The Lair of the White Worm (Ken Russell / United Kingdom, 1988):

"Sexy beast, isn't it?" The perfect case of Ken Russell spinning an entire tale of serpentine phalluses and vaginal openings, Gothic camp played with a handsome Hammer straight-face. An immemorial Celtic creature, Nessie's relative and perhaps a visitor in the Garden of Eden, presently a farm run by two sisters (Catherine Oxenberg, Sammi Davis) stands over its sacred grounds. The dragon-slayer's descendant is a twit (Hugh Grant) dryly curious about a recently unearthed fossil, the Scottish archeologist (Peter Capaldi) is on the case. Slinking in and out of the action is the mistress of the manor (Amanda Donohoe), who has white Jaguar and tanning bed to go with her habit of sprouting fangs and spitting venom at crucifixes. "Captive virgins in the hands of an impotent God," it's all resolved before the snapper in the pit. Cultured wit of the reptilian brain, arch elegance pin-pricked by Russell's hallucinatory video inserts. (In one, Roman soldiers violate nuns while the pagan snake munches on Christ's nailed limbs, a green-screen précis of The Devils.) The red pen that stands at attention during the duel of garter-belted thighs, the board game that segues into a Citizen Kane reference, why not? Guitars and electric fiddles tell the legend, flutes out of loudspeakers work like a charm, bagpipes will do in a pinch. Donohoe's fabulous comic vamping above all, rising from a wicker basket and sinking into a Boy Scout like Oscar Wilde and Musidora and Maria Montez rolled into one. "I've heard of penis envy, but that's ridiculous." The ending helps itself to The Fearless Vampire Killers. With Stratford Johns, Paul Brooke, and Imogen Claire.

--- Fernando F. Croce

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