Tag Archives: exploitation

“From Habit to Hellfire: Satánico Pandemonium and the Unholy Power of Nunploitation”

25 Wednesday Jun 2025

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Before The Exorcist spawned a thousand cinematic imitators, and long before Hollywood dared tread into the cloisters of religious blasphemy, Mexico delivered one of the most blasphemously potent entries in the nunsploitation canon with Satánico Pandemonium—a heady cocktail of sin, sanctity, and sacrilege. Released in 1975 and directed by veteran filmmaker Gilberto Martínez Solares, this provocative feature walks a delicate line between erotic horror and moral indictment, all while drenched in the fevered atmosphere of forbidden desire.

At its core is Sister Maria, played with hypnotic conviction by Cecilia Pezet. She is a figure of virtue, charity, and devout service—until, that is, she finds herself tempted by the Devil himself (embodied here with a smirking menace by Enrique Rocha). What begins as a whisper of fantasy and temptation unravels into full-blown psychosexual madness, as visions of lust, sadism, and blasphemy consume the cloistered world around her.

It’s tempting to dismiss Satánico Pandemonium as just another skin-heavy slice of exploitation—and it certainly doesn’t shy away from the genre’s expected trappings. But there’s a strange elegance to the way Solares constructs his descent. The convent setting is stark, sun-bleached, and eerily calm, providing a jarring contrast to the escalating depravity. The Devil doesn’t just torment Maria—he awakens her, inviting the viewer into a layered conflict between desire, repression, and damnation.

As with many entries in the nunsploitation cycle, Satánico Pandemonium thrives on controversy. In a deeply Catholic nation like Mexico, the film’s blend of religious imagery and erotic violence sparked unease and outright condemnation. The sacrilegious content—nudity in sacred spaces, self-flagellation, perverse rituals—was designed to provoke. But unlike some of its European counterparts, there’s a cultural specificity here that adds weight to the iconoclasm. This isn’t just about sex and shock—it’s a portrait of religious hysteria filtered through a deeply Latin American lens.

Still, it’s not without its pulp pleasures. The film leans into surrealism and softcore excess with relish, and it sometimes wobbles under the weight of its contradictions. It wants to titillate and terrify, to condemn and celebrate. That ambiguity is both its greatest strength and its ultimate flaw—it neither fully critiques the institution it corrupts nor wholly surrenders to its indulgent premise. It’s as if the film itself is struggling with the same spiritual torment that haunts its lead character.

What Satánico Pandemonium offers is not clarity, but chaos—the kind of infernal, fevered chaos that marked the zenith of 1970s exploitation. As part of the wider nunsploitation movement—which includes films like School of the Holy Beast, The Nun and the Devil, and Flavia the Heretic—it holds its own with a distinctly Mexican flair. In fact, its title would later inspire From Dusk Till Dawn’s iconic stripper-turned-vampire Satanico Pandemonium, proving its cult legacy is well intact.

The Prognosis:

For all its sins, Satánico Pandemonium is a memorable relic from a time when horror wasn’t afraid to confront taboos with lurid abandon. Three stars, for the devil, the daring, and the decadence.

  • Saul Muerte

Shogun’s Joy of Torture (1968) – The Rise of Ero Guro and Pink Cinema

22 Saturday Feb 2025

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A young magistrate recalls three tales of heinous crimes committed by women, and the brutal punishments that ensued.

A Cinematic Descent into Ero Guro:
Few filmmakers pushed the boundaries of Japanese cinema in the 1960s quite like Teruo Ishii. Known as the godfather of Japanese exploitation cinema, Ishii was instrumental in popularizing ero guro—a genre blending eroticism and grotesquerie, often rooted in historical or supernatural themes. Shogun’s Joy of Torture is one of his most infamous films, an anthology of sadistic punishments, brutal executions, and twisted morality tales that shocked audiences upon release.

The film is structured as three separate stories, each delving into themes of power, oppression, and the consequences of transgression in feudal Japan. These vignettes are marked by graphic depictions of torture, sexual violence, and extreme suffering, making it one of the most unsettling films of its time. Yet, beneath the extreme content, there is an undeniable artistry at play. Ishii’s masterful use of color, lighting, and atmosphere elevates Shogun’s Joy of Torture beyond mere shock value, crafting an experience that is as visually arresting as it is disturbing.

This film emerged at the dawn of Japan’s pink film movement, a wave of softcore erotic films that would dominate the nation’s underground cinema for decades. Unlike standard pink films, which leaned more toward romantic or comedic erotica, Ishii’s work was unrelentingly dark and often tied to historical narratives, reflecting the oppressive nature of the past and the inescapable suffering of its victims. Shogun’s Joy of Torture is particularly notable for its depiction of institutional cruelty—whether from the state, religious authorities, or social customs, Ishii presents a world where brutality is the status quo.

Though controversial, Shogun’s Joy of Torture was a precursor to the rise of more extreme Japanese cinema in the decades to follow, influencing filmmakers such as Takashi Miike. It remains a difficult watch, even by today’s standards, but for those interested in the intersection of horror, history, and ero guro aesthetics, it stands as a landmark of the genre.

Both The Ghastly Ones and Shogun’s Joy of Torture exemplify the outer limits of 1960s horror and exploitation cinema, albeit from very different cultural angles. Where Milligan’s work found itself caught in the wave of moral panic that swept through the UK in the 1980s, Ishii’s film helped shape the future of Japanese underground cinema. Both films challenge viewers with their content, making them fascinating case studies in censorship, controversy, and the evolution of genre filmmaking.

50th Anniversary Retrospective: Lisa, Lisa (Axe) (1974)

08 Sunday Dec 2024

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Frederick R. Friedel’s Lisa, Lisa, better known as Axe, is a fascinating artifact of 1970s exploitation cinema. A minimalist revenge thriller, the film has earned a cult following over the decades for its stark brutality, eerie atmosphere, and unflinching low-budget aesthetic. While it lacks the polish or complexity of other genre classics, Lisa, Lisa delivers a harrowing and compact tale of survival and vengeance that lingers in the memory.

The plot is simple yet effective. Three criminals, on the run after a murder, seek refuge at a secluded farmhouse where 13-year-old Lisa lives with her bedridden grandfather. What follows is a tense game of cat and mouse as the intruders push Lisa too far, unleashing her simmering rage. The film’s brevity—running at a taut 68 minutes—leaves little room for filler, keeping the story tightly focused on its grim premise.

What sets Lisa, Lisa apart from its contemporaries is its unrelenting bleakness. Friedel leans into the limitations of his low budget, using the sparse setting and minimal dialogue to create an oppressive atmosphere. The farmhouse itself feels like a character, its peeling wallpaper and creaking floorboards underscoring the isolation and decay at the heart of the story.

Leslie Lee’s haunting performance as Lisa is the film’s centrepiece. Her quiet, almost detached demeanour adds an unsettling layer to the character, making her transformation into an avenger all the more chilling. Lisa isn’t portrayed as a triumphant heroine but as a damaged and dangerous individual, blurring the lines between victim and predator.

The film’s violence, while shocking for its time, is more suggestive than explicit, relying on Friedel’s knack for implication and mood. The gore is sparingly used but effective, reinforcing the grim realism of the narrative. This restraint, combined with the film’s low-fi aesthetic, gives Lisa, Lisa a raw edge that elevates it above mere exploitation.

However, the film isn’t without its flaws. The pacing occasionally feels uneven, and the limited budget shows in the occasionally wooden performances from the supporting cast. Additionally, the film’s lean runtime leaves little room for character development, which might leave some viewers craving more depth.

Despite these shortcomings, Lisa, Lisa holds its place as a notable entry in the revenge thriller subgenre. Its stark simplicity and oppressive tone make it a compelling watch, especially for fans of gritty, no-frills exploitation cinema. Fifty years later, it remains a testament to how resourceful filmmaking can turn limitations into strengths, delivering a haunting and visceral experience.

  • Saul Muerte

The Godfather of Gore: Herschell Gordon Lewis and His Macabre Masterpieces

07 Saturday Dec 2024

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When it comes to the annals of horror cinema, few figures loom as large—or as unapologetically blood-soaked—as Herschell Gordon Lewis. Dubbed “The Godfather of Gore,” Lewis carved out a niche in the 1960s for his gleeful embrace of low-budget, high-shock filmmaking, pioneering the splatter subgenre that would influence horror for decades to come. While films like Blood Feast (1963) and Two Thousand Maniacs! (1964) are often cited as his most infamous works, his career is also punctuated by strange and memorable entries like Something Weird (1967), A Taste of Blood (1967), and The Gruesome Twosome (1967).

Something Weird (1967)

Among Lewis’s catalogue, Something Weird stands out for its sheer oddity. Mixing supernatural elements, psychedelic visuals, and a bizarre romantic subplot, the film defies easy categorisation. The story revolves around a disfigured man who gains psychic powers after a brush with death, only to become entangled with a witch who demands his love in exchange for restoring his looks.

Something Weird is less a traditional horror film and more a kaleidoscopic fever dream, complete with eerie electronic soundscapes and disjointed narrative turns. While the gore is comparatively restrained, the film’s weirdness compensates, making it one of Lewis’s most intriguing offerings. It’s a testament to his willingness to experiment, even if the result is more bewildering than terrifying.

A Taste of Blood (1967)

Often referred to as Lewis’s attempt at a “classy” horror movie, A Taste of Blood is a sprawling vampire tale with surprising ambitions. Clocking in at over two hours, the film tells the story of John Stone, a businessman who inherits two bottles of brandy from his ancestor, none other than Count Dracula. After drinking the brandy, Stone becomes a vampire, seeking revenge on the descendants of those who killed Dracula.

While it lacks the frenzied gore of Lewis’s other works, A Taste of Blood compensates with its melodramatic tone and surprisingly involved storyline. The pacing drags in places, and its length feels at odds with Lewis’s usual snappy, exploitative style. Still, the film offers a fascinating glimpse of what might have been had Lewis pursued more traditional storytelling in his career.

The Gruesome Twosome (1967)

Returning to his roots with this lurid tale of scalp-harvesting, The Gruesome Twosome epitomises the gleefully grotesque aesthetic that earned Lewis his nickname. The plot revolves around a mother-and-son duo running a wig shop that sources its hair from murdered young women.

The film’s low-budget charm is evident from the opening scene—a bizarre monologue delivered by two talking mannequin heads—and its over-the-top violence is pure Lewis. While the effects are crude by today’s standards, they have a handmade quality that captures the spirit of exploitation cinema. The Gruesome Twosome is quintessential Lewis: shocking, campy, and unrelentingly bizarre.

Legacy of the Godfather of Gore

Herschell Gordon Lewis didn’t just create films; he created a movement. With his unapologetic approach to gore and exploitation, he pushed boundaries in ways that were both shocking and innovative. Films like Something Weird, A Taste of Blood, and The Gruesome Twosome showcase his range—from the surreal to the ambitious to the outright grotesque—cementing his place as a true pioneer in horror.

Though his work remains divisive, there’s no denying the impact of his vision. Lewis’s films opened doors for countless filmmakers who sought to blend shock and subversion into their storytelling. To this day, his bloody fingerprints can be seen across the horror landscape, reminding audiences that sometimes, it’s not about how polished a film is—but how unforgettable.

  • Saul Muerte

Retrospective: Butcher, Baker, Nightmare Maker (1981)

19 Friday Nov 2021

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Celebrating 40 years since it’s initial release comes this exploitation flick from Director William Asher, can now be considered something of a forgotten gem, with some marked commentary on homosexuality, the oedipus complex, and twisting our expectations of the slasher genre.

It’s a curious tale that plays to the extreme and borderline incestious protection of an estranged mother figure towards a nephew. It is this relationship that borders on the strains of inappropriate behaviour.

The story is focused on Billy (Jimmy McNichol), a basketballer with promise of a future career in the sport is held back by his Aunt Cheryl (Susan Tyrell) in order to contribute to maintaining the house; a guide for fuelling her sexual desires.

Things turn sour when Cheryl invites local repairman, Phil to fix their tv set, she ramps up her lustful needs by forcing herself upon him. When this is not  received in kind, Cheryl turns to rage, murdering Phil in cold blood. This is witnessed by Billy, so Cheryl tries to convince him that it was self defence as Phil was trying to tape her. 

The story doesn’t wash up however when it’s revealed that Phil is gay, leading chief detective, Joe Carlson to believe that their is a love triangle involved between Phil, Billy and the basketball coach, Tom. This throws Billy into suspicion as a possible suspect, which isn’t helped by Joe’s narrowmindedness.

In the reversal of damsel in distress horror tropes, Billy is on the receiving end of evil pursuit and his only ally at this stage appears to be his girlfriend Julia. This relationship itself puts Julia into the firing line from Cheryl’s jealousy and amps up the complexities of the interweaving narratives towards a bloodied and crazed conclusion.

There is a heck of a lot of social commentary on display here disguised as an exploitation horror flick, which is why the film probably deserves more attention and love that it received. Yes if alls into shlocky territory, but the entertainment and intellifence that is on display is well worth your time.

  • Saul Muerte

Butcher, Baker, Nightmare Maker is currently screening on Shudder.