for murdering purposes. Plenty of gore, "F-bombs", hackneyed dialog, and bad performances that range from wooden to overly scenery-chewing are sprinkled around, with British thespian Ian Bannen in a bad wig being the only recognizable fellow here for genre fans. The only enjoyment to be found is of the unintended variety, like a miscast Deanna Lund ranting and raving about Satan, "fat slob eats food = funny", blatant product placement, a random striptease that does not even result in nudity, and awkwardly staged kill scenes. In the annals of Italian exploitation cheapies made on US soil, this one is unfortunately less ridiculous and ergo less memorable than your Bruno Mattei or Claudio Fragassos.
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