More hapless northerners go to the tropics and end up as cannibaled goods.
Spanish schlockmeister general Jesús Franco made movies cheaply, and Jungfrau unter Kannibalen, aka Devil Hunter, is bargain basement all the way. Even the poster looks like some stoned high school goth painted it during art class. We especially love the obvious theft of Raquel Welch from One Million Years B.C. for the female figure. If this hypothetical goth ever unveiled his painting to his art teacher, she'd have gone, “That's, uh, very... interesting,” while secretly wondering what sort of psychological damage was behind such a creation. That's the way we feel about Jungfrau unter Kannibalen. It's, uh, interesting...
It premiered in West Germany today in 1980, stars beautiful Ursula Buchfellner, billed as Uschi Fellner, and was directed by Franco under the pseudonym Clifford Brown. We figured if he didn't take credit for this it must be really bad and we were right. Buchfellner, who we last saw in Linda, this time around plays a model kidnapped by Amazon maneaters that plan to sacrifice her to their devil god. The German title translated would be “virgin among cannibals,” and that pretty much covers it, plotwise. She gets stripped early and stays mostly naked, along with cannibal chief and swinging dick Claude Boisson. Other cast members disrobe as needed.
Naturally there's a rescue attempt, we guess because virginal blonde models are as valuable as Amazon gold, and apparently just as worth killing over. The expedition is led by Al Cliver, who found himself in an amazingly high number of very bad movies during the 1970s. But you have to respect a guy who had love scenes with Sabrina Siani, Silvia Dionisio, and Annie Belle. Toting future Playboy centerfold Buchfellner around the jungle while she was stark naked may have been his crowning achievement. He probably plays those scenes to his grandkids. Let him be an example to us that we should find pleasure wherever we can in this flick. And for that matter, in life, because you never know when you'll be eaten.
I love being worshipped! There's literally no downside to it!
I hate being worshipped. There's a serious downside to it.
Don't tell anyone, but our so-called ceremonial ointment is really just Shunga strawberry flavored massage oil.
Grr! Argh! Gr— Oh, it's useless, Jesús. How am I supposed to ravage Ursula when I can't even see her?
I have an idea. Follow my voice, Claude. Here's a classic German yodel I learned. Yodel-lay-de-li-di-lo! Yodel-lay-de-yodel-ooo!
Stop that before I really kill you. And what smells like strawberries?
*lick* Wow, Ursula, do all Germans taste this fruity? *slurp*
Need help up? Pull on this.
No, seriously. Just reach up here and take hold.
Screw you then, you ungrateful..!
Sabrina Siani is the queen of hearts. Livers, spleens, and kidneys too.
There are a surprising number of cannibal sexploitation movies out there. La Dea Cannibale is one of the better known entries. It's an Italian production with Sabrina Siani in the title role as a little girl found by jungle maneaters who grows up to be fine as hell and becomes the queen of the tribe. As per usual in these movies, an expedition to locate her is mounted by cityfolk. These lunch items comprise the father who lost Siani in the first place—along with his arm—accompanied by several witless adventurers. Or maybe it's fairer to call them brave rather than dumb. But when the group come across stray body parts and gnawed upon corpses yet keep right on trekking into the heart of schlockness, what would you call that? Dumb, right?
Pretty soon the cannibals start picking them off with darts and poisoned arrows, but a few stubborn souls eventually reach the evil village, whereupon daddy is shocked to discover his daughter has grown into a bleached blonde bombshell cavorting in only a thong. The question at that point is whether he can wrench her from the clutches of the godless flesheaters. They won't give her up easily and you can really understand that—other jungle tribes in 1970s cinema have white girl goddesses so why shouldn't they? We'd almost recommend this one for laughs if there were a digital transfer out there, but sadly the version we saw was obviously ripped from a VHS tape and it was annoyingly murky. Sort of like its plot. La Dea Cannibale, which was also called Mondo cannibale, opened in Italy today in 1980.
The only real shock is how bad the movie is.
1977’s Porno Shock was originally released in West Germany as Der Ruf der blonden Göttin, but was also known as Porno gola profonda, The Call of the Blonde Goddess, and Voodoo Passion. Indeed, there’s voodoo involved, as the film was shot in Haiti, and every film shot there involves voodoo. The movie was directed by Jesús Franco under his Manfred Gregor pseudonym, and starred Vicky Adams, better known as Nanda Van Bergen or sometimes Muriel Montosse. Supporting her were Ada Tauler, aka Annie Sand, Karine Gambier, Siegrid Sellier, Jack Taylor, and others.
Basically, a woman arrives in Haiti to visit her husband who works there, uncovers what seems to be an incestuous relationship between hubby and his sister, has some detailed erotic nightmares, and begins to believe she’s fallen under the influence of a voodoo curse. Probably the only thing you’ll fall under the influence of in this mostly atrocious softcore production is the dancing of Vicky Adams, who as a white voodoo priestess spends long stretches of screen time gyrating naked in the woods. Even the fact that she has to share these scenes with sundry male dancers and their stubby penises doesn't detract from her extreme, er, watchability. You can see for yourself right here at about minute 24:00, minute 38:00, and minute 103:00. Not that we kept track.
But lest we forget, Pulp Intl. is mainly dedicated to art, and the only reason we’re talking about Porno Shock is because the two English language posters above—and obviously the Italian one at right—were painted by Mafé, an Italian master illustrator who five years after we first learned about him remains a total mystery. We have no full name on him, no biography, nothing. But what we do have is more of his work, and you can see that here, here, and here. We also have more of his posters in our hard drive and we’ll get those up in a bit. Meanwhile, help us out Italian friends—who is this guy?
The headlines that mattered yesteryear.
1955—Disneyland Begins Operations
The amusement park Disneyland opens in Orange County, California for 6,000 invitation-only guests, before opening to the general public the following day.
1959—Holiday Dies Broke
Legendary singer Billie Holiday
, who possessed one of the most unique voices in the history of jazz, dies in the hospital of cirrhosis of the liver. She had lost her earnings to swindlers over the years, and upon her death her bank account contains seventy cents.
1941—DiMaggio Hit Streak Reaches 56
New York Yankees outfielder Joe DiMaggio gets a hit in his fifty-sixth consecutive game. The streak would end the next game, against the Cleveland Indians, but the mark DiMaggio set still stands, and in fact has never been seriously threatened. It is generally thought to be one of the few truly unbreakable baseball records.
1939—Adams Completes Around-the-World Air Journey
American Clara Adams becomes the first woman passenger to complete an around-the-world air journey. Her voyage began and ended in New York City, with stops in Lisbon, Marseilles, Leipzig, Athens, Basra, Jodhpur, Rangoon, Bangkok, Hong Kong, Wake Island, Honolulu, and San Francisco.
1955—Nobel Prize Winners Unite Against Nukes
Eighteen Nobel laureates sign the Mainau Declaration against nuclear weapons, which reads in part: We think it is a delusion if governments believe that they can avoid war for a long time through the fear of [nuclear] weapons. Fear and tension have often engendered wars. Similarly it seems to us a delusion to believe that small conflicts could in the future always be decided by traditional weapons. In extreme danger no nation will deny itself the use of any weapon that scientific technology can produce.
1997—Versace Murdered in Miami
Italian fashion designer Gianni Versace is shot dead on the steps of his Miami mansion as he returns from breakfast at a cafe. His killer is Andrew Cunanan, a man who had already murdered four other people across the country and was the focus of an FBI manhunt. The FBI never caught Cunanan—instead he committed suicide on the houseboat where he was living.
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