Joan Rivers' sole directing job is a crude, nonsensical, vulgar and damn funny. It does run out of steam at the end, but when you've got Paul Lynde as a snarky doctor, Billy Barty as a racist ventriloquist dummy, Joan Rivers herself as a nurse carrying (and dropping) a colon and Billy Crystal as a pregnant man(!) you know it's a must see!
Fulci's horror movies play like cinematic pieces of Gothic literature (Lovecraft in particular) in which the implications are removed; showing every macabre event in graphic detail. Some maybe put off by the disregard for subtly, but in its own way, it's very effective.