Only a few gets it. Crown International Pictures wasn’t just a B-movie studio—it was a rite of passage. A gateway drug to sleaze, sunshine noir, and sweet, sweet exploitation. The kind of studio that practically smelled like popcorn grease, hot asphalt, and stale cigarette smoke. If you were lucky enough to catch them on a warped DVD in the early 2000s—probably stuffed in a cardboard box from Walmart or a Big Lots rack—you knew the magic. But if you really got the vibe, you could close your eyes and almost hear the hum of a drive-in speaker hanging from your window.
CROWN INTERNATIONAL PICTURES — A Semi-Comprehensive Filmography
Here’s a hefty rundown of the kind of glorious trash and grindhouse gold Crown churned out. Some titles might be seared into your brain from a Mill Creek box set. Others? Pure whispered legend:
1960s
Bloodlust! (1961)
The Seventh Commandment (1961)
She Freak (1967)
The Hellcats (1967)
The Girls from Thunder Strip (1966)
Wild Riders (1967)
The Mini-Skirt Mob (1968)
Hell's Bloody Devils (1969)
1970s – The Crown Glory Days
The Hard Ride (1971)
The Pig Keeper's Daughter (1972)
Trip with the Teacher (1975)
The Pom Pom Girls (1976)
The Van (1977)
Malibu Beach (1978)
The Sister-in-Law (1974)
Coach (1978)
Van Nuys Blvd. (1979)
My Tutor (1979)
Malibu High (1979)
The Booby Hatch (1976)
Weekend with the Babysitter (1970)
The Teacher (1974)
Superchick (1973)
The Cheerleaders (1973)
Teenage Seductress (1975)
1980s – Full-On Drive-In Degeneracy
H.O.T.S. (1979, still ran through the early '80s)
Galaxina (1980)
The Ghost in the Invisible Bikini (1977 rerelease)
The Beach Girls (1982)
My Tutor (1983)
Weekend Pass (1984)
Tomboy (1985)
Jocks (1986)
The Allnighter (1987)
Starhops (1981)
They’re Playing with Fire (1984)
A Nostalgic Retrospective: Crown Wasn’t Just a Studio, It Was a Lifestyle
Look, you didn’t watch Crown International because you wanted a prestige picture. You watched Crown because you wanted boobs, blood, bikes, and beaches—and you wanted them now. There was always a girl in short shorts, a guy with feathered hair and a custom van, and at least one teacher crossing wildly unethical lines. You didn’t even mind when the plots nosedived into surrealist garbage. If anything, that was part of the high.
Watching them in the early 2000s, burned onto DVDs with washed-out color and mono sound, somehow made them better. It was like time-traveling through video static. A cracked VHS of The Van felt more real than whatever was playing in theaters. You didn’t need HD. You needed vibes. And Crown delivered those in a leaky paper cup at a midnight matinee.
And here’s the kicker: these weren’t just movies. They were signposts. They pointed to something grimy, weird, and wonderful that existed in the cracks between the studio system and true indie cinema. They were movies for people who skipped the prom, loitered behind arcades, and knew where the real party was.
So yeah—tip your cap to the polyester perverts who made these fever dreams possible. And the next time someone asks you what the hell Malibu High is, just smile. They’re not ready. But you were born ready. You’ve got the 50-pack to prove it.
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