Dave Franklin
Exploding heads. A bunch of pygmies in blackface firing arrows at a herd of rampaging elephants. The devil’s helpers innocuously serving up choccy mousse. Geriatric commandos. A pickaxe being driven through a tattooed female chest. Malcolm McDowell in swastika-adorned underpants. Malcolm McDowell raping a bride. Malcolm McDowell clapping with glee as heads are sliced off. Gee, Malc, have a day off, you madman. I think by now you have a fair idea of what you’re gonna get in this seemingly never-ending, Molly Ringwald-free movie guide. Perhaps like me, you can’t take those PC-saturated atrocities that today’s cinema too often inflicts upon us. Instead you seek refuge in the last century in which (at the very least) you can count on Malcolm McDowell going batshit crazy. Admit it, damn you. And maybe even revel in it. And then I’ll know I’m not alone.
