Directed by Peter Perry Jr. (Honeymoon of Terror, Mondo Mod, My Tail Is Hot) — using the name A.P. Stootsberry — and written by Maurice Smith (the writer of Julie Darling), The Joys of Jezebel has Lucifer (Christopher Stone, not the one you’re thinking of), apparently running a bit low on quota, sending the infamous Jezebel (Luanne Roberts, using the name Christine Murray; she was also in Prison Girls, Bonnie’s Kids and Trader Hornee) back to Earth. Her mission? Claim the soul of Rachel (Dixie Donovan), a blonde virgin who represents the ultimate prize for the underworld.

The twist, of course, is that Jezebel doesn’t just deliver the soul. She inhabits the vessel. But as it turns out, the 20th century is a lot more complicated than the biblical era and Rachel’s life comes with baggage that even a demon queen wasn’t prepared to carry. That’s because, along with her sister Ruth (Lois Ursone using the pseudonym Angela Graves), they’ve been sold off to Joshua (Johnny Rocco) and Jeremiah (Jay Edwards).

While Jezebel is busy playing body-thief, Rachel ends up in Hell, leading Lucifer on a merry chase where he bumps into a Who’s Who of the damned, including Goliath (Jess White), Solomon (Woody Lee) and Eve. The film hits its stride when Jezebel realizes that being human—with all its sensory distractions and emotional messiness—is its own kind of trap.

This was produced by David F. Friedman, who started his entertainment career as part of the traveling tent shows of the 1930s and 40s, learning the art of the pitch. He knew that what you saw mattered far less than what you were promised. This carny DNA followed him into the film industry, where he realized that if you called a movie educational or medical, you could get away with showing things that would make a nun faint.

In the early 60s, Friedman teamed up with Herschell Gordon Lewis to invent an entirely new subgenre. Tired of the nudist colony films (which Friedman basically perfected), they decided to pivot to something even more visceral with their gore films.

Friedman eventually moved to California and formed Entertainment Ventures, where he produced everything from roughies to softcore romps. He was a gentleman in a dirty business — famously articulate, well-read and honest about his motives. He wasn’t trying to win an Oscar; he was trying to sell popcorn and fill seats.

When he passed away in 2011, the world lost its last great link to the era of the true independent roadshowman. He didn’t just make movies; he made attractions. And as long as there’s a flicker of sleaze playing somewhere, the spirit of Dave Friedman is right there in the front row, counting the receipts.

You can watch this on Cultpix.