In the realm of failed art exists a select category of cinema so terribly conceived those deserving of its distinction are worthy of timeless praise. While there are generally celebrated and beloved camp classics, one obscure behemoth of softcore exploitative Eurotrash is Jean-Marie Pallardy’s 1984 gem White Fire.

Filmed in Istanbul and set, for unknown reasons in a futuristic Fascistic Turkey, diamond smugglers, plastic surgery, switched identities, a gigantic radioactive diamond, a lesbian utopia and Fred Williamson are all lavish distractions for a disturbing incest narrative all set to an addictive vintage title track from the band Limelight.

Two children who witnessed their parents murdered in front of their eyes become jewel thieves twenty years later in Istanbul while under the tutelage of their savior, Sam (Jess Hahn). Bo (Robert Ginty) and Ingrid (Belinda Mayne) find their world upended upon the discovery of the legendary titular diamond, a radioactive gemstone found in the caves of Turkey. When an Italian villain (Mirella Banti) decides to eliminate Ingrid due to her associations with the mine owner Olaf (Gordon Mitchell), a strangle ripple of events occurs. Bo, who was romantically interested in his sister, finds a woman who looks an awful lot like her named Olga (Diana Goodman). Bo trains Olga to take his sister’s place, which involves her having plastic surgery (now Belinda Mayne again). Except Olga was the property of Olaf Smith, an associate of Noah Barclay (Fred Williamson), who comes to search for her.

The delight of consuming something like White Fire is in enjoying the tawdry ridiculousness of it all. No one, including Pallardy, (who in retrospect was an odd choice to helm considering his assumed comfort directing softcore nonsense like Emmanuelle Goes to Cannes and Erotic Diary of a Lumberjack), seems interested in making this exercise seem cohesive.

Once Fred Williamson shows up an hour into the running time, the Blaxploitation icon and eventual action star helps kick the narrative into high gear histrionics, as well as serve a decidedly welcome distraction from the film’s male lead, Robert Ginty. But truly, it is a film so deliriously inept, it can only be rightly experienced with a group of cult cinema aficionados who don’t mind foregoing the kind of MST3K commentary track which often accompanies titles of this ilk upon mass re-circulation. Without a doubt, you’ll have the catchy Limelight song stuck in your head after experiencing one of the most baffling narrative obsessions with incest you’re apt to see.

Film Rating: ★/☆☆☆☆☆
Disc Rating: ★★★★/☆☆☆☆☆