Seriously, some of this stuff Severin has sent me I’ve been hunting for years. See if you can spot which are the screeners:
Cannibal Terror (1981), in which the dumbest criminals ever hide out in an Amazon jungle that bears a striking resemblance to the Pyrenees Mountains, and get slaughtered by Indians who bear a striking resemblance to a bunch of white guys from France…
Devil Hunter (1980), in which Jesus Franco decides that he needs a Porno Holocaust of his own…
Legend (1985), in which the devil really isn’t fond of unicorns, but likes Mia Sara just fine…
Papaya, Love Goddess of the Cannibals (1978), in which Joe D’Amato can’t see anything wrong with making a porno movie about anti-nuclear terrorists on a Caribbean island who are also a human-sacrificing Inca voodoo cult…
and…
The Plague (2006), in which the latest crop of Midwich kids take a more pro-active approach to the problems posed by their still-human elders.
I imagine that Lovecraft’s tendency to devote more words to telling his reader how scared he or she should be than to describing the thing to be feared posed a problem to those filmmakers initially assigned the task of bringing his work to the screen. After all, until the advent of modern J-Horror — whose sensibility is pretty much right in line with Lovecraft’s — the common wisdom would have been that you were supposed to scare your audience by showing them something scary, rather than by just showing them a bunch of people being scared, or, even worse, showing a bunch of people talking about how potentially scary some vaguely defined thing might be if it it actually existed. Furthermore, such filmmakers might understandably conclude that a film whose every character was in a constant state of near-wordless cowering for no clear reason might quickly forfeit audience interest.
This week we venture to far-flung Hong Kong, where Romereoesque zombies gather some local flair in 
In 1960, AIP’s go-to director for cheap, quickly produced science fiction and horror double bills convinced the powers that be to gamble on letting him make a stand-alone film, in color, with double the production time and more money. Granted that, compared to other studios, this still meant an incredibly lean budget and an incredibly short production schedule. The result was Roger Corman’s Fall of the House of Usher, a landmark film in the history of American horror and one of the best Gothic horror films from any country. With the runaway success of House of Usher, Corman found himself free to direct a rapid succession of follow-up films that all relied on the same basic formula. In 1963, flush with success and probably more than entitled to do so, Corman asked if he could do something just a little bit different.
This week sees me tackle that perennial favorite, 
When one possesses tastes such as I do, one often assumes that he will find himself standing alone in a vast sea of people who think you are mad, completely mad. If the Internet has taught me one thing other than there are a lot of blogs maintained by people’s house cats, it’s that you’re never so alone as you think you are. No matter how obscure or out of the mainstream your affection for a particular something may be, chances are very good that there are multiple discussion boards, chat rooms, and websites dedicated to defending and celebrating whatever that thing may be. Heck, by Internet standards furries, scat freaks, and people who like to watch monkeys stick their fingers up their butt then sniff them and fall over are mainstream.