Nick Millard (Nick Phillips), Oddo (1967)

Another day, another Nick Phillips sleazefest—this one with what might be cinema’s first deranged Vietnam vet, so unstable he even throws a pillow at a cat. 

He also does nasty things to women, but see, they’re linked in his mind: “The cat belonged to his stepmother, and he hated it as much as he hated her. The bitch had only married his father for what little insurance money his mother had left, and he hated her, he hated her.”

All that, and some decent San Francisco location shooting too. To ask for anything more would be positively bourgeois. 

Nick Millard (Nick Phillips), Scyla (1967)

We’re not sure about the politics of a film that would sit a cat in the middle of a, er, catfight, but this dumb, boring sexploitation film about idiots on a beach doing the nasty does feature rather bold full-frontal nudity for 1967—which, to be clear, put more people in prison than any protest songs by trust-fund kids at liberal arts schools ever did. 

Plus, there’s an utterly gratuitous second cat, which suggests this flick knows the score better than it lets on. When it comes to the Nick Phillips oeuvre, we’ll take Satan’s Black Wedding any day, but hey, it could be worse than naked hippies and cats.

András Szirtes, After the Revolution (1990)

Free-form filmic essay on world-historical events that reflects the essential sameness of post-communist Hungary and the East Village? Pointless zero-budget indulgence, as one blogger who turned it off for Battlestar Galactica thought? Whatever this thing is, it is most assuredly not about the subject of cats in motion pictures, so fie on whoever entered that into the Rutgers University Library database—for no apparent purpose, since after your hopes get up and you click on it, this turns out to be the only entry. 

Still, there are cats, and a nice raggedy sensibility that makes you realize just how Sundance-airbrushed ostensibly independent cinema has grown in the past quarter century. You can watch it on YouTube, apparently uploaded by the director himself, but it looks utterly horrid there. Maybe that’s how it should be.