You are naked, covered in boils, and the only sensation you feel is that of a slow-moving concertina-wire working its way across your scrotum. The first cut, while quick, is brutally deep, and the night air is punctured just slightly by the distant sound of your testicles falling helplessly to the ground.

William Holden and Kay Lenz in Breezy (1973) Holden is a fave, having starred in brilliant stuff like Sunset Boulevard, The Wild Bunch and Network. Lenz, however, not so much. Here she plays an impulsive, free-spirited, braless hippy chick with a floppy hat, bell bottoms and an acoustic guitar that has her name emblazoned on…

There’s long been a belief that Europeans are more liberated than their stuffy, uptight British and American counterparts.

I caught the plain daft Twinky, a flatfooted rom-com in which the craggy Charles Bronson is so confused by Susan George’s schoolgirl gyrations that he doesn’t kill anyone.

Reactionary vigilantism breathes new, retarded life.