Tag Archives: Erotica

FANTASIA 2026: APOCRYPHA CANDIDATE: INSECTASY (2026)

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DIRECTED BY: Angus Silver

FEATURING: Tirion Healy, Emmett Roiko, Jan Roeth, Eugenie Frances, Lyndall Huber

PLOT: Sadie becomes increasingly distracted from work and social life as her sexual fixation with insects blooms.

Still from Insectasy (2026)

WHY IT MIGHT JOIN THE APOCRYPHA: Sadie’s acts of orgasmus ex insertione vaginali gryllorum stand out from most other movies, and the ongoing dream sequences lend an otherworldly oddness to her unlikely onanism.

COMMENTS: Around the age of eight, I developed my first phobia. Beetles and other large, shelled bugs fascinated me as a boy, and I even had a small collection of specimens. Down by the the pool one day, I discovered a robust beetle, its body drawn together in the shape of a large almond. I brought it upstairs and inside to our pantry, where there was a convenient window sill for drying. Late at night, I entered the pantry to assemble ingredients for a peanut-butter sandwich. Flicking on the light, I espied thin, shadowy motions out of the corner of my eye. The beetle, which I laid on its back to dry, was not dead, and its upthrust legs were bending about in a most lively manner. I went howling to my folks’ room with the shout, “MOM, PAPA! THERE’S A BIG BIG BUG!”

I share this anecdote not in the pursuit of praise for sitting through Angus Silver’s erotic dramedy, Insectasy, but to land on a point: I eventually outgrew my phobia as I grew more comfortable with the billions of creepy-crawlies which inhabit our world. Sadie, a young medical receptionist, also must undergo growth and change. [Insert chrysalis metaphor here…] Of course, she begins her journey of bug-love much further down the pipeline: Insectasy‘s opening scene has her antsy to get through her boring day at work, practically bursting by the time she returns home, opens her breadbox, removes one of its jars containing a trapped insect, and then uses the small creature to aid in a frantic bout of masturbation.

This taboo behavior recurs often, and inevitably notches-up: larger bugs, deeper utilization (if you take my meaning), and so on, whilst simultaneously Sadie becomes decreasingly able to put up with the beige-bland life she otherwise finds herself trapped in. Her friend group is a hipster-flavor of tedious, the pet shop woman is both coy and snarky, and unfortunately the hunk who works nearby turns out to be something of an idiot once she actually gathers the nerve to interact with him. At one point she laments that she feels as if, in her misguided ambition to avoid pain, she has wrapped herself in a thin curtain until reaching a point where she cannot move.

Eventually her cryptic medieval-flavored fantasies—ramparts, gowns, faeries, a dying knight, all suffused in sickly bright sepiaesque glow—aren’t enough. What is she after? Can she discover who, exactly, she is? And more importantly, can she embrace this part of her self? This could have been just another self-discovery drama. Director Angus Silver and actress Tyrion Healey (who somehow manifests her Sadie character as both smoldering and staggeringly awkward) decide otherwise. This is an erotic portrait of a young woman who finds her place in the world through finding a place for her objects of desire, both within and without.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“…Silver’s film is a portrait of errant eroticism all at once in cocoon-like repression, in ecstatic emergence and in free, if undercover, flight – and it is as fascinating and repellent as any glimpse into a person’s unchecked, innermost urges.” — Anton Bitel, Projected Figures (festival screening)

APOCRYPHA CANDIDATE: THE LAUGHING WOMAN (1969)

Femina ridens, AKA The Frightened Woman

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This is the first in a limited series by Pete Trbovich entitled “Pete’s Perverted Pix,” examining the kinkier side of cinema.

DIRECTED BY: Piero Schivazappa

FEATURING: Philippe Leroy, Dagmar Lassander

PLOT: A wealthy aristocrat (and psychopathic sadist) kidnaps a woman and keeps her as his personal torture toy, until she turns the tables on him.

Still from The Laughing Woman (1969)

WHY IT MIGHT MAKE THE APOCRYPHA: Even though the story is almost elementary, and 90% of the time it involves just two characters, you can’t take your eyes off the screen thanks to the psychedelic sets, ridiculous dialogue, and all-in committed performance from two very watchable actors. Far from typical Eurosleeze fare, by the end you know that The Laughing Woman has something to say, even if that message is just a harsh judgment on male-female politics dressed up in clown makeup.

COMMENTS: Every now and then, a movie throws you on first watch. The first time I saw The Laughing Woman, I dismissed it as exploitative Eurotrash aspiring to, but just missing out on, artistic redemption.  Act 1 left a sour taste in my mouth, which acts 2 and 3 tried, but failed, to wash away. Then I looked up what others thought, and to my surprise, I could hardly find one bad word that anyone has to say about this movie. But I did find reviews which breathlessly called it every kind of weird and a masterpiece. Some even drew comparisons to Death Laid an Egg.

So after a while, I gave it another try. Now that I knew where the film was ultimately going, I could appreciate little jokes I didn’t catch the first time, the mondo set pieces reminiscent of the village from TV’s “The Prisoner,” the deliberately turgid dialogue, and the sweet soundtrack tying it all together. While I still say this is a film with a nasty central idea, I have to admit that it is artistically framed and slyly dishes out a satire of sexual relations as it pulls the rug on the viewer. Perhaps the weirdest thing about this movie is how it forces you to admire it even while almost daring you to hate it.

Described variously as either an erotic thriller or a very dark comedy, the movies’ two titles (is the woman laughing, or frightened?) give you a hint that we’re in for an ambiguous time. Except for the bookending opening and closing scenes, the whole movie is focused solely on our lead characters. Dr. Sayer (Philippe Leroy) is a big shot rich guy with a powerful position in some organization, and Maria (Dagmar Lassander) is a reporter who needs to get in touch with him to research a story. They meet and immediately have an argument about the story she’s writing, but Sayer directs Maria to stop by his home anyway to pick up her research files. No sooner is she lured into his parlor to admire his art collection than the doctor drugs her drink. A Cosby-on-the-rocks knocks her out, and Maria awakes in Continue reading APOCRYPHA CANDIDATE: THE LAUGHING WOMAN (1969)

APOCRYPHA CANDIDATE: SENSUELA (1973)

DIRECTED BY: Teuvo Tulio

FEATURING: Marianne Mardi, Ossi Elstelä, Mauritz Åkerman, Ismo Saario

PLOT: A young Sámi woman abandons her life of reindeer herding for the big city when she falls in love with a Nazi pilot/photographer.

Still from Sensuela (1973)

WHY IT MIGHT JOIN THE APOCRYPHA: Sensuela is a difficult film to describe. A remake of Finnish director Teuvo Tulio’s own melodrama Cross of Love (1946), which itself was inspired by Alexander Pushkin’s 1830 short story “The Stationmaster,”  though neither film closely follows the text. In his updated version of a prodigal daughter’s journey, Tulio mashes together the modes of ethnographic documentary, commercial advertising, and softcore porn. All incongruously set to Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker Suite, the result is ultimately unclassifiable.

COMMENTS: Did you know the Sámi geld reindeer by biting off their testicles? Neither did I, until I watched this movie. I don’t know if this is actually true in the real world, but in the world of Tulio it’s a fact, and one which proves shockingly relevant to Sensuela‘s loosely plotted narrative. Like and other low-budget outsider auteurs, Tulio clearly pursued his own cinematic vision, with relentless disregard for prevailing taste or convention.

Sensuela opens during WWII with three fighter pilots in the midst of battle, but this isn’t war as seen in any other movie. Painted backdrops of snowy mountains provide the landscape and cartoonishly simple sets, barely recognizable, represent the plane cockpits. To the sound of gunfire, two of the pilots collapse on their instrument panels, but the third survives.

Hans parachutes out of his damaged plane into the Arctic landscape below. Laila, a Sámi girl, crossing the tundra in her reindeer sled, discovers him and brings him back to her father’s yurt. While she nurses him back to health, they fall in love, but the war forces Hans to flee Finland once he recovers.

In the first of many confusing transitions, the characters reunite after what must be about twenty years (though neither one has visibly aged). Hans whisks Laila away to Helsinki where he works as a photographer and she becomes his hottest model. The novelty of the relationship wears off when Laila refuses to swing with the ’60s. They break up, but she continues telling her father she and Hans intend to get married.

What seems like a harmless white lie proves to be Laila’s undoing. After many trials and tribulations, she takes a job in a warehouse, falls in love again, and becomes engaged to one of her co-workers. Meanwhile, Laila’s father happens across her nude photographs and sets off for the city in a rage. After roughing up her roommate, he decides to go after Hans. The roommate warns Laila, who manages to reach Hans just before her father’s arrival.

Happy to see Laila again, Hans, surprisingly, agrees to go along with the deception. They’ll tell her father they’re still planning to marry, thinking he’ll leave once they calm his indignation. Instead, dad insists on remaining in the city for the wedding.

Laila and Hans decide to hold a fake marriage ceremony. They almost pull it off—until Laila’s actual fiancé crashes the “wedding” party and all hell breaks loose. In a classic over-the-top Tulio climax, emotions run hard and fast, and love turns to hate in the blink of an eye. Her fiancé renounces Laila, but Hans suffers the brunt of her father’s anger.

Unfortunately, it’s not all sex, drugs, and castration. Sensuela is honestly a train wreck, but it’s difficult to look away, as one can’t help but wonder what randomness will happen next. Stock footage pads the already overlong 104 minute runtime with gratuitous scenes of carnival lights, saunas, and loudly chirping birds. Even more -esque moments appear, with conversations taking place over static close-ups of a coffee table.

Tulio frames sex scenes from such awkward angles they detract from the sensuality implied by the title. Other scenes have such a contrived, stagey feel they can hardly be taken seriously. In a scene of Sámi watching a reindeer race, the crowd jumps and applauds in unison (especially unsettling because they also dress identically). The editing of the fight choreography has a strange, staccato rhythm, like the skips between comic book panels. This would work in an actual comic book adaptation, but in the context of Sensuela, it just adds to the film’s erratic quality.

Some film scholars categorize Sensuela as camp, citing Tulio as a forerunner of , Pedro Almodovar, and even . Others stress the director’s distinct lack of humor and jouissance, which work against his camp aesthetics. Sensuela echoes the grim morality of Tulio’s earlier melodramas, despite the hippy orgies. Laila’s look always retains an out-of-place 1940s glamour. With her buttoned up trench coat, high-heels and red lips, she looks like she wandered onto the wrong set from a film noir. This speaks to the film’s deep weirdness: Sensuela exists in its own world, without any concern for linear time or standard genres.

It’s interesting to note that Thriller: A Cruel Picture, a film that would help make “Swedish” a byword for sexploitation, was released in the same year. No such trend occurred in Finland. Sensuela would be Tulio’s last movie; after it bombed, the director retired into seclusion, rarely granting interviews about his life or forty-year career. Finnish cineastes continued to value realism and restraint, and Tulio’s films were always, very consciously, the exact opposite.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“…best described as a psychedelic, Alice in Wonderland-like journey that has ample amounts of Brechtian melodrama. – Michael Den Boer, 10K Bullets [Blu-ry]

3 X Teuvo Tulio: Sensuela + Cross Of Love + Restless Blood

  • A trio of surreal melodramas from Finnish director Teuvo Tulio including CROSS OF LOVE, RESTLESS BLOOD and the notorious SENSUELA

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IT CAME FROM THE READER-SUGGESTED QUEUE: IN THE REALM OF THE SENSES (1976)

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DIRECTED BY:

FEATURING: Tatsuya Fuji, Eiko Matsuda, Aoi Nakajima

PLOT: A concubine starts a passionate affair with her master in 1930s Japan.

Still from In the Realm of the Senses (1976)

COMMENTS: When a movie starts with a girl trying to force her way into another girl, you know you will probably have a sexually explicit tale. And while Senses is not hardcore pornography, sex and eroticism play the major role here. One sexually charged encounter follows another, as we follow our young prostitute heroine and her relationship with her master, a middle-aged nobleman and owner of the house where she lives and works with other girls. The development of this relationship proves increasingly disturbing as sex transforms into power play, a game of submission and dominance, while the young girl gradually reveals her more possessive self.

Oshima’s infamous sexual psychodrama shocked on release and remains today a classic of provocative cinema, a transgressive and bold narrative portraying sexuality as a power play. While we cannot consider this movie weird, there are elements of the bizarre. Sexual activities increasingly take on a riskier and more sadomasochistic bent. A few intrusive scenes expressing the characters’ states of mind offer a dreamier aesthetic and a healthy dose of Freudian symbolism. And the graphic climax still shocks sensitive spectators.

In today’s cinematic landscape, however, none of the above is too extreme. Contemporary Asian extreme cinema  approaches similar subjects, namely erotic obsession and the relationship of the two sexes, in more shocking ways. Kim Ki Duk’ s movies, especially Moebius, come to mind, featuring similar imagery and then some. Keeping that in mind, Senses feels a bit dated and mild. The underdeveloped characters and their simplistic or incomprehensible (or just unexplained) motives do not help anything.

In the Realm of the Senses is available on Blu-ray from the Criterion Collection.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“The film invites scorn not only because it depicts almost every sex act you could ever want to imagine taking place—God help us—between a man and a woman (right up to and including a woman inserting pieces of mushroom into her vagina and letting them marinate in her lady juices before serving them up to her man; because if he wants more, it must be true love), but also because it dares to couch the entire hedonistic-masochistic exercise as a cinematic cipher, an oozier version of what, deep down, happens in every relationship.”–Eric Henderson, Slant

(This movie was nominated for review by “Der Ubermolch.” Suggest a weird movie of your own here.)

APOCRYPHA CANDIDATE: THE LICKERISH QUARTET (1970)

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DIRECTED BY: Radley Metzger

FEATURING: Frank Wolff, Erika Remberg, Silvana Venturelli, Paolo Turco

PLOT: A bourgeois family invites a carnival performer back to their castle, convinced they recognize her from a stag film.

Still from The Lickerish Quartet (1970)

WHY IT MIGHT JOIN THE APOCRYPHA: The Lickerish Quartet questions the very nature of reality through a series of breezy sex romps. If that’s not enough in itself, there’s a library floor paved with bawdy vocabulary, a magic act that disappears the lead actress from the film within the film, and the fact that every line of dialogue sounds like a riddle.

COMMENTS: In The Lickerish Quartet, softcore pron peddler Radley Metzger steals the Teorema scenario with a healthy dose of inspiration from playwright-philosopher Luigi Pirandello. Throughout his directing career Metzger remained aware of his roots as an editor. He preferred to adapt well-known literary works for his films so he wouldn’t have to worry about plot. The Lickerish Quartet loosely adapts Pirandello’s play “Six Characters in Search of an Author,” first performed in 1921. At the premier, audiences revolted in protest of the fourth-wall breaking metanarrative structure. Here, Metzger constantly reminds us we’re watching a movie through all the tricks of the editor’s trade. The film changes between color and black and white, between past and present, with playful disregard for continuity, and the film within the film and the core story switch places in diagetic reality, along with both sets of cast members.

After growing bored with watching a stag loop together, a middle-aged man (Wolff), his wife (Remberg), and her young adult son (Turco) decide to visit the carnival. They see a girl (Venturelli) in a white catsuit riding the Wall of Death on a motorcycle, and when she takes a bow and removes her helmet she’s revealed to be the spitting image of an actress in the blue movie the family just watched. The father decides to invite her back to their castle to show her the film. The son wishes he wouldn’t, but the mother thinks it will be fun.

The carnival girl accepts the invitation. From the moment she sets foot inside the castle, flashbacks suggest she somehow remembers it. A brief shot shows a man being killed before he falls through a doorway and down a flight of stairs, prompting the carnival girl to ask, “Who has the gun? To do the shooting?”

What they expected to be a fun flirty lark has already taken an ominous turn for the family. “There isn’t going to be any shooting,” the father says; “but of course there is,” the girl replies. Before they show her the stag film, the son performs a magic act and the carnival girl disappears. When the reel begins to play, her doppelgänger’s face is no longer visible on screen. On a third viewing, the blonde girl in the film is an entirely different actress. The mother and father are confused and disappointed, but they convince the girl to spend the night.

In ‘s Teorema a mysterious stranger visits a bourgeois family and seduces each of them in turn. The results of the seductions vary, but in the end the total effect is devastating. Quartet runs this plot backward. Metzger rewinds the bickering family back to their beginnings, to World War II, the source of their conflicts and tensions.

A look into the source text reveals Metzger hews pretty closely to Pirandello’s scenario. The “Six Characters in Search of an Author” are identified only by their roles within a step-family, the result of a woman’s affair sanctioned by her husband. The plot centers around the complexities of their relationships and the impact of transgressive sexuality. In the metanarrative, their stories were left uncompleted by their original creator, so they seek an author in order to achieve resolution.

In updating it to the present day and paring down the family to four members, Metzger makes the material more accessible to contemporary audiences and a society still coming to terms with the legacy of WWII. The carnival girl becomes “The Author” who literally fleshes out the characters’ memories, personalities, and desires.

Pirandello believed reality is an illusion and everyone should be aware of it; he also believed this awareness would lead only to unhappiness. Metzger is far less pessimistic. The carnival girl makes the family members whole people through their sexual encounters with her. Far from tearing them apart, this shared experience brings the family closer together and makes them capable of seeing each other’s different perspectives.

In creating an avant-garde skin flick with philosophical underpinnings, Metzger confused and frustrated critics, who struggled with how to classify Quartet when they didn’t outright dismiss it. Featuring Metzger’s usual attention to the details of production design, Quartet straddles the ditch between low- and high-brow with ease. Ultramodern décor artfully situated within an actual medieval castle mirrors the characters’ inner journeys from the present to their pasts. Despite frequent syncopated cuts to enigmatic scenes (a close-up of a reclining woman’s crossed ankles and magenta high-heeled shoes; the dying man falling down the stairs), a mood of dreamy sensuality prevails.

With its dual focus on subjectivity and sexual mores, it’s no surprise Pirandello’s play spoke to Metzger as a film maker. Metzger learned editing during his military service while working on propaganda films for the United States government. He knew better than most people how movies shape reality, and vice versa.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“…[Metzger and co-writer Michael de Forrest] must have dreamed up the story line late at night, for it’s a weirdo of the first order, a confusing blend of fantasy, reality, and illusion…”–Thomas Blakely, The Pittsburgh Press (contemporaneous)