input question: Select the correct sentiment of the following review: Another Aussie masterpiece, this delves into the world of the unknown and the supernatural, and it does very well. It doesn't resort to the big special effects overkill like American flicks, it focuses more on emotional impact. A relatively simple plot that Rebecca Gibney & Co. bring to life. It follows the story of a couple who buy an old house that was supposedly home to a very old woman who never went outside, and whose husband disappeared in mysterious circumstances a century ago. Strange things begin to happen in the house, and John Adam begins to turn into the man who disappeared, who was actually a mass murderer. Highly recommended. 8/10
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output answer: positive

input question: Select the correct sentiment of the following review: Frustrated middle-aged Deputy District Attorney George Maxwell (a fine performance by George E. Carey, who also produced this picture) can't stand his naggy, frigid wife Edith (a perfectly bitchy Anne Bellamy) anymore. Worse yet, poor George is further saddled with a newborn baby sun and a lascivious lesbian teenage daughter (dishy brunette Sheri Jackson). George has an adulterous fling with lovely, enticing and free-spirited swinging hippie babysitter Candy Wilson (delightfully played with sexy aplomb by yummy blonde knockout Patricia Wymer). Complications ensue when George finds himself being blackmailed by the bitter Julia Freeman (a nicely venomous turn by Kathy Williams), who wants George to spring her psychotic biker boyfriend Laurence Mackey (a frightening Robert Tessier, who sports a head full of hair here) from jail. Director Tom Laughlin (yep, the same dude who portrayed Billy Jack!) and screenwriter James McLarty cram the splendidly seamy story with a winning and highly entertaining surplus of delicious female nudity, sizzling soft-core sex, and raw violence. Moreover, they accurately peg the whole wild'n'easy uninhibited sensibility of the 60's youth culture and relate the plot in a tight 75 minute running time, thus ensuring that this movie doesn't overstay its welcome. One definite highlight occurs when Candy invites her groovy friends over the Maxwells house for an impromptu basement bash complete with pot smoking, wailing rock music, and, of course, hot naked dancing chicks. Robert O. Ragland's funky score hits the gnarly spot. Stanton Fox's stark black and white cinematography adds an extra gritty edge to the deliriously sleazy goings-on. Best of all, this flick rates as a marvelous showcase for the utterly charming and fresh-faced pixie Patricia Wymer, who positively lights up the screen with her sweet, bubbly personality and captivating beauty. A total trashy treat.
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output answer: positive

input question: Select the correct sentiment of the following review: Most yeti pictures are fatally undermined by a grave paucity of energy and enthusiasm. Not so this gloriously bent, batty and berserk over-the-top Italian-made shot-in-Canada kitsch gut-buster: It's a wildly ripe and vigorously moronic ghastly marvel which reaches a stunning apotheosis of righteously over-baked "what the hell's going on?" crackpot excess and inanity.

A freighter ship crew discovers the body of a 30-foot yeti that resembles a hirsute 70's disco stud (complete with jumbo wavy afro) perfectly preserved in a large chunk of ice. They dethaw the beast, jolt him back to life with electric charges, grossly mistreat him, and keep the poor hairy Goliath in an enormous glass booth. Before you can say "Hey, the filmmakers are obviously ripping off 'King Kong'," our titanic abominable snowdude breaks free of his cage, grabs the first luscious nubile blonde Euro vixen (the gorgeous Pheonix Grant) he lays lustful eyes on, and storms away with his new lady love. The yeti gets recaptured and flown to Toronto to be showed off to a gawking audience. Of course, he breaks free again, nabs the vixen, and goes on the expected stomping around the city rampage.

The sublimely stupid dialogue (sample line: "Philosophy has no place in science, professor"), cheesy (far from) special effects (the horrendous transparent blue screen work and cruddy Tonka toy miniatures are especially uproarious in their very jaw-dropping awfulness), clunky (mis)direction, and a heavy-handed script that even attempts a clumsily sincere "Is the yeti a man or a beast?" ethical debate all combine together to create one of the single most delightfully ridiculous giant monster flicks to ever roar its absurd way across the big screen. Better still, we also have a few funky offbeat touches to add extra shoddy spice to the already succulently schlocky cinematic brew: the vixen accidentally brushes against one of the yeti's nipples, which causes it to harden and elicits a big, leering grin of approval from the lecherous behemoth (!); the vixen nurses the yeti's wounded hand while he makes goo-goo eyes at her, the yeti smashes windows with his feet while climbing a towering office building, and the furry fellow even breaks a man's neck with his toes (!!). Overall, this singularly screwball and shamefully unheralded should-be camp classic stands tall as a remarkable monolith of infectiously asinine celluloid lunacy that's eminently worthy of a substantial hardcore underground cult following.
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output answer:
positive