It's March, and what better way to shake off those post-Valentine's-Day fuzzies than wallowing in that most scuzzy of sub-genres, the rape/revenge film. These films sprang up like toadstools in the 70s, when filmmakers were testing the limits of what they could commit to the silver screen. I'm conflicted about these kind of films. I'm not so quick to dismiss them as tasteless exploitation, but the cynical voice in me says that they were a way for filmmakers to have their cake and eat it too; to have scenes of lurid sex and violence, justified by the idea that they were making some sort of feminist statement.
Over the next week we'll be taking a look at three such films... Wes Craven's first feature film Last House on the Left, the arty Swedish entry Thriller: A Cruel Picture and the singularly sleazy I Spit On Your Grave. By the end of it you'll probably be scrubbing yourself raw in a scalding hot shower, only to find out that the dirt just won't come off!
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