
“Your body is a labyrinth that only I can penetrate.”
It’s pretty arch and baroque as far as come-ons go, but if you’re indie film maker Joe Zaso, it’s likely to make you stiffen with anticipation below the belt.
New York-born Zaso is a devote of the sexy, violent horror movies produced in Italy during the 60s and 70s and a whispered, vaguely threatening line like that is just the type of florid dialogue you’d expect in movies with erotically macabre titles like Your Hands On My Body, The Corpse Bears Traces of Carnal Violence, and Strip Nude For Your Killer.
This is the twilight world Zaso dreams of — a place where beautiful people in mod fashions die operatically, everyone lives in an opulent Italian villa, sex is kinky and scored to lush Ennio Morricone-style music, and there’s always a trench-coated, fedora-wearing maniac with a razor lurking about.
Joe Zaso was born too late to have the movie career he craves or deserves. Had he arrived decades earlier, he’d be playing an assortment of shirtless Frankenstein Monster sex toys, Eurospy heavies, drop-dead gorgeous Spaghetti Western anti-heroes, and macho explorers in Italian cannibal epics.
With all his telegenic brawn, it’s not hard to picture him assaying Hercules or Maciste in toga pictures, getting roles as sand-kicking bullies in sugary beach party movies, or being plucked right off the streets of New York to star in Andy Warhol Factory films.
Alas, the world has changed. The Hollywood studio system collapsed and has left many a beautiful hopeful to fend for themselves. Broadway and Soap Opera inner circles are just as closed off. The European Horror and Sexploitation market dwindled by the close of the 80s. Gone are the drive-ins and grind house scenes of yesteryear.
So what’s a handsome, ambitious young actor to do? (read the full article)
There’s always a modicum of truth in humor.
Only the peerless Tura Satana (top right) as Varla in Russ Meyer‘s 1965 classic Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill! has the balls to assume the mantle of
Yes, yes, we’re squeezing yet another piece out of the movie 300!
But if 300 gets their history wrong, they nail it with the hardbodies. Particularly, the mighty, mighty bod of Gerard Butler, whose wall-to-wall chest span and 
Forget 
We think it would be suitable as the midnight show in those dirty movie theaters that suddenly turn gay at the witching hour, when the boy features replace the girl features, and people get downright frisky in their seats … and along the walls …and behind the screen. 

Neither one has a single shred of overtly gay content, and yet each of them has become an iconically gay piece of work. Wait til see you see the movie of Dreamgirls (and you will, you know you will). You’ll see just what I mean.
Serene and telepathic, the fair lady of the wood, the Elf Queen who keeps her innermost thoughts hidden, Galadriel stares at the ring of ultimate power that Frodo offers her.

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