House of Self-Indulgence

Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in. Except, "they" aren't The Mob (or the D-Mob, for you all acid heads out there) or The Church of Satan (or The Church of Extacy, for all you acid heads out there who didn't hear me the first time). Nope, in an act of pure desperation, I'm back suckling at the on the wonky nipple attached to the fake, disproportionately large tit that is your average Andy Sidaris film; and believe me, it's average, all right. How this came about, I'm not exactly sure. But I know one thing–and I can't believe I'm about to say this–I sure do miss Dona Speir (Click: The Calendar Girl Killer) and Roberta Vasquez (Picasso Trigger). The first film directed by Andy Sidaris to not star Dona Speir... Wait, let me rephrase that. The first film directed by Andy Sidaris since Hard Ticket to Hawaii to not star Dona Speir, Day of the Warrior features a brand new bevy of untalented actresses with suspect boobies for us to ogle and gawk at. Oh, sure, actual talented people like, Julie Strain (Fit to Kill), Rodrigo Obregón (Savage Beach), Gerald Okamura (Samurai Cop) and Richard Cansino (Guns) are back to make go of it. But everyone else is seriously lacking when it comes displaying the basic properties that make up charisma. Actually, that's not entirely true, there are some bright spots sprinkled here and there. And just because I like you, I'll try to isolate the few of the film's bright spots.

For the most part, however, the so-called "babes" who have been saddled with the task of providing this film with the prerequisite eye candy fail to achieve their primary goal.

And what, pray tell, you might be thinking, is that goal? It's simple, really, their goal is to give men erections. Anyone who tries to convince you otherwise is kidding themselves. Sadly, there won't be many erections unfurled during this film. Unless, of course, you're into skinny women with fake tits. If that's the case, you'll be unfurling untoward unicorn horns in your frontal trouser area until the cows come home.

Speaking of cows, check out the cow-print briefcase Cobra (Julie K. Smith) is carrying through chichi Beverly Hills, it's so tacky/awesome (and a nice subtle shout out to Malibu Express - the protagonist in that film also carried a cow-print briefcase). What isn't tacky in the slightest, however, are the awesome black stockings currently holding her not-so shapely legs hostage. I didn't think it was possible, but the black stockings attached to Julie K. Smith's gams are having zero effect on the outward appearance of said gams. Meaning, her gams are not receiving a dramatic upturn in their sex appeal.

Don't look so stunned, I'm as shocked as you are. Like the true professional that he is, Andy Sidaris tries his best to film her black stocking-sheathed legs from every possible angle. But even that can't change the fact that Julie K. Smith looks like she's walking on a pair of shapeless stilts, all the while, trying to smuggle two comically large balloons underneath her pink jacket.

While I could sit here and trash Julie K. Smith's lack of legginess, I would really like to... You know what? Let's stick with this subject. Not to be cruel, but since Julie K. Smith stripping in a Beverly Hills strip club is the first thing we see in this film, we might as well start there.

Question: Is this supposed to be erotic? I mean, the sight of Julie K. Smith hurling her body across the strip club stage is doing nothing for me. Where's Sally Farb when you need her. (Sally who?) You know, Sally Farb, from The Curse of Her Flesh. Now there's a woman who knows a thing or about the art of burlesque. What Julie K. Smith is doing is basically a variation of that angry twitchy gyration thing Elizabeth Berkley does in Showgirls. In other words, it's not hot.

Welcome to the headquarters of L.E.T.H.A.L. (Legion to Ensure Total Harmony and Law). Sitting at her computer, Tiger (Shae Marks) is surprised to find out that the L.E.T.H.A.L. computer system has been violated by a criminal mastermind named "Warrior" (Marcus Bagwell). Realizing that the identities of all the L.E.T.H.A.L. agents currently in the field could be compromised, Tiger brings the news to Commander Willow Black (Julie Strain), who is exercising in her office in a skimpy leopard-print leotard.

Unable to warn the agents without blowing their cover, Willow sends Tiger into the field to get the word out. Assigned to work with a pilot named Tyler (Christian Letelier), Tiger is eager to go on an assignment, as it's been two years since... Holy crap! How does she walk around with those things? (What things?) What things?!? Those huge things sticking out of her chest. (Oh, you mean her tits.) No, no, no, those aren't tits. Those things are beyond tits.

Anyway, after recovering from the sight of Tiger's ginormous boobies (they're, like, totally out of proportion with the rest of her body), I was able to properly gauge the quality of Christian Letelier's acting. And, after thoroughly checking my instruments, I can safely say that he is in fact terrible.

In charge of bringing Doc Austin (Kevin Light)–who is working for a couple of the Warrior's underlings, Manuel (Rodrigo Obregón) and Kym (Raye Hollitt)–"in from the cold" (it's spy lingo), Tiger and Tyler head down to Southern Texas.

It would seem that the Warrior has some competition in the being buff in public department. No, not Kevin Light, silly. I'm talking about Raye Hollitt, who's built like a linebacker. Which is ironic since Kevin Light reminded me a little of linebacker Brian Bosworth circa his days with the Seattle Seahawks; and I do mean "days," as his NFL career lasted barely two seasons. Nonetheless, add Raye Hollitt's name to the vast list of women in this movie that I find unappealing.

In order to "take care" of L.E.T.H.A.L. agents Shark (Darren Wise) and Scorpion (Tammy Parks), the Warrior sends two stockbrokers/hitmen–who are currently posing as surfers in Malibu–to Las Vegas. Fans of Andy Sidaris, and the people who watch his films simply because there's nothing else on, will recognize one of the stockbroker-hitmen, as he is played by Sidaris regular Richard Cansino. Unfortunately, he's not paired with his long time partner Chu Chu Malave; who's been replaced by Cassidy Phillips. Sure, they're still bumbling and incompetent as ever, but it's just not the same.

The good news is, the stockbroker/hitmen go on a date with two sexy stock analysts before heading to Las Vegas. Granted, we don't actually see them go on a date, but we do get to see the leggy as all get out Christiva Turner and the silky smooth contours belonging to Carolyn Liu lounging by the pool.

And thus, breaking the film's streak of there of only being unattractive women onscreen up until this point.

Wait, what am I saying? Julie Strain has been onscreen several times already, and she's exceedingly attractive. And not someone you want to make angry, as she will straight up knock your dick in the dirt.

I'm sorry, but Julie K. Smith and Shae Marks aren't doing it for me. Yet, judging by the way Andy Sidaris' camera film's them, you'd think they were the most beautiful women on the face of the earth. His mind has obviously been conditioned to equate attractiveness with big tits. Which is fine, if that's your thing. But somewhere down the road he forget to equate a little thing called "personality." Something that Julie K. Smith and Shae Marks clearly don't have.

After watching her get dressed, we follow Julie K. Smith's Cobra, complete with her own theme music ("She's a cobra!"), as she heads to a shop on Rodeo Dr. to pick up some stolen diamonds from a guy who looks like the stuntman they would have hired if Skeet Ulrich had landed the lead role in The Ninth Gate. Again, not to sound cruel, but her clothes make her look like a 75 year-old woman. Not that there's anything wrong with being 75, it's just that Julie K. Smith clearly isn't 75.

While confidence is a quality I usually admire in a person, the confidence the characters exude in these films is especially off-putting. Just once I'd see a character in an Andy Sidaris/Arlene Sidaris/Christian Drew Sidaris production experience a moment of self-doubt. You could say the Sidaris' are mocking, in their own unique way, the tenets of American exceptional-ism. But even I'll admit, that's a bit of a stretch.

Coming close to experiencing a moment of self-doubt is Gerald Okamura's Fu, who headlines the Cloud 9 Lounge in Las Vegas under the name "Elvis Fu." Yet, despite the lackluster attendance of his show, Fu still seems to think he's doing great. Nonetheless, the teaming up of Julie Strain and Gerald Okamura is the best thing this film has to offer in terms of entertainment value.

As each L.E.T.H.A.L. agent gets their cover blown, the L.E.T.H.A.L. ladies must work extra hard to prevent their colleagues from being assassinated by the Warrior, who, despite having a cool look, is a pretty lame villain (he spends the bulk of the film inside a wrestling ring, while Rodrigo Obregón and the musclebound Raye Hollitt end up doing the lion's share of the legwork, villainy-wise).

If you're interested in micro mini-dresses, fake tits, old cellphones, piss poor shoot-outs (the one involving a bulldozer was sort of well-done, though), zebra-print stockings worn underneath PVC trousers...

Hold up, what the hell was that? I mean, we see Julie K. Smith in her room putting on zebra-print stockings, but seconds later she can be seen leaving in a pair of PVC trousers. Are we expected to believe that Julie is wearing zebra-print stockings underneath her PVC trousers? Um, I don't think so.

Okay, where was I? Oh, yeah... If you're interested in the stuff I just mentioned, and, not to mention, red leather skirts with zippers located in the front, films that feature plenty of third act acts of treachery, female finger pointing at board meetings, Ted Prior from Deadly Prey, and instances where muscular chicks shoot owls with shotguns, I don't know what to say. But if you're like me, and have seen way too many Andy Sidaris films than you'd care to admit, you might as well watch this one. Seriously, one more ain't going to kill you.

Whoever decided to give the three characters at the centre of The Immoral Three names that all end in 'y' is going to feel my wrath someday. Oh, and don't worry, I'm not blaming Doris Wishman, as she only directed this film. That being said, she could have chimed in and said something. Nevertheless, I doubt she had anything to do with naming the characters. No, from the looks of it, the only thing Doris was responsible for was the wonderfully garish interior design and the sex scenes that focused primarily on the participant's feet. Actually, that's not entirely true, as you can see Doris Wishman's fingerprints all over this film. Everything, from the colour of the carpet, to the sudden bursts of violence practically screamed Doris Wishman. Though, I have to say, she's come along way from the black and white roughies she made in the mid-1960s. In those films, you would be lucky to travel beyond a two block radius. Yet, in this film, we travel the globe, as we visit Moscow, Las Vegas, Munich, New York City and exotic Fresno, California. Yep, you heard right, I said Fresno. It's true, it might not have been really Fresno, but when a curly-haired redhead wearing a dress–one that sported so many slits, that I literally lost count–shows up at the house of some German guy who may or may not have been her dead mother's lover, I totally bought that it was Fresno; yeah, it was that convincing.

While it's pretty simple to fake Fresno, it's another thing all-together to fool people your film is taking place in New York City and Las Vegas. In order to overcome this difficulty, Doris Wishman shoots the curvaceous Cindy Boudreau walking the streets of both cities.

I know, the film is called "The Immoral Three," not The Immoral One. In other words, where are the other two? Why don't we get to see Sandra Kay and Michele Marie walking the streets of any of these cities?

This question proceeded to nag me throughout the film, as it would seem that Cindy Boudreau is doing the majority of the heavy lifting. To put it in less diplomatic terms, I don't think the other chicks are pulling their weight.

Sure, Sandra Kay's Nancy performs oral sex on a banana and a gardener (not at the same time, mind you) and Michele Marie's Sandy visits fake Fresno in a slit-heavy dress, but that's pretty much all they do.

If that wasn't enough, first time and last time actress Cindy Boudreau plays a duel role. Playing Ginny and...

Wait a second, I think I might have mixed up the names of the other two chicks. It says here that Sandra Kay plays Sandy, the grumpy brunette who performs oral sex on a banana and a gardener. And Michele "with one 'l'" Marie is Nancy, the enthusiastic redhead with killer gams. To make matters even more confusing, Ginny is a redhead, too. On the plus side, however, Ginny's red hair is straight, while Nancy's is curly.

Anyway, Cindy Bordreau plays Ginny, a vivacious redhead who discovers that her recently deceased mother was a secret agent, and she also plays–you guessed it–Jane Tennay, Ginny's mother. And, as it turns out, Jane's the mother of Sandy and Nancy as well.

In the flashbacks that show Jane in secret agent mode, they depict a woman who doesn't take no shit from anyone. Wielding her DeLeeuw-esque frame like a spear made out of pure, unadulterated shapeliness, flashback Jane fucks men and then she kills them. Present day Jane, however, dies like some two-bit whore.

The film opens with present day Jane relaxing on a balcony in a yellow bikini, when all of a sudden, a man starts choking her. Instead of fighting back, like flashback Jane would, present day Jane just lies there and gets strangled to death.

What gives, present day Jane? You were such a bad ass in the flashback sequences. Take, for instance, the flashback that shows you in Moscow. After fucking some lumpy guy with a beard, you attempt to steal a microfilm from his pants while he slept in a dried up puddle of his own jizz. Catching her in the act, the lumpy guy tries to straight up kill her shapely ass. Not wanting to get killed, flashback Jane stabs him with some sort of medieval fire poker.

In order to make it seem like they were in Moscow, Doris Wishman puts flashback Jane and the lumpy guy in coats and tells them to act cold.

To collect their inheritance (one million dollars each), Ginny, Sandy and Nancy must avenge their mother's death (we never see the face of the man who choked her on the balcony). Not to worry, though, she left her daughters an envelope containing photos and the location of the four men Jane thinks might have wanted her dead.

Using Jane's house as their base of operations, the three women plan their next move. Well, Ginny and Nancy plan their next move, as it would seem that Sandy doesn't want anything to do with this convoluted revenge plot. I'm with you, honey, this movie kinda sucks.

Putting on a red bikini, Sandy relaxes on a lawn chair with a banana.

Speaking of things that are yellow, check out the yellow wall-to-wall carpeting. I must say, watching the heels of Ginny, Sandy and Nancy's shoes grind seductively into the thick carpet of Jane's swanky pad is the only thing this film has going for it so far. (Are you nuts? Sandy just gave oral sex to a banana!) Did she, really? I mean, it's just a piece of penis-shaped fruit. No, I prefer to watch women digging their heels into thick carpet. (Weirdo.)

Since there's barely enough material to justify it being called a movie, we're shown Sandy attacked by a delivery boy and a pointless scene where Ginny has sex with a stranger while trapped in an elevator.

Impress your friends and get an "OH SHIT" belt buckle. (What are you blathering about?) The film just got interesting again when, for some strange reason, we're given a close up shot of Sandy's saucy belt buckle.

You see, while Ginny is scouring the streets of New York City and Las Vegas looking for her mother's killer, Sandy's sitting on a gaudy couch doing jack shit in an "OH SHIT" belt buckle and Nancy's in Fresno talking to some asshole named Hans in a dress with six maybe seven slits. (Wait, this Hans asshole was wearing a multi-slitted dress?) No, Nancy was wearing the multi-slitted dress. If it's okay with you, I'm going to stop writing about this film now. It blows.

Since no one living in 1980s could have foreseen what the world was going to look like in, say, forty or fifty years, there was only one thing the people in-charge of depicting the future for entertainment purposes could do. And that is, take the 1980s aesthetic and amplify it to point of mental and physical exhaustion. Now, I could be wrong, but I think that's exactly what the producers of Cabaret Sin (a.k.a. X-Trop) were trying to do when they came up with the look of this film. You see, without access to expensive special effects or elaborate sets, the makers of this particular (and highly peculiar) slice of pornographic sci-fi had no choice but to exploit the stylistic temperament of the fingerless glove era. Besides, in a weird way, high fashion hit its zenith during the 1980s. Meaning, everything that has occurred since, fashion-wise, has simply been a rehash of something from the '80s. So, in a strange sort of way, the clothes and hairstyles seen throughout this movie are in fact futuristic, even though they're over twenty years old. Let me put it this way: Anytime you see a woman with flat, lifeless hair with no personality, blame Jennifer Aniston. On the other hand, anytime you see a woman with short platinum blonde hair that's been shaved around the sides and back, thank Lois Ayres. Sure, the incomparable Miss Ayres isn't in this movie, but her life force is. Speaking of force, you could say Gail Force's "Shadow Dancer," who can be seen dancing behind a screen as Lorrie Lovett and Tom Byron fornicated on stage, is the director Philip O'Toole's subtle tribute to Lois Ayres.

Ah, I see your eyes lit up when I implied that Miss Lovett and Mr. Byron did the bulk of their fornicating on a stage. Well, this film, my friend, is the closet thing to a sequel to Café Flesh we're ever gonna get.

I know, you're out there screaming at your television: "They made a sequel to Café Flesh, two in fact, dumbass." That's true, they (not Rinse Dream, mind you) did make a couple of sequels, but I think Cabaret Sin is one of the few films that manages to truly capture the spirit of Café Flesh.

While the makers of Café Flesh were portraying a bleak future from the perspective of someone living in 1982, the makers of Cabaret Sin are living in 1987. In other words, they, the Cabaret Sin folks, had more of the 1980s to work with. It's true, you could say Café Flesh had a bit of an edge because its cast and crew were able to utilize fresh memories of the late 1970s (the late 1970s were nothing but a cocaine blur by the time 1987 rolled around), and they had the advantage of shooting on film (film looks better than video). But let's get real, in Cabaret Sin, the hair is bigger, the colours are bolder, the neon is brighter and the sex is hotter.

In Café Flesh, Marie Sharp doesn't even come close to touching Kevin James' well-traveled ball sack with her mouth. However, in Cabaret Sin, the captivating Leslie Winston devours every square inch of real estate Kevin James' well-traveled ball sack has to offer.

This is going to be the last time that I compare the two films. But it should be noted that Cabaret Sin is nowhere near as compelling as Café Flesh, as the former is severely lacking when it comes to acting and basic storytelling. It's just that I was simply taken with the fact a non-Rinse Dream directed film came somewhat close to duplicating the magic of Café Flesh.

In reality, while Cabaret Sin does owe a debt of gratitude to Café Flesh, the majority of the inspiration seems to come from Blade Runner.

Everything, from the Sean Young-esque manner in which Krista Lane smoked, to the part where a bouncer tells the film's lead that it's "time to die," before attempting to strangle him, practically screamed Blade Runner. Even the year the film supposedly takes place in screams Blade Runner. Sure, Cabaret Sin takes place in Los Angeles in 2020 (Blade Runner takes place in 2019), but it's close enough.

In charge of killing droids, Taylor (Greg Derek) is the best "Eliminator" there is. In sector 48 to conduct a routine clean up job, Taylor enters the Pleasure Dome, a club that features live sex shows. As he walks in, it looks like Kristara Barrington (who is dressed like a geisha) is about to get it on with a guy dressed as a samurai, but this scene was clearly cut out of the movie for unknown reasons.

Despite this hatchet job, the atmosphere of the Pleasure Dome is so '80s, it hurts. Seriously, my brain can't handle the amount of '80s-ness on display in this scene. I mean, the combination of punk and new wave hairstyles, neon signs and synth flourishes on the soundtrack are enough to send even most fervent apologists for the 1980s (from a pop culture standpoint) to the emergency room.

Every audience member looks the part, as they watch Lorrie Lovett dance in ancient Egyptian garb for a lengthy period of time. Slowly but surely, she removes most of her clothing (don't you dare remove those white stockings). This is obviously Tom Byron's cue to go on stage. I don't think I have to tell you what happens next. But you know what? I think I will anyway. Jumping on stage, after some playful dancing, Lorrie sucks Tom's cock. And, after making sure his balls have been licked up and down more than once, Lorrie allows Tom to enter her vagina. And what's the best way for a man to enter a woman's vagina? Yep, he uses his penis.

If you're thinking to yourself: This sounds like your typical sex scene. Wrong. The editing and the music is so off-kilter, you'll be too stimulated to even notice two people are fucking on stage.

Meanwhile, backstage, a droid (Kevin James) has sex on a pink bed with a female Pleasure Dome performer played by Leslie Winston. Ball licking, 69, sex in the spoon position, and a cum shot. The best thing about this scene, besides the fact Leslie has a great face, is that feathery mask Leslie wears when the droid enters her dressing room.

Unlike the replicants in Blade Runner, the droids in Cabaret Sin dress like bikers and wear masks with flashing red eye lights. "Flashing red eye lights"? Ugh, I guess that makes sense.

Thankfully, some plot points are laid out in the next scene (the scene between Kevin James and Leslie Winston seemed to serve no real purpose), as we learn that a killer droid is on the loose, one who is stealing decoders. Now, they don't explain what these decoders do exactly, but I did appreciate the attempt to lay down some sort of story structure. We're even introduced to Turk (Herschell Savage), the film's villain, a shady fella who runs his criminal empire out of the Pleasure Dome.

Let's take a moment, before it's too late, to bask in the exquisite thickness that Keisha's oomph-tastic body. Dancing on stage in a tight green dress, the curvy Keisha proceeds to give Candie Evens (who is wearing white stockings and a fedora) a series of gifts (lingerie mostly). After rejecting them all, Keisha decides to give Candie the gift that every woman wants. No, not a diamond ring, silly. She gives her cunnilingus. As you would expect, the audience laps this up, and show their appreciation by applauding loudly.

Skipping past the scene where Taylor boinks Candie Evens backstage, the film's greatest scene in terms of editing and having an original concept is the one where Bunny Bleu's "Tammy Dorsey" plays the trombone in a mini-raincoat and sequined leotard. Flanked by two guys blowing on trumpets, this scene has got so much going in terms of creativity, that it's kinda of a shame that Bunny had to stop blowing on her trombone and turn attention to blowing the two guys blowing on trumpets. Unable to receive a blow job and play the trumpet at the same time, the guys toss their horns into the audience.

The way one of the audience members started to play the trumpet tossed in his general direction immediately upon catching it was favourite non-Keisha moment in the entire film.

My least favourite moment is the scene where Leslie Winston and Tish Ambrose double-team Herschel Savage. The sight of Leslie Winston riding on top of Herschel's cock was great and all. But I didn't like the way Tish Ambrose (Corruption) and her first-class booty were filmed during this scene. What I mean is, we get no clear shots of Tish. This irked me beyond belief. It didn't ruin the movie for me, but it did put me in a sour mood for the rest of the flick's running-time. Sadly, Cabaret Sin is the closest thing we're ever going to get to a "Who's That Girl (She's Got It)" porn parody, so, savour it while it lasts.

My critical knives were just itching to cut into the bloated carcass that is Return to Savage Beach (a.k.a. L.E.T.H.A.L. Ladies: Return to Savage Beach) for having so many freakin' endings, when, all of a sudden, Carrie Westcott, of all people (an "actress" who displays more charisma while unconscious than she does while conscious), chimes in, and, in one fell swoop, undercuts the point I was going to make about how this film's ending seems to go on forever. You see, just as I was starting to lose patience with the multiple endings that were being thrown in my general direction (they even found the time to throw in a Scooby Doo-style ending), Carrie refers to the fact that this story has too many endings. Meaning, writer-director Andy Sidaris is totally aware of what's going on. I was always under the impression he had no idea what's going on. Anyway, unless I decide to circle back and watch the action-adventure films Andy Sidaris made during the 1970s, this is it as far as Andy Sidaris/Christian Drew Sidaris movies go. On the one hand, I'm kind of happy that it's over, as, let's be honest, the film's have been getting steadily worse ever since Malibu Express and Hard Ticket to Hawaii. Sure, there are a few exceptions here and there (Guns, for example, is an excellent piece of trash cinema). But for the most part, things have been going slowly downhill.

Yet, I'm also kind of sad. I mean, this is it. No more movies with terrible actresses with fake breasts trying recite expository dialogue, no more movies with poorly-staged shoot outs (can I at least get a muzzle flash up in this overpriced bistro?), and no more movies that feature the cast standing around holding glasses of champagne in bad 1980s/90s fashions in the final scene.

A sequel to Savage Beach (duh), but also a sequel to Day of the Warrior, as that film's entire cast is back for more scantily clad hijinks, L.E.T.H.A.L. Ladies: Return to Savage Beach involves lost treasure buried on a remote island somewhere in the Pacific Ocean.

I know, didn't Special Agents Donna (Dona Speir) and Taryn (Hope Marie Carlton) help return the buried treasure to government of the Republic of the Philippines in Savage Beach? That's true, they did. However, as usual, unlawful shenanigans of a duplicitous nature were afoot, and the treasure somehow ended up back on–you guessed it–Savage Beach.

Since this film boasts the same cast as Day of the Warrior, including wrestler Marcus Bagwell (now sporting a George Michael circa 1998-2008 haircut), it boasts some of the same problems. The biggest one being the complete and utter lack of talent displayed by Julie K. Smith and Shae Marks, who are, if can you believe this, supposed to be the new Dona Speir and Hope Marie Carlton. Oh, sure, they have big breasts. But they bring nothing else to the table in terms of wit or personality.

Emerging from the Pacific Ocean in a skimpy lavender bathing suit, the so statuesque it's ridiculous Julie Strain hops in her car and drives to the KSXY studios in Molokai to watch a new spy satellite being launched. As usual, Ava (Ava Cadell), "your personal sextrologist," along with Harry The Cat (Kevin Eastman), her engineer (who looks like a roadie for, oh, let's say, Toad the Wet Sprocket), and Silk (Carolyn Liu), are there to greet her.

As in the previous films that take place in this universe, Ava uses her radio show to deliver coded messages to L.E.T.H.A.L. (Legion to Ensure Total Harmony and Law) agents in the field.

Delivering a coded message to Tiger (Shae Marks) and Tyler (Christian Letelier) in Dallas, Ava informs them that a group of "bad guys" are smuggling weapons into the U.S.A. via Mexico. And thanks to the new satellite in orbit, Ava can pinpoint their exact location for Tiger and Tyler, using code, of course.

Donning wet suits, Tiger and Tyler confront the "bad guys" on jet skis. What ensues enfolds as followed: Chase. Shoot out. Explosion. Cheesy one-liner.

Meanwhile, a mysterious blonde, a woman named "Sofia" (Carrie Westcott), is putting on a red PVC outfit in a Dallas Ramada. Wait, why is she carrying pizzas and ginger ale on roller-blades? Oh, I see what's going on. With most of the L.E.T.H.A.L. agents out hunting gun runners, there's no one around to mind the store.

Knocking out a security guard, a receptionist and an office manager with some spiked ginger ale, Sofia, who was posing as a pizza delivery girl, simply walks in and steals some "obsolete computer files." I know, why would anyone want to steal obsolete computer files?

While that was a weird thing for her do, did you see the receptionist? (The blonde in the turquoise dress?) Yeah, her. (What about her?) I thought she was the most normal-looking woman to ever appear in an Andy Sidaris production made between 1985-1998.

Now, under normal circumstances (no pun intended), being "normal-looking" would be a negative. However, after being repeatedly beaten over the head with what Andy Sidaris considers to be female beauty, to see a natural woman not dressed like a tarted up hosebeast onscreen, even it was for only a few seconds, was an amazing sight to behold.

Yet, like I said, the receptionist, played by Elizabeth O'Donnell, is only onscreen for a few seconds, so, unfortunately, we're back to the watching the usual Andy Sidaris-approved nonsense in no time.

Trust me, if you have watched as many Andy Sidaris films as I have, you will embrace just about anything that deviates from the status quo. And if that means obsessing over receptionists who drink ginger ale that's been drugged by a plastic-looking bimbo, than so be it.

I would rather watch the receptionist character pretend to pass out, than sit through another one of Julie K. Smith's unsexy strip routines. Is this supposed to be titillating? It looks like she's having a seizure. Oh, and don't get me started on the guy who replaced Kevin Light (Nowhere) as Doc, Miss Smith's love interest in Day of the Warrior. He's awful, truly awful. And you know what? I'm not even going to mention his name.

After getting the computer disc that contains the exact location of Savage Beach, Sofia flies to Hawaii and personally delivers it to Rodrigo Martinez (Rodrigo Obregón). Yep, the Rodrigo Martinez. It would seem that he wasn't killed at the end of Savage Beach after all.

Why Sofia is wearing a fur coat? Doesn't she know she's in Hawaii? Ugh, this movie. Oh, wait, she's got a surprise for Rodrigo underneath it... a sexy surprise.

Just in the nick of time, we're introduced to Fu (Gerald Okamura), Julie Strain's loyal sidekick, and Warrior (Marcus Bagwell), who's a good guy now.

Pay close attention to when Willow Black and Warrior show up at Fu's house. You'll notice that as Julie Strain bends over to grab something from the back seat of her car, she revels a slight hint of thong ensnared butt-crack... or is it, butt-crack ensnared thong? Either way, it's a beautiful sight to behold.

To find out what happens when they finally arrive at Savage Beach, see my review of the original Savage Beach, as it's basically the same thing. Except, in Return to Savage Beach, the ninjas use guns. That's right, the ninjas in this film are packing pistols. What has the world come to?

After about six endings, including a twenty minute wrap up monologue by Rodrigo Obregón (who kinda deserves one, as he's been in at least twelve of these movies), harmony has been achieved and the law has been enforced.

In a bizarre twist, the final shot features Ava Cadell lounging in Molokai in black stockings with seams. It's "bizarre" because it shatters my previous theory that stated that stockings, especially black stockings, are not conducive to Hawaii's humid climate. Well, if you will excuse me, I need to go wash the egg off my face, as Andy Sidaris just made a fool out of me. Black stockings in Hawaii... who would have thought? (Not to nitpick, but Carrie Westcott appears in black stockings earlier in the film.) Yeah, so what? The final shot of an Andy Sidaris film features a leggy Hungarian woman reclining in a leggy manner in black stockings. The end.

Five individuals in A Smell of Honey, a Swallow of Brine! (An Adult Experience!!!) are initially given the go ahead to enter her primary passageway using the appendage of their choice, only to be told to put on the brakes just as they were about to feast on the most succulent cunt humanity has ever produced. Truth be told, the supposed scrumptiousness of her exalted lady crevice is not something anyone can actually prove, as no one has ever tasted the fruits of her vaginal labour. Oh, believe me, many have tried to sample this honey-flavoured treat, but its owner seems to enjoy the act of denying them access to one of the most sought after pussies currently on the market. Whether they be her forthright lesbian roommate or square accountants named Dick, it's almost as if she receives pleasure in keeping all-comers away from her precious genitals. Now, you're probably thinking to yourself: Man, this chick sounds like a real cock-tease (you could call her a "cunt-tease" as well, but we won't, as she mostly teases cocks). Sure, you could call her that. But where does it say in the copulation handbook that women must allow men (and other women), once the heavy petting stage has subsided, to penetrate them? It doesn't. They can refuse to be mounted anytime they want.

Of course, she could be more discreet telling her boyfriends/girlfriends to dismount. But that's not her style. You see, Sharon Winters is a bitch. Now, normally, I wouldn't use the b-word, as I find it to be vulgar and crass. However, Sharon proudly refers to herself as one during the film's most important scene, so, I'll make an exception this time.

Anyway, the scene is important because heterosexual women need to be frank with their forthright lesbian roommates. In other words, massage my bucolic backside all you want. But let's get one thing straight: My clitoris is strictly off limits.

Telling her forthright lesbian roommate, "I may be a bitch, but I'll never be a butch," and proceeding to laugh like a cackling psycho-hosebeast, Sharon lays down the ground rules the only way she knows how: snotty and direct with a dash of cruelty.

While the forthright lesbian roommates in her life, particularly the one's named Paula (Sharon Carr), get a dash of cruelty, the men get an extra helping of the cruel stuff, with, of course, a side order of maliciousness for shits and giggles.

In order to be a first-rate cock-teaser, you need to have certain attributes. And, first things first, you need to look good while wearing black stockings. If you can't rock a pair of black stockings, then forget about it, the only cocks you'll be teasing will be the severed one's floating around the trash-laden kiddie pool that is your cock-starved subconscious.

You also need to have great hair.

Possess an ass with a modicum of oomph.

And, of course, it doesn't hurt to have a bad attitude.

The question is: Does Stacey Walker have what it takes to be able to play the kind of woman who can drive a man insane with desire by simply raising one of her eyebrows?

How should I put this? You better fucking believe she does. In fact, I'd go as far as to say that Stacey Walker gives one of the most cock-stirring performances in cinematic history.

Her legs look amazing in black stockings, her hair is the perfect length, her ass has more than enough of oomph, and her bad attitude is second to none. In other words, she's got it all.

It also helps that Stacey's legs look amazing without stockings. And we see part of these amazing legs (her thighs and calves) being groped in the film's László Kovács photographed opening scene. Making out with her current boyfriend, Roy Bradley (Michael O'Kelly) in his car, Sharon Winters (Stacey Walker) decides she doesn't want to go any further and tells him to get off her. When he doesn't comply, she begins to scream. Luckily, a police officer hears her and intervenes.

After Roy is sentenced to two years in prison for rape and assault, Sharon goes home to lounge about in nothing but a black bra and black booty shorts.

It's during the black bra/black booty shorts lounging scene that I first noticed the majestic splendour that is Stacey Walker's floppy blonde hairdo in this movie. I mean, like I said before, the length is perfect. Her hair is long, but it's also short... if you know what I mean.

Even though Paula, her forthright lesbian roommate, has some misgivings about her going on date so soon after the indecent with Roy, Sharon gets ready to go out with Dick Owens (Tom Hughes), an accountant who works in her office. As she's getting ready, we get a nice look at her ass as she makes her way to the bathroom.

Clean as a whistle thanks to the bath she just took, Sharon sits on her bed and puts on a pair of black stockings. As she's attaching the final suspender, Dick knocks at the door. Putting on this ratty-looking bathrobe, Sharon answers the door and immediately offers Dick a drink, as long as its either a beer or a bourbon and ginger (he chooses the latter).

My first impression of Dick is that he's a colossal square. Meaning, he has no business being seen in public with a woman like Sharon. Agreeing with me, Sharon decides to fuck Dick's shit up right away.

Of course, how does a woman, even one as beautiful as Sharon, provoke a man who is such a tool? As Sharon says to Paula earlier in the evening, "Dick is not the raping type."

Instructing Dick to tell her a little bit about himself, Sharon forces him to watch her take a bath. The plan is to get Dick all riled up. I don't know if the bath worked. But the sight of Sharon sliding her white panties on afterward had me rolling on the floor in ecstasy. As all this is going on, a band called "Et Cetra" can be heard jamming, Pavement-style, on the soundtrack.

Just as Dick is starting to fumble with her garter belt, Sharon yells out, "Rapist!" Stunned by this turn of events, Dicks falls off the bed and slinks away. As he's slinking away, Sharon giggles quietly to herself.

She does the same thing to her forthright lesbian roommate later on. Only, her post-rape accusation giggle is now a full-on guffaw.

With Dick Owens nowhere in sight, Sharon is introduced to his replacement, a guy named Lowell Carter (Sam Melville). Wasting very little time, Sharon is all over Lowell. (Actually, I think Lowell was the one who approached Sharon.) Whatever. It's obvious Sharon has some sinister plans in store for this Lowell fella.

Her plans for Lowell are sinister, all right, but they're also ambitious. Stringing him along by going on a series of dates, Sharon slowly lulls Lowell into thinking he's about to tap her ass something fierce. But we all know the chances of that happening are pretty slim. Either way, Sharon and Lowell go on a walking date, a movie date, flirt by the water-cooler, frolic in the vicinity of a swimming pool and take a long, scenic drive through the country.

Denying him the delicious poontang he thinks he so rightly deserves after they're done making out on the couch, Sharon sends Lowell home empty-handed.

Cue the erotic fantasy sequences. Unable to seal the deal with Sharon, Lowell resorts to dreaming about her. Some of his dreams involve her being whipped while tied to a pole, while others involve Sharon castrating Lowell while dressed as a dominatrix, Lowell clearly needs to insert his penis in one of Sharon's ready-made orifices. I mean, the guy is starting to lose his mind.

While the whole destroying men and women by accusing them of rape gimmick might work on lovesick twenty year-olds, forthright lesbian roommates and square accountants named Dick (i.e. people on the fringes of society), it's whole different story when it comes to white men of a certain age. Meaning, some of these "white men of a certain age" might not react the way you think after you accuse them of rape. Do you see what I'm getting at? What I'm saying is, not everyone is going to slink away with their cock/strap-on dildo tucked between their legs after you call them a "filthy rapist."

A thoughtful meditation on the power of pussy, A Smell of Honey, a Swallow of Brine! (An Adult Experience!!!) is, simply put, one of the greatest sexploitation films of all-time. Tragically, though, Stacey Walker only made two movies during her brief film career. The other being, The Notorious Daughter of Fanny Hill, which, like this film, was also written and produced by the legendary David F. Friedman.

This has to be some sort of world record. Maybe someone who has seen more Jess Franco films than I have can enlighten me, but this particular movie has Lina Romay's outstretched vagina onscreen in glorious colour in record time. I mean, the film starts... and... Boom! We have Lina Romay's outstretched vagina onscreen. Oh, and in case you're wondering, the reason I attached the word "outstretched" to Lina Romay's vagina is because her vagina seems to be leaning forward. It's almost as if it craves attention. Keeping with the record theme, I think this film, which, by the way, is called Exorcism (a.k.a. L'éventreur de Notre-Dame), has the record for the fastest appearance of Jess Franco regular Monica Swinn, one of the most alluring actresses to grace the Jess Franco universe. Get this, we get Monica Swinn in just over a minute. I know, you're thinking to yourself: But Monica Swinn's bedroom sadist character doesn't appear until much later in the film. Yeah, but you're forgetting that I'm an expert when it comes to spotting Monica Swinn in Jess Franco movies. If you look closely, you'll spot Monica Swinn's luminous visage in the audience during the film's first black mass sequence.

Watching Lina Romay's bound organic structure getting whipped by Nadine Pascal (credited here as "Lynn Monteil"), Monica Swinn stares at the mock cruelty transpiring before her with a Euro-tinged sense of alabaster wonder.

You also see her sitting in the audience during the film's second black mass sequence (unfortunately, she doesn't get a close up this time around).

Her third appearance takes place at a post-black mass orgy, where all the attendees writhe around with one another on the floor. In typical Monica Swinn fashion, she manages to upstage everyone by choosing to wear white leather stockings with one of the most complicated garter systems I've ever encountered. Again, I'm sad to report, we don't get a close up of her during the orgy scene. Well, not a close up that didn't have some guy's hairy, lumpy butt in the frame as well.

Come on, all you degenerate old farts at the post-black mass orgy, I'm trying bask in Monica Swinn's not-so delicate beauty over here. So, would you mind getting your tired-looking asses out of my face? Thanks.

What's that? You want me to tell you more about this so-called complicated garter system that Monica Swinn was operating? Oh, don't worry, I will in a minute, as she wears the same garter system in her forth and final scene, too. It's just that I don't want this review to turn into an episode of Where in the World Is Monica Swinn? In other words, I like would to explore every nook and cranny this motion picture has to offer. And believe me, this film has plenty of nooks and crannies.

Oh, and when I say, "nooks and crannies," I'm talking about vaginas.

Here's an amazing statistic for you: There are a total of six actresses in this movie with speaking parts, and all six expose their lady parts at some point over the course of this film. Meaning, Jess Franco's Exorcism is, no matter what I say, worth watching.

However, was there ever any doubt? I mean, Jess Franco plays a sadomasochistic defrocked priest who stabs women to death he thinks are possessed by The Devil. And if that wasn't enough, he writes erotic essays for a magazine called, Dagger and Garter Weekly. See what I mean? Ahhh! That's too good to be true. Dagger and Garter Weekly!!!

Okay, let's get things back on track by starting at the beginning. Opening on a shot of Anne (Lina Romay, credited here as "Rosa Almirall") strapped sort of naked (she's wearing skintight knee-high black boots) to an x-shaped crucifix. Suddenly, a tall woman with short blonde hair enters the room. Wearing boots, a belt, leather bracelets and a black collar, Rose (Nadine Pascal) begins to whip Anne. It's at this moment we realize that they're performing before a live audience.

When she's done whipping her, the tall blonde with the big bum (the belt around her waist clings to her buttocks for dear life) kills a dove and begins to smear its blood all over her body. When she decides that she's smeared enough, she then smears what's left all over the lash-marked brunette, who cries of agony periodically fill the air of the musty, dungeon-like performance space.

Whips, chains, vaginas, big booties and dove blood, as far as opening scenes go, you can't get any better than this. Imagine how much simpler life would be if every film opened like this. Anyway, the tall blonde stabs the regular-size brunette with a knife.

After taking a bow, and, no doubt, washing the dove blood that has started to congeal in her nooks and crannies (i.e. her vagina and vagina), we see Anne at the office of Venus Publications. (Don't tell me, they produce Dagger and Garter Weekly?) Yep, they sure do. (Awesome. Carry on.) Hanging out with Venus head honcho, Pierre de Franval (Pierre Taylou), Anne apparently works there as a... I'm not sure. It doesn't matter, as look who just walked in. Why, it's Jess Franco.

Playing Mathis Vogel, Jess Franco is a freelance writer who has just finished an essay for an upcoming issue called "Torture Chambers of the Inquisition."

Now, I don't know what motivated him to do this, but Vogel pretends to shut the door and begins to eavesdrop on Anne and Pierre's conversation. After making a couple of playful jabs at his expense, Anne and Pierre start talking about staging another black mass. While it's obvious to any normal human being that they're joking about it being a real black mass, Vogel is a being who is anything but normal.

As Anne, Rose and Pierre make plans for their next black mass show, plans that involve a bartender named Martine (Catherine Lafferière), Vogel rents an apartment across the street from where Anne and Rose live.

You could say, Vogel rented the apartment across from Anne and Rose to keep tabs on their black mass activities. You could also say, Vogel wants to see Rose prance about in black pantyhose. Either way, he's doing a bit of both, as he keeps tabs on Anne and Rose, and, watches Rose prance about in black pantyhose. Defrocked priests with severe mental problems are renowned for their ability to multitask in a pinch.

What's that? What was Lina Romay doing as Nadine Pascal gave us a bird's-eye view of her wonderfully thick lower half encased in black pantyhose? What do you think she was doing? She was waving her cunt around with reckless abandon. Duh.

If you look carefully, you'll notice that one of Nadine Pascal's earrings goes flying off when she removes her top. Like a true professional, Nadine plays it cool and continues on with the scene like nothing happened (even though it's clear that she knew one of her earrings went flying off while she disrobed).

Picking up a "whore" at a local bar, Vogel takes her home and prepares to exorcise her demons. After grilling the woman (played by Caroline Rivière, I think) about the black masses that take place in the neighbourhood at knife point, Vogel chains her against a mirror and then stabs her to death.

Taking what he learned from the dead whore with the great face, Vogel starts lurking around those in the fake black mass community. And, after getting a sense of this community via lurking, he begins picking them off one by one. This alerts the attention of a police detective named Inspector Tanner (Olivier Mathot) and his fresh-faced partner Malou (Roger Germanes); the latter figures out the case almost instantly, but Tanner dismisses his theory as nonsense.

My favourite of Vogel's many confrontations with the members of the fake black mass community is when he visits Monica Swinn's Maria Theresa, a sexy sadist for hire.

However, it's the scene before Vogel confronts Monica Swinn that actually had me all in a tizzy.

Lying on her bed in a long black dress with black stockings, Monica Swinn is approached by an old man who is, according to Monica, a dirty pig, a vicious old sadist, a disgusting little lecher, a homosexual, a leper's sore, a swine, a shit-eater and a degenerate.

As she's telling the old man these things, he's busy kissing her black stocking covered knees.

"You make me want to vomit... I hate you!" she shouts at him as she orders him to remove his clothes.

Even though he only managed to partially open her dress, we can clearly see that Monica Swinn is employing a complicated garter system to hold up her black stockings.

Careening across her pale skin like spider-webs, this garter system, as I said earlier, is unlike anything I've ever seen before.

Straddling the naked old man with the full-force of her sinewy undercarriage, Monica Swinn rides his withered cock while hurling insults at him at a rapid rate of speed.

Dying like she lived, with her ass in the air, Monica Swinn gives her most satisfying performance in a Jess Franco film yet. Don't get me wrong, her turn as the cruel warden in Barbed Wire Dolls is classic Swinn. It's just that her work in Exorcism solidifies her status as the Euro sex goddess she really is.

Not to be out done in the solidifying department, but I think Exorcism features Jess Franco's finest performance as an actor. Whether lurking in the shadows or stabbing naked chicks in the stomach, Franco is brilliant as the defrocked priest/freelance writer for Dagger and Garter Weekly/serial killer. Seriously, I can't picture any other actor dragging an unconscious, scantily clad Lina Romay across the city without anyone noticing. At any rate, if you purchase/rent the newish DVD from Redemption, you'll get Demoniac, a short, more horror-centric version of Exorcism. Personally, I would avoid this version, as it omits the Monica Swinn scene with the "disgusting little lecher," and features zero vagina shots.

It always used to take me a couple of tries whenever I attempted to write out Kitten Natividad's name. It's not the "Kitten" part that threw me, it was that thing lurking between "Nat" and "Dad." (You mean, the "Ivi"?) Exactly. Well, don't feel too sorry for me, as that will never be a problem again, for I have just witnessed the ultimate Kitten Natividad motion picture. Oh, I'm sorry, it's called Beneath the Valley of the Ultra-Vixens. And, yes, it's a chaotic filmed headache masquerading as a movie, but as far as worshiping every lumpy, bumpy inch of Kitten Natividad's exceedingly ample frame, it has to be declared a rousing success. I mean, to do otherwise, would be dishonest. Sure, the film can be aggravating at times. And, not to mention, a tad shrill in spots. But you cannot deny the work of art that is Kitten Natividad's organic structure as it bounced around from bed to lake bed in Russ Meyer's 1979 somewhat satirical ode to small town U.S.A. (Uh, don't you mean, bed to bed?) Uh, no, I don't. You see, Kitten Natividad fucks dudes, like most chicks do, in beds, but she also fucks 'em in lake beds. Hence, the expression, bed to lake bed. It's called being clever. Look into it. Anyway, the so-called "dude" Kitten Natividad fucks in the lake bed is actually a fourteen year-old kid. Which got me a thinking: The world would be a much happier place if Kitten Natividad went door-to-door popping the cherries of every teenage boy on the planet.

Go ahead, noodle with that thought for awhile. I guarantee, it will add at least five inches of pubic hair to your junk. What's that? You don't want more pubes on your junk. Well, then don't go noodling thoughts that your junk can't cash, 'cause the area north of your taint is about to get all hirsute up in this pickle factory, if you know what I mean.

I've just been handed a note informing me that no one knows what I mean. Which is a shame, because what I mean has intrinsic value. If people can't see that, than it's their loss.

This may come as a surprise, but Beneath the Valley of the Ultra-Vixens isn't about Kitten Natividad traveling the world extracting semen from underage genitals. It's true, she does sneak up on a wide-eyed fourteen year-old named Rhett (Steve Tracy) and does just that (extract semen), but the film's actual premise is just as surprising.

On the surface, the film is about a simple man named Lamar Shedd (Ken Kerr) who works at a junkyard in Rio Dio, Texas. Oh, I almost forgot, Lamar can't have vaginal sex with his voluptuous wife, Lavonia Langusta (Kitten Natividad), no, he digs anal sex and his favourite position to administer this "anal sex" is doggiestyle. Only problem being, Lavonia doesn't want Lamar's large dick anywhere near her poop-chute. (Isn't the female vagina located near the poop-chute?) What do I look like, a doctor? Ahh, what I meant to say is, she's doesn't want his large dick in her poop-chute. It's her poop-chute, her choice.

Underneath the surface, however, the film explores, thanks to a witty script (Roger Ebert) and a playful narration (Stuart Lancaster), the insatiable sexual appetite of a small town, one that obviously represents America's schizophrenic attitude towards coitus in all its forms.

And would you lookie here, that tempestuous Teuton, Martin Bormann (Henry Rowland), is about to get his Nazi penis serviced by Fräulein Roop (Anne Marie), a woman with giant breasts. (Wait a minute, are you telling me a woman with giant breasts is about to fuck Martin Bormann, the infamous Nazi?) Yes. (Oh, yeah, that totally makes sense. Giant breasts + Nazis = Russ Meyer. Carry on.)

Lying naked in a coffin, Martin Bormann waits patiently for Eufaula Roop hop on top of his cock. That is, if she can drag herself away from playing Pong long enough.

Some of that witty dialogue I alluded to earlier can be heard in the following sequence, as the narrator introduces us to the film's many characters. The most important, of course, being Lavonia Langusta, who, according to the narrator, is "hotter than a Mexican's lunch." I have to admit, I made a laughing sound after hearing that line.

In terms of lewd prose, I dug the sentence, "...ever girding her loins for low body blows... pubic to pubic."

Scratching her pubes in frustration, Lavonia lies naked on her bed, as her husband, Lemar Shedd, plays with a calculator in the kitchen. Ignoring her cries of sexually agony, Lemar continues to work as Lavonia writhes on her bed. Doing everything in her power to get him to notice her (seductive milk consumption, a dry foot job, etc.), Lavonia finally decides she's had enough and goes under the kitchen table. Receptive to the blow job his wife is giving him, Lemar returns the favour by sticking his cock in her ass. As you might expect, Lavonia isn't too thrilled by this anal turn of events and kicks Lemar square in the balls moments after he ejaculates in her rectum.

Driving off in Lemar's truck in a huff, Lavonia is clearly upset. Why can't Lemar look me in the eye when he fucks me, she must be thinking to herself as she drove off. Meanwhile, Lemar lies on the bed listening to Eufaula Roop's radio show on Rio Dio Radio: 100,000 watts of faith-healing power.

In a bizarre twist, I made a second laughing sound when we meet some of Lemar's co-workers down at the junkyard he works. It occurs when Tyronne (Aram Katcher) takes a dump behind some wrecked cars and Beau Badger (Don Scarborough) steals his leavings before he turns around to inspect his recently defecated feces. When Tyronne does turn around to inspect his recently defecated feces, he's shocked to find no crap whatsoever. To which he says, with confused deadpan perfection, "No shit."

Leggy and possessing a full bush, my absolute favourite segment in this film is when Lavonia hosts Semper Fidelis (Michael Finn), a door-to-door lingerie salesman. Hawking the latest from Frederico's of Wisconsin, Semper let's, the curvaceous to the point of madness, Lavonia, try on everything. (Even the crotch-less crotch-compromising panties?) Yep. (Even the cute garter belt and fishnet hose?) You know it. (Even the...) Let me stop you there, pal. She tries on everything.

"Garter belt's cute... it rhymes with root... Since you saw me in these here fishnet hose... I see how your affection grows." Is that great dialogue or what?

In the film's best reoccurring gag, every time a male character is hit in the face, his blood would represent his personality. Take Zeb (DeForest Covan), for example, his racist co-workers call him an "Uncle Tom," so when Beau Badger sucker punches him, he bleeds white blood. And when Lemar thrashes Tyronne and Beau Badger, after they interrupt the anal-based orgasm he was about to achieve all up in the expansive butt-hole belonging to Sal (June Mack), his fat boss, the former bleeds yellow blood, because he's a yellow-bellied coward, and the later bleeds green blood, because he's green with envy.

I guess the reason Mr. Peterbuilt (Patrick Wright), a not-so humble garbageman, bleeds red blood is because he's a real American. Hmm, I don't know 'bout that, it's just a theory. Anyway, my fave Mr. Peterbuilt moments are when Lavonia shoves a lit light-bulb into his ball sack region during sex and when he refuses to perform cunnilingus on Lavonia. "Get your ass out of my face," he tells her. "I don't eat pussy, it's un-American." It's comedy gold, I tell ya.

That's gold, all right, but that still doesn't change the fact that the film, for the most part, is quite grating in places. Aimless and shrill, the film keeps going long after the central plot has been resolved. And believe me, it's takes a lot to test the patience of this viewer, but even I was praying this cinematic nightmare to end. To summarize: I could have used more scenes with Francesca 'Kitten' Natividad acting demented, and less with Ann Marie spouting churchy nonsense over the radio.

You're watching a low budget, high concept cinematic love letter to incest, unorthodox chainsaw usage, daddy rape, transvestism, maple syrup, cock-based cannibalism, taint rearranging synth flourishes and black stockings, then, virtually out of nowhere, the lattice of coincidence that lays on top of everything decides to throw a plate of shrimp directly in your face. Seriously, as Twink (the hunky Conor Sweeney) tries his hand at heterosexuality, I spotted a plate of shrimp. Of course, I wouldn't say the moment the plate of shrimp appears on-screen was the moment I became officially enamoured with Father's Day, the gory sleaze-fest from Astron-6 that will no doubt cause you think twice the next time you have a hankering to take your penis out for recreational purposes. No, I'd say the exact moment came when we get a wonderfully warranted camera pan down one of the sexy, black stocking-encased legs attached to the equally sexy Chelsea (Amy Groening, the chick who sang O Canada badly but acted like she nailed in the movie Goon). However, I took the plate of shrimp incident to be a subtle message to not just fans of Repo Man, but to all those who appreciate the finer things in life. And, as most people know, the finer things in life include: Incest, unorthodox chainsaw usage, daddy rape, transvestism, maple syrup, cock-based cannibalism, taint rearranging synth flourishes and black stockings.

Looking over the finer things I just cited, I'm having trouble wrapping my head around the concept of daddy rape as a finer thing. I mean, call me overly sensitive, but I think daddy rape is wrong. That being said, the idea of a demented sicko with ties to the cannibalism and Satanism communities running around town raping and killing fathers is inherently funny. Okay, maybe it's not roll around on the carpet funny, but it's definitely an interesting idea for a movie.

And the cool thing about the Fuchman (Mackenzie Murdock), the cannibalistic fatherfucker in question, is that you don't have to look like Ward Cleaver for him to rape and kill you. Uh-uh, if you have impregnated a human female, you will quickly find that your beloved asshole is no longer a one way street. Meaning, your... What's that? You know what I mean? Oh, good.

Anyway, for those who don't know what I mean: Every man who has fertilized an egg recently better keep tabs on their precious anuses, because the Fuchman straight-up wants to destroy the structural integrity of your rectum by pounding into it with his scabby, hormone-addicted sore of a penis.

As the film opens, we see some unfortunate soul's anus being pounded in the very fashion I just unnecessarily described. Body parts being sawed off, entrails being consumed, anuses being pounded into hamburger, Father's Day declares itself as a squeamish-free zone right from the get-go.

After a pretty kick ass opening titles sequence, the film sets about fleshing out the character of Twink (Coner Sweeney), a male prostitute with some mild to moderate daddy issues. And we get some insight into these issues almost immediately when we see Twink, via flashback, being driven to work by his dad. And by "work," I mean the nearest street corner.

When Twink gets out of his dad's car, he's says something to affect of "fuck you." Well, those will be Twink's last words spoken to his dad, as Twink's dad is about to come face-to-face with the Fuchman. However, you shouldn't take the term "face-to-face" too literally, as the dads rarely ever face the Fuchman, as he prefers to mount them from behind.

Dosed with gasoline, the Fuchman sets Twink's dad on fire (fuck 'em and set 'em on fire, that's the Fuchman way). And since people who are set on fire aren't usually the type to sit still and burn to death, Twink's dad runs screaming from his house, where a shocked Twink looks on in horror. It's at this moment that Astron-6 team unleash the mother of all synth flourishes. Seriously, the synth flourish employed at this moment is off the charts in terms of being a deep, penetrating attack of synthy goodness.

Introduced to one character with a grudge against the Fuchman, it's time to meet another. And that one just happens to be Father John Sullivan (Matthew Kennedy), a young idealistic priest who's been put in charge of looking after the now fatherless Twink. Unable to get through to Twink, Father Sullivan confides with Father O'Flynn (Kevin Anderson), a blind priest dying in the church basement.

It's here that Father Sullivan is told to go out and find Ahab (Adam Brooks), the only man who can stop the Fuchman. And, after scouring the globe, Father Sullivan discovers Ahab living in a cabin in the woods. Content with tapping trees and making maple syrup, Ahab doesn't seem all that interested in being pulled back into the daddy anus compromising world of the Fuchman (he's been down that road before). But, after wearing him down, Father Sullivan somehow manages to convince Ahab to get back on the horse.

And just like that, a male prostitute, a priest and a bearded man with an eye-patch walk into a strip club looking for The Father's Day Killer, a.k.a. The Cannibal Man Killer, The Fat Boy Fucker and The Cannibal Cock Killer.

Well, Ahab walks into the strip club, Father Sullivan is waiting in the car ("Don't ever call a man a tree"), and Twink hasn't joined the team yet. At any rate, the reason Ahab is at the strip club, The Low Life Club, is to see Chelsea (Amy Groening), his long lost sister and a bit of a Fuchman expert in her own right; after all, her father was raped and murdered by the Fuchman, too.

The black garter belt suspender tearing across thigh flesh we see as Ahab goes backstage at the Low Life Club doesn't belong to Chelsea, but to a character credited as "The Chainsaw Ripper (Zsuzsi). But don't worry, we see Chelsea wearing lingerie (black stockings and a garter belt) seconds later. Whew!

Oh, and if you're worried that Father Sullivan might be feeling left out–you know, since his father wasn't raped and murdered by the Fuchman–don't, as Father O'Flynn should be getting a visit from the Fuchman any minute now. I know, Father O'Flynn isn't technically his father, but he is a "father figure" to the young priest, and in the topsy-turvy world of raping and murdering fathers, that's close enough.

The synth flourish that accompanies the delivery of Father O'Flynn's severed head in a box is as thick and robust as a well-aimed volley of explosive diarrhea.

It's when Twink's friend Walnut (Garrett Hnatiuk) gets his penis bitten off and consumed by the Fuchman (seconds after he announces that his girlfriend is pregnant), that Ahab starts to get serious about killing the Fuchman. It's not that he cares about Walnut or his penis (which is passing through the Fuchman's digestive system as we speak), but the fact that his sister almost fell victim to the Fuchman.

In order to distract Detective Stegel (Brent Neale), who is always sniffing around, Chelsea flashes some black stocking top adjacent thigh skin at him. Working like a charm, Ahab and Twink, and later Father Sullivan, are able to team up and form the ultimate Fuchman busting outfit this side of Wawa.

Dirt road car chases, campfire stories, kung-fu flashbacks, chainsaw-wielding strippers, toe painting, do it yourself penis alteration, abandoned water parks, a trailer for Star Raiders, a plate of shrimp, sexual confusion, motel sex (incestuous motel sex), peppering Satanists with copious amounts of gunfire, dream sequences, heavenly angels in stockings (the dark-haired angel lurking/beckoning in the background on the left in the black garter belt without panties was sexy as hell), and a trip to Hell, Father's Day delivers all this and more, as the final third is packed to the gills with copious amounts of scum-laden weirdness.

Will the Fuchman, a.k.a. the Fuchmanicus, ever be stopped, who's to say? All I know is, if I was a teenage girl, I would have a poster of Twink in my locker at school. Syrupsly, I love a man who can rock a pink headband.

Nowadays, your average serial killer has to worry about the authorities poking around their hard drives looking for "unseemly" material after they're eventual arrested. But back in the 1980s, the authorities, after they kicked down the serial killer's door, would head straight for suspect's living room and start examining the contents of their VCR. And what do you think they found when they pressed play? That's right, the first thing they typically saw was a deranged George Payne, a.k.a. "The Dean of Discipline," screaming a blistering barrage of insults at a cowering Velvet Summers; who, of course, has a safety pin in their nipple. Hitting the eject button almost immediately, the authorities had just watched a scene from the infamous The Taming of Rebecca, an Avon Production directed by the equally infamous Phil Prince. While the scenario I just described might sound a tad far-fetched, I have read that this film was in fact found in the video cassette recorders of at least two serial killers when they were arrested. Knowing this going in gave the act of watching the film an added layer of danger. Sure, there are literally millions of people out there who watched this film who didn't turn out to be serial killers. But the fact that two did... well, you know, like I said, it gave the film... (An added layer of danger?) Yeah, that. But it gave it a certain cachet, too.

It also didn't hurt that the film itself features dirty anuses, rape caves, pissing on flaccid cocks, pissing on flaccid floors, the music of The Stray Cats, a man with a full head of hair, pussy fisting, father-daughter toilet incest, lightning bolt necklaces, knee socks, hot New York accents, spanking and whipping.

I'm sorry, did I just include a man with a full head of hair as one of this film's selling points? Holy crap, I did. Now, granted, there are quite a few wonky selling points in that particular group, but a man with a full head of hair? What was I thinking?

Wait a minute, I just remembered why I included a man with a full head of hair as one of my selling points for this wonderfully fucked up movie. It's because George Payne's hair in The Taming of Rebecca is, with a doubt, the fullest head of a hair I've seen in a motion picture in decades.

I know, watching me go on and on about the hair sitting atop the head of a sadistic lunatic must seem strange, especially when you consider the fact the movie I'm talking about not only boasts a skinny headband-wearing Sharon Mitchell prancing around town in a short tartan skirt, but has a scene where the gorgeous Cheri Champagne sits on a bed with her legs crossed (her creamy thighs mashing against one another with a scintillating smoosh). That being said, don't judge me until you have seen his hair in action. And by "action," I mean, acts of cruelty and degradation.

To see George Payne cause others pain and suffering will bring a tear your eye. Oh, and not because he's forcing a safety pin through your nipple, but because he looks so good while doing so.

Just for the record, he doesn't actually force a safety pin through anyone's nipple in this movie. No, he forces someone else to do it for him. He might be a sick twist, but he ain't no monster.

Believe or not, George Payne's character isn't the only sick twist in this film. After jumping in her daddy's car, Rebecca (Sharon Mitchell) calls Miss Zorda (Stella Stevens), the, I'm gonna say, principal of a local school for sexually abused boys and girls, on a payphone and asks her if she can take refuge there.

When Rebecca arrives... Oh, and before she arrives, we're treated to the theme from Halloween. On top of that, I could have sworn I heard the music of either Cluster or Tangerine Dream as well. Anyway, when she arrives... Oh, and before she arrives, we're treated to the sight of Sharon Mitchell walking down the street in her school uniform (a tartan skirt and white knee socks!). Yum.

Now, where was I? Ah, yes, when Rebecca arrives at the school, she tells Miss Zorda all about her troubled home life.

What the fuck! Would you look how spacious that bathroom is. Mine's the size of a broom closet, yet this sick twist is living it up in a home with a giant bathroom. I mean, look at this guy, he's playing with his genitals on the toilet with his legs extended to their full capacity. In my bathroom, I can't even turn around without knocking over something and this guy's sitting on the toilet like he's Larry Craig. It's not fair.

Tired of playing with himself, Rebecca's daddy (David Christopher) calls for his daughter and tells her that he needs her to make her old man feel good. Hmm, I wonder what he means by that. Standing in the doorway in a pink nightie with white doily-like flourishes around the edges, Rebecca watches in horror as her daddy swings his floppy cock around like a deflated, floppy cock-shaped bag of day-old mucus .

In order to remedy the slack nature of his floppy cock, Rebecca's daddy instructs Rebecca to suck on it for an extended period of time.

After his floppy cock is not even close to being floppy anymore, Rebecca's daddy tells Rebecca to sit on it. Now, you're probably thinking to yourself: How is she supposed to sit on it? It doesn't look comfortable at all. Do you see that patch of hair between Rebecca's legs? Well, inside there is an opening. And believe me, when Rebecca's daddy's super-stiff cock gingerly slides into this opening, the comfort level he's about to experience is going to be insane.

In an unexpected twist, Rebecca's daddy then orders Rebecca to sit on his face. It's unexpected because cunnilingus isn't usually on the menu in these types of situations.

Told to get on all fours, Rebecca's daddy gives Rebecca's ass a good spanking. Oh, and get this, after each smack, Rebecca's daddy demands that she thank him for spanking her.

Finishing things up in the bathtub with some rough doggie-style action, Rebecca's daddy ejaculates a smidgeon of seminal fluid in the general direction of his daughter's face. The end. Oh, wait. It looks like Rebecca's daddy wants Rebecca do something else for him. Leaning back against the wall at the base of the tub, Rebecca's daddy tells Rebecca to, and I quote, "Pee all over my cock, daddy likes that."

A shocked Miss Zorda looks at Rebecca with an air of disgust and disbelief after she finishes giving her a sampling of what life is like at home.

Bringing Rebecca to meet the other "students," who are listening to The Stray Cats in the school's rec room (complete with a pool table and a David Bowie poster), Miss Zorda introduces her to Saundra (Velvet Summers), John (Ron Hudd), Barbara (Cheri Champagne), Bob (Jamie St. James), Cindy (Ambrosia Fox) and Paul (Tony Mansfield).

As the final introductions are being made, guess who walks in the room? Why, it's The Dean of Discipline himself, Dean Minindao (George "Shut the fuck up!!!!" Payne). Oh, man, you thought Rebecca's daddy was a sadistic piece of shit. Honey, you ain't seen nothing yet.

It's when Dean Minindao's secretary, Linda (Niko), is giving him "dictation" in his office that I really started to take notice of George Payne's beautiful mane of thick lustrous hair. What's his secret? Castor oil? Monkey cum ? At any rate, the sex scene between Dean Minindao and Linda is actually quite tame as far as sex scenes go. No one yells dehumanizing obscenities at the top of their lungs, no one expels pee on anyone, and no one is related to one another. In other words, yawn. Just kidding, it was kinda refreshing to see two people simply fuck for a change.

"That Minindao... he's such a jerk-off. And Zorda... did you see her in the gym the other day? My god, that woman didn't have any underwear on. She's a real sleaze. She's going to get hers one of these days." And with that line, we're introduced to the gorgeousness that is Cheri Champagne's Barbara. I know, we were introduced to her during the rec room meet and greet, but this is the scene where Cheri Champagne does some of her best work. I mean, the way she says, "jerk-off," with her thick New York accent will cause your toes to curl.

Sitting on the bed in a yellow dress with her legs crossed, Barbara, and her friend, Cindy, start talking, or, I should say, tawking, about "The Cave." When Rebecca hears about "The Cave," a subterranean netherworld where Dean Minindao supposedly carries out more serious acts of punishment, she doesn't believe that it actually exists.

In order to become more enlightened, cave-wise, Rebecca calls in the guys. After briefly discussing The Cave, one of the guys... the one in the aviator shades... wait, two of the guys are wearing aviator shades... The skinny guy in the aviator shades suggests that they have an orgy. Without even giving the suggestion much thought, the gang are taking their clothes off to what sounds like Suicide.

Hopping to her feet, Barbara pulls her yellow dress off with quick hiking motion utilizing the cross-armed technique. As the dress goes swooshing past her mid-section, you'll notice that Barbara isn't wearing any panties. You know what that means, right? Yep, Barbara is a hypocrite. If you remember, Barbara calls Miss Zorda a sleaze for not wearing panties. And, as Barbara's cross-armed hiking motion just proved, she doesn't either.

Just as the skinny guy in the aviator shades is about to get up to his wrist in Barbara's vagina, Dean Minindao bursts into the room. Busted.

The first feel the brunt of Dean Minindao's wrath is Rebecca, who is whipped ("You like that? No? Good!!!") and raped in his office. But not before the line, "Don't ever stand behind me... ever!!!" is uttered; my personal favourite of his many outbursts.

After that, it's John (the muscular guy in the aviator shades) and Saundra's turn, where Dean Minindao forces John to shove a safety pin through Saundra's nipple.

When we finally do enter The Cave, most people will either be too traumatized or too exhausted to carry on (even though the film is barely an hour long). However, the too outre for words performance given by George Payne is the real reason the stick with this movie. Seriously, the improvised bile that comes out of his mouth as he torments his victims is like listening to vile poetry being read by a coked up mental patient. "How so??? How so??? Don't fuck with me!!!" Ah, the unpleasantness of it all.

Do you like boys? Do you like to get high? Do like nude parties? Do you like orgies? If you answered yes to all of these questions, than you'll feel right at home with the sophisticated ladies who populate the hedonistic world of David F. Friedman's The Brick Dollhouse, a movie that was, according to its promising tag line, "filmed in color so you can see it as it is." A fast-paced thrill ride filled with intrigue, lust and more plot twists than a Kafka novel... are words you will never hear bandied about in association with this movie. Oh, and by the way, are Kafka novels known for having plot twists? You know what? Never mind, as I bet this film isn't Kafka-esque in the slightest. No, the words you will probably hear in association with this movie are as followed: Pedestrian, asinine, pathetic and ramshackle. However, there's no way in hell I'm going to use any of those words. You wanna know why? What do you mean, no? Whatever, man, I've come too far to stop now. The reason I'm not going to use any of those words is because this film is aesthetically superior to almost ninety percent of everything that's ever existed. Sure, the film is severely lacking in a few key areas... (A few?) Okay, it's lacking in a shitload of key areas. But you can't look me in the eye and tell me this film doesn't ooze aesthetic perfection.

Not really a film in the classic sense of the term, The Brick Dollhouse is basically a series of scenes cobbled together in order to showcase the unique styles of the late 1960s. Yet, to comply with the rigid standards that state that films should be "about something,"David F. Friedman (the brains behind the whole operation) asked screenwriter Joe Delg to concoct some cockamamie story revolving around the murder of a fashion model. But make no mistake, this film is about shooting on the cusp of being chichi women with fierce hair smoking pot at pot parties, cha-cha dancing at pot parties and playing strip spin the bottle... at pot parties.

When the film opens, and we see the principal cast coming home from another one of these wild pot parties. Three women, Sherry West (Peggy Ann), Danielle Dubois (Janice Kelly) and Carmen Espinoza (Tina Vienna), enter the room of Min Lee (Joyana), only to find her lying topless on her bed with an apparent gun shot wound to the thorax.

Judging by the shocked facial expressions each woman displays after seeing Min Lee's dead body, it's obvious that Danielle Dubois is going to be my favourite character.

I mean, the way she puts her finger in her mouth (a clear attempt on her part to stifle the scream that was surely forthcoming) was off the charts in terms of adorableness.

It was obvious that Danielle Dubois was David F. Friedman's favourite as well, as she gets the bulk of the attention in the early going.

Filming her taking a shower, filming her getting dressed, filming her... Well, you get the idea. David F. Friedman and I both love Danielle Dubois and we don't care who knows it.

I want to say Janice Kelly was chosen to do most of the film's heavy lifting, dialogue-wise, because she's the best actress. But I'm afraid I can't do that. It's simply, really, I caught Janice Kelly on several occasions looking directly at the camera. And I'm not talking about the kind of fourth wall breaking Tracey Adams gets up to in Invasion of the Samurai Sluts from Hell, where it's evident she's doing it on purpose. No, every once and a while I would notice Janice Kelly stare right into the lens. Anyway, I'm not going to let the fact that Janice Kelly breaks a number of acting rules in this movie diminish my admiration for her as a human being.

After Min Lee's body is taken away, Lt. Parker (George French) tries to piece together the events that lead up to Min Lee's death by interviewing her housemates.

Starting off with, of course, Danielle Dubois–you know, because she's awesome–Lt. Parker asks her tell him all about Min Lee. Lounging leggily on a chair, Danielle tilts her head slightly and noodles with the question for a few seconds. Instead telling Lt. Parker all about Min Lee, she goes on this long tangent about taking a shower.

Actually, now that I think about it, I don't think the tangent was about Danielle taking shower at all. No, what we're witnessing is a blatant attempt to kill time on behalf of the producers of this film. And, I must say, I have no trouble with this whatsoever. Seriously, I could watch Danielle Dubois take a shower, towel off (yes, slowly pat dry your supple flesh, you sleazy harlot, you), put on makeup, select a pair of panties to wear (she goes with a red pair), select a pair of blue shorts, and pick out a green sleeveless top for hours on end.

While the scene where Danielle Dubois does all these things is no longer than five minutes, it does eat up a lot of time. In fact, I think the movie is already half over.

Attending a pot party, Danielle Dubois lounges topless, smokes from a hookah, and... that's pretty much it. I'm not sure if every scene is going to be like this, but every one so far has been the epitome of pointless.

Take the next scene, for example, after leaving the pot party, Danielle Dubois goes home, gets undressed, and crawls into bed.

The character of Carmen Espinoza has been itching to tell her side of the story to Lt. Parker, but he tells her to wait her turn every time she tries to interrupt him. When he finally does let her speak, he calls her "Miss Chili Pepper." Racist much, Lt. Parker?

My favourite scene in terms of pointlessness is the pool party sequence. Nothing really happens, but the atmosphere is so 1960s, that one might think the whole thing was an elaborate parody of the 1960s.

Featuring great hairstyles, amateur astronomy, hot chicks dancing in bikinis, pool side chess matches, meat being grilled by men with hairy chests, leggy babes doing their nails and pipe smoking, this scene is a real scene, man.

Seemingly going from one pot party to the next, we're quickly whisked to another pot party, this time a modest shindig being held in a garden.

"Is this weed head bothering you?" And with that line, we're introduced to Sandy (Frankie O'Brien), Min Lee's tough-looking lesbian roommate, who rescues her from this so-called "weed head" on several occasions.

At first I was like, "weed head"? That's a bit harsh, don't you think, Sandy? Then we get a good look at this so-called weed head. And, yep, Sandy's right, this guy is definitely a weed head.

At any rate, just when I was ready to declare The Brick Dollhouse to be Janice Kelly's picture, along comes Helena Clayton as Linda Sherman, a gorgeous redhead who speaks with what sounds like a fake English accent.

You see, unlike Janice Kelly, Helena Clayton doesn't look at the camera, and she clearly knows what camp is. Now, I don't know if this was done on purpose or not, but while stripping near a koi pond, Helena throws one of her shoes in the water. Not only was her errant shoe toss campy, it was the funniest, most entertaining thing to happen in the entire movie. And from that moment on, it put me squarely on Team Linda Sherman.

"There's nothing more relaxing than a massage." You said it, Sandy. Now take that unruly-looking massaging device (which I'm sure is available at Obscura Antiques and Oddities for a paltry 1,600 Cdn.) and drag it all over Linda Sherman's pussy.

Who killed Min Lee? Hmm, should I spoil the ending? Nah. If you've got an hour to kill and are not averse to films that boast bright colours and other stuff, you could probably do a lot better than The Brick Dollhouse. On a positive note, I will be seeking out more films that star Helena Clayton, you can count on that. The way she just showed up like that and blew Janice Kelly off the screen was an impressive sight to behold.

Somewhere near the middle of Jess Franco's How to Seduce a Virgin (a.k.a. Plaisir à trois), I thought to myself: Hmm, if Lina Romay's character continues to wear the same black, do-it-yourself hold-up stockings from start to finish, I'm going to have to declare this to be one of the greatest Jess Franco movies in existence. Which is high praise, especially when you consider the fact that he made eleven films in 1973 (I know, eleven... it's not even funny). And when I saw that Lina Romay's Adèle, the world's most adorable live-in sex slave, was in fact wearing the same black, do-it-yourself hold-up stockings throughout the entirety this film, its exalted status was instantly carved in stone. Though, there was a moment when I thought for sure that Lina Romay would be seen without her trademark black, do-it-yourself hold-up stockings. It occurs when Lina, along with Alice Arno and Robert Woods, are seen riding horses. When I saw this I was like, well, it was fun while it lasted. I mean, what kind of person wears black, do-it-yourself hold-up stockings while horseback riding? It's true, most people don't wear black, do-it-yourself hold-up stockings while horseback riding. But, and I think you know what I'm about to say... That's right, Lina Romay isn't most people and don't you forget it.

Cobbling together the same cast that starred in Countess Perverse, and adding Alfred Baillou as Malou the gardener for good measure, the film, like most Jess Franco's work from this period, features a small group of amoral characters living together in an insular universe where nothing is sacred, and your orgasm is paramount.

Hold up, I just remembered something important in relation to Lina Romay's black, do-it-yourself hold-up stockings. Are you sitting down? Lina Romay's black, do-it-yourself hold-up stockings are covered in runs. And, no, I'm not talking about some slight structural damage that can only be seen from certain angles. Uh-uh, these runs are serious business.

Tearing up and down the entire length of her black, do-it-yourself hold-up stockings, Lina Romay's nylon scars were attained not by lounging around in a lackadaisical, albeit, leggy manner, but by engaging in multiple acts of unadulterated debauchery. Each run on her black, do-it-yourself hold-up stockings has borne witness to hours of rough lesbian sex, a shitload of impromptu groping, several whipping sessions, and even a smidgeon of mannequin-based cunnilingus. In other words, each run on her black, do-it-yourself stockings tells a story, an erotic story.

Judging by the puzzled looks on some of your faces whenever I say the "do-it-yourself" part in black, do-it-yourself hold-up stockings, it's obvious that there are a handful of you out there that don't know exactly what I'm getting at when I say, "do-it-yourself."

If any of you have ever read my reviews of Jess Franco's movies in the past, you probably know exactly what I'm referring to when I say, "do-it-yourself." But for those who haven't, it's simple, really. Instead of using suspenders attached to a garter belt or purchasing stockings with a built-in elastic, Lina Romay's Adèle has elected to use twine to keep her stockings up. Hence, my calling them "do-it-yourself" hold-up stockings. Any questions? Good.

Oh, wait, before I move on. I loved how Adèle didn't bother to cut away the excess pieces of twine that dangled haphazardly from the point where the twine was tied (she clearly used more twine than need be). It was a very shrewd move on someone's part, as Adèle is not the type of person who worries about what other people think. And not having the excess pieces of twine cut away totally reflected the off-kilter mental temperament of her character.

Twine: Keeping sexy black stockings aloft since the middle ages.

When you can't afford to buy a fancy garter belt or if you happen to think elastic is the work of the Devil: Choose twine.

Declared a "fascinating subject" by her psychiatrist (Joaquín Blanco), Martine Bressac (Alice Arno), who is wearing a green head scarf, is released from a mental institution. How long she was in there is not clear... Or maybe it was clear and I just wasn't paying attention. Either way, told that, "Everything's going to be fine," Martine is driven home by Mathias (Howard Vernon), her chauffeur.

As he's driving her, we get a quick flashback that involves a naked Martine slashing a man's genitals with a razor-blade as he slept. The moment she slashes his junk, we get a nice shot of crimson crotch blood splashing across her stomach. The contrast between Martine's blonde pussy hair and the unnamed man's bright red dick blood was quite beautiful.

This scene proves that Martine's stay at the mental institution was for more than just exhaustion. No, this Martine chick has some serious emotional problems, and I wouldn't have it any other way. Who wants to watch a Jess Franco movie about a bunch of sane, well-balanced people who don't keep posed dead bodies in their basement? I know I sure don't.

Arriving at the Bressac villa, which is in the Canary Islands, Martine is greeted by Malou the gardener and Adèle (Lina Romay), a mute woman who, as we'll soon find out, provides a unique service for the Bressac family. As is the case with her black stockings, Adèle's indigo mini-smock is cinched at the waist with a piece of twine.

Handed a key by Adèle, Martine races downstairs (a flight of stairs without a banister) to visit her "museum." The reason I put "museum" in quotes is because this isn't your average museum. Boasting human subjects who seem frozen in time, Martine inspects The Dirty No Ass Chick (a dirt covered woman with hardly any booty), The Emerald Shirt-Coffin Pose Woman and The Naked Claw Hand Lady.

Itching to add another woman to her collection, Martine cruises the streets in search of hookers. Spotting one in a sea green baby-doll dress carrying an exaggerated poodle purse, Martine tells Mathias to pull over. Convincing her come by the villa to pose for some etchings, Martine wastes little time getting the hooker into her basement.

If you must be a man, looking like Robert Woods the way he does in How to Seduce a Virgin is a start. Not only is he one handsome motherfucker, he's got a great sense of style. He plays Charles Bressac, Martine's husband, and judging by the fact that he sneaks up on Martine moments after she puts the final touches on the dead hooker she just added to her messed up museum, it would seem that he's cool with his wife's unorthodox hobby.

And why wouldn't he be? After all, he's got a bit of an unorthodox hobby as well. Showing a slideshow pertaining to a 21 year-old virgin named Cécile (Tania Busselier), Charles informs Martine that he plans on giving her to her as a present.

Except instead of merely kidnapping her, Charles and Martine plan on luring Cécile to their villa via chicanery. But first they must get a better look at the merchandise. Renting an apartment across the street from her parent's house, Martine, Charles and Adèle spy on Cécile.

While Martine and Charles are checking Cécile out, you'll notice that Lina Romay is sitting exactly the same way Soledad Miranda does throughout Eugénie de Sade. I chose to view this as Jess Franco's subtle tribute to the late actress. It's also fitting because this film was Lina's first substantial role in a Jess Franco movie.

To say that Cécile has a full bush would be an understatement. No, what Cécile is packing between her legs is an exorbitant amount of bush. You could call it a mega-bush, but let's not be crass.

Watching Cécile writhe on her bed in an erotic fashion through a pair of binoculars, Martine and Charles are so excited by what they see, the couple have fully-clothed, European stand-up intercourse.

Somehow managing to convince Cécile's parents into letting their daughter stay with them while they're away, Martine and Charles are this close to capturing their prey.

To celebrate this closeness, Martine and Charles watch Cécile writhe on her bed one more time. If you thought Tania Busselier's erotic writhing was hot the first time around, you ain't seen nothing yet. Adding a belly chain and an anklet to the mix, Cécile is a leggy force of nature, as she squirms and kicks her way to attaining a first-rate orgasm. As Cécile's shapely calves pierce the night air with a resounding swoosh, Charles says, while caressing Martine's nipples, "This girl was born to be corrupted by us."

It looks like I wasn't kidding around when I said Robert Woods' Charles Bressac has a great sense of style. The sight of him wearing purple trousers, a purple jacket, and a yellow shirt while talking on a brown phone was so chic it literally hurt. Things get even more chic later on when we see in a trouser vest combination that boasts a print so insane it defies description.

No slouch when it comes to fashion, Martine wears a slit-heavy garment at one point that comes close to out-slitting the slit-heavy garment she wore in Countess Perverse.

When Cécile finally arrives at the Bressac villa, Martine tries seduce her while she's taking a bath. This attempt goes well at first, but Martine takes things too far (she allowed Martine to grope her soap-covered tiny breasts, but drew the line at soapy pussy touching). After things cool off a bit, Adèle takes a crack at seducing Cécile and hits vaginal pay-dirt almost immediately.

Whether Martine will get another crack at caressing any of Cécile's comely crevices is hard to say. I do know this, however, in terms of Jess Franco films that are inspired by the works of the Marquis de Sade, you can't beat How to Seduce a Virgin, as all the elements are here. Black, do-it-yourself hold-up stockings; black, do-it-yourself hold-up stockings covered in runs; garments with massive slits, an exotic location, mini-dresses, whippings (Martine rewards Adèle for her service by whipping her); lesbianism, a hint of Robert Woods' scrotum (a whiff of balls, if you will); castration; tan pantyhose; creepy gardeners; mannequins, belly chains; anklets; flute music; voyeurism a go-go; and female pubic hair.

In my non-award winning review of the hippie-era non-classic, The Brick Dollhouse (shot in eyeball compromising colour), you might recall that I stated that I fully intended to seek out more films by Helena Clayton. Well, as you can clearly see, I wasn't kidding around. That's right, baby, I found one. And get this, the movie I found was sitting right under my nose. Paired with the totally awesome She Mob on the "Girl Gang Double Feature" DVD put out by Something Weird Video, my desire to bask in the otherworldly beauty that is Helena Clayton is the reason I finally got around to watching Nymphs (Anonymous), a softcore quasi-feminist farce/filmed headache. Okay, maybe that's a tad harsh, but it will test the patience of some viewers. This viewer, however, was mainly concerned with seeing Helena Clayton act all campy and junk. I know, going in I had no idea Helena Clayton's performance in this movie was going to be campy. But let's get real, shall we? I mean, I don't think Helena Clayton has a bone in her body that isn't campy. You could say, Helena Clayton oozes camp. But I won't, since I'm trying to cut down on the amount of times I use the word "ooze" in a single day. Let's just say, she exudes camp.

Credited as just "Elena," the wait for Helena Clayton to appear onscreen was excruciating. And since I was unsure how big her part was, I nervously waded through the early going of this tedious piece of sexploitation fluff with bated breath. Again, I think that's a tad harsh. The film, while, yes, it can be quite tedious in places, does have a strange, off-kilter charm about it. And it has lot's of scenes that boast attractive women with natural breasts in garter belts.

(Natural breasts in garter belts?!? This I gotta see!) No, what I mean is... ugh.

Since the suspense is probably killing most of you, I'll come right out and say it: Helena Clayton's performance in Nymphs (Anonymous) was not only campy, it exceeded my expectations, camp-wise. Sure, she only appears in one scene, but it's best scene in the entire movie. And, no, I'm not just saying that because I'm currently obsessed with Miss Clayton. It rules on so many levels. Of course, the main level being: the Helena Clayton factor.

Looking over the film's cast list, it would seem that Helena Clayton wasn't the only one who used a pseudonym for this movie. Take, for example, the film's two lead characters, Laura and Stan Ellis, they're played by "Natasha" and "Gordon." And, of course, wouldn't you know it, Nymphs (Anonymous) are the only films Natasha and Gordon ever appeared in.

Which is sort of odd because Natasha, while she looks at the camera on several occasions, seems to have a modicum of talent (and she kinda looks like Zosia Mamet from certain angles), and Gordon has this proto-Leif Garrett vibe about him that was on the cusp of being endearing.

Nevertheless, it was strange to see the words: "Starring Natasha and Gordon" in the opening credits. Which reminds me, the film's theme song is beyond... Hmm, I can't decide whether the theme song from Nymphs (Anonymous) was beyond catchy or beyond annoying. Let's just say it was a bit of both. And besides, with lyrics like, "Love, love, love that's our motto... Yeah!" how can it not be?

Sitting on a bar in a black lace body-stocking with her legs crossed, the executive secretary of "The Federation," is giving a speech to the faithful. Speaking to a group of women wearing masks, it would appear that the executive secretary (Nancy O'Malley) runs some sort of cock-based delivery service for horny suburban chicks.

Applying for membership is Laura Ellis, a bored housewife who can't seem to get her husband Stan to fuck her (he's too busy with work to care about her aching pussy).

After failing to extract any sex from Stan, Laura paces back and forth in a black see-through nightie. Undaunted, Laura tries to get her accountant to penetrate her. After that fails to yield any sexy results, Laura paces and back and forth in a white see-through nightie. Still undaunted, Laura tries to seduce a vacuum salesmen. The key word there being "tries."

The shot of the executive secretary straddling a stuffed tiger and between the legs camera angle used during the vacuum salesman's pitch are this film's best moments so far.

When her fourth attempt to attain sexual satisfaction ends in failure (she tries to persuade her rotund shrink to have sex with her), she calls the executive secretary one more time for help (the executive secretary has been dodging her calls all morning). And wouldn't you know it, her membership application has been approved, and The Federation immediately sends over two studs to placate her pugnacious pussy.

Unfortunately, Stan comes home from work just as the studs were about to get their dicks wet. An irate Stan can't believe Laura would stoop to allowing male prostitutes (gun-totting male prostitutes, mind you) to sully their modestly furnished home.

Promising to keep an eye on her, Stan finds one of many the houses that The Federation operate in their neighbourhood (a sweet pad with a circular driveway) and watches the comings and goings from the top of a nearby hill.

As he's doing this, Stan notices that women are going to the house to get "serviced." And the first women he sees is a petite blonde with a cute bum. After some mild pool side horseplay, the petite blonde is doubled-teamed by two studs (one with a hairy back).

The next woman to arrive is... Oooh. This is what we've been waiting for. Okay, this is what I've been waiting for. Anyway, it's taken close to thirty minutes, but get ready, Helena Clayton is about to class things up with her elegance and grace. And, not to mention, her killer legs and spectacular breasts.

She might be classy, but her particular kink is anything but. Constantly batting her eyelashes, Joyce (Helena Clayton) enters the home to find two well-dressed men in dark suits.

Sitting down on a chair, Joyce crosses her legs and lights a cigarette. When one of the men hands Joyce a martini, the topic of the conversation turns to her high society husband. Describing their relationship as "perfectly wonderful," Joyce goes on and on about how great things are.

Offered to dance by one of the men, Joyce agrees. Suddenly, the classical music stops, and the men crowd around Joyce in a menacing manner. Calling her everything from a slut to a cheap alley cat, one of the men says, "Are you going to take it off or are we going to have to tear it off?"

The look Joyce throws the two men when one them calls her a cheap alley cat is glorious.

While her dress is removed in a calm and rational manner, her lingerie is torn asunder by the two men. With her garter belt and bra reduced to tatters, the two men begin to beat Joyce with their belts.

Writhing on the floor in what appears to be agony, Joyce is actually enjoying the beating she's currently receiving. Her stockings now languishing below her knees with no garter-based support whatsoever, Joyce is eventually helped to her feet, and is asked once again if she would like to dance. As one of the men pulls Joyce against his body, she whispers something in his ear. To the surprise of no one, she thanks him for treating her in a way her husband would not.

As Joyce leaves fully satisfied, guess who shows up next? That's right, it's Laura. When Stan sees Laura cavorting with two Federation studs pool side, he does what any spurned husband would do: He aims a high-powered rifle at the men and kills them both.

Sneaking down after dark, Stan confronts Laura in the house. "Rape me before you kill me, all sex murderers do that," she tells him. To which Stan responds, "I'm no sex murderer, I'm your husband." This is hands down the best exchange in the entire movie.

After losing his rifle, Stan finds himself trapped in the Federation house and forced to act as a Federation stud. Meaning, he has to "service" a virtual cavalcade of attractive women.

He entertains a university professor with amazing tits (tan stockings and white garter belt), rips three dresses off a woman (it was her request), has sex with the wife (black stockings and black garter belt) of a germaphobe/TV addict, and gets roughed up by a couple of dykes (tan stockings and black garter belt).

As for the bodies of the two dead studs, they're moved from the freezer to the trunk of several cars about six or seven times over the course of the film. I like unorthodox body disposal as much as the next guy, but this is ridiculous. Which is the perfect way to sum up this movie. It's ridiculous, yet like I said before, it has a strange, off-kilter charm about it.

Normally, I would gradually work my way to the scene I'm about to describe. But I can't stop thinking about it. Meaning, I'm afraid I'm going to have to write about it now. I hope you don't mind. Okay, here we go. First of all, I can't believe the amazing Monique Starr only ever appeared in three movies, as she ~~oozes~~ exudes the right kind of charisma. However, after watching some of messed up shit she gets into in Alex de Renzy's Femmes de Sade, who could blame her? I mean, this film is a pretty tough act to follow. Oh, and when I say, "messed up shit," I'm not speaking metaphorically. Naked, but painted silver, Monique Starr's Royce, the North Beach, San Francisco prostitute with the toothy smile and the drag queen-quality eyebrows, enters the orgy with one thought and one thought only on her mind, and that is, revenge. While most people think revenge is a dish best served cold, Royce happens to think revenge should be served a tad on the warm side. After watching her fellow orgy-goers pee all over the object of her revenge en masse, Royce positions herself over her target. Crouching in a manner that is conducive to urination, Royce unleashes a torrent of piss all over her tormentor. Or does she? Unlike when her fellow orgy-goers peed en masse, we can't see what's coming out of Royce's body. For a second there, I felt somewhat cheated. Seriously, I thought the sight of Royce pissing all this sadistic asshole was what this film was all about. Well, it turns out Royce wasn't taking a piss, she was taking a shit.

As the lumps of freshly defecated fecal matter lay all over the overworked genitals belonging to Rocky de Sade (Ken Turner), I sat there dumfounded. Did she just do what I think she just did? When my dumbfoundedness eventually subsided, I started jumping up and down. And, yes, my jumping was entirely joy-based. I don't know what it was, but seeing Royce's poo languishing on Rocky's junk put me at ease.

However, it wasn't languishing there for long, as an unseen orgy-goer takes upon themselves to smear Royce's semisolid, mucus-coated poop all over his stomach and chest with their bare hands.

Actually, that's the part that upset me the most. No, not the loaf-pinching itself (like I said, that put me at ease), but the fact that the person doing the poo-smearing wasn't wearing gloves.

If you're asking yourself: What does someone have to do to justify being pissed on, shat upon and anally raped by a dildo at the greatest orgy the Bay Area has ever seen? Trust me, he had it coming. He, of course, being, Rocky de Sade, the man who puts the sick in sick fuck.

And, no, I'm not just saying that because I'm jealous of his "special ability," he is, hands down, one of the most objectionable people I've ever seen in a motion picture.

Getting out of prison, San Quentin, to be specific, Joe (Joey Silvera) is greeted at the gate by Ellen (Abigail Clayton), his loving girlfriend. Picking him in a convertible, Ellen plans on taking the newly free Joe to a cabin by the lake so that they may get reacquainted with one another, if you know what I mean. Unfortunately, just as they're about to drive off, Rocky de Sade hops in the back seat. Like Joe, Rocky just got released after doing three years/six months in the joint. When Joe suggests that he take the bus, Rocky replies, "Fuck the bus." Ahhh, just typing that gives me the willies. It's not the words themselves that cause the willies to happen, it's Ken Turner's voice, it's so unnerving.

So much so, that I almost forget to mention that Ellen is wearing a green and black skirt (the green side has polka-dots on it, while the black side has a floral pattern). She's also wearing black nylons, but I can't tell if they're stockings or pantyhose.

Wasting very little time, Joe and Ellen run into the cabin to get down to business, while Rocky waits in the car.

We have black stockings!!! I repeat, we have black stockings! Brushing his hand up Ellen's leg causes her skirt to swoosh upward. And in doing so, reveals the exact type of nylons Ellen is wearing. Savour this moment, my friends, as Alex de Renzy makes it's hard for us to enjoy their eventual copulation. Why's that, you ask? Um, hello? How can anyone enjoy sexual intercourse knowing Rocky de Sade is sitting outside? I know I can't, and I'm not even there. Despite Rocky's presence, Joe manages to achieve his first heterosexual orgasm in a long time (it's not made clear how long he was incarcerated for).

After taking a piss against a tree (shaking away the residual pee-based residue with a violent shaking motion), Rocky de Sade enters the cabin. When he's finished beating the hell out of Joe, Rocky de Sade ties Ellen to the bed (using her black stockings as restraints) and then proceeds to anally rape her. After unloading the physical manifestation of his orgasm all over Ellen's ass (shaking away the residual cum-based residue with a violent shaking motion), Rocky de Sade leaves the cabin.

Piercing the night air like a spear that's been dipped in hatred, the nearly seven foot tall Rocky de Sade spends the next couple of days stalking the streets of San Francisco's red light district.

Man, I thought Yonge Street and 42nd Street were scum-laden, this place is freakin' beautiful. The colours, the lights, the sights, the sounds, the garishness of it all, it's like heaven on earth.

Walking through this heaven like a couple of rock stars are Johnny (John Leslie), who works at a local adult bookstore/movie theatre, and Royce, a streetwise prostitute.

While the Rocky de Sade storyline is what drives the film, we're treated to three fantasy sequences that involve John Leslie.

The first takes place in a doctor's office, where John Leslie envisions himself as a doctor and Marge (Mimi Morgan), a customer in his adult bookstore, as his patient. Placing Marge on an exam table with stirrups, Dr. John removes her tan pantyhose, with some help from Nurse Royce, and proceeds to poke and prod her vagina with various objects. Ultimately settling on his own erect penis, John uses it to fuck her vagina for a period of time that didn't seem excessive.

The second fantasy sequence occurs after Royce and hooker friends (Annette Haven, Lesllie Bovee, et al) have a pizza party at John's adult bookstore. When one of the hookers mentions a trick who forced her cover herself with grease, John imagines himself and two other guys having sex with Lesllie Bovee in an engine room of some sort. On top of there being a lot of grease, the harsh sound of the machines gave this scene a real off-kilter vibe (industrial grease porn).

The less said about the third fantasy sequence, the better. There was nothing wrong with it from a conceptual point of view (John fantasizes about having sex with a couple of Asian women), it's just that John Leslie's eyes have been... How should I put this? Uh, they were slanted slightly. Oh, who am I kidding? They were slanted a lot.

Meanwhile, Rocky de Sade is busy showing a petite blonde prostitute (Melba Bruce) how to suck his cock. I know what you're thinking, he was showing her how by using a banana. Wrong! He showed her by sucking his own cock. Since Rocky de Sade can't leave a room without causing someone to experience pain and suffering, Rocky forces the prostitute to lick her own pussy. However, since she's not as limber as Rocky is, this causes her much discomfort (he nearly breaks her back).

A friend of Johnny's informs him that he's going to be throwing, "Blood and Mother's Milk: The 1st Annual Leather Ball... for Whores, Pimps, Queens and Queers... for Sadists and Masochists... Slaves and Masters... Music, Drink, Costumes a Must." As he's handing Johnny some complimentary tickets, Rocky de Sade grabs one for himself. Johnny and his friend try to protest, but as others have found out, it's hard to stand up to Rocky de Sade.

The melding of the Johnny plot and the Rocky de Sade plot gets even meldier(?) when the latter picks up Royce for a date. "Come on, honey, let's go get juicy," Royce tells Rocky, unknowing that she's about to enter a world of hurt.

Putting collar on her, Rocky... Oh, I liked how Royce cleans his cock with a moist cloth before sucking it (very classy). Anyway, the now collared Royce gets a cigarette put out on her chest, a bottle shoved up her ass and beaten to a bloody pulp.

Since Johnny knows that Rocky will probably be at the leather ball, he plans, along with Royce and her hooker friends, to get back him; or, as Johnny puts it, "fix his ass good."

Culminating with the leather ball sequence, Femmes de Sade throws every fetish and perversion in the book at us in what has to be the greatest orgy in cinematic history. Let's see if I can remember what I saw: Spanking, cross-dressing, stockings, shaved pussies, dildos, tea bagging, whips, chains, grown men in diapers, annilingus, doggielingus, black dudes dressed like Arab sheiks fucking white chicks, white dudes in lingerie fucking black chicks, body painting, crotchless panties, strap-ons, and masks... lot's of masks.

When a masked Rocky de Sade finally arrives (though, it's obvious it's him, he's seven feet tall), he's lulled into thinking he's amongst friends. Little does he know... Run, Rocky, it's a trap! Just kidding, I can't wait to see him finally get his comeuppance. Now, I've read that the scat scene is fake. In other words, Royce doesn't really take a dump on Rocky's dick. Either way, the moment she steps away from Rocky and it's implied that she took a crap on his crotch was truly electrifying.

There I was, sitting on my pathetic excuse for a couch, watching Hobo with a Shotgun with a mild (nothing to write home about) smirk on my face. When, all of a sudden, something exceedingly awesome occurs. Mind you, the film was delivering its fair share of awesome up until the point where this something-based occurrence of an exceedingly awesome nature transpires. It's just that, well, what happens is so awesome that my eyes literally widened. Now, I know I'm guilty of using a lot of hyperbolic language to describe the physical effects a film inflicts on my organic structure. But seriously, when the thing I'm sheepishly referring to takes place in this film, my eyes, I swear to god, increased in size by a full inch. Of course, those who have seen the film, directed by Jason Eisener and with cinematography by Karim Hussain (directer of Subconscious Cruelty), already know what I'm talking about. And those who haven't probably think it's something nylon-related. While it's true, I was quite taken with the multiple instances that feature the alarmingly symmetrical Molly Dunsworth stomping around ~~Hope~~ Scum Town in fishnet stockings. But her fishnet stockings, and I can't believe I'm about to say this, take a back seat to... The Plague!!!!!

That's right, baby. The Motherfuckin' Plague destroy all comers with their no-nonsense approach to violence. When the film's primary villain, The Drake (Brian Downey of Lexx fame, "I worship his shadow") says, "Summon The Plague," I was like: What's The Plague? As I soon found out, The Plague are not a what, but a who.

Nonsensical side note: When I heard the makers of the inexplicably popular television show The Walking Dead based the first half of their most recent season on Albert Camus'"The Plague," I nearly fell on the floor laughing. Do these chuckleheads actually think they're making art? I mock asked myself. Anyway, get real, losers, nothing on your badly acted joke of a show will be as awesome as The Plague are in Hobo with a Shotgun.

I think I might have misspoke earlier. No, The Walking Dead still sucks. You know when I described The Plague's approach to violence as "no-nonsense"? Well, that couldn't be further from the truth, as The Plague's approach to violence is rife with nonsense.

How else would you characterize the sight of two armor-clad demons storming a hospital wielding machetes and a noose-gun? Sure, it might look impractical, but you gotta admit, there's nothing cooler than the sight of two armor-clad demons killing defenseless healthcare providers in an overly complicated manner. Wait, that didn't come out right. Actually, it sort of did. You see, the fact that The Plague seem to go out of their way to slaughter doctors, nurses and orderlies just adds more fuel to their already awesome fire.

What, you might ask, causes The Drake to summon The Plague? You won't believe this, but a hobo with a shotgun is the reason The Plague were summoned. I know, how tough can a mere hobo with a shotgun be? Ah, but this hobo is played by none other than Rutger Hauer. Exactly, 'nuff said.

Arriving in Scum Town on the rails, the unnamed hobo, who we'll call from now on, "The Hobo," quickly discovers that The Drake pretty much runs things in this town, when he watches him and his two sons, Slick (Gregory Smith) and Ivan (Nick Bateman), decapitate his brother (Robb Wells, The Trailer Park Boys) with a barbed wire noose in the middle of a suburban street. I don't know who played the part, but kudos to the woman in the white bikini who dances in the fire hose quality neck-gore blood spray. Oh, and Ivan's line reminding the onlookers to wash their dicks was cute too.

Dreaming of buying a lawnmower and starting his own business, the Hobo makes a cardboard sign ("I am tired... Need $ for a lawnmower"), plops down on the street and begins begging for spare change. Since things are a tad slow (he's nowhere near reaching his goal of 49.99, the price of the lawnmower he wants), the Hobo decides to check out what's going on across the street at one of The Drake's clubs. Inside he finds homeless people being tortured by punks, drug addicts playing video games, and Slick and Ivan behaving like all-around sick fucks.

While abusing Otis (Drew O'Hara), a video game playing drug addict (the game he's playing, by the way, is called "The Plague."), Slick and Ivan are briefly challenged by a prostitute named Abby (Molly Dunsworth), who chimes in by telling them to let things slide. To which Slick responds, "The only thing I'm going to let slide is my dick in your pussy."

I don't know, after hearing Ivan's line about washing dicks and Slick's dick slide comment, I'm starting to like these guys. Wearing Ray-Ban sunglasses and black and white varsity jackets with their names on the back, Slick and Ivan (who drive a black and white Bricklin SV-1 - woo-hoo! gull-wing doors!) grew on me as the film progressed. If the Slick's dick slide comment failed to seal the deal, then his next dick-related line directed at Abby surely did. He asks Abby, "You know how I can tell I'm making you wet? (she plays along by saying no) Because you're making my dick thirsty." Ha! Okay, it's official, I love these guys.

Rescuing Abby from a night that was probably going to be filled with all sorts of atrocities, the Hobo takes an unconscious Slick to the police station. Unfortunately, the police chief is in The Drake's pocket. Meaning, Ivan comes over to collect his brother. As a parting gift, Slick carves the word "Scum" in the Hobo's chest with a knife. Luckily, the Hobo runs into Abby, who's still out "selling her hole." Taking the wounded hobo home, Abby let's him sleep at her place.

Earning enough money to buy a lawnmower by appearing in one of those bum-fight videos (the bum-fight filmmaker forces him to eat glass), the Hobo heads down to the pawn shop to pick it up. As you might expect, just as the Hobo is about to make his purchase, the pawn shop is robbed by masked assailants wielding guns and machetes. While looking at the 49.99 price tag on the lawnmower, he notices the shotgun hanging on a nearby wall is also 49.99.

Anyone care to guess which item the Hobo decides to purchase? Since the film isn't called "Hobo with a Lawnmower," you can pretty much guess which item he chose. In order to make sure the shotgun is in working order, the Hobo blows away the three robbers. The sensation he felt when he blew away the robbers must have been invigorating, because the Hobo proceeds to blow away pimps, pedophiles and drug dealers; even the bum-fight filmmaker is on the receiving end of the Hobo's shotgun.

When the Hobo's shotgun antics become headline news, The Drake scolds Slick and Ivan for not wasting the Hobo when they had the chance. After The Drake gives him some fatherly advice, Slick grabs a flamethrower, hops on a school bus and kills all the children on board. I know, way harsh, Slick. To matters even harsher, Ivan is cranking "Disco Inferno" on two boomboxes as Slick sets the kids on fire. Threatening to kill even more children if Scum Town's population don't rise up against the homeless, Slick and Ivan have basically turned the townspeople into a giant hobo-murdering mob.

During the first half of the movie, I would occasionally wonder: Why would Rutger Hauer agree to be in something so sick and twisted? I mean, not only does Slick burn to death a school bus filled with children, Ivan kills George Stroumboulopoulos with a skate! Then it dawned on me: Why wouldn't he agree to be in this movie? This is the role of a lifetime. One that doesn't just call for him to kill scumbags with a shotgun. He has few moments here and there that contain real emotion (the bear scene and the maternity ward monologue).

In terms of sex appeal, you can't beat the scene where a cop says to his partner about Abby: "She's so hot... I'd eat the peanuts out of her shit." Then moments later tells her: "I love the smell of your asshole." Just for the record, the scene is sexy not because of what the cop is saying about Abby, but because she's wearing black fishnet stockings with a mini-raincoat.

While I simply adore Slick and Ivan and the giddiness they display while committing heinous atrocities. And it makes me happy to know that Slick and Ivan have become fan favourites since the film's release, especially amongst female viewers. Nothing can top the badassery of The Plague. Summoned by The Drake to hunt down the Hobo, the scene where The Plague arrive at the hospital is too awesome for words. The use of music (Power Glove's "Hunters"), the cinematography, the camera work, the violence, everything about it is spectacular. Hell, I think I've watched it at least ten times.

One of the few films to come out of the whole Grindhouse debacle that isn't totally lame (the film began as a fake trailer), Hobo with a Shotgun manages to capture the spirit of 1970s/1980s exploitation cinema. Whereas countless other so-called throwback/retro flicks fail to capture said spirit, the makers of this film seem to truly understand what the words "exploitation" and "sleaze" really mean.

Here's a film that features the winsome Maureen Flannigan (7th Heaven) cavorting about in a tropical paradise in a plethora of slit-heavy sarongs and boasts the ever effulgent Demetra Hampton (Red Shoe Diaries) writhing on her bed in black opera gloves and crouching on windowsills in black fishnet pantyhose, yet the thing I can't seem to shake, the thing that is currently keeping me up at night, are the fedora hat bands attached to the fedoras sitting atop Corey Feldman's head. Wait a second, fedoras? Do you really think he has eight fedoras? Or does he have one fedora and simply switches the hat band on it depending on his mood? For example, purple means he's feeling like a self-absorbed douchebag, red is for when he's going for the whole pompous douchebag vibe, blue is his hateful douchebag look, and... Well, you get the idea. He might have owned eight fedoras at the height of his fame, but this is 1993/94 were talking about it (money's tight and fedoras ain't cheap). Anyway, I'm at a loss. I mean, what was with the freakin' fedoras? Here I am, trying to enjoy the surrealist nightmare that is National Lampoon's Last Resort (a.k.a. National Lampoon's Scuba School) like a normal human being, and Corey Feldman is ruining it with his asinine fashion sense.

Should I even bother bringing up the black blazers with the arms cut off? Ahh, just writing that makes my inner Tim Gunn feel all queasy and junk. What am I doing? Stop being such a big baby. So, Corey Feldman wears black blazers with the arms cut off (blegh) and sports a different coloured hat band on his fedora in every scene, I'm not going to let a little thing like that spoil the filmed headache that is this sort of motion picture.

Besides, Corey Feldman does wear pointy black leather shoes with buckles on them with his so-called ensemble. In other words, it's not a complete disaster.

Taking a break from tearing apart Corey Feldman's signature look for just a second, I would like to point out that this film was directed by Rafal Zielinski and written by Patrick Labyorteaux. The fact that this film was directed by the man who brought us Valet Girls and Screwballs should come as no surprise, as it has the same sense of whimsy and off-kilter fun. However, Patrick Labyorteaux? Ram from Heathers? Out of all the actors who appeared in Heathers, the guy who played Ram was the last person I expected to get a screenplay produced. Why? It's simple, really. He's an idiot. Not Patrick Labyorteaux, the character he plays in Heathers.

A profound meditation on the meaning of life, National Lampoon's Last Resort is actually a sardonic satire, a wickedly funny one to boot, that attempts to shed some light on the importance of being true to yourself.

Is anyone buying that? (You lost them a long time ago.) When? (I'm not sure exactly, but going on incessantly about Corey Feldman's fedoras didn't help your cause.) Again, I don't think pluralizing the word fedora is necessary, as I think Corey Feldman is trying to trick us into thinking he has an endless supply of fedoras by merely changing the hat band.

Getting through the opening credits of National Lampoon's Last Resort without having a seizure will be a minor miracle, as bright colours and hypersonic camera work bombard the viewer almost immediately.

The sight of a mop-wielding Dave Eisenhower (Corey Haim) rollerblading in the kitchen of a fast-food restaurant with a virtual reality helmet on combined with the sight of Sam Carver (Corey Feldman) relaxing on the beach are the next images that greet us.

It turns out that Sam Carver isn't at the beach after all, he's just day-dreaming about being at the beach, and being surrounded by a bevy of babes in bikinis. In fact, he's working at the same fast-food joint as Dave, his best bud.

In his dream, Sam is wearing a black fedora with a white hat band. But in reality, Sam is wearing a black fedora with a red hat band while standing over a vat of fries. I wonder if there's any significance to the colours of his hat bands. I mean, why white for the dream, yet reality gets red? Hmmm.

You'll notice that all the bikini babes are wearing black and white as well. I know, pretty interesting, eh? If you thought that was interesting, wait until I tell you who's standing in line at the fast-food restaurant Sam and Dave work as at. (Well?) Oh, a member of the Detroit Red Wings. (I don't get it?) Don't you see? Red hat band, Red Wings. It's all connected, man.

What these connections mean exactly is anyone's guess. But it does prove that there's more to National Lampoon's Last Resort than meets the eye.

While helping a choking victim, Sam, who actually thought the choking victim was his dream girl in a black one-piece bathing suit, the piece of food lodged in her throat goes flying off the helmet of the Detroit Red Wings player and hits the owner of the fast-food restaurant in the head causing him to step into Dave's mop bucket. Unable to keep his balance, the restaurant owner then crashes into the fuse box, causing a fire to break out.

With their place of employment reduced to a pile of smoldering rubble, Sam and Dave go home to relax. The colour dichotomy of the previous scene continues unabated during this scene as well, as Sam and Dave's apartment is half blue and half red. Unfortunately, Sam and Dave won't be able to enjoy their apartment's colour scheme for much longer, as they're evicted by the building's landlord.

Sitting on a bench, Sam and Dave try to figure out their next move. While going through their mail, Sam discovers a letter from his Uncle Rex (Geoffrey Lewis), a former actor (known for a series of pirate movies) who now runs a pirate themed resort on the Grand Cayman.

How, you might ask, are two down on their luck losers from Detroit going to be able to afford to fly down to the Cayman Islands? Duh. They use the magic doohickey given to them by the bag lady (Jane Swofford) sitting next to them on the bench. And before you can say, does Corey Feldman really front ska band called Truth Movement?, Sam and Dave land on a beach on the Grand Cayman with their luggage in tow.

And when I say, "land on a beach," that's exactly what I mean. To quote Dave, they literally "jumped through the sky."

Oh, and just to prove the producers are not lazy morons with no sense of humour, we see the bag lady pushing her shopping cart around the island every once and awhile. It would seem that the bag lady "jumped through the sky" as well.

Met on the beach by Sonja (Maureen Flannigan), an Earth servant to the island Amazon goddess of Ya-Ya, Sam and Dave manage to convince the ebullient young tulip that they're scuba experts from Detroit. And Navy Seals... and C.I.A. agents; Dave's code name is "Storm Shadow."

However, Dave does say one truthful thing upon meeting Sonja. It occurs when he introduces himself as an "anally compulsive cyberpunk searching for electronic bliss." Call me crazy, but I think that's the best line in the movie.

The film's funniest line, in my opinion, is the one where Flash Mackenzie (Michael Ralph), an island tour bus driver, says, "Right in the middle of scuba country," after learning that Sam and Dave are scuba experts from Detroit. The other genuinely funny bit occurs when an elderly married couple (Milton Slezer and Eda Reiss Merin) mistake a family of "Morgies" (fans of Rex Carver's Captian Morgan pirate movies) for Guns N' Roses.

Anyway, when Rex Carver's rival, a fellow actor named Hemlock (Robert Mandan), hears that a couple of C.I.A. agents masquerading as scuba experts are on the island, he does everything in his power to disrupt the everyday operation of the resort. I think that makes sense. Let me put this way, Rex and Hemlock don't like each other.

Okay, now that I got that plot-based nonsense out of the way, let's get back to focusing on what's really important. And that is, my love-hate relationship with Corey Feldman's wardrobe. I think the reason his clothes struck such a profound chord with me is because they're so close to what I used to wear on a daily basis. It's true, I've never donned a fedora (at least not out in public). But I did wear pointy creepers with buckles on them. In fact, like Corey Feldman does on several occasion during this movie, I think I even wore them to the beach.

To put it in even more frightening terms, every time I saw Corey Feldman canoodling with Demetra Hampton's Alex, a femme fatal secretly working for Hemlock, it was like looking directly into a mirror. Ugh, talk about honesty in motion.

I don't care who knows it, so here it goes: I am, simply put, Corey Feldman's character in National Lampoon's Last Resort. The creepers, the black clothing, the ponytail, the attraction to dark-haired women in black fishnets, the spastic dance moves, the Jerry Lewis-style approach to comedy, it's all there in stark technicolor.

Ahhh, that was tough. As they say, admitting you have a problem is the first step to recovery.

Fourth wall breaking a go-go, a game show hosted by Zelda Rubinstein, wackiness-a-plenty, tag team ballroom dancing, red berets, implied mermaid sex, Tony Longo in drag, and, best of all, an underwater concert by Dread Zeppelin, National Lampoon's Last Resort is cinema at its... Oh, man, I wanna say, "finest," but I can't seem to pull the trigger. How 'bout this, National Lampoon's Last Resort is cinema at its most bewildering? Yeah, I like that, bewildering. Yo-Ho-Ho...

Shot on video, yet filmed in New York City, Lasse Braun's Secret Mistress is a bit of an odd bird for those very reasons. On the one hand, the use of videotape instead of film gives the entire production the look and feel of a cheap home movie (the blurry transitions look eerily similar to something you might see used in that haphazardly put together AV club-orchestrated highlight reel celebrating your high school football team's first winning season in fifty years). However, like I said, it's filmed in New York City; during the restoration of the Statue of Liberty, 1984–86 (you can clearly see the scaffolding covering Lady Liberty in one scene). What I'm trying to say is, while the film itself looks like crap, the location is to die for. Unfortunately, other than some quick establishing shots that boast the world's most famous skyline and some short scenes that take place near the Brooklyn Bridge, Lasse Braun doesn't really take advantage of its iconic local . That being said, I don't think that many people, other than me, of course, will protest too loudly, as their main concern is to be aroused/titillated. And if that's the only criteria you need to enjoy pornography, you should have no trouble whatever getting into the sex-adjacent shenanigans a socially awkward writer gets into over the course of this sex-filled romp.

Since I'm not your typical smut enthusiast, you might be thinking to yourself: Why am I writing about this particular piece of pornography?

The first thing that caught my eye was that it takes place in New York City. What can I say? I'll watch anything, especially if its pornographic in nature, that is set in The Big Apple during the 1980s. And the last time I checked, 1986 is definitely in the '80s.

The second thing that peaked my interest was that it's written, directed and edited by Lasse Braun. Impressed by his film, Body Love (1977), I was curious to see if his talent as a filmmaker was able to flourish in the artistic no-man's land that was shot-on-video pornography.

The third thing, the one that caused my pupils to percolate pure positivity, was the pulsating presence of the one and only Taija Rae. Oh, who am I kidding? Seeing Taija Rae's name in the credits was the only reason I bothered to watch this movie.

Not quite at the height of her shapeliness (believe it or not, she's even shapelier in 1985), Taija Rae's mouth-watering curves are still a force to be reckoned with, as her thick and hearty frame can be seen stomping around in a pair of skanky red pumps in one of the film's best scenes.

It's funny, changing gears for a second, but the female singer belting out the film's theme song sometimes sounds like she's saying, "desperately seeking Susan." While other times she sounds like she's saying, "naturally seeking Susan." Given my inability to decipher song lyrics, she's probably saying neither.

Anyway, after the song is finished, we enter the apartment of Steven (Robert Bullock), a writer of some kind. Actually, judging by the size of his apartment (it has a sauna), I would say he's a successful writer.

In fact, he's so successful, he has Ludmilla (Stacey Donovan), a lanky blonde, trying on lingerie for him in his apartment as we speak.

Hired by a lingerie company to model their product for special clients, Ludmilla tries on a number of different pieces in the film's opening scene.

The first one is a red bra and red panties combo with matching frilly gloves.

The second one is a burgundy top with straps (Steven really seemed to like this piece).

The third one, which, according to Ludmilla, is made from 100% Italian silk, is a blue bra and a blue and white thong.

Annoyed by Ludmilla's constant yammering (she insists on describing each piece to him in intricate detail) Steven tells her to shut the fuck up.

Just kidding. Steven doesn't tell Ludmilla to "shut the fuck up." Don't get me wrong, he tells her to be quiet. It's just that Steven, despite being a New Yorker, is way too polite and way too mild mannered to actually say that to someone.

At any rate, I wonder who he's buying all this lingerie for. It can't be for himself, can it? Hold on, I think we're about to find out. Appearing on his couch out of thin air is Eric (Rod Retta), Steven's brother. Asking him why he didn't try to copulate with Ludmilla, Eric stares at his brother with a look of disbelief on his face (in his mind, his brother had a half-naked lingerie model in his home and didn't once try to put the moves on her). Annoyed by the question, Steven shoots back at him that he's in love with Susan. Oh, okay, that makes sense. She's probably the Susan from the film's theme song.

Susan or not, Eric stills thinks Steven dropped the ball big time. And to prove he did, Eric makes Steven watch as he has sex with Ludmilla (who, like Eric, seems to appear out of thin air) on his fancy couch with his unspectacular cock. But not before telling Ludmilla to "show your ass to my brother."

Later that evening, Steven hears his doorbell ring. Looking through the peephole, Steven sees two new wave goddesses standing in the hallway. Letting them in, Annette (Taija Rae), who seems to know Steven, explains that she lost her keys (she lives in Steven's building), and asks him if she and her drunk friend, Gloria (Scarlett Fever), can hang out for awhile until her father comes home.

Agreeing to let them stay, Annette, who is wearing a black lace leotard, a tight red skirt, one fishnet opera glove, a funky black belt, fishnet stockings and red pumps, goes over to the couch and sits down.

As Annette leafs through a copy of Playboy (the issue that featured nude pics of Madonna), Gloria, who is wearing a pink mesh top over a pink bra, one black fingerless opera glove with pink tutu-esque ruffles, a white skirt, pink knee-high stockings, black pumps, and about a half a dozen bracelets (on the non-armwear arm), finds some panties stuffed underneath a couch cushion.

Grabbing a pair of black panties, Gloria stands up, removes her orange(!) panties and slips the black one's on.

Check out the part where Annette scolds Gloria for putting on panties that are clearly not hers. I mean, the way she says, "Gloria!" in her thick Philly-New York accent was beyond glorious (no pun intended).

When Ralph (Ashley Moore), Annette's father, Liza (Colleen Brennan), Steven's neighbour, come over, Annette and Gloria leave with them. However, just like the scene with Ludmilla and Eric, Ralph appears out of thin air to ridicule Steven for not taking advantage of Gloria, who verbally expresses the desire to fuck Steven twice during her brief stay.

Pretty soon, Gloria and Annette appear out of then air as well. Refusing to have sex with Gloria, Ralph decides to dine Gloria's blonde pussy essence instead.

As Gloria is blowing Ralph, you'll notice that her mesh headband contains the colours red, salmon, yellow and lime green.

One thing leads to another, and Annette and Gloria end up lezzing out on one of Steven's many ornate sofas.

Even though he says she's not really his daughter, the sight of Ralph having sex with Annette was... not that disturbing at all; I didn't buy for a second that they were related.

I have to admit, my interest in Secret Mistress plummeted to a record low after Taija Rae and Scarlett Fever leave Steven's apartment. It's true, we do learn the identity of Susan and Kristata Barrington and Siobhan Hunter play a couple of typists. But nothing comes close to topping the sight of Taija and Scarlett in their sexy new wave duds.

Struggling to remain invested in the film's "plot," I started to regret the decision to watch it all the way to the end. I did eventually finish it, but at what cost? I think the lesson is this: Be wary of pornographic movies made after 1985. You might stumble across a few gems here and there, but bulk of the product is mediocre at best.

When I first saw the annoyed expression Sarah Joslyn Crowder sports near the beginning of Slashers (スラッシャーズ), I thought to myself: There's no way her pretty little face is going to be able keep up that level of annoyance for the duration of the entire film. I mean, things have just gotten underway and the sheer intensity of the scowl on her exasperated mug is downright terrifying. On the other hand, she does have good reason to look irritated. Think about it, one minute you're attending law school in Seattle, and the next minute, boom, you're on "Slashers," the wild and wacky Japanese game show that involves homicidal maniacs disemboweling and decapitating contestants on live television. Hold on, I've just been informed that the contestants on "Slashers" are actually willing participants in this sick and twisted form of entertainment. Wait a second, if that's the case, why does Sarah Joslyn Crowder's Megan Lowry look so perturbed? While I can understand her being all vexed and junk after surviving an attack by a chainsaw wielding lunatic who looks like a cross between Carrot Top and Richard D. James circa Window Licker, but the show hasn't even started yet. In other words, Megan's pre-show glare has the structural temperament of someone who's already been to hell and back.

Whether or not her ceaseless grimace properly reflected each precarious situation her character was placed in, take Sarah Joslyn Crowder's never-ending frown away from this movie, and she won't be the only one with a perpetually pissed off expression on their face. That's right, if you were remove Sarah Joslyn Crowder and her first-rate indignation from this movie, you'll be dealing with one unhappy Yum-Yum.

Now, I've obsessed over a wide range of topics during the past few years (pointy boots, suspender tights, pubic hair, bed-wetting, arterial spray, scantily clad writhing, Uzis and Udo Kier), but I don't think I ever cited an actor's unrelenting umbrage as the thing I liked most about a motion picture before. And I'm sure that's not what writer-director Maurice Devereaux intended when he set out to skewer horror movies and reality television in one fell swoop. However, as everyone knows, it's ultimately up to me to decide what the film I'm watching is about.

The great thing about Sarah Joslyn Crowder's vexatious visage in this movie is that it's framed by not one, not two, but three different tops. Just a sec, let me do a recount... Okay, I'm back. Not only was I off by one top, I forgot to count the time she spends topless as a scowl framing device.

All right, let's see, if you include being topless as a top, and you add the one I forgot, that means Sarah Joslyn Crowder's now legendary sour puss is framed five different tops!

I know, you're thinking to yourself: She must have been wearing a shitload of layers. Well, no, she isn't. You see, only two of the tops are actually hers (her skin, obviously, and the top she starts off the game in), but the rest are–brace yourself–other people's tops!

How does she manage to wear the top of almost every character in this movie, you ask? That's an excellent question. And I think the best way to answer it is to start from the beginning.

Opening with an explosion of in your face Japanese pop culture, or to put it another way, it gets underway with what most foreigners think Japanese pop culture looks like, we get a quick refresher course of what "Slashers," Japan's number one extreme game show, is all about.

Judging by what they show, "Slashers," or "$LA$HER$," seems to involve young people being murdered on live television. To give the show some added pep, it also features cheerleaders with skull pom-poms (The Slasherettes), an in-house DJ (DJ Slash), a perky host named Miho Taguchi (Claudine Shiraishi), and a catchy theme song.

However, on this episode of "Slashers," the young people are Americans. Yep, welcome to "The Slashers All-American Special." To celebrate this momentous occasion, Miho is dressed like the Statue of Liberty and the set is draped with American flags and other such symbols of Americana.

If, by the way, you were stop me on the street and ask me who my favourite Slasherette was, I would say, without hesitation, the tall skinny one with reddish blonde bob hairstyle. Me likey.

The Americans vying for the 12 million dollar cash prize are: Devon White (Tony Curtis Blondell), a former boxer from New York City; Michael Gibbons (Kieran Keller), a computer programmer from Chicago; Rebecca Galley (Carolina Pla), a fitness instructor from, oh, I don't know, let's say, Cleveland; Rick Fisher (Jerry Spirio), a bouncer from Detroit; Megan Lowry (Sarah Joslyn Crowder), a law student from Seattle; and Brenda Thompson (Sofia de Medeiros), an aspiring actress/model from Portland.

Did anyone else notice the way Rick was looking at Miho's ass as she introduced Rebecca? Maybe that's why I couldn't remember where Rebecca was from, I was too busy watching Rick mentally undress Miho.

At any rate, it's clear to everyone, including the audience, that Megan is in way over her head. And that there's no way Brenda is from Portland. I mean, would someone who is actually from Portland, Oregon really wear a top that colour? I don't think so.

After the audience has finished chanting "dead meat" at Megan and Miho goes over the ground rules (there are none), we're introduced to the masters of mayhem. First up is crowd favourite, Chainsaw Charlie (Neil Napier), a redneck wielding a chainsaw. Next is a rookie slasher named Preacherman (also played by Neil Napier), a demonic priest carrying a large crucifix-shaped knife. And the third and final slasher is Doctor Ripper (Christopher Piggins), a psychotic doctor whose weapons include scalpels and scissors.

Much to my chagrin, the show's three female contestants are all wearing trousers. Can you believe this? Trousers! Sure, the Slasherettes are wearing short skirts, but when the action moves into the "Danger Zone," we don't see the Slasherettes again until the very end of the movie. Again, can you believe this? Anyway, once inside the "Danger Zone," the contestants are followed around by Hideo (Takaaki Honda), the show's roving cameraman.

Given one final chance to back out, Miho asks each contestant if they're "game." When Miho finally gets to Megan, everyone assumes she's going to quit. Utilizing the fiercest scrunchie face in her vast arsenal, Megan looks directly at the camera and says, "No, I'm game!" Yeah, baby, I think I like this woman already. You might be wearing pants, but you got spunk, honey.

Oh-oh, it would seem that Megan is starting to regret her decision to appear on "Slashers" already, as she starts to hyperventilate during the elevator ride down to the "Danger Zone."

Once in the "Danger Zone," everyone, accept Megan (and Hideo), runs toward a building. Staring directly at the camera, Megan gives a speech deriding the show and the people who watch it. Claiming the viewers at home are responsible for her death, Megan waits to be killed by one of the slashers. Of course, it's too early in the show to kill off any of the contestants, so the Doctor Ripper slasher rips off Megan's top, leaving her topless in the middle of what looks like an indoor paintball course. Using her arms as a makeshift top, Megan eventually decides to join her fellow contestants, who, like I said, are hiding in a nearby building.

When Rick tries to prevent Hideo from entering the building they're hiding in, he receives a painful shock. All the contestants, including the slashers, are wearing shock collars (which look like bike lights). While the game might not have any rules, the producers can still manipulate the contestants and the slashers with the push of a button.

It's during their time inside this building that I really began to appreciate Martin Gauthier's synthy, techno-esque music score.

The only member of the group who seems to have any idea what to expect is Devon, who is fashioning a spear from a wooden table leg as we speak.

After giving Megan his grey t-shirt, Devon says something to affect of, "look lady." To which Megan responds, "My name is Megan!" I'm telling you, man, Megan rocks. Sure, she can be a tad whiny at times, but Megan's the only character worth rooting for.

If you're wondering how Megan ends up with Brenda's top, it happens because Brenda, after listening to what Devon says about her odds of making it to the end (5 to 1), removes her top. Thinking that her chances of surviving are a lot greater if she's wearing less clothing, Brenda takes off her red floral top and gives it to Megan (who then gives Devon his t-shirt back).

While Megan and Rebecca (who are separated from the rest of the group) are wandering around the clown-themed hallway, we get to know a little more about them. Which is fine (character development is the cornerstone of drama), but all I can think about is how is Rebecca's sleeveless camouflage top going to end up on Megan?

Since the answer to this question is rife with spoilers, I'll just say, Rebecca had no more use for her sleeveless camouflage top, and, so, Megan took it. However, before she dons Rebecca's top, Megan, in a fit of frustration, yells, "Do you want to see my tits?!? and removes her arms and shows the world her breasts.

Now, some of the audience will no doubt cheer Megan's decision to finally let everyone see her boobies. On the other hand, there will be those who see this as a sad testament to the sorry state of popular culture (big boobs equal big ratings). Mocking horror movie conventions and the burgeoning disease that would ultimately become reality television, Slashers is a surprisingly intelligent satire and boasts one of the most memorable final girls in the history of horror cinema.

If you're easily offended by the sight of sickly perverts who get their kicks by openly pontificating about the sight of Claudia Jennings in cut-off jean shorts, you better clear on out of here, because things are about to get ridiculously out of hand. When I first saw the leggy crouching clinic Claudia Jennings was conducting on the film's unofficial poster (for some fucked up reason, Claudia's gorgeous mug is nowhere to be found on the film's theatrical poster), I let out a mild sigh. Why a sigh and not a woo-hoo, you ask? Realizing that if I watch and review 'Gator Bait, the bulk of my focus will be on her legs and the cut-off jean shorts they pour out of. In other words, I'm doing exactly what my detractors expect me to do. Now, you're probably thinking to yourself: Detractors?!? You don't have any stinkin' detractors. You're right, I don't have any detractors. In fact, I'm one of the most likable human beings I know. No, the detractors I have are not real in a walking around and doing stuff kinda way. My detractors live inside my own head, and they go by the name "self-doubt."

As I finished watching 'Gator Bait, and it became clear to me that this film, directed by Beverly Sebastian and Ferd Sebastian (the former wrote the screenplay and the latter does the music and is the film's cinematographer as well), is the ultimate Claudia Jennings in cut-off jean shorts experience, I knew exactly what I had to do.

However, when I sat down to begin the long-winded cut-off jean short-related screed this film so rightly deserved, a wave of self-doubt washed over me like a tsunami. Maybe I should write about the swamp a bit before mentioning Claudia Jennings and her cut-off jean shorts, I thought myself. After all, the swamp plays a critical part in the gestation of this film's story. Sure, you could transfer the film's action to the heart of a big city, you could even move things out into the desert, but it wouldn't be'Gator Bait, now would it? No, take away the swamp, and you pretty much have no movie.

Well, you can apply the same logic to Claudia Jennings and her cut-off jean shorts. What I mean is, take away Claudia Jennings and her cut-off jean shorts, and you can pretty much kiss this review goodbye.

In a disturbing twist, the first time we see Claudia Jennings onscreen she isn't wearing cut-off jean shorts, she's wearing a burlap sack with sleeves (think: cavegirl chic). Don't get me wrong, Claudia Jennings looks sexy no matter what she wears. It's just that this isn't what I signed up for.

Call me demented and sad, but the plan was to watch and review a trio of films from the 1970s that feature the inordinately leggy crumpet in denim shorts. And I even had a name picked out: The Jean Short Trilogy. But the sight of Claudia Jennings hunting snakes in a glorified burlap sack had me sweating bullets.

In an ironic twist, Claudia Jennings stuffs the snakes she catches into a–yep, you guessed it–burlap sack.

Keeping with the ironic twist theme, it just dawned me that 90% of the shows currently on television are about people who live in the swamp. Except, these swamp dwellers are nothing like David Strathairn in Passion Fish. Uh-uh, these shows are mostly about morons (a.k.a. white supremacists without razors) who kill animals for fun.

Don't mind me, I'm just basking in the pompous afterglow of what I consider to be a pretty first-rate David Strathairn/Passion Fish reference.

Scooping snakes from the river like it was second nature, we're introduced to Desiree Thibodeau (Claudia Jennings) as she's collecting food for her brother and sister. Watching her are Deputy Billy Boy (Clyde Ventura) and Ben Bracken (Ben Sebastian), two yokels with shit for brains. I know, Billy Boy clearly says at one point, "We ain't stupid." But trust me, they're stupid.

After chasing Desiree through the swamp (using motorboats), Billy Boy and Ben corner her in a watery dead-end. As they're about to nab her (something about illegal pouching), she tosses her bag of snakes at them, causing Ben to jump in the drink and Billy Boy to pull out his revolver. Wildly shooting at the snakes, Billy Boy accidentally shoots Ben in the head as he was trying to climb back in the boat.

Instead of telling his father, Sheriff Joe Bob (Bill Thurman), the truth, he makes up this story that involves Desiree shooting Ben to death, not him.

While it was a cowardly thing for Billy Boy to do, I can see why he wouldn't want it to get out that he killed Ben, as his family are not the kind of people you want to piss off.

What the... Why can't I find the name of the actress who plays Laura Lee Bracken? Ahh! At any rate, we meet Laura Lee (and the rest of the Bracken family) as she hanging laundry in a clingy nightie (cling to those swamp-reared curves you slinky piece of store-bought lingerie, you).

Pete Bracken: "You sure look fine sliding around in that thing."

Laura Lee Bracken: "Feels good too."

Ooh-wee! I loved the way Pete says, "sliding around." His tone is so sleazy. I know, Pete and Laura Lee are brother and sister. But still, as far as incestuous relationships go, I dig their sick scene, man.

You know who doesn't dig it? Their father, T.J. Bracken (Sam Gilman), that's who. He shows his displeasure the only way he knows how, by whipping Pete real good. If you're expecting his brother Leroy (Douglas Dirkson), who's whittling nearby, to lend a helping hand, don't count on it, he literally doesn't have the balls.

Interrupting up this family squabble are Joe Bob and Billy Boy, who break the bad news to the Bracken's about Ben. Since Billy Boy didn't bother to bring Ben's body back, they all go looking for him in the swamp. When the finally do recover his body, their attention turns to Desiree, who is about to have three angry rednecks and two corrupt cops all over her ass; which, finally, has been sheathed in a skimpy pair of cut-off jean shorts.

It's true, twenty-two minutes might not seem like a long time to wait to see Claudia Jennings in cut-off jean shorts. But if you're brain is anything like mine, it will seem like an eternity.

Not around to protect her jail bait sister Julie (Janit Baldwin) and her mute brother Big T (Tracy Sebastian) from the Bracken Boys, Sheriff Sycophant and Deputy Dumbass, Desiree has left her family exposed. To be fair, she had no idea she was the one being blamed for Ben's death (she didn't even know he was dead), but leaving her siblings all alone was a fatal mistake.

Hunted like an animal, Desiree must use her swamp wits to survive, as she is being pursued by five of the most objectionable characters I've come across in a long time.

When using her acumen, shapely gams and tight midriff all fail to placate these assholes, Desiree employs the scumbag stopping power that only a fully-loaded shotgun can provide.

My only complaint about that manner in which Desiree takes care of these scumbags is that some of them get off too easy. Though, it's implied that one of them is left to be eaten by gators. Which, if I'm not mistaken, is an unpleasant way to go.

The first film in my self-proclaimed "Jean Short Trilogy,"'Gator Bait is an excellent showcase for Claudia Jennings to display not only her toothsome stems jutting out from a pair of cut-off jean shorts, but it also allows her to show off her various other talents. For example, whether climbing trees barefoot, driving motorboats at a high rate of speed, grabbing snakes out of the water with her bare-hands or talking with a Cajun accent, the fiery redhead manages to accomplish all of them with flying colours.

I've just been handed a note informing me that no one knows what I mean. Which is a shame, because what I mean has intrinsic value. If people can't see that, than it's their loss.

Lying naked in a coffin, Martin Bormann waits patiently for Eufaula Roop hop on top of his cock. That is, if she can drag herself away from playing Pong long enough.

In terms of lewd prose, I dug the sentence, "...ever girding her loins for low body blows... pubic to pubic."

"Garter belt's cute... it rhymes with root... Since you saw me in these here fishnet hose... I see how your affection grows." Is that great dialogue or what?

You probably wouldn't come to this conclusion by looking at it from a pedestrian point-of-view. However, if you were to say switch to a more cockeyed point-of-view, you would definitely agree with me when I say that John Waters' infamous Pink Flamingos is one of the sexiest movies of all-time. I know, how can a movie that features shit-eating, a chicken coop foursome, shrimping, singing assholes, blue-haired degenerates with pepperoni tied to their dicks and obese retarded women in playpens be considered one of the sexiest... Whoa! Would you listen to me, I'm starting to sound like a real square. Which is odd, because I'm the least square person I know. Sure, I don't drink, I don't do drugs, and I've never been to Flin Flon, but trust me, the thoughts rattling around in my head on a semi-regular basis are beyond debased. What I think I meant to say was: How can a movie that features shit-eating, a chicken coop foursome, shrimping, singing assholes, blue-haired degenerates with pepperoni tied to their dicks and obese retarded women in playpens not be considered one of the sexiest movie of all-time?

Oh, and when I say, "singing assholes," I'm not referring to, oh, let's say, the guy from Nickleback (I don't feel like looking up his name, but you know who I'm talking about - his first name is either Chad or Brad), I'm talking about an anus that sings... well, to be technical, it lip-synchs. Either way, Pink Flamingos is a non-stop cavalcade of crotch-based wetness from start to finish.

Think I'm joking? How else would you describe a movie that boasts Mink Stole in jet black pantyhose, Mary Vivian Pearce in jet black pantyhose and Cookie Mueller in, you guessed it, jet black pantyhose? What's that? I didn't hear you. Speak up. That's right, it's a non-stop cavalcade of crotch-based wetness from start to finish, and don't you forget it.

Since my raison d'être involves filling in holes that are gaping in nature, it only makes sense that I review Pink Flamingos. What I mean is, it's been bothering me for quite some time that there isn't a Pink Flamingos review on this site. It's not that I love the film (it's no Female Trouble... and it's no Desperate Living either), it's that the film features Mink Stole at her most churlishly gorgeous.

Yes, I realize Mink Stole is gorgeously churlish in everything she appears in. But in Pink Flamingos, she seems to be firing on all cylinders. It could be the bright red hair, it could be sparkly cat eye glasses, but there's something extra churlish, extra gorgeous about her as Connie Marble, The Filthiest Woman Alive.

Huh? You say, Divine, a.k.a. Babs Johnson (Divine) is the real "Filthiest Person Alive," and that Connie Marble and her wonderfully perverted husband, Raymond (David Lochary), are merely jealous posers who wouldn't know true filthiness if it bit them on their scab-laden taints.

If that's the case, I'm going to have to disagree with you. I mean, does Divine keep kidnapped hippie chicks locked in her cellar? Does she even have a cellar? Does Divine force their cross-dressing chauffeur to impregnate the cellar-dwelling hippie chicks and then sell the babies to lesbian couples? I didn't think so.

Actually, the more I think about it, the less filthy it sounds. Don't get me wrong, kidnapping and raping women (even if there are hippies) is not morally correct. But providing lesbian couples with low-cost babies is awesome.

Filthy or not, I'm still trying to figure out how Connie Marble, thrift store goddess of the wasteland, managed to be bested by such trailer trash.

On the surface, Divine/Babs Johnson, her trusted traveling companion, Cotton (Mary Vivian Pearce), her delinquent son, Crackers (Danny Mills), and her mentally-ill mother, Miss Edie (Edith Massey), looked like they would be no match for the filthiness Connie and Raymond Marble were putting out there. But it just goes to show that you should maybe think twice before mailing someone a bowel movement, as what they send back could be even worse.

As Crackers says, "No one sends you a turd and expects to live!"

While Miss Edie is waiting in her playpen for her beloved Eggman (Paul Swift) to deliver the eggs she craves, Connie is interviewing Sandy Sandstone (Nancy Crystal) for a job she has no intention of giving her. I know, what's the point of interviewing someone for a job if you have no intention of hiring them? Well, that's just the way Connie operates.

When Miss Sandstone realizes she isn't getting the job, she starts whining incessantly. This, as you might expect, does not sit well with Connie, who lashes out at Miss Sandstone with a series of cruel one-liners. My favourite, of course, being: "I guess there's just two kinds of people, Miss Sandstone: My kind of people, and assholes. It's rather obvious which category you fit into. Have a nice day."

Meanwhile, back at Babs' trailer (located in a wooded area on the outskirts of Phoenix, Maryland), Babs and Crackers are getting ready to go into town; the latter to pick up his date and the former is going to run some errands. And by "errands," I mean, shove a steak between her legs, take a piss in front of large house and strut down the street to Little Richard's "The Girl Can't Help It."

After successfully placing "Little Noodles" with a lesbian couple named Annette and Merle, Connie... Wait, I think I should mention that "Little Noodles" is the name of the baby one of the women locked in "The Pit" gave birth to. Like I said earlier, the Marbles run a baby ring out of their suburban home. They also own a couple of pornography shops and sell heroin to school children.

Anyway, after the baby is handed over to the dykes (don't worry about the baby's mother, she died during child birth), Connie starts to stress over the whereabouts of Raymond.

He's out doing what most people were doing back in the early 1970s, flashing his pepperoni-enhanced junk at leggy teenage girls in the park.

It turns out that Crackers' date is a spy working for the Marbles. Hired to get dirt on Divine, Cookie (Cookie Mueller) goes that extra mile to extract the information the Marbles will desperately need if they expect to claim the title of "The Filthiest People Alive." And if that means participating in a chicken coop foursome with Crackers and two live chickens while Cotton watches, than so be it.

Since "The Pit" must contain at least two women at all times, Connie and Raymond pluck a hitchhiker named Linda (Linda Olgeirson) off the street and dump her in "The Pit" with the alluringly foul-mouthed and very pregnant Suzie (Susan Walsh). When Suzie realizes Channing plans on inseminating Linda using a cum-filled syringe, she vomits. The cool thing about the vomit scene is it occurs just as Channing is about to ejaculate seminal fluid into his hand. Jizz and puke, together at last.

While jizz and puke are great and all, nothing comes close to topping the sight of Connie and Raymond sucking on one another's toes. Taking a break to bask in the information Cookie obtained for them, Connie (who is wearing nothing but a white pair of men's underpants) and Raymond (who is wearing nothing but ladies drawers) continue to suck each other's toes. But as they're doing so, they proclaim their love for one another using exaggerated language.

"Oh, I am yours, Connie, eternally united to you through an invisible cord of finely woven filth that even God himself could never, ever break." - Raymond Marble

I think most people will agree that the relationship that Connie and Raymond Marble have with one another is truly an inspiration to us all. I mean, their love is so fucking powerful. It's too bad their obsession with becoming "The Filthiest People Alive" clouded their ability to think straight.

Call me someone who isn't hooked up right, but the only parts of Pink Flamingos that grossed me out were the scenes that featured Edith Massey eating eggs. Seriously, someone get this woman a bib.

As for the other so-called gross scenes. I, say, what gross scenes? There's nothing gross about the sight of Mink Stole, Mary Vivian Pearce and Cookie Mueller lounging in jet black pantyhose. And the part where Raymond comes pepperoni-enhanced-cock-to-floppy-shemale-cock with a leggy transsexual woman (Elizabeth Coffey) in the park, well, that scene was simply delightful.

Maybe I've become jaded over the years, but I've come to view Pink Flamingos more as an erotic comedy than anything else. Sure, the uninitiated will still find material in it to be shocked by. But deep down, the film is an eerily accurate reflection of the times, the early 1970s. And it contains what I consider to be Mink Stole's best role to date. It should go without saying, but I love her more than my own shit.

Day of the Warrior (Andy Sidaris, 1996)

The Immoral Three (Doris Wishman, 1975)

Cabaret Sin (Philip O'Toole, 1987)

Return to Savage Beach (1998)

A Smell of Honey, a Swallow of Brine! (Byron Mabe, 1966)

Exorcism (Jess Franco, 1975)

Beneath the Valley of the Ultra-Vixens (Russ Meyer, 1979)

Father's Day (Astron-6, 2011)

The Taming of Rebecca (Phil Prince, 1982)

The Brick Dollhouse (Tony Martinez, 1967)

How to Seduce a Virgin (Jess Franco, 1974)

Nymphs (Anonymous) (Manuel Conde, 1968)

Femmes de Sade (Alex de Renzy, 1976)

Hobo with a Shotgun (Jason Eisener, 2011)

National Lampoon's Last Resort (Rafal Zielinski, 1994)

Secret Mistress (Lasse Braun, 1986)

Slashers (Maurice Devereaux, 2001)

Gator Bait (Beverly Sebastian, 1974)

Beneath the Valley of the Ultra-Vixens (Russ Meyer, 1979)

Pink Flamingos (John Waters, 1972)