The Sculptress

Life is hard enough for an English art-exchange student in San Francisco without her developing a mysterious psychic connection to a demonically possessed out-of-work actor (All together now: "Oh no! Not a demonically possessed out-of-work actor!") who intends for her to be the mother of his incubus, and coincidentally lives in the apartment next door. Yet such is the dilemma of Sarah (Katie Wright), an unfriendly and neurotic sculptress who, as fortune would have it, is a virgin, and thus ripe for sacrificing. Meanwhile, the aforementioned actor (Jeff "Lawnmower Man" Fahey), who also happens to have multiple personality disorder and a penchant for glaringly obvious latex disguises, is going around town falling in love with various women and then murdering them, for no particular reason other than as a warm-up to the main event of somehow causing a virgin to birth his demon-baby. All of which probably sounds more fun than it actually is, given that we see only one naked breast and very little blood, as director Ian Merrick (who only has one other film to his credit, The Black Panther in 1977) seems more concerned with plumbing the depths of his whiny subject's angst, and her burgeoning relationship with an almost Udo Kier-like professor (Patrick Bauchau). Never does he bother to, oh, explain why an unemployed actor would be in league with a demon, or why said demon's biological clock would be ticking. And the ending...whoo-boy. It probably wouldn't be fair to describe it (for the sake of all two people who might buy a ticket), but it's almost as laugh-out-loud ludicrous as the scene where Sarah starts lovingly sculpting/masturbating a gigantic brown phallus out of potter's clay.