Poché Pictures

There are bad movies, and then there are movies that feel like they were made by a morally bankrupt wizard trapped in a swamp with only a camera, some fake blood, and a disturbing amount of latex handcuffs. Women in Cellblock 9 is the latter. Directed by Jess Franco in 1978—during the period when he … Read More ““Women in Cellblock 9” (1978): Jess Franco’s Low-Budget Gulag of Gratuitousness and Moral Bankruptcy” »

There are bad Jess Franco movies, and then there’s Voodoo Passion—a film so devoid of actual voodoo, passion, and narrative purpose that it makes you question whether the projector should be charged with a crime. This 1977 Eurociné-produced turd masquerades as an erotic supernatural thriller but plays more like a sunburned travelogue hijacked by a … Read More ““Voodoo Passion” (1977): Jess Franco’s Erotic Tourism Brochure for the Terminally Bored” »

There’s a special place in cinematic limbo for directors who think setting a camera down near a fog machine counts as atmosphere. In that desolate purgatory of soft-focus nonsense and half-lit alleys, Jess Franco’s Jack the Ripper (1976) floats like a sad balloon filled with cheap gin, theatrical mustaches, and missed opportunities. This isn’t a … Read More ““Jack the Ripper” (1976): Jess Franco’s Foggy London Snoozefest, Starring Klaus Kinski and Zero Suspense” »

Jess Franco’s Night of the Skull (1974) is the kind of murder mystery where the real victim is your attention span and the only mystery is how it was ever released. Billed as a gothic giallo, this film attempts to merge Edgar Allan Poe’s brooding madness with Agatha Christie’s drawing-room suspense. Unfortunately, what Franco delivers … Read More ““Night of the Skull” (1974): Jess Franco’s Attempt at a Whodunit, Solved by Everyone But Him” »

Ah, The Other Side of the Mirror. Jess Franco’s attempt at Serious Cinema™—his moody, melancholic descent into psychological despair and surreal symbolism, except filtered through a lens smeared with coconut oil and desperation. You might go into this film expecting a gothic thriller, a twisted love story, or at the very least, a coherent narrative. … Read More ““The Other Side of the Mirror” (1973): Jess Franco’s Art-House Breakdown with a Side of Existential Shrug” »

The title promises sin. It promises secrets. It promises a nymphomaniac with a diary—presumably full of steamy confessions, scandalous liaisons, and unhinged sexual detours through 1970s Europe. What it delivers is a sad, soggy loop of softcore moaning, existential despair, and Franco’s camera leering at women like it lost its medication. Sinner: The Secret Diary … Read More ““Sinner: The Secret Diary of a Nymphomaniac” (1973): Jess Franco’s Sleazy Soap Opera with Less Plot Than a Wet Napkin” »

You know you’re in for a long night when the title promises erotic rites, but what you get is a silver-painted Frankenstein with disco pecs, a bird-woman who looks like she fell out of The Muppets After Dark, and a plot stitched together with leftover nudity and duct tape. The Erotic Rites of Frankenstein is … Read More ““The Erotic Rites of Frankenstein” (1973): Jess Franco’s Shockingly Flaccid Monster Mash of Metallic Abs and Melodrama” »

There are films that explore the dark heart of religious corruption with nuance and intelligence. And then there’s The Demons (1973), Jess Franco’s sexed-up nunsploitation cocktail—shaken, stirred, and spilled all over the shag carpet. This is not a movie. It’s a medieval fever dream directed by a man who clearly spent more time oiling his … Read More ““The Demons” (1973): Jess Franco’s Horny Inquisition Is Guilty of All Charges” »

There are vampire movies that sink their teeth into you—and then there’s Daughter of Dracula (1972), which kind of gums your arm a little, shrugs, and wanders off into the fog. Jess Franco directed this exercise in gothic sleepwalking during one of his more “ambitious” phases, meaning he was still pretending to care about narrative … Read More ““Daughter of Dracula” (1972): Jess Franco’s Bleary-Eyed Nap Through the Undead Aristocracy” »

There are bad Jess Franco films—and there are Jess Franco films that feel like you were kidnapped by a cabaret troupe, blindfolded, and force-fed sangria while someone reads erotic poetry in Esperanto. Sex Charade (1972) falls squarely into the latter. It’s not just bad. It’s an empty wine bottle of a movie, rolling around the … Read More ““Sex Charade” (1972): Jess Franco’s Flaccid Peekaboo of Softcore Ennui and Existential Boobery” »