Quint

Hammer Films decided to revive its moribund Dracula franchise and its generally declining horror brand, so it joined forces with Hong Kong studio Shaw Brothers, which was at the height of its popular kung fu films at the time. The result is a somewhat heavy-handed gothic kung fu horror film that nonetheless delivers everything you could want from this cultural fusion of two disparate film traditions. So fans of the aforementioned companies will be satisfied, especially those who want to see Professor Van Helsing, Dracula (sadly without Christopher Lee this time) and kung-fists side by side.

The title might give the impression that this is another cheap B-movie with an unintentionally ridiculous monster. Actually, it's a surprisingly tautly constructed film from Hammer that unfortunately was overshadowed by the success of the colour horror film The Curse of Frankenstein, which ushered in a new era for the British studio. The Abominable Snowman, unlike the aforementioned Frankenstein, manages to make do with very little. You won't enjoy the snowman much in this one. The role of the menacing adversary here is played by the rather inhospitable peaks of the Himalayas, the gradual discovery of unexplored places where man should not have set foot, the obsessive efforts of the expedition members to catch the titular creature and the growing paranoia among them. The film manages to visually captivate with its clever use of widescreen compositions in conjunction with the shadowy corridors of a mystical monastery and the windswept, snow-covered landscape. Surprisingly quite an intelligent and atmospheric adventure horror film. But when you look at who's behind it, it's actually not that surprising. Director Val Guest and screenwriter Nigel Kneale are responsible for smart sci-fi films like The Quatermass Xperiment and Quatermass 2.

This excellent puppet fantasy fairy tale from the creator of The Muppets Jim Henson is certainly no jolly with singing and wacky figures. For children it will probably be too slow, with not enough action, too dark and sometimes even brutal. Older viewers, however, will appreciate the stunning visuals that can evoke a sense of wonder and open up a believable and elaborate world full of strange places and creatures. Although the film may seem dated nowadays, it still remains the pinnacle of the vanished art of non-animated puppetry. Just to clarify: classic animation puppets are moved around with post-cinematic animation, while non-animation puppets are filmed in real time as live actors. The puppets here may look like puppets, but they move as if they were actually alive. Compared to modern digital characters that seem to defy gravity, they feel more authentic in some ways because they really fit into their environment and inhabit their world, where sunlight, fog, rain or wind have a real effect on them. And that's very important in a film that's about the connection between beings and nature.

Today I take The Legend of the Golden Pearl as a guilty pleasure, but in my childhood I used to gush over it shamelessly. The film premiered in Czechoslovakia in 1989 (as did the thematically similar The Golden Child). Back then, there weren't many films in this country that combined exotic visuals, pulp adventures with action scenes, supernatural elements and humour. The Legend of the Golden Pearl captivated me at the time precisely because of its magical incongruity. How many other films would have allowed me to go to Hong Kong, the Himalayas and Egypt to see adventurers, Buddhist monks, gangsters and aliens and experience kung fu fights and chases in cars, on motorbikes, camels or in planes? All in a 90-minute running time. It wasn't until much later that I discovered that the film was actually one of a multi-part film series. The cinematographer, Peter Pau, would later win an Academy Award for Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon.

The Day After was one of the biggest events on American television. Rarely had there been such an uncompromisingly intense television film that had frightened so many viewers. Part of this is due to the way it was presented at the time. For several months before its broadcast, the station had already been preparing viewers for something major. After the nuclear attack scene, there were no commercials, the film was accompanied by discussions about what the audience had just seen, and in addition, the network set up hotlines with prepared advisers. A considerably more evocative experience of the nuclear threat, however, is the British quasi-documentary television film Threads, released a year later.

Naive townies versus cannibal savages in the California desert. The former search for an inherited silver mine and get stuck there, the latter live there. The film is about the struggle of two different families, one killing to survive and the other to eat and thus actually survive. Later on, it turns out that the urban family is not so different from the savage one when it is cut off from civilization and modern technology. In order for the townspeople to stand up to the savages in the wilderness, they must also become savages. You can see a kind of social commentary in this, or just an insane B-movie killing spree, that's up to you. Wes Craven is great at evoking the atmosphere of an inhospitable wilderness, but the film is more likely to be recommended only to fans of cinematic perversions, Craven and the bald dude Michael Berryman.

Bride of the Monster clearly proves that Ed Wood definitely deserves his reputation as the worst director of all time. The film is shrouded in many crazy stories, not all of which are true. It is probably Wood's most cohesive and expensive film, with a budget almost equal to that of a standard B-movie of the time. Therefore, the sets are a little less artificial than is usual for Wood, but that doesn't mean they don't shake when someone fights near them. The octopus puppet is pretty hilarious, but it doesn't move, so the actors have to use its tentacles to attack themselves. All of this is interspersed with odd dialogue and archival footage that woefully doesn't fit the film. There fun is guaranteed, but if you want to see something more obscure from Wood, I'd recommend Plan 9 from Outer Space or Glen or Glenda.

The Italian answer to Romero's zombie films, where social commentary is replaced by creative gore effects. The fight between the zombie and the shark underwater is unforgettable. The first underwater zombie scene may have appeared in Zombies of Mora-Tau, but here it's a wonderfully absurd momentary crossover of zombie movies with Jaws – you really won't see something like this anywhere else. The infamous close-up of an eye pierced by a splinter will probably imprint itself on your memory, bringing to mind Buñuel's An Andalusian Dog. Unfortunately, the rest of the film is not so remarkable. The zombies don't come out properly until sometime near the end, and until then there's not much in terms of fun. Nevertheless, a must for fans of the subgenre.

One of the most fundamentally un-artistic Zeta films with probably the most ridiculous monster you'll ever see on screen. A robot-gorilla (or rather, an actor in a gorilla costume with a plastic diving helmet with antennae) chases the last few humans on Earth, receiving orders from his planet via a bubble-blower radio. The nonsensical plot, goofy dialogue, continuity errors, recycled footage, and ridiculous acting make this one of the worst movies of all time. Or was it all a deliberate way to portray (spoiler alert) an infantile childhood dream? Hopefully, one day I'll get to see it in its original 3D version.

Three strippers drive fast cars in the California desert, drink, smoke, kick ass and break stereotypes. Quite a provocative flop in its day, and hated by feminists, now a cult film that feminists love. One of Quentin Tarantino's favourite exploitation films,  at one time he considered making a remake.