Grindhouse wasn't a movie genre afflicted by subtlety. The plots celebrated mayhem: chain-saw-wielding maniacs, murderous supernatural forces or a young woman on a revenge killing spree. There was fake blood (gallons of it), as well as gratuitous female nudity (cue the bouncing bosoms). And don't forget the screamy posters that boasted, for one example, "the most violent, blood-spurting fight ever filmed!"
This '70s-era genre may be fondly remembered by directors such as Quentin Tarantino and Robert Rodriguez, but these cheap flicks often inhabited a spot on the cinematic spectrum between god-awful and unwatchable. "Exploitation movies were like layers of grit wrapped around a few minutes of 'the good stuff' — full-frontal childbirth, the flaccid genitals of middle-aged sun worshippers, a woman being scalped," wrote journalist and horror writer Grady Hendrix of grindhouse in 2007. "Savvy distributors with calculators for eyes grabbed on to these exploitable elements and flogged the hell out of them."
Sammy Harkham's new graphic novel, "Blood of the Virgin," carves out an imaginary corner of this pitiless sector of the movie industry and takes up residence.
