After returning from Universal Studios yesterday, I decided to ease back into the week with a couple of flicks. Hulu isn’t the best of streaming services in terms of content, but lately I’ve uncovered some good older films on the platform, and occasionally I’ll uncover some hidden gems.
To be sure, there’s a good bit of garbage, too, especially this time of year, when the budget horror flicks pop up like weeds. I watched 1972’s The Last House on the Left last night before catching the subject of this review, and it was a lurid bit of early 70s exploitation. It didn’t necessarily endorse the violence and depravity it depicted, but it certainly seemed to revel in it. At its best, it was a morality tale about the dangers of the hippie movement and misguided youthful energy; at its worst, it was an excuse to torture pretty girls on screen. I’d recommend giving it a pass.
The second film I watched, however, is one I will highly recommend: 1976’s The Little Girl Who Lives Down the Lane. It stars a barely-thirteen-year old Jodie Foster in a command performance, along with a young Martin Sheen, who must have been about twenty-six at the time.
The Portly Politico 