A woman vacationing in the woods is captured by a group of men who take turns raping her. She escapes. Later, she hunts the men down one by one and pretends to seduce them. Then she kills them. The end. An endless parade of indignities against the human body occurs throughout the course of this late-’70s exploitation film: beer-bottle sexual assault, bathtub stabbing, castration by outboard motor. Is this purely reprehensible trash or, as its director claims, a feminist critique of male sexual violence? No matter the interpretation, I Spit on Your Grave is still nearly impossible to watch 30 years later.