Gabriella Hall in Full Body Massage (1995)

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As the trite cliché has it, a person’s entire life can flash before their eyes in the moment before they die. How much better—especially if you are a toned, taut, female temptress of a certain maturity and a definite heightened sexuality—to savor a long, leisurely review of past highlights from your erotically charged lifetime while you recline fully naked upon a vinyl-padded table and your yearning, inspiring flesh is kneaded and oiled by the strong, prodding hands of a relentless, deep-driving, hard-gripping masseuse? Such is the plot of Full Body Massage (1995). Don’t let the simple brilliance of the concept lull you into expectations of a mindless exercise in ogling. Full Body is a product of the iconoclastic and bursting imagination of maverick director Nicolas Roeg, and his patented technique of portentous, relentless, out-of-sequence flashbacks creates an episodic whole that is every bit as engrossing as the near continuous display of alluring female flesh.