Thanks to the schemes of his friend con-man Peirous (Rod Taylor), strongman Glaucous (Ed Fury) finds himself, along with a bunch of other schmoes, stranded, in the Queendom of the Amazons where gender roles are reversed. The men aren't exactly thrilled but the buddies catch the eyes of the two Amazon warriors in line for the throne. As Glaucous tries to escape with the lovely and level-headed Antiopie, blamed for the theft of the sacred girdle by her rival. Since the real thief is Peirous, there's more than enough confusion than on a "Three's Company" episode, but the sexes come to an arrangement in time to fight off a band of pirates after the Amazon gold.

This lurid documentary offers a revealing expose of various deviant activities being practiced in that seething hotbed of sin and hedonism known as Los Angeles.

Shrewd, conniving goddess Stacey Kane (MEG MYLES) is a second-rate stripper in a third-rate carnival. Startled when she finds her junkie ex-husband lurking in her dressing room, Stacey promptly steals every cent he has and hops on a plane for New York. Great, gritty exploitation which packed a hell of a wallop in the more innocent days of 1962.

The evil salamander men have poisoned Earth with a plague, and it is up to Starman to save mankind.

“Vivian and Dorothy Hamilton” are headliners in a small-time vaudeville company when Dorothy -- and only Dorothy -- falls for oily Lothario Andre (MARIO LAVAL) and decides to marry him despite her, uh, better half hating the guy so much that she shoots him to death.

We love films about Good Girls going to Hell. We love the cheap-thrill appeal of seeing a Miss Goody-Twoshoes leave Small Town America for the Big Bad City and end up falling face-first in the gutter. So, of course, we love Night of Evil which (then big deal) syndicated columnist EARL WILSON introduces by claiming it’s “based on newspapers and court records. It is a true story. To protect the innocent, some of the names, places, and incidents have been changed.”

Beatniks? What beatniks? Two-bit punks, a closet rock-&-roll star, and an out-of-his-mind psycho: yes. Beatniks: no. Though The Beatniks was probably a last-minute title change to replace a less exploitable moniker, it didn’t make much of a difference to the audiences of 1960. After all, to a world emerging from the Eisenhower era, bohemian artists and beat-generation poets were seen as little more than socially maladjusted misfits in the same category as junkies, Commies, and teenage hoodlums — or the petty-crime crackpots running loose in this fast, fun, and naively hilarious saga of an overage delinquent who becomes an overnight sensation.

Here’s an odd but nonetheless fascinating time capsule of late- Sixties social unrest filtered through the mind of Florida-based sexploitation producer-director HARRY KERWIN. Yup, the man who made Strange Rampage, My Third Wife George, and Girls Come Too - and who was also the brother of Blood Feast star Bill Kerwin ­ wanted to tap into the same youth market companies Like AlP were so good at exploiting. But lacking the funds to make something along the lines of an Easy Rider or a Wild in the Streets, Kerwin blissfully dispensed with both fiction and actors and, instead, went out and filmed The Real Thing. Combining (rough, raw) authentic footage of bikers, peace protestors, and the crowd at a rock festival, he created the mondoesque It’s a Revolution Mother! a self-described "Documentary of Love" tied together with an exuberant (and often hilarious) anti-government-anti­ establishment-anti-Vietnam-war-pro-rebellion rant -written by TOM CASEY, director of Sometimes Aunt Martha Does Dreadful Things (’71) - delivered by an uncredited narrator who sounds like an AM disk jockey on speed.

Three people on their way to a Dodger game pull over because of some car trouble and find themselves faced with a psychopath and his girlfriend.

Goldilocks and The Three Bares is a 1963 nudie-cutie film from the legendary exploitation team of Herschell Gordon Lewis and David F. Friedman.

A sexy blonde leans over the shoulder of her cigar-smoking boss and purrs, “You’re such a smart guy. To me, you’re the big guy!” At which point the camera pulls back to reveal the boss is a dwarf sitting atop a table. Which is a nice way of opening any carny-noir, especially GIRL ON THE RUN, a hootchy-cootchy whodunit set entirely at a small seedy carnival where the life and death of the characters aren’t as important as periodically stopping the plot to watch a variety of carny girls stop and shake their stuff.

The last heir to the Draculas arrives at the castle of the infamous count.

A juvenile delinquent gets out of the pen and immediately embarks on a rampage of untethered anger, most of it directed at the girlfriend of the journalist who helped send him up.

A nightclub singer refuses to "date" customers, so she's framed for the murder of her aunt, convicted of the killing and sent to prison.

During a hydroplane race, a man rescues a playboy who ran his father down in a previous race.

Frisky frauleins entice their partners to drop their lederhosen and engage in all sorts of sexual shenanigans amid the beauty of Bavaria.

Leather-jacketed thugs corner young LOWELL BROWN (High School Caesar) on the railroad tracks. He is rescued by brooding BRETT HALSEY and the two "boys on a boxcar" head down the lost highway of life. They land in Small Town, U.S.A. Halsey has a chip on his shoulder and a bad-father complex, while runaway rich kid Brown has a hundred bucks in his pocket and everybody wants it. Together, they have to fight off a pool hall full of thugs and a hotel full of really sleazy, rinsed-out blonde, bubble-bath-taking broads