Great Highland #bagpipes, or a' phìob mhòr as they're called in Scottish Gaelic, are traditionally played on the battlefield. Peter Watkins' Culloden moves the senseless bloodshed from 1960s Vietnam to the Scottish Highlands of 1746.

“And wherever he went, he took with him his music, his poetry, his language and his children… thus within a century of Culloden, the English and the Scottish lowlanders had made secure forever their religion, their commerce, their culture, their ruling dynasty.”

– narrator

The most clearly it's seen in the men's eyes. That stare we recognise all too well from the many images that reached the west in the 60s, ever before and after.

Where the Boys Are is chock-full of characters whose names appear to be straight space-travel-lifted from various #JohnWaters' movies: Tuggle Carpenter! TV Thompson! Lola Fandango! Dr. Raunch for Chrissakes!

“The boys come to soak up the sun, and a few carloads of beer. The girls come, very simply, because this is where the boys are.”

– narrator

We follow four female midwestern college students on #SpringBreak in Fort Lauderdale. Their objective is boys boys boys (and an even tan) and nothing, including being too young to drink, can stop them. This was one of the first post-Hayes Hollywood movies to address teenage sex yet despite all the innuendo (“What's your shoe size?” “13.” “Get in the car!”), it's all pretty clean. But without these girls, there wouldn't be any Dawn Davenport. And that would've ruined everybody's Christmas.

Both anticapitalist and pre-Stanley space odyssey. Based on Stanislaw Lem's Obłok Magellana [The Magellanic Cloud] (1955).

Otsuya's (Ayako Wakao) is forced into #prostitution and marked with a large spider tattoo. As the figure slowly takes shape under horishi Seikichi's skilled hands, Otsuya too transforms.

Dan Duyu's 盘丝洞 is, in its most literal sense, a fantastic silent interpretation of Wu Cheng'en's 西遊記 / Journey to the West. Monk Tang Sanzang (Meikang Jiang) finds himself trapped in a cave with seven beautiful sisters. Two of Tang Sanzang's faithful disciples, Sun Wukong (the Monkey King) and Zhu Bajie (Pigsy: half man, half pig), need to save him before one of the sisters takes the celibate monk as her husband. What follows is a vigorous display of #wuxia, horror, monkey shenanigans, and – during the pandemonium unfolding in the final act – a small glimpse into the vast pantheon of China's gods and demons.

“Today is our Queen's wedding day, let us drink it up!”

Note that some of the reels are still missing, and the English translation I found is subjective at best, so have a translation app at the ready. Nevertheless, take a moment to dim the lights, and accompany Tang Sanzang, the Monkey King, and Pigsy on their pilgrimage. Even if only for a little while.

“It isn't Jesus. It's just a fella.”

– Charlie Bostock

In the barn of a remote Lancashire farmhouse, three children stumble upon a stranger. Confused, they conclude that the fellow must be the Second Coming of Christ. In the world of the adults, a man is wanted by the police.

“Good night, Gentle Jesus. Sleep well.”

– Charlie Bostock

Eva (Hedy Lamarr) hangs her clothes over her horse's back, then – cut through a wonderfully voyeuristic moment – goes swimming in a lake. The foal, still carrying Eva's outfit, wanders off to find a stallion.

 

Ekstase is full of not so subtle, beautifully framed innuendo. #Horses are a recurring theme and make me wonder if it inspired the mustangs sequence in John Huston's The Misfits (1961), another story of doomed passion.

Early 60s, Sweden. A social experiment. Six hopelessly criminal juveniles are packed in a guesthouse – cynically named Objectivity – and loosely supervised by social workers and a reverend. The public servants speak of a new lease on life, God's servant of how Jesus forgives; all speak on their own behalf. We follow the young men closely and sense their need to break out, to be young, to be out of that house. We learn that their world, in or out, is eternally equally irrelevant.

“Jesus Christ has promised to forgive you 490 times, whatever you have done… because those were his words. But about the 491st time… He has given no words. None at all.”

– Reverend Mild

Vilgot Sjöman's 491 is an extremely, bleak, aggressive, and hopeless depiction of youth in postwar Sweden. Forgiveness is a tool of power, a method of control. And as empty as a repetitive lecture.