The Touch of Her Flesh (1967)

Very best movie i ever watch

Fresh and Exciting

This is a small, humorous movie in some ways, but it has a huge heart. What a nice experience.

It is an exhilarating, distressing, funny and profound film, with one of the more memorable film scores in years,

Weapons expert Richard Jennings (a creepy portrayal by writer/director Michael Findlay) catches his faithless wife Claudia (voluptuous eyeful Angelique) in bed with another man. Jennings blows a mental gasket and embarks on a vicious misogynistic killing spree in which he tortures and murders all women that he deems to be irredeemable scarlet harlots. The almighty sleaze cinema duo of Michael and Roberta Findlay come through with an on the money unremittingly harsh and scummy aesthetic: Plentiful tasty distaff nudity, steamy soft-core sex, buxom go-go gals shaking their stuff on stage (cue the fantastic R&B tune "(I Got) The Right Kind of Love"), lots of great footage of 60's New York City in all its seedy splendor (the scenes at the Port Authority Bus Terminal in particular are absolute gold; bet that stuff was shot sans permits!), a dazzling array of trashy underwear, and jolting moments of sadistic violence that pack one hell of a wicked punch (a beheading by buzz saw rates as a definite brutal highlight). The stark black and white cinematography provides a cool noir look. The deliberate pacing proves to be oddly hypnotic. Noted soft-core auteur Joe Sarno's fetching brunette wife Peggy Steffans is memorably sexy as a hooker victim. Best of all, the whole rough'n'ready upfront style of this fabulously fetid flick gives it an extra seamy (and discomfiting) edge. Essential viewing for hardcore grindhouse movie aficionados.

If you would look up the term "misogyny" in the dictionary, there's a fair chance there will be a poster image of this little movie next to it. The DVD box describes this film as one of the most shameless, sordid and sleaziest exploitation movies of the sixties, and also one of the most inexplicably profitable ones. Apparently "Touch of her Flesh" was a huge success in the so-called Grindhouse circuit and almost promptly – within just one year – spawned two similarly titled sequels. Well, all these aforementioned things may be true but the reputation should also include that "Touch of her Flesh" is dreadfully boring and contains an impossibly high amount of insufferable padding sequences. Richard Jennings, a dork with a passion for weapons, walks in on his wife having sex (well … more of a breasts-fondling marathon, really) with another guy, runs out of the house whiningly and bumps into a car. Short one eye but with a hatred towards women that keeps increasing, he goes out to kill random girls that use their luscious bodies to seduce poor and defenseless men. His victims include a go-go dancer, a prostitute and a nude model before going after his own unfaithful wife again. Admittedly this sounds pretty horrific and like the ideal sexploitation guff, but unfortunately the actual murders take less than a seconds whereas the "preludes" seem to last forever! Okay, granted, these girls are pretty hot and they all have sensational racks, but watching them swing around for ten whole minutes is just plain dull. Jennings' monologues are what make this a true 60's sick-flick, as he compares women with everything that is filthy, unreliable and scum. "Touch of her Flesh", as well as its two sequels, is the work of the notorious director's due (and married couple) Michael and Roberta Findley. Together, they made a lot of infamous but overall terrible exploitation flicks. Ironically enough, Roberta delivered her best work ("Tenement: Game of Survival", "The Oracle") after her hubbie died in a helicopter crash

Touch of Her Flesh, The (1967) * (out of 4) Richard Jennings (Michael Findlay) catches his wife in bed with another guy so he runs out of the house only to be hit by a car. Now, confined to a wheelchair, he decides to take revenge on any hooker/stripper he comes across. One of the first "slashers", this NYC cheapie might be one of the first of its kind but that doesn't make it a good movie. Like most of these films, the biggest problem is the fact that we've got 20-minutes worth of story and then 50-minutes worth of pointless and boring strip scenes. To me, that's why short films are often a lot better than trying to push something that isn't there into the feature category. Wall to wall nudity can't save this one. The first film in the "Flesh" trilogy. Curse of Her Flesh, The (1968) ** (out of 4) Second in the "Flesh Trilogy" has Richard Jennings (Michael Findlay) returning, stalking the streets for more women to kill. The bigger budget adds some better production values and the cinematography is pretty good here. The jazz music score helps move things along and Findlay does a better job with the story structure. However, there's still way too much dead space to be fully entertaining.Kiss of Her Flesh, The (1968) * 1/2 (out of 4) Thankfully the final film in director Michael Findlay's Flesh trilogy. Once again the psycho killer stalks the streets looking for women to kill. Boring on all accounts, as is the entire trilogy. These three films could have been edited down and together into a twenty minute movie and they'd still be slow and dull.

SPOILERS INCLUDED Of all the Sixties exploiteers Michael Findlay had the reputation for holding nothing back. Although for years primarily known for Seventies horror movies like the bulk of Snuff or the Yeti themed Shriek of the Mutilated- for a look at the man at the height of his powers those time machines have to be set for New York City at the end of the dirty Sixties. Findlay's notoriety began with a trilogy of movies shot between 1967 and 1969- The Touch of Her Flesh, The Curse of Her Flesh and The Kiss of Her Flesh. This- the opening chapter- introduces us to Richard Jennings (Robert West aka Findlay) a stuffy suit and tie man with an unhealthy obsession for firearms and knifes. Jennings is married to Claudia (Anna Riva aka Roberta Findlay) who is cheating on him with off Broadway actor Steve (John Amero) 'with all those weapons he could be a real lady-killer' ponders the object of Claudia's affections. When Jennings cuts home early on the way to a weapons convention he gets an eyeful of the couple making lurve. Hurt, Jennings maniacally flees from the apartment and is hit by a car- losing an eye and being temporary paralysed for his troubles. Now bitter and wheelchair bound Jennings drunkenly stares into space, planning his revenge on womankind. He delivers a poisoned rose to a stripper, then from the back of a disco, sweats it out, voyeuristically watching on with his one eye as the stripper goes down for the count to the tune of 'I've got the right kind of lovin', baby just for you'. Jennings then wheels himself to a burlesque house and executes an even more audacious killing- murdering a stripper on stage by using a blowpipe which he's discreetly smuggled in under his coat. Fearing Richard's wrath Claudia has hidden away with Janet a nude model in a woodwork factory. When the 'pig that poses nude for Claudia' is spotted chatting to a prostitute, Richard poses as a potential john for the hooker. Literally pushed back to her bedsit Jennings takes to torturing the truth about Claudia's whereabouts out of her 'I'm not afraid to hurt you, very badly'. She spills the beans but Jennings is so completely off the rails by this point that he messily stabs her to death anyway. Now fully mobile Jennings decides to pay a visit to his wife and her buxom friend. By the pictures end Jennings is tearing his wife's clothes off 'let me feel them before they die' and victoriously decapitates her with a bandsaw, but any further efforts to make the world a safer place for misogynists are terminated.... for now. Touch retains a raw power even today, but for a world where a few years previous frolics in nudist camps had been the norm- this must have been the celluloid equivalent of an almighty slap in the face. For the record, the real Michael Findlay is described as a sensitive, sweet person who for his films played out every dark idea he ever had and projected them on the big screen. Jennings transformation from businessman respectability to unkept, eyepatch wearing sex psycho amazes still, and the character seemed to have a profound effect on Findlay as well. Later he would use Richard Jennings as a pseudonym alterego in his films and as late as 1976's Virgins in Heat references to the ubiquitous Mr Jennings lurk in the background. By the mid Seventies Findlay's career was joyriding in all directions, associated with drive-in horror films like Invasion of the Blood Farmers- Findlay was also a 3-D enthusiast and became involved in a revival of the faded gimmick, it didn't work but he did get to fly to Hong Kong and supervise Kung- Fu films. Back in New York, he also followed his (then separated from) wife Roberta into hard-core including a 3-D epic called Funk. With so many tricks up his sleeve its hard to know what Findlay would have pulled out next, plans were ahead for an all out horror film a-la The Last House on the Left, but time was against him. In May 1977 Findlay made a fateful trip to the Pan Am building in New York, the rest is grim history. Viewed chronologically, there is an almost competitive streak to Findlay's films- in that much fun seems to have been had by creating sex and death scenarios even more outrageous than the last film. By the end of the Sixties Findlay had perfected his act with a near faultless sense of shock value. The 'Of Her Flesh' series particularly Touch are urban in tone, so vividly set against a New York backdrop that they are frozen in time shots of the Big Apple in its rotten 60's prime. Touch is so awash with burlesque houses, menacing neon lights and grotty hookers hotel rooms that no director really deserves to be forever tied to that era than Findlay does. For years his films were as notorious as they were little seen, both elements speculatively fuelling each other. In the late- eighties the 'Of Her Flesh' pictures emerged on murky bootlegs mostly run off directly from well projected prints- the rest of the oeuvre was in limbo. Now as we enter a new millenium most of the highpoints of the Findlay back catalogue have resurfaced giving a definite insight into the era in which Findlay defined sleaze. Sadly with Findlay and the times and places he inhabited long gone, its really all there is left. Adios Richard Jennings.