Horror Guilty Pleasure No. 133: Convent of Sinners (dir. by Joe D’Amato)

Posted on October 11, 2026 by Arleigh

Convent of Sinners (1986) wants to expose the corruption behind convent walls, but Joe D’Amato keeps getting distracted by what he can undress inside them. That tension defines this erotic nunsploitation horror film, an atmospheric guilty pleasure with enough religious hypocrisy and malicious intrigue to suggest a sharper movie buried beneath the sleaze. D’Amato recognizes the dramatic possibilities of an institution where frustrated desire disguises itself as moral authority. He also leans so heavily on sexual titillation that his criticism struggles to compete with his exploitation instincts. The result is entertainingly disreputable, occasionally disturbing, and considerably less insightful than its premise promises.

Susanna, played by Eva Grimaldi, enters the convent after suffering sexual abuse at home, only to discover that her supposed sanctuary contains another collection of people determined to control her. The Mother Superior develops an attachment to her, a priest offers forbidden affection, and Sister Teresa resents the attention she receives. Loosely adapted from Denis Diderot’s La Religieuse, the story follows a vulnerable woman whose needs remain secondary to the desires of those claiming to protect her. Susanna becomes the object of affection, suspicion, and punishment without gaining much say in any of it. Escape from one abusive environment simply delivers her into another.

There is a strong foundation here for a bitter examination of institutional corruption. The convent’s inhabitants cannot acknowledge their feelings honestly, so attraction becomes favoritism, jealousy becomes accusation, and cruelty becomes spiritual correction. Susanna exposes tensions that already exist, but blaming her allows everyone else to avoid examining themselves. Religious authority gives ordinary resentment extraordinary reach. Someone who merely dislikes you can make life unpleasant; someone who claims your suffering serves God can make resistance look like further evidence against you. The film understands that distinction, even if it does not consistently develop it beyond another opportunity for humiliation.

Its place within the nunsploitation tradition makes that limitation especially noticeable. Ken Russell’s The Devils combines sexual obsession, religious hysteria, and institutional violence with a larger examination of political power. D’Amato uses related ingredients without approaching Russell’s ambition or furious visual imagination. Convent of Sinners concentrates on private jealousies and forbidden attachments, which could have supported a more intimate account of how authority becomes abusive. Instead, its serious implications repeatedly compete with scenes designed primarily to provoke or titillate. The comparison is useful because it demonstrates that lurid material and meaningful criticism can coexist, provided the filmmaking gives both a purpose.

Bruno Mattei’s The Other Hell offers the trashier comparison, turning a convent into a breeding ground for sinister secrets, violence, and supernatural horror. Both films exploit the reversal of sacred refuge into dangerous confinement, but Mattei foregrounds the horror-show possibilities while D’Amato emphasizes erotic melodrama. Convent of Sinners builds on this established genre territory through its mixture of religious imagery, repressed appetites, and punitive authority. Yet its reliance on sexual spectacle makes the corruption feel less like something being investigated than something supplying the next scandalous situation. The convent is an effective setting, but D’Amato does not always look beyond its exploitation value.

Karin Well’s Sister Teresa gives the persecution a concrete emotional motive. She resents the Mother Superior’s interest in Susanna, and her wounded pride feeds her vindictiveness. Underneath the religious vocabulary is someone furious about losing influence. The institution lets her disguise retaliation as moral responsibility, making her more dangerous than an openly spiteful rival. These dynamics provide some of the film’s strongest material because they reveal how easily a hierarchy can accommodate personal grudges. Teresa does not need to confess her jealousy when she can insist that Susanna is the problem. Her authority supplies the explanation her conscience ought to question.

Grimaldi gives Susanna a sympathetic presence, but the screenplay is far more interested in what happens to her than in who she is. Her longing for tenderness is understandable, and apparent affection offers a believable temptation in such an oppressive environment. Unfortunately, every refuge becomes another trap, and the repeated victimization eventually starts to flatten her character. D’Amato leans way too heavily on the sexual titillation and lurid exploitation of Susanna, weighing down whatever commentary he is attempting about religious hypocrisy and institutional corruption. Her suffering becomes an attraction in itself. The film wants us to condemn those treating her as an object while rarely resisting that temptation itself.

That mixture also connects it to The Convent of Hell, the erotic graphic novel written by Ricardo Barreiro and illustrated by Ignacio Noé. Its forbidden appetites, convent confinement, cruelty, and supernatural grotesquerie belong to the same imaginative tradition. Whether or not its creators would acknowledge these particular predecessors, the family resemblance to The Devils, The Other Hell, and Convent of Sinners is persuasive. This is a critical reading of their shared sensibility rather than a documented claim of direct influence from every film. Still, the progression makes sense: sacred imagery becomes a framework for escalating erotic excess, sometimes overshadowing whatever criticism accompanies it.

Ultimately, Convent of Sinners works better as an uneven guilty pleasure than as a convincing indictment of religious abuse. Its period atmosphere and enclosed setting lend weight to the melodrama, while its malicious characters keep the intrigue moving even when the pacing sags. There is enough solemn hypocrisy and shameless sleaze to satisfy a taste for Italian exploitation, but Susanna’s treatment grows repetitive and uncomfortable. D’Amato has found a subject with genuine dramatic bite; he simply keeps sacrificing that bite to another dose of titillation. The film peers behind the convent’s respectable façade, then becomes so absorbed in the scandal that it neglects the corruption it originally promised to expose.

Previous Guilty Pleasures

International Horror Film Review: Beyond the Darkness (dir by Aristide Massaccesi, a.k.a. Joe D’Amato)

Posted on October 6, 2019 by Lisa Marie Bowman

An odd film, this one is.

Now, me, I absolutely love Beyond the Darkness. However, this 1979 Italian film is definitely not for everyone and I’m always very careful about recommending it. At it’s heart, it’s a story about a man named Frank Wyler (Kieran Canter) who is so in love with Anna Volkl (Cinzia Monreale, who Italian horror fans will immediately recognize from her iconic role as Emily in Lucio Fulci’s The Beyond) that he won’t even allow death to keep them apart. At the same time, the film contains scenes of cannibalism, gore, and nudity (poor Cinzia Monreale had to spent the majority of the movie naked and pretending not to breathe) that were so graphic that the film was actually banned in several countries. Did I mention that Frank’s a taxidermist? If you’ve ever wanted to see a film about how messy taxidermy can be, I guess this would be the one to go with.

Frank is a young man who has inherited a villa in the country. He lives there with Iris (Franca Stoppi), the servant who has literally raised him from his birth. Frank is a handsome but strange man, one who spends most his time locked away in his garage and stuffing dead animals. (Before anyone panics, there’s no animal cruelty to be witnessed in this film. Though there is a bit of human cruelty….) Frank is in love with Anna but Anna has recently been taken ill. She’s in the hospital, where the doctor’s simply cannot figure out what’s wrong with her. Could it have something to do with the voodoo curse that the jealous Irish has placed on her?

When Anna finally dies, Iris is convinced that she’ll have Frank to herself but Frank has other ideas. After the funeral, Frank promptly digs Anna back up and then takes her body back to his garage. Unfortunately, along the way, an obnoxious hitchhiker (played by Lucia D’Elia) decides that Frank’s going to give her a ride. The hitchhiker ends up passing out in Frank’s van.

So, here Frank is. All he wants to do is stuff his dead girlfriend. But he’s got this obnoxious hitchhiker running around the garage and knocking over buckets of intestines! Frank kills the hitchhiker and Iris, despite being disgusted by the fact that Frank has insisted on bringing Anna home, helps him dispose of the hitchhiker’s body. The problem’s solved, except for the fact that Frank is now becoming obsessed with cannibalism….

Okay, it’s a weird film and it only gets weirder from there. As I said, it’s definitely not a film for everyone and there’s certain scenes that would be incredibly offensive if not for the fact that the film is so well-directed and Canter, Monreale, and Stoppi are all so well-cast and give such sincere performances that you can’t help but get caught up in the film’s storyline. Frank may be a spoiled, cannibalistic murderer and Anna might be dead but their love for each other is so sincere that you can’t help but feel for both of them. Director Aristide Massaccesi (who was usually credited under the name Joe D’Amato) creates an ominous and gothic atmosphere while Goblin provides a pulsating and moody score that perfectly mirror Frank’s descent into madness (Admittedly, Frank doesn’t have far to descend.) Massaccesi often said that he only made the film to gross people out but an accidental success is a success nonetheless.

The TSL’s Daily Horror Grindhouse: The Erotic Nights of the Living Dead (dir by Aristide Massaccesi)

Posted on October 3, 2016 by Lisa Marie Bowman

It is too a real movie!

Yes, I know that The Erotic Nights of the Living Dead sounds like something that someone made up but the movie totally exists and you probably won’t be surprised to know that it really doesn’t live up to the brilliance of the name. There is a lot sex but most of it involves a really unattractive guy with a mustache and a perm that makes him look like he should be a part of Anchorman‘s Channel 5 Action News Team so it’s debatable how erotic it is. The living dead do show up and, let’s give credit where credit is due, the zombie effects are undeniably well done. They really do look like the dead come back to life. However, none of the zombies are particularly sexual. There is a ghost who, in close-up, castrates a man while giving him a blow job but, since she’s a ghost, it’s debatable whether or not she can truly be considered one of the living dead. Finally, the title promises us “nights of the living dead” but it’s really more of an evening of the living dead.

Details matter.

Released in 1980, The Erotic Nights of the Living Dead was directed by Aristide Massaccesi, a filmmaker who was better known by the name Joe D’Amato. D’Amato had a deserved reputation for directing some of the sleaziest Italian exploitation flicks of all time, though he also directed one of my personal favorites, Beyond the Darkness. (For the record, Joe D’Amato was not the only alias used by Massaccesi. Over the course of his long career, he was credited under at least 43 different names. Also, for the record, I’ve read several interviews from people who worked with Massaccesi and, without fail, all of them have reported that he was one of the nicest and most generous people that one could hope to work with during the Italian horror boom of the 1980s.)

The Erotic Nights of the Living Dead is really two bad films in one. The first film features a land developer named John Wilson (Mark Shannon). Wilson has purchased an island and wants to build a luxury hotel on the island. However, he’s having some trouble convincing anyone with a boat to give him a ride out to his property. It seems that the location has a bad reputation. John finally convinces local boat captain and adventurer, Larry O’Hara (George Eastman), to take him to the island. Accompanying them is Fiona (Dirce Funari) who is either John’s girlfriend or just didn’t have anything better to do. (To be honest, it was kind of hard to follow.) Before heading out for the island, John takes a long shower with two prostitutes and Larry languidly watches as a stripper does a dance that involves popping a champagne cork without using her hands.

The second movie involves the trip to the island. It turns out that the island isn’t as deserted as Mark assumed. There’s an old man with a massive bump on his head. There’s also the man’s mysterious daughter, played by Laura Gemser who also starred in D’Amato’s Black Emanuelle films. The old man and his daughter warn everyone that they should leave the island but, of course, people are stupid.

Anyway, there are two good things about The Erotic Nights of the Living Dead. First off, the great George Eastman gets a lengthy scene in which he giggles like a madman and it’s fun to watch because Eastman truly throw himself into the performance. Secondly, the arrival of the zombies is heralded by a mysterious black cat. The cat has the most Hellish meow that you’ll ever hear but he’s a black cat so he’s cute.

In the end, though, the best thing about The Erotic Nights of the Living Dead is the title.