I love that pink cinema can be a place where careers begin rather than end. More specifically, I love that pink cinema can be a place where Yasujirô Ozu is lovingly paid tribute.
Pillow Talk is an impressive achievement and staggering proof that thoughtful cinema — on both a visual and thematic scale — can be made with next to no money and a tight schedule.
Anatommia Extinction is very much a film of its time portraying claustrophobia and misanthropy in a way only 1990s Japan knew how to deliver.
I've seen far more repulsive Roman Pornos, but there's something exceptionally unnerving about Woods Are Wet. Kumashiro mixes sex, death and sadism into the bleakest of tales. This is one Roman Porno I won't be forgetting in a hurry.
Abortion, as you might guess from its title, is a parodic take on the exploitative birth film genre. Adachi was not the only filmmaker to parody the genre. A slew of abortion films appeared in the late 60s and early 70s essentially becoming a sub-genre of its own.
The flat out absurdity and unabashed goofiness of the Red Room films mean that they sit outside the world of truly soul-destroying Japanese films like the Guinea Pig series. Yamanouchi just can't play things straight. In the past this has worked against him. Here, it works.
Satō's films generally leave me feeling physically ill, and The Bedroom is no exception. The Bedroom is not graphic, but Satō's characteristically bold deconstruction of perversion, alienation, and voyeurism is unflinchingly grim.
With Daydream, Tetsuji Takechi made the first mainstream pinku eiga, but with Black Snow, he really ruffled feathers. Yet for all its importance, Black Snow is largely forgotten.
For a film with a title made up of "rape" and an exclamation mark, Rape! is surprisingly well made and not nearly as exploitative as you'd expect.
The Heroine Zankoku Monogatari series is a repetitive clusterfuck of superheroines, cackling villains, wrestling moves, jizzy vomit, dismemberment, guts slapping on screaming faces, and endless, endless, endless punches. And it's porn, by the way.
Violated Angels takes a similar approach to Wakamatsu's The Embryo Hunts in Secret. Both take place almost entirely in a single location, and both are viciously misanthropic.
With the amount of horrible shit I’ve subjected myself to, I’m amazed that I’m still, on occasion, shocked by a film. When I say “shocked”, I don’t mean that I find myself a weeping mess, or furious and offended. No, normally my eyes widen a little, and the thought “why do I watch this stuff?”...