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Plot: young woman navigates a forest full of horrors and terrors.

Little Red Riding Hood was (so far) the last of three European fairytale adaptations from California filmmaker Rene Perez. In the years before he had lensed versions of Sleeping Beauty (2014), and The Snow Queen (2013). Little Red Riding Hood came five long years after Catherine Hardwicke’s big budget Red Riding Hood (2011) with Amanda Seyfried, and thus could impossibly be accused of trying to ride its coattails. It was shot back-to-back with his other moodpiece The Obsidian Curse (2016) and it’s entirely within the realm of possibility that Perez wanted to briefly focus on something lighter before delving further into the Playing with Dolls (2015-2017) franchise and starting pre-production on his now infamous Death Kiss (2018). Little Red Riding Hood is a cosplaying extravaganza gone very much awry, and it’s understandable why Perez never returned to adapting fairytales after.

While the history of Little Red Riding Hood can be traced back to several 10th century European folk tales it was 17th-century French poet Charles Perrault who provided the basis for its popular and most enduring iteration with his Le Petit Chaperon Rouge. That version of the story can be found in the Histories or Tales from Past Times, with Morals or Mother Goose Tales (Histoires ou contes du temps passé, avec des moralités or Contes de ma mère l'Oye) collection from 1697. In the 19th century German poets Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm retold the Perrault fairytale loyal to the source material, but toned down the darker themes considerably to make it more audience-friendly. Rene Perez’ adaptation of the tale keeps the basic contours of the Perrault and Grimm iterations of the story, but takes some strange twists and turns along the way. Normally there isn’t a whole of ways to bungle something as simple as Little Red Riding Hood. Alas, Perez and screenwriter Barry Massoni have managed to do just that.

Little Red Riding Hood (Irina Levadneva, as Iren Levy) is traveling through the woods to bring medicine to her “gravely ill” grandmother (Marilyn Robrahm). On the way she’s warned by an apparently dead knight (John Scuderi) that the forest is haunted by terrible horrors, and that her “pureness” will attract the agents of evil. In the castle in the deep forest the Master (Robert S. Dixon) has sensed Little Red Riding Hood’s presence, and from the dungeons below he releases the Lycanthrope (Louie Ambriz), the Blind Creature (Jason Jay Prado, as Jason Prado), and the Evil Siren (Raula Reed) into the woods. Little Red Riding Hood is chased across the forest and into the castle by the Lycanthrope. Meanwhile in the earthly dimension social media influencer Carol Marcus (Nicole Stark) is on a hikingtrip across California shooting nature pictures. Eventually she comes across a mansion in the deep woods where she’s haunted by a spectral manifestation of the Master. As Little Red Riding Hood wanders around the castle she comes across an imprisoned monk (Colin Hussey) who tells her that the Master is one of the Ancients, the last survivors of Atlantis, and that he feeds on fear. On the other side of the forest a knight (Robert Amstler) is lured into the castle by the Evil Siren in form of a beautiful gypsy (Alanna Forte). Now that they’re both imprisoned in the castle walls there’s no other way to escape but to confront the Master in any way they can, and release the spell that binds them to the castle…

To say that Little Red Riding Hood is both virtually plotless and hopelessly convoluted at the same time would be charitable. As a simple three-act story Red Riding Hood lends itself ideally for adaptations. Except that Barry Massoni and Rene Perez forgot to set up the main characters in the first act, pad the second act with meandering and endless shots of the castle interiors and the Nicole Stark subplot, only to hastily wrap everything up in what looks like an improvised ending. Then there’s also the fact that this Little Red Riding Hood has very little to do with either the Perrault or Grimm fairytale, while it does feature a girl in a red hood, a wolf, and a grandmother. The Nicole Stark subplot feels more than a little out of place, and would have fitted better in Playing with Dolls (2015), or Playing with Dolls: Bloodlust (2016). Why the Nicole Stark subplot was even included is anybody’s guess. It goes nowhere, adds nothing of value, and is never brought up again once the valiant knight is introduced. More than anything it feels like a b-roll from Playing with Dolls: Bloodlust (2016). Instead of introducing grandmother and setting up why it’s imperative that Little Red Riding Hood reaches her destination, a throwaway line is all motivation we get. The warrior is the closest equivalent to the woodcutter (or hunter) from the fairytale, but he will not be rescueing Little Red Riding Hood from the Big Bad Wolf, or carving him up. Not that this is the first time that Rene Perez took to adapting a European fairytale very, very liberally, Sleeping Beauty (2014), and The Snow Queen (2013) suffer from the same defects, and the latter even had the gall to introduce a para-military subplot.

On the plus side, this is a Rene Perez production which at least ensures that there will be plenty to look at. In case of Little Red Riding Hood that means we are treated to a multitude of beautifully composed shots and scenic Redwood National Park landscapes. What little production value Little Red Riding Hood has is almost entirely thanks to extensive location filming at Castello di Amorosa in Napa Valley. As early as The Snow Queen (2013) Perez has proven that he just as easy could make a living shooting music videos when he isn’t making movies. Just like that movie Little Red Riding Hood occassionally reverts back to an extended LARPing exercise captured on camera, but just like Rene has a good eye for locations he loves beautiful women just as much. On display here are Irina Levadneva, Nicole Stark, and Alanna Forte. Stark, and Forte are Perez regulars and would turn up in future Perez features, contrary to Levadneva who would resume modeling. Little Red Riding Hood is low on action, story, and lacking in about every department – but it works wonders as a moodpiece. If Perez should decide to revisit this fantasy direction he should probably lens a Jean Rollin erotic horror feature, or dig up the wolf-suit and helm his own Paul Naschy inspired El Hombre Lobo epic. He has the monster suits, the locations, and the actresses to do just such a thing.

Just like Sleeping Beauty (2014) had a demon that resembled the Jem'Hadar shock troops of the Dominion from Star Trek: Deep Space Nine (1993–1999) Perez has Stark playing a character named Carol Marcus and has her do the Vulcan salute, for… some reason? The least you can say is that Rene has a sense of humor about it all. It’s the sort of thing you’d expect to see in a Neil Johnson science-fiction feature, thankfully Rene would find better stuff to do for, and with, Nicole Stark in his later productions. The dialogue, when it appears and however little of it there is in the first place, is about as clunky as you’d expect. Matters are made worse by Robert Amstler’s and Irina Levadneva’s impossibly thick native accents (Austrian and Russian, respectively), hence that they were dubbed by Kristina Kennedy and Robert Koroluck. Overall, and a few beautiful composed shots notwithstanding, Little Red Riding Hood is a fairly static affair. This was before Perez really got a grip on creative camera set-ups and moving shots. Little Red Riding Hood, just like The Obsidian Curse (2016) the same year, often feels more like a technical exercise than a feature intended for general release. And that’s okay, Perez’ later productions obviously benefitted from it in the long run.

Plot: an uncharted island, where nothing is forbidden.

In a 2000 exchange for the documentary "A Hard Look" Indonesian-Dutch softcore sex and Eurocult queen Laura Gemser once, quite offhandedly, remarked to British film director, journalist, and actor Alex Cox that, “any excuse is good to get naked.” She was, of course, referring to her tenure as Black Emanuelle that commenced with Bitto Albertini’s Black Emanuelle (1975). Not that Gemser was an exhibitionist but as a model she had done her share of nude pictorials for various men’s magazines in Belgium and the Netherlands, and la Gemser agreed on a whim. Partly because fashion photographer Francis Giacobetti asked her to and because it meant a free vacation to Kenya. The paycheck probably didn’t hurt either. While Albertini’s original helped in launching her star, it would be late consummate exploitation grandmaster, part-time smut peddler, and full-time pornographer Aristide Massaccesi (Joe D’Amato) who launched Gemser to cult cinema immortality when he took control of the Black Emanuelle franchise and found box office success with it. Gemser met her husband Gabriele Tinti on the set of Black Emanuelle (1975) and retired from acting after Tinti’s death in late 1991. Zeudi Araya and Me Me Lai were only minor celebrities compared to miss Gemser, who has been enshrined as the definite queen of Italo exploitation.

While history has mostly remembered her for her association and voluminous oeuvre with D’Amato, Gemser didn’t work with him exclusively. With an impressive three decades and covering a variety of genres (usually softcore erotica or horror, or some permutation thereof) Gemser would work with supreme hacks Bruno Mattei, and Mario Bianchi just as often. Everybody has a few skeletons hidden in their closet, and Laura Gemser is no different in that regard. In between (official and illicit) sequels to Black Emanuelle (1975) and Emmanuelle: L’Antivierge (1975), the first sequel to Just Jaeckin/Emmanuelle Arsan’s scandalous Emmanuelle (1974) (with Sylvia Kristel) Gemser appeared in A Beach Called Desire (released domestically as La spiaggia del desiderio), a little known (or remembered) Venezuelan-Italian co-production directed by the duo Enzo D’Ambrosio and Humberto Morales. A Beach Called Desire was one of six movies Gemser shot in 1976, three of which tried to pass itself off as a Black Emanuelle sequel. The most significant of those being Eva Nera (1976) which sort of laid the groundwork for D’Amato’s official sequels Emanuelle in Bangkok (1976), Emanuelle in America (1977), Emanuelle Around the World (1977), and Emanuelle and the Last Cannibals (1977). No wonder then that this little ditty has fallen into obscurity. “an uncharted island, where nothing is forbidden!” screams the poster. Not even a naked Laura Gemser can salvage this exercise in tedium. A Beach Called Desire effortlessly manages to fail both as a jungle adventure and as a soft sex yarn.

Shipwrecked junkie Daniel (Paolo Giusti), fleeing Caracas in a panic when a female friend of his OD’ed, washes ashore on an uncharted island somewhere in the Caribbean Sea, having been knocked unconsciousness trying to escape collision with an oncoming yacht. After exploring the shores, and trying to establish provisional help signals, one day he finds his palm tree branch SOS sign erased. Deducting that there are, no, must be other people on the island, Daniel naturally starts to investigate his immediate surroundings. His unexpected arrival throws off the balance of a fragile family unit consisting of patriarch Antonio (Arthur Kennedy); a man with a shady, possibly criminal past, and his two twenty-something children Haydee (Laura Gemser) and Juan (Nicola Paguone). Haydee, having never seen another male besides her father and brother, takes an immediate liking to Daniel. Soon Daniel learns that his presence raises the tension between all three males orbiting Haydee, as father and son maintain an openly incestuous relationship, or “game” as Juan chooses to call it, with her. Not helping matters is that Antonio fears that the presence of the shipwrecked interloper might alert authorities to his whereabouts. Wrought by paranoia and consumed by fear Antonio is inspired to an act of desperation, one that will have fatal consequences. Daniel, in all his infinite benevolence and wisdom, departs the island in the aftermath without taking Haydee with him concluding that "day by day, her smile will fade."

Arthur Kennedy was one America's most beloved character actors of the late 1940s through early 1960s, and he clearly was a long way from Barabbas (1961), Lawrence of Arabia (1962), and Fantastic Voyage (1966). Obviously he was collecting any easy paycheck and following the box office success of Star Wars (1978) he could be seen slumming it up in The Humanoid (1979). A Beach Called Desire was probably the career highlight of Paolo Giusti, whose sole noteworthy other credit is Mariano Laurenti's Nurse at the Military Madhouse (1979) (with Nadia Cassini). Nicola Paguone, understandably, never acted ever again. Francesco Degli Espinosa was a second unit director, production manager, and editor. He occasionally moonlighted as a writer but that A Beach Called Desire was the last of just three credits says enough. Augusto Finocchi wrote a lot of spaghetti westerns and was clearly out of his element here. Even frequent Alfonso Brescia collaborator Marcello Giombini seems to be phoning it in with an even more one-note synthesizer score than usual. The only real big name here is director of photography Riccardo Pallottini. Pallottini had lensed, among many others, Castle Of Blood (1964), The Long Hair Of Death (1965), Lady Frankenstein (1971), Man From Deep River (1972), and The Killer Must Kill Again (1975). He’s able to line up a few artsy shots of Gemser frolicking on the beach, but it’s not as if a production like this inspires poetry very much.

Those looking for a 90-minute excuse to watch Laura Gemser prancing around in what little she happens to be almost wearing have plenty of better options. Her early filmography with Joe D’Amato, for one, is a good place to start. As is Bitto Albertini’s Black Emanuelle (1975) or D’Amato’s Eva Nera (1976), which has the additional bonus of somewhat inspiring the official Black Emanuelle sequels. A Beach Called Desire is a lot of things, but it’s an obscurity for a very good reason. For starters, it’s not very good (something which not even a naked Laura Gemser in her prime was able to remedy) and Gemser did plenty more, and plenty more interesting, things afterwards. Gemser was put to far better use in the Luciana Ottaviani romps Eleven Days, Eleven Nights (1987) and Top Model (1988) (keeping her clothes on both times, no less). That the woman who rose to fame due her sheer willingness to shed fabric would later find work as a costume designer must be one of life’s great ironies. To dispense with the obvious, A Beach Called Desire is ignored for a reason - you should probably too…