Daughters of Satan (1972)

Daughters of Satan is almost certainly the only movie about an American art expert who moves to Manila with his high-strung wife, buys a creepy old painting featuring a woman who looks like the missus, discovers that he’s the descendant of some dude who killed a bunch of witches a few centuries ago, and fails to notice clues like the creepy Rottweiler that shows up at his house or the dagger-wielding crazies who chase him through the streets before he finally realizes that his wife is the descendant of one of his ancestor’s victims, meaning his days are numbered. Oh, and the Man Who Would Be Magnum, Tom Selleck, is the hero, playing this no-budget garbage straight even though diving into the gonzo spirit of the thing might have delivered more interesting results. If the movie wasn’t weighted down by so many boring stretches of characters wandering around doing nothing, it would qualify as a so-bad-it’s-good disaster, because Selleck’s the only performer with any clue about delivering dialogue, and because the so-called plot charts the outer reaches of narrative stupidity. As it is, some moments in Daughters of Satan come close to sublime awfulness. I’m fond of the scenes featuring the high priestess of “the Manila Assembly of Lucifer” cavorting around in a purple leotard with flames embroidered over her lady’s business, and there’s something rad about the creepy little shirtless mortician who scolds Selleck by saying, “You’re not allowed in here, this is the make-up room of the dead.” (Available as part of the MGM Limited Collection on Amazon.com)

Daughters of Satan: LAME