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| Not so much the poster that would appear on an actual grindhouse, more of the kind of dvd cover you would see in a bargain bin. |
Who is Catherine Miles? The answer would appear to be that she is a marketing gimmick, intended in all likelihood to draw in filmgoers who bought into similar "based on a true story" hype that Amityville, the Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Snuff and Cannibal Holocaust benefitted from. In fact the film itself fits snuggly into the genre of Italian pre Blair Witch experiments in verisimilitude derived from Ruggero Deodato's famous 16 millimeter excursion into animal cruelty, human torture and social commentary.
The film is constructed as an exhibition of evidence in a hilariously fake trial, complete with pompous commentary throughout and the prosecution occasionally yelling "Objection your honor!" While this kind of narration is common in low budget film-making, it never ceases to be obnoxious. I find it hard to imagine anything more irritating in the context of film than watching a character enter a room and the tacky disembodied voice of that actor announcing "I walked into the room". However, the biggest problem with providing this kind of commentary is that it is usually quite obvious that there are major errors that this post production bandaging was intended to fix. Without the narration the film is merely a procession of atrocities and banalities sandwiched between a bare bones revenge plot.
I have always found the idiosyncratic cliches of Italian Exploitation films to be hilarious. One trope in particular functions as an excuse to get actresses undressed: Any scene in which there are 'savages' of any kind (the cliche is that these are usually played by Italian men in wigs and grass skirts) the women are forced by some measure of extenuating circumstance to take their top off. My favorite example of this is in Bruno Matei's Hell of the Living Dead. Amazonia follows suit.
While there are a number problems with Amazonia, in certain contexts, its sentimental schlockiness has a certain charm, much less so with the bottom half of this double bill. In stark contrast to the saccharine pretensions of amazonia, SS Experiment Love Camp is extraordinarily nihilistic, at least as far as the subpar acting and special effects allow.
I have previously mentioned the history and evolution of the Italian nazisploitation sex-and-shock film; describing the devolutionary transition from Salo and The Night Porter to Red Nights of the Gestapo, SS Girls, and The Gestapo's Last Orgy. Recently I discovered a flaw in this description. A wider examination suggests that the Nazi exploitation genre originated in Germany. The use of this type of film as a device to dehumanize the Third Riech and separate (and thus absolve of guilt) the average citizen from those committing the atrocities was common in post war West Germany. Due to the apparent similarities of these films to the Italian pictures, in function and content, one can view a much more complex matrix of influence.
SS Experiment Love Camp is somewhat of an amalgam of the aforementioned three films. There is an attempt at the cruelty of The Gestapo's Last Orgy, the inept sexiness of Red Nights of the Gestapo, and a hint of the intended tackiness of SS Girls. There are even moments so insipid as to bring The Beast In Heat to mind (one thermostat control in particular evokes the slipshod, bubble-gum-and-duct-tape approach of that video nasty).
The film's plot involves various excuses to get (mostly) attractive italian women naked and shagging in front of Nazi mad scientists and their diabolical assistants. The driving force behind the picture (pardon the pun) is a Nazi Colonel who had his balls bitten off for unknown reasons and proceeds to order a number of failed transplant operations until he tricks the protagonist into undergoing this surgery, and since this is bad movie, it magically works this time.
This triggers the perfunctory murder of the SS Colonel and declaration of revenge against the Third Reich, not without some unintentional humor. May I suggest that "It… happens sometimes" is probably the worst thing you could say to someone who just discovered he's been rendered surgically impotent? Similarly "What I did… was very bad" is probably not the best thing to tell the man who you had tricked hours earlier into being castrated, and who now is aiming a machine gun square at your…. chest.
One could criticize the medical basis behind the plot, but I think that would be a matter of being unable to see the sloppily painted thermostat throughout the trees.The film aspires to true nastiness, but ultimately falls as limp as the colonel's pecker.
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| "You will draw for the master race!" |
