Monday, September 01, 2003

Emanuelle in America (1976)

It's often bandied about that parts of this film inspired David Cronenberg to make Videodrome, and I can believe it -- I think this film gave me a brain tumor. An exploitation film in the truest sense, this thing is merely a series of perverse sexual fantasies stapled together in some order to create the illusion of a filmed narrative. I figured I was in for a long night when the horse-masturbation scene popped up; by the hour mark, when director Joe D'Amato assaulted me with fifteen minutes of hardcore sex because he needed to pad out his running time, I had to ask my friend Dave if there was blood oozing out of my ears. And then came the snuff material, which would have made the film worthwhile if D'Amato had any interest in actually confronting the subject. Nope -- it's just there for added sleaze. The final insult is that none of this matters -- the last scene resolves nothing and, indeed, tries to pretend that none of the previous had any import whatsoever. (There's an interview on the DVD with D'Amato, who claims that this films represents his idea of eroticism. That says a great deal more about D'Amato than I ever cared to know.) Now, I've seen bad films, and I've seen films that were so bad they made me angry, but this is the first film that was so bad that it managed to flabbergast me beyond all sanity. If I end up in a sanitarium within the next six months, you'll know why: This movie ate my brain.

Grade: F

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