We’re guessing that I Spit On Your Grave’s writer-director Meir Zarchi would defend his infamous rape revenge shocker with some kind of “female empowerment” nonsense. And nothing says “You go, girl” like three rape scenes that are shown with no cuts or visual inventiveness.

Zarchi simply sits back, keeps the camera steady, and lets the sexual deviancy play out. Needless to say, I Spit On Your Grave is just about the worst movie you could ever watch on a Netflix-themed date night.

The victim (played by Camille Keaton, one ballsy actress) eventually gets even with the four hillbillies who defiled her. She slices off one dude’s nuts with a knife, guts another with speedboat propellers, drives an axe into one’s back, and gives the fourth the old noose necklace treatment.

The acting in Marchi’s trashy pic is horrendous, the production values aren’t even of student film quality, and the whole thing generally reeks of sadistic indulgence. And you know what? We can’t help but love I Spit On Your Grave for its unabashed awfulness. We could, however, do without all of the ’70s nudity, which brings the decade’s shunning of self-grooming to gross light.

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