FLAMING CREATURES (USA/1963/JACK SMITH)

Working on discarded colour-reversal film stock and a budget of $300, Jack Smith paints a series of dotty vignettes featuring people who transcend gender, whether convincingly or superficially. Transvestites, hermaphrodites and masculine-jawed women coalesce to the sound of scratchy records. The rituals of the female are carried out by a group of hairy males. Gatherings of these androgynes engage in furious orgies. The camera, rarely acknowledged (at least not deliberately) by its subjects, stands uncomfortably close to some intimate moments, shuddering and shaking with delight.

In content, the film pushes little further than hysterical sexual hedonism (although most of the penises present – and there are many – are flaccid). Thematically however, Smith seems to address the issue of fluid gender in a positive, radical manner, presaging the imminent sexual revolution of the later sixties. The subjects in his film don’t appear to have any reservations or confusions about their state of hermaphroditism.

The film stock itself has a middling effect on the piece, its selection due to budgetary constraints rather than creative decisions. However, on occasion an image is lost in a muddy grey, as if the cosmetic ideals within were soon to expire. Regarding film history, Smith seems to have at least an awareness of, if not veneration for, the silent-era starlets, and Georges Méliès’ playfulness comes to mind more than once. If nothing else, the piece will stick with you, not least because of the sequence where a nipple gyrates faster and faster until it becomes an erotic blur.

DANCEHALL QUEEN (JAMAICA/1997/RICK ELGOOD, DON LETTS)

A mild musical rags-to-riches story, Dancehall Queen concerns Marcia, an impoverished but tenacious street seller, as she struggles to bring up her two daughters. After being intimidated repeatedly by local thug Priest, she decides enough is enough and begins to reinvent herself, taking her inspiration from local dancehall beauties. In the meantime, sassy daughter Tanya is hectored by family friend “Uncle” Larry into having sex, something she entirely blames on her mother. After investing a large amount of (a friend’s) money in garish tailor-made outfits, Marcia sneaks out at night to pick up vicarious dancing lessons in preparation for a competition to become the titular ‘Dancehall Queen’.

In spite of her street-urchin bravura, Marcia is essentially a chick flick heroine, her story a simple story arc. For a lovable protagonist, she is surprisingly selfish, even considering her predicament. Her emotional ignorance towards her daughters is reprehensible at worst, but the belated blossoming of her own femininity apparently exempts her from any blame. Tanya’s wisdom beyond her years makes her a far more interesting character, and it’s a shame that not much else is heard of her story.

Acting talent varies greatly, and often reaches telenovela territory, but the key roles are amply filled. Paul Campbell in particular is on form as Priest, and it’s a shame that little has been seen of him outside Jamaican cinema. Audrey Reid plays Marcia with adequate gutsiness, but it’s hard to want to egg her on when it comes to the moment of truth.

SEXMISSION (POLAND/1984/JULIUSZ MACHULSKI)

In one of the more unusual sci-fi plots, one which still seems quite ingenious twenty-five years on, a pair of foolhardy men in early nineties Poland submit themselves to a human hibernation experiment which, to the audience’s benefit, goes awry. The men, named Max and Albert, awaken half a century longer than anticipated and are informed, to their bewilderment, that all males have died out. The two are quarantined in a cell which forms part of a compound run, naturally, by women. Initially fearful, the men soon realise that they themselves are the object of fear, and use this to their advantage, gradually breaking down the prejudices of one of the scientists, Lamia. Together, the trio take down the compound from the inside and make their escape.

Consistently entertaining, Sexmission derives humour from every facet of the gender divide without being too chauvinistic. Women certainly come off the worse of the two sexes, their system of government being exposed as grossly decadent, but men do not escape criticism either, having to negotiate their manhood in order to come to any success. The film also lampoons the suffocating effects of communist Poland – this is particularly evident when the three escape into the luxuries of the ‘real’ world. A detained elderly woman fondly remembers the age of man, evoking the older generations embittered by change. In addition to its political satire, the film wows with its elaborate set designs, although the same can’t be said for the computers, which remain hilariously retrograde.

TWENTYNINE PALMS (FRANCE/2003/BRUNO DUMONT)

A pleasure-seeking young couple, David and Katia, journey their way across the California landscape with apparent abandon. Officially, David is meant to be there scouting locations for his latest film project, taking in the picturesque stretches of desert and trees in the Joshua Tree National Park. However, long drives seem to lose focus and aim quickly, and sexual urges take over, the couple ravaging each other in a host of locations (‘ravaging’ seems the most appropriate verb, given the ambiguity of their passion). When their sojourn falls into a detached routine, an invasion from the outside world seems poised either to threaten their intimate relationship, or rescue them from the frustration of their sexual encounters.

While director-writer Bruno Dumont might have it in his mind that Twentynine Palms is an ‘experimental road-trip horror’ masterpiece, it actually achieves little more than slight provocation. Shots linger meditatively on the pair’s naked or near-naked bodies, savouring their vulnerability. While the framing of these shots usually says something about the roles they play in their sexual journey, only a really generous and patient viewer would claim that Dumont’s film means anything more. Having said that, his appropriation of the American setting and sordid treatment of the “road movie” genre often feels like a deliberate dig at Hollywood’s mawkish mile-a-minute storytelling. Additionally, the film employs elements from other films – À Bout De Souffle comes to mind, with the lead couple juggling two cultures and languages – but is definitely less than the sum of its influences.

ZOMBIE FLESH EATERS 2 (ITALY/1988/LUCIO FULCI, BRUNO MATTEI, CLAUDI FRAGASSO)

Embracing only the zombies-on-an-island theme of its predecessor, Zombie Flesh Eaters 2 takes the dubious film series in a different direction tonally, embracing all that is entertainingly awful about B-movies. When a power plant in South East Asia accidentally lets loose a toxic virus which inadvertently reanimates the dead, a group of American soldiers stationed nearby are the first to experience the effects. Not that they notice yet, they’re too busy chasing tourist skirt. After some brief cavorting and flirting, the zombies make their appearance, chasing the excitable young group to an abandoned hotel into which they barricade themselves, partly for safety, partly for privacy. A couple of ghoulish encounters chase them back out of the building, and soon all hope is lost... or is it?

Provided one knows what to expect from a film with such a title, it really is quite an entertaining jaunt. Despite the messy production details – credited director Lucio Fulci left the project early on, leaving comparative-hack Bruno Mattei to finish it – the story is pretty simple to follow, allowing the gruesome, imaginative effects to take focus (flying zombie head, anyone?). Acting, as expected, isn’t superb, but there are a few likable characters, in particular the suave radio DJ. The zombies themselves seem to have taken lead from Michael Jackson’s Thriller, shifting around the sets with uncharacteristic determination. And suspense-filled tension comes courtesy of a beautifully-dated soundtrack by one Stefano Mainetti, also responsible for scoring such classic titles as Ratman and The Convent of Sinners.