House of Self-Indulgence

Eyebrows or hand jobs, those are the subjects, and this is the dilemma: Should I start off my review of Patrick, the tale of a wide-eyed comatose patient and his comely nurse, by talking about eyebrows or hand jobs? (Can't you find a way to talk about both?) I wish I could, but I think most of you will agree, it's a rather difficult task. (I see. Does your review of this particular movie have to begin with an essay on eyebrows or hand jobs? I mean, what about Susan Penhaligon's legs?) Legs, eh? What an interesting idea. No, no, no, it has to be either eyebrows or hand jobs. No legs, no talk of hemlines or pink panties. Eyebrows or hand jobs. Let's toss a coin. If it's heads, I'll talk about eyebrows. If it's tails, I'll talk about hand jobs. And it's in the air. Oops, it fell down the sewer. Let me try again. And... heads it is. You mean to tell me that there isn't a single pair of tweezers to be found at the hospital at the centre of this wacked out movie? What am I saying? Of course there are tweezers, it's a hospital. The more important question is: Why aren't any of the doctors and nurses bothering to pluck the titular character's eyebrows? (Maybe they thought it was too much work.) Too much work?!? I don't want to live in a world where proper eyebrow maintenance is frowned upon. To make matters even more infuriating, the nurses shave Patrick's beard everyday. (Did it ever occur to you that Patrick left implicit instructions in his living will that if he should ever fall into a catatonic state that his unibrow remain unmolested during the duration of his coma? In other words, no matter how busy things get up there, not a single eyebrow hair is to be forcibly ejected without his direct say so. And given that he hasn't spoken or moved in over three years, the chances of him doing so are pretty far-fetched.)

Maybe so, but has he experienced a hand job administered by a plucky brunette nurse? Meaning, all Patrick might need to do beat this coma thing is to feel the soothing tug that only a well-orchestrated hand job can provide. Oh, sure, Doctor Rogot (Robert Helpmann) will tell you that good old shock therapy is the cure for what ails you, but don't underestimate the healing power of a quick under the covers hand job.

(What makes you think the other members of the hospital staff haven't tried the hand job method?) Are you kidding? While I would jump at the chance to receive a hand job from the enchanting Matron Cassidy (Julia Blake), some people might not be all that receptive to her terse tugging technique. Okay, I can understand not wanting to be tugged by Matron Cassidy (on top of having a terse technique, her hands are a tad on the boney side), but what about all those other nurses? Well, it's clear, from where I was sitting, that it probably never crossed their minds to give Patrick (Robert Thompson) a hand job.

And judging by the way Matron Cassidy grills the nurse before she hires them, it's obvious that very few sexual deviants get past the interview stage; the litany of sexual perversions she will not tolerate is quite expansive.

How do you explain the fact that Kathy Jacquard (Susan Penhaligon) was able to pull one over on Matron Cassidy? Well, things like, necrophillia and zooiphilia are sexual perversions of the highest order. On the other hand, giving hand jobs to comatose tossers is a trifle compared to penetrating a sheep or blowing your dead grandpa.

(How did this Patrick fella end up in a coma in the first place?) Excellent question. Say you're a quiet bloke who likes to keep to himself. But one day, while trying to brood in your bedroom, the sound of your mother's headboard crashing against the wall from the room next-door is preventing you from brooding in the manner you're accustomed. To make matters worse, the reason the headboard is crashing against the wall is because your mother's boyfriend is purposely plowing his probably pedestrian penis into her pussy in order to achieve a piss poor response of a pituitary nature. You would go insane, too, if you had to listen to that for seconds on end.

Long story short, Patrick winds up at Roget Clinic, a private hospital run by Doctor Roget and Matron Cassidy. Moving into a new apartment, and ready to start fresh, Kathy Jacquard hopes to land a job at that very clinic. Wearing a dark skirt, strappy heels and a cream-coloured blouse, Mrs. Jacquard is set to be interviewed. Like I said earlier, Mrs. Jacquard is grilled by Matron Cassidy about her perversions. Designed to weed out certain "types," the reason Matron Cassidy questions her this way is because she doesn't want lesbians, nymphomaniacs, or so-called "enema specialists" working at her clinic.

While I didn't catch all names of the "types," it's clear to me that the scene where Matron Cassidy lists these "types" is all the evidence I need to convince me that Julia Blake is an amazing actress. Seriously, the way she commands the screen right from the get-go is quite impressive.

At any rate, just as it looked like Matron Cassidy was about to reject Kathy, Doctor Roget shows up and hires her on the spot. However, in order to keep the new nurse on her toes, Matron Cassidy reminds Kathy that while Doctor Roget has the authority to hire anyone he sees fit, she can fire her ass whenever she wants.

As expected, or else there wouldn't be a movie, Kathy is put in charge of taking care Patrick in room 15 between the hours of noon and 9pm for very little money. On top of making sure his eyeballs are kept moist (Patrick never closes his eyes), Kathy must avoid his spit (Patrick has a habit of spitting on people), and, of course, prevent troublemakers from tampering with his unibrow. Just kidding about that last one. Though, not really, as no one actually does tamper with his unibrow over the course of the film.

Sharing her duties with Sister Williams (Helen Hemingway) and Nurse Panicale (María Mercedes), Nurse Jacquard slowly develops a relationship with Patrick. (How does one develop a relationship with a comatose slab of overly-eyebrowed man-meat?) Easy, really. While Patrick's primary senses are pretty much useless, he has managed to strengthen his sixth sense over the years.

Communicating via this "tugh" sound (one tugh means yes, two tughs means no), Nurse Jacquard and Patrick are getting to know one another. Of course, when Nurse Jacquard tries to show Matron Cassidy that she and her patient are basically chatting, Patrick goes back to being a vegetable. When saying tugh is simply not enough, Patrick starts to communicate by using a nearby typewriter.

Able to keep tabs on her wherever she goes, Patrick becomes jealous of Nurse Jacquard's relationship with her sort of ex-husband Ed (Rob Mullinar), they're separated, and, not to mention, her fling with Brian (Bruce Barry) a brash neurosurgeon. This jealously leads to some mild violence. (Mild violence?) Well, Brian nearly drowns at his own pool party and Ed burns his hands on a pot containing tuna casserole. You see, mild.

If you thought Julia Blake was amazing in the job interview scene, wait until you see the monologue she performs while giving Nurse Jacquard a second chance (she caught her giving Patrick a hand job - luckily for her, the hand job was still in the exploratory stages). The subject of the monologue has to do with euthanasia, death, and fear, and Julia Blake pretty much kills it in this scene. ("Kills it"?) Okay, she nails it.

I'll admit, watching acting that isn't terrible is not something I'm used to. That being said, Julia Blake also manages to wow the audience from a visual point-of-view as well. I mean, just look at her. No doubt channeling Sara Kestelman from Zardoz, Julia Blake imbues her performance with just the right amount of sternness. Yet, at the same time, she gives Matron Cassidy a decidedly salacious flavour; you just know that Matron Cassidy is into BDSM on weekends.

Providing the film with its only nylon moment, Julia Blake, wearing her funky nun-style nurse hat, her blue nurses uniform and a red wrap thingie, takes off her white nurse shoes and proceeds to sneak around the clinic in her stocking feet. And for that, I, and the rest of pervert community, salute you, Julia Blake.

While not actually scary or suspenseful in the classic sense, Patrick manages to get by on the creepy factor alone, as there's definitely something creepy about the way Robert Thompson's Patrick just lies there staring into space. And since the film's main antagonist doesn't really go anywhere, that means there's no need for elaborate stalking sequences that involve complicated camera angles. So, let that be a lesson to all you young filmmakers out there: Save money by making the killer in your horror movie an invalid. It's entirely up to you if you cast an actor with a robust unibrow.

While it's nowhere near as titillating as the tragically non-existent "Owner of a Lonely Heart" porn parody, "Boner in a Lonely Tart" (dig the scene where an out of work sex slave is forced to perform dollar store quality cunnilingus on a painfully shy librarian while an omnipotent fiend in an orange turtleneck sweater watches from afar), the infamous Driller, a loose assemblage of ideas slapped together in a veiled attempt to lampoon a popular music video, is here to prove that not all porn parodies are lame (get this, word on the street is the female performers in the That '70s Show porn parody are clean shaven and have tramp stamps). Featuring semi-elaborate dance numbers, disgraced ex-U.S. Presidents, zombie brides, unorganized orgies, jizz-tinted glasses, iridescent dildos and lesbian ghouls, writer-director Joyce James (Desperately Sleazy Susan) and writer-producer Timothy Green Beckley have taken on one humdinger task, and that is, recreate the makeup effects, the choreography, the manic energy, and, of course, the music that made the John Landis-directed video a classic. Just think, if only they had waited a year or two, they could have done a porn parody of the unfussy music video for The Replacements'"Bastards of Young" instead. Unfortunately, a black and white video consisting mostly of an unbroken shot of a thumping stereo speaker is not the music video they're parodying. No, the music video they're parodying is not only of one of the most iconic music videos ever made, it's also one of the most expensive.

The question on everyone's mind is: How does one go about making a successful spoof based on a music video that sports racially evolving werewolves and dancing zombies, while at the same time, providing the raincoat crowd (the film's initial target audience) with the graphic insertion shots they so wantonly crave? Well, for starters, you'll need Taija Rae (She's So Fine!) to lie on a bed with her shapely gams in the air. And judging by the sight of her wonderfully pale stems glistening in the fake moonlight, they've got that angle pretty much covered.

Okay, what you need to do next is have an immodest werewolf in a red leather jacket stand over her playing with his gigantic, drill-inspired cock. And, whaddya know, they've got that angle covered as well. It looks like the producers of this ambitious project have done at least two things right. Let's delve deeper into the sleazy world of Driller, shall we?

The film opens with the sound of a crowd cheering enthusiastically for a one-gloved pop singer named "Driller" (Mr. J). Standing on stage while striking a new wave-friendly pose, Driller simply stands there as one woman in the audience removes her top, while others wave sparklers. All of a sudden, a beat starts up, and Driller starts to sway his hips. My first thought was: Oh-oh, he's about to sing. I won't lie, I felt a profound sense of trepidation in regard to the film's music. I mean, we're talking about a porn parody musical shot in Queens, New York on a shoestring budget, not West Side Story. Luckily, we're spared from hearing Driller's music for the time being, as the scene fades out just as he was about to get funky.

After we listen to a slew of comments, some positive, some negative, from various audience members as they mill about outside the theatre, we're introduced to Louise (Taija Rae) and Dan (Dick Howard), a square couple out on a date. Determined to stick his erect penis into her hopefully moist vagina, Dan stops acting jealous over Loiuse's love for Driller, and starts whining incessantly. His strategy is to moan and bellyache his way inside her lofty box, and, low and behold, it worked.

"Is your lube tube on the fritz?" asks Dan, the moment he starts pawing at, what he perceives to be, Louise's unresponsive crotch on her parents' reddish couch.

Normally, a line like that would get you tossed on your ass, but Dan's resolve is so fervent, that she buckles under the sheer weight of his pestering.

Dressed in white stockings, white-rimmed glasses and wearing a cheeky white bow in her hair, Louise stops steeping her tea bag, lays back on the couch and reluctantly allows Dan's penis to penetrate the pristine confines of her pussy-based passageway. What's fascinating about this scene. Okay, maybe "fascinating" is pushing it. What's mildly interesting (yeah, that's a little better) about this scene is that Louise wants nothing to do with the deformity sort of dangling between his legs (and the fact that Dan makes an allusion to Rockwell's paranoid classic, "Somebody's Watching Me").

You see, in most movies like this, this female participant is usually overly eager rent out their spacious holes to almost anyone. Sure, a lot of them pretend to be uncertain at first, but they all seem to gradually give in to the power of cock.

Well, not Louise, her annoyance is prominent from start ("Hurry up, Dan!") to finish ("You're hitting my bladder!"). Hell, she even employs a double-handed jizz block when he attempts unload his pathetic wad in her face (just for the record, I would never let a man cum in my face - the key word their being "face").

After Dan leaves, Louise goes to bed (the walls of her room are covered with Driller posters). Falling asleep with the aide of a cheesy horror movie, Louise is shocked to find her bedroom full of dancing zombies (they entered by crashing through her wall). Luckily for the zombies, Louise's bedroom is large enough to accommodate their specific needs (dancing zombies require a ton of space).

Wearing tattered clothing, the dancing zombies dance in unison while they await the arrival of their master. Who could their master be? Why it's Driller! Looking a tad more demonic than he did at the concert, and now sporting a red leather jacket, Driller performs a song called "Driller," which is kinda catchy. In other words, it wasn't as awful as I thought it would be. Accompanied by his backup singers (their red pantyhose accentuated by dresses that looked like ripped up garbage bags), Driller moonwalks up a storm as Louise's watches from the relative safety of her bed.

We soon find out why Driller is called "Driller" the moment he pulls out this giant drill-like penis (it whirls when provoked). On top of having a sentient life form masquerading as a petrified johnson, Driller is also a werewolf. After he's done transforming (the werewolf makeup, like the music, wasn't as awful as I thought it would be), wolfman Driller makes himself at home between Louise's milky thighs. Bragging as he thrusts that "John Holmes ain't got nothing on me," Driller eventually spews this tar-like substance all over her stomach.

Technically, the movie should be over at this point–after all, the music video they're parodying is only fifteen minutes long. But it's not over, not by a long shot. A nightie-wearing Louise somehow finds herself in an old, spooky-looking castle.

How do we know she's in a castle? The producers of Driller put a picture of a castle on the screen (one complete with lightning animation and the sound of howling wolves). It's a called an "establishing shot" (earlier in the film, a picture of a suburban house is used to represent the home where Louise lives), and they help create a broader sense of the world. At this point, the film starts to resemble films like, Nightdreams, Visions, and The Devil in Miss Jones 3, in that, they boast confused protagonists who wander through a bizarre netherworld replete with unconventional debasement and dim lighting.

Forced to watch two leather-clad dandies defile a virgin (Cassandra Leigh) on a slab, a pair of gold-painted "ladies" probe one another with a glow-in-the-dark dildo, and, my personal favourite, a thick-thighed beauty named Esméralda rubs her clit in black fishnet stockings (a Quasimodo-esque figure shouts words of encouragement at her while she rubs it), Louise patiently waits until they've all finished before moving on to the next sexual event.

Discerning perverts the world over worship at the alter that is Taija Rae (her pre-1987 juicy mounds of soft, authentic flesh never fail to drive heterosexual men wild with desire), and in Driller her juicy mounds are, unfortunately, relegated to the backseat of this unsavoury car after she's violated by the pop star/werewolf.

Reduced to being a spectator, Taija, after she's groped by a couple of female ghouls, spends the majority of the movie crouched in a corner watching an orgy (an orgy participant who looked like Richard Nixon says, "they don't call me Tricky Dick for nothing," before penetrating his partner) and smoke-laden dance routines (in order to maintain its connection to Thriller, a scantily clad Driller shows up periodically to dance in a series of Estuardo Miguel choreographed dance numbers).

After the "skeleton groom" (Ron Retta) has finished making a mess all over the wonderfully ample backside of the "skeleton bride" (Renee Summers), it's finally Louise's turn to get a right and proper dicking. And faster than you can say, "it's zombie night, it'll be all right," Taija Rae finds her body being prodded at from all sides. As far as foursomes go, it's pretty ho-hum (I can't believe I just called a foursome "ho-hum"). But I did like the fact that it appeared as though Taija did not want to kiss the guy in the studded collar. Despite his best efforts, Taija would not lock mouths with this guy, and I say, good for her.

Quirky fun-fact: An excerpt of "Owner of a Lonely Heart" is featured on Michael Jackson's "DS" from his 1995 album, HIStory.

There's always time to punch the chipmunk. But say you didn't feel like pawing at your own genitals (masturbatory malaise is more widespread than you think), would you except the severed hand a deranged serial killer gave to you to alleviate your auto-erotic distress? Take note, the deranged serial killer cut the hand off solely for the benefit of your aching clitoris. In other words, they saw that you were struggling to come to terms with the fact there were no more sentient cocks left to bounce on top of amidst your peer group, so, excuse the pun, he lent you a hand. Why am I telling you about this disturbing case of severed hand generosity? It's simple, really. It's one of the scenes that stood out for me in Entrails of a Virgin (処女のはらわた), a refreshingly pornographic slasher film (or "splatter-eros film") written and directed by Kazuo Komizu, a.k.a. "Gaira." And by bringing up the severed hand masturbation scene right out of the gate, I have dutifully informed the general populace that this film is not for those who are easily offended. Now that I have done that, I can continue typing words–words that are hopefully relevant to this movie–without having to worry about the upsetting the feelings of the overly sensitive and the uniformly lame. (In your rush to steer the less cool away from your review of this "film," you neglected to mention the fact that the woman who uses a severed hand to achieve a well-earned climax was only wearing one black stocking.) Damn, I must be slipping.

I'll get to the one black stocking in a second, or, I should say, I'll get to the multiple instances where women appear onscreen while wearing one black stocking in a second.

The other point I would like to make regarding this film's many quirks involves proper thrusting etiquette. Meaning, what kind of calamity has to occur to cause a man to cease hurling his pelvic region in the vaginal direction of his female or male sex partner? (Um, if a man is hurling the fleshy contents attached to his pelvic region towards his male sex partner, shouldn't the direction be classified as rectal?) Yes. Yes, it should. But I don't really want to go back and add rectal to the mix. Besides, I've already come too far.

Anyway, it's a question I often ask myself. Say you're plowing into some whore with your penis in a cheap motel, when, all of a sudden, a nuclear bomb goes off in the distance. In the corner of your eye you can see a mushroom cloud starting to form in the sky. Do you: A) Continue humping until your reach orgasm? or B) Stop humping immediately and help the whore to safety? (How 'bout C?) What's C? (You know, do both. Ejaculate sperm and then help the whore to safety?) Yeah. I don't think so. You need to pick one or the other. (Aw, man, this is worse than Sophie's Choice.)

Fuck proper thrusting etiquette, this movie starts off with an outdoor fashion photo shoot. And you know what that means? (Models posing for photographs?) Well, yeah. But it also means fingerless gloves, stockings (or should I say, stocking), tightly bound crotches and naked writhing.

Since almost everyone who appears in this film is currently onscreen, I might as well introduce them. You see the guy barking orders and snapping pics of the models? That's Asaoka (Daiki Katô), he's a bit of a jerk. The fella standing next to him is Tachikawa (Hideki Takahashi), Asaoka's assistant. And the man lurking off in the distance is Itomura (Osamu Tsuruoka), the best way to describe him is "creepy scumbag."

The stressed out looking woman applying makeup to the models is Kazuyo (Naomi Hagio). The model with the short hair wearing one fishnet stocking and posing on the bicycle is Rei (Saeko Kizuki) and the model with long hair posing underneath that fake rainbow prop in the animal print dress is Kei (Megumi Kawashima).

Interspersed between the shots pertaining to the fashion shoot are these flashbacks to when Asaoka and Rei had sex (their genitals are blurred for our protection). It would seem that if one wants to work with Asaoka, you're going to have to have sex with him. The same goes for Itomura. And today he's got his eye on Rei.

I did a search for "Entrails of a Virgin" and "Budweiser," and came up with nothing. Nevertheless, I could have sworn I saw Asaoka and the models drinking Buds in the back of their van. At any rate, getting lost in the fog, the group decide to spend the night in an abandoned house that looks like it's being renovated.

Am I crazy, or is this film starting to resemble your typical slasher film? You know, the kind parodied in There's Nothing Out There? Let me see: 80's synth music? Check. A thick, ominous layer of fog? Check-a-rooni (by the way, you're technically not supposed to add "a-rooni" or any other flourishes for that matter to the word "check" when checking the second item... no, the fourth or fifth would be a more appropriate time to employ "a-rooni"). An abandoned house in the middle of nowhere? Checkmate, motherfucker.

A smallish group of annoying/attractive characters? Check the record. Check the guys track record.

Yeah, but, do any of these so-called typical slasher films feature a scene where a meek photographer's assistant demonstrates his wrestling moves on a stressed out makeup artist wearing black stockings and a garter belt for the amusement of his co-workers? Actually, they might. I'm not sure. Either way, there's one thing Entrails of a Virgin has that its slasher brethren severely lack. And that is, cunnilingus.

Don't believe me? Keep an eye on Itomura's face after he finishes engaging in a raucous bout of a stand-up 69 with Kei, as he is clearly removing an unorganized wad of jet black pubic hair from his teeth. (Wait, I thought Itomura wanted to have sex with Rei?) He did, but he and Asaoka decided to switch at the last minute.

Oh, and don't think Kei is off the hook when it came to removing wads of stuff from her mouth, as she deposits a modest dollop of the mucus-like substance that used to course through the nooks and crannies of his ball sack all over the nice hardwood floors with a resounding blegh.

As far as things being extracted from male and female genitals, the aftermath of the Itomura and Rei's stand up 69 session is pretty great. However, in terms of great in a not-so gross kind of way, I would say the wonderfully gratuitous shots of Kazuyo's lingerie framed crotch were absolute favourite moment in this film. Forced to allow Takahashi to demonstrate his wrestling moves on her, Kazuyo gets a back flip, a pile driver, the back breaker and many other famous wrestling moves performed on her; all the while wearing a black stockings and a garter belt.

After pissing herself (strangely, Kazuyo is wearing her panties over the top of her garter belt - panties, urine-soaked or not, usually go underneath the suspenders attached to your garter belt), Kazuyo passes out. This is when the rest of the group have sex with one another and are confronted by a killer covered in mud. Since he has no one to have sex with, Takahashi is the first to be confronted.

The film really starts to get going when Kazuyo eventually wakes up (since Kazuyo's the only character currently wearing lingerie to my liking, I've slowly gravitated towards her). I don't know what happened to her, but she seems to have lost her mind. Craving cock, the still lingerie clad Kazuyo wanders around desperately looking for something to fuck.

Coming across nothing but limp body parts in her search, Kazuyo goes back inside to masturbate with only one stocking on; I think it was on her left leg. (Is this when the killer cuts off an arm and gives to Kazuyo to masturbate with?) Yep. I'll admit, watching a woman writhing on the bathroom floor in only one stocking trying to achieve an orgasm with a severed arm isn't something you see everyday. And that, in a nutshell, is the main reason to seek out this film, as it blends horror and sex rather effectively in places. Since I couldn't find a clip from this film to my liking on YouTube, here's the awesome music video for "Vanity Angel" by Rebecca...

Her name is different, yet she's still blind?!? I'm confused. I mean, am I supposed to believe that Melvin, a.k.a. The Toxic Avenger, or just plain Toxie, the first hideously deformed monster hero of superhuman size and strength to come from New Jersey, dumped one leggy blonde blind chick for another leggy blonde blind chick? 'Cause if that's what you're saying, I'm going to have a difficult time suspending belief while I watch The Toxic Avenger Part II, the wonderfully inevitable follow up to the first The Toxic Avenger. Seriously, where's Sara? And don't tell me Sara dumped Melvin, as there's no way she would do that. I don't have to tell you, but what Sara and Melvin had together was beyond special. (All right, before you head down to Troma headquarters with your "We Want Andree Maranda" and "Bring Back Sara" signs, I think I should tell you that Phoebe Legere plays Melvin's new girlfriend.) Is that supposed to mean something to me? We're not talking about replacing any old actress up in this here putrid toxic waste dump, we're talking about Andree Maranda, the actress voted Miss Jerky Head Movement Queen, 1983. (I don't know, "Jerky Head Movement Queen"? That sounds made-up.) You wanna know why it sounds "made-up"? Because I totally just made it up. I make things up, it's what I do (by the way, it's Miss Jerky Head Movement Queen, respect the crown, asswipe). However, unlike other people who make things up, when I make something up, it motivates those very same "other people" to achieve great things.

Now, where was I? Ah, yes. How can you replace Andree Maranda? (Well, hiring another actress is a start.) Very funny. Her jerky head movements were sublime, and the way her eyes bounced around in their sockets was truly inspirational. How do you replace that? (Well, I have two words for you: "Phoebe" and "Legere"?) Again, is that name supposed to mean something to me?

(Remember that kooky blonde in the black fishnet stockings in Mondo New York?) Oh, boy. How could I forget her. She was amazing. (Yeah, well, she's Melvin's new leggy blonde blind girlfriend. And get this, she lounges around Melvin's apartment in white lingerie for most of the movie.)

(Hello? Shouldn't you being picking your tongue off the floor right about now?) Well, you kind of expect Phoebe Legere to wear skimpy lingerie like they were regular clothes, it's a part of her schtick, so my tongue is currently where it usually is, in my mouth.

What I would really like to know is, how does her head move? (You mean does she jerk her head in a manner that was both decidedly off-kilter yet frightfully precise at time? Not only does she manage to capture the essence of Andree Maranda's award-wining jerky head movements, she adds some subtle touches of her own. Mainly, she adds body twitching and spastic convulsions to the mix.)

Body twitching and spastic convulsions?!? Have I died and gone to heaven? The only reason I ask is because jerky head movements combined with body twitching and spastic convulsions are what I live for. It's not even close to being sad, and it's 100% true.

Never quite sure which direction she was going to hurl herself next, I watched Phoebe with a sense of awe, wonder and concern. (I can understand the sense of awe and wonder, but why the concern?) It's simply, really, Phoebe Legere is so committed to acting twitchy and spastic in this film, that I thought she might hurt herself or someone around her.

Seriously, look at those legs! One errant kick to the face from one of her super-long, super-shapely appendages will guarantee an extended stay in the nearest hospital.

Anyway, after stamping out every single last trace of evil and corruption in Tromaville, Toxie (Ron Fazio/John Altamura) is basically left with no heads to crush. Oh, sure, seeing a Freudian psychiatrist and volunteering at the Tromaville Center for the Blind keeps him busy. But as we all know, Toxie excels at ripping the arms off evildoers, not helping old ladies cross the street.

With no criminals to destroy, what's a hideously deformed monster hero of superhuman size and strength to do? Don't worry, the Chairman of Apocalypse Inc. (Rick Collins) and his sultry sidekick Malfaire (Lisa Gaye) are here to fill the villain void. (I hope Toxie's happy, because a shitload of blind people had to die in order for him to get his purpose in life back.) Yeah, I guess that was rather unfortunate. On the bright side, Claire (Phoebe Legere), Toxie's gorgeous, prone to gesticulating girlfriend, didn't die in the explosion that leveled the Tomaville Center for the Blind.

When the Chairman of Apocalypse Inc. and Malfaire discover Toxie wasn't killed in the blast, they sick about a dozen or so henchmen on his charred tutu-wearing ass.

If you like gruesome kills and excessive gore you'll love the next scene; an extended fight sequence where Toxie battles a bunch of Apocalypse Inc. goons outside the ruins of the Tromaville Center for the Blind. However, if you're like me, and you would rather watch Phoebe Legere cower while in the crouched position, you'll be rewarded with a few shots of Phoebe cowering while crouching. But not enough to fully satisfy all your Phoebe Legere crouching while cowering needs. (Wait, I thought it was, "cowering while crouching," not "crouching while cowering"?) Either way, turning dwarves into basketballs supersedes anything that involves cowering or crouching or crouching or cowering over the next ten or so minutes.

After losing a ton of henchmen (their bodies ripped to shreds by Toxie), the not-so fine folks who run Apocalypse Inc. assemble to discuss their Toxie problem. You see, they're an evil corporation who want to take over Tromaville, yet they can't because, you guessed it, The Toxic Avenger won't let them. And since Lisa Gaye (her thighs, and I suppose the rest of her legs, smothered in jet black nylons) is the only actress in this film with the verbal fortitude to vomit out such an exceedingly large chunk of exposition with anything close to resembling verve, she delivers a lengthy monologue that explains the goals that Apocalypse Inc. hope to achieve over the course of this sequel.

If you listen to Malfaire's monologue, and why wouldn't you, she's only one talking when she delivers it, you will hear her describe Claire's legs as "long." I have no real point to make, I just wanted to make it known that I'm not the only one who noticed that Claire's legs are longer than usual.

On top of waxing poetically about the length of the legs attached to his girlfriend's torso, Malfaire lays out her plan to neutralize Toxie's "tromatons," the chemicals that cause Toxie to instinctively want to destroy evil. The plan involves getting Toxie to go Japan, where an anti-tromaton spray is being produced. (Couldn't they just bring the anti-tromaton spray to Tromaville?) Nah, it's too volatile. (All right. How are they going to get Toxie to travel all the way to Japan?) It's simple, really. Tell Toxie, via his shrink (who has long since sold out to Apocalypse Inc.), that his long lost father lives in Japan. Oh, and make sure to feed him some warmed-over gobbledygook about how he needs to reconcile with his father in order to attain spiritual harmony.

With Toxie busy windsurfing to Japan to find his father, Apocalypse Inc. take advantage of his absence to remake Tromaville in their own corporate image and crush all those who stand in their way.

(Did Toxie at least give Claire's aching pussy a good going away pounding with his radioactive penis before he left?) You bet he did. And not only that, Toxie and Claire had a going away picnic as well. (A going away radioactive penis pounding and a going away picnic? Is Toxie the best boyfriend or what?)

Well, Claire ain't no slouch, either. I mean, she serves up Chicken à la Clorox in white stockings for her deformed man like a pro.

Searching the Tokyo streets, with a little help from the adorable Masami (Mayako Katsugari), Toxie immerses himself in Japanese culture. In fact, he met Masami at a Taiyaki stand. He rescues her from a trio of reprobates, one has their nose turned into a Taiyaki-shaped monstrosity, another is tuned into a noodle dish in an overheated hot tub, and a demented/leggy Yôko Ohshima is transformed into a radio transmitter. More bizarre deaths occur as Toxie and Masami track down his father to a large fish market.

Anyone else notice the similarities between Masami's light blue two-piece number and the light blue two-piece Diana Barrows wears in Friday the 13th Part VII: The New Blood? No? It was just me, eh? Okay.

Meanwhile, in Tromaville, the Chairman of Apocalypse Inc. has a brief exchange with a homeless Tromavillian in the park. After being asked if he can spare any change, the Chairman tells her: "'Neither a borrower nor a lender be,' William Shakespeare." To which the homeless woman responds: "'Fuck you,' David Mamet." Classic.

In what could have been the film's greatest scene, but doesn't quite get there, Claire does battle with Malfaire in the cramped quarters of her shack. Wearing her trademark white stockings and playing the accordion when she arrives, Malfaire attempts to violate the leggy beauty with her probing hands. Egged on by smattering of "Bad Girls," including Helen Wheels, there's so much nylon and spandex in this scene, it will make your genitals spin. Ending with a sharp knee to the cunt, the "cat fight" scene is painfully short. Whereas the chase between Toxie and "The Dark Rider" seems to drag on forever.

Judging by the words I just typed, it would seem that The Toxic Avenger Part II was a mild success. And speaking of things that would seem, it would seem that my initial concerns regarding the whole Sara-Claire situation were completely unfounded. Kudos to Phoebe Legere for doing the impossible, making me briefly forget about Andree Maranda. And kudos to Lloyd Kaufamn for casting her. I would love to lavish more praise on Phoebe Legere, but it says here she's in The Toxic Avenger Part III. In other words, I don't want to use up all my Phoebe praise all in one go. How many of you want to bet that I use the word "leggy" more than once to describe Phoebe in part three?

Am I crazy or are the first fifteen minutes of The Toxic Avenger the greatest fifteen minutes ever to be captured on film? What's that? Oh, I am crazy. Whew, that's a relief. For a second there, I thought I had just witnessed something truly spectacular. Hold on, it's coming back to me. Let me set the scene. A fitness club in New Jersey, scratch that, a health club in new Jersey (watching a film a second time really helps when it comes to remembering minor details). A virtual cornucopia of tight bodies poured into leotards thrusting and heaving to the song "Body Talk" by Sandy Farina. If you head down to the pool area of said health club, you'll see hot chicks in bikinis for as far as the eye can see. Don't look now, but a toothy blonde is soaking her already moist vagina in a swimming pool adjacent hot tub. A leggy brunette in a shirt-dress with the word "Whaaam!" written on it in a comic book-friendly font (I think the word "wham" may have only contained two a's, but I decided to add an extra one for dramatic effect) is sauntering through the locker room with a leggy aplomb. Did I mention there are headbands-a-plenty? No? Well, it looks like I just did. Watch, as a toothy blonde in Pony International apparel takes a break from playing racquetball to plan and conceive the event that will change Tromaville forever with her scumbag friends. (Whoa, "scumbag"?!? How do you know they're scumbags? The film is, like you said, still in its infancy as far as running time goes.) Trust me, they're scumbags. Actually, it's all about perspective. If you think purposefully running over little kids with your car is behaviour worthy of the scumbag moniker, than you might want to call them that. If, however, you don't think it's worthy, you might think I was a tad hasty in my harsh judgment of them.

It would seem that I got sidetracked from my original point with this whole: "Are the toothy blonde and her friends scumbags or not"? debate. And that was, am I crazy? (If you don't mind, I think I'm most qualified person to judge whether or not you're crazy. Looking over the scene you just set, particularly the part about the tight bodies poured into leotards, I think I can safely declare that you are definitely not crazy. In fact, anyone who doesn't think the opening chunk of super-terrific awesome that is the first fifteen minutes of The Toxic Avenger aren't the greatest fifteen minutes ever to be captured on film are the one's who are crazy.)

What's great about the opening fifteen minutes is that my favourite character doesn't even appear during them. In other words, things don't just suddenly stop being super-terrific awesome once we hit the fifteen minute mark. Uh-uh, man. If anything, they get more super-terrific awesome. Sure, some of the fight scenes have a tendency to drag things to a screeching halt, but everything else was pure radioactive joy.

Oh, and I feel like I should warn some of you that when I say, "tight bodies poured into leotards," I'm not just talking about women. That's right, some of the guys at this particular health club like to sport leotards as well.

(Don't tell me, your favourite character is the prostitute who appears briefly during the scene that is supposed to signify that the jails are becoming overcrowded thanks to "The Toxic Avenger"?) While I dug her commitment to the colours orange and black (her skirt, purse, heels, and belt are orange, while her top and nylons are black), she's not my favourite.

Since anyone whose seen this film already knows who my favourite character is, I'll sheepishly move on to the part of the film that is basically your classic origin story (don't worry, I'll reveal their identity to the rest of you in a minute). Similar to the one's you see in almost every superhero movie, the origins of "The Toxic Avenger" lie within the barrels of toxic waste that, according to this film, litter the radioactive landscape that is mid-1980s Tromaville, New Jersey: The Toxic Waste Capital of the World.

A dorky mop boy named Melvin (Mark Torgl), who works at the Tromaville Health Club, is being tormented by a group of hit and run enthusiasts (they run people over with their car for kicks). One day, while enjoying a soak in the club's hot tub, the body conscious Bozo (Gary Schneider), the church-going Slug (Robert Prichard), the leggy Wanda (Jennifer Prichard, a.k.a. Jennifer Baptist), and Julie (Cindy Manion), the aforementioned toothy blonde, suddenly grow tired of Melvin's existence. (Excuse me?) They hate Melvin with a fiery passion; one of them even has the nerve to criticize his moping technique; which, even I'll admit, is pretty piss poor as far as moping techniques goes.

On this particular day, they simply push Melvin around a bit. Later that night, we see with our own eyes how enthusiastic Bozo, Slug, Wanda and Julie are about hit and runs, as they crush the skull of a little boy with their car. If that wasn't gruesome enough, Julie and Wanda take Polaroids of the grisly aftermath. Even though I love watching Julie prance about in blue shorts, I have to say, her behaviour in this scene is kinda messed up. But then again, in a later scene, Wanda can be seen masturbating in the sauna to the photos of dead children. In other words, at least Julie is not as sick as Wanda is. Either way, they're both leggy as fuck and they're both terrible human beings. However, like I implied earlier, it's Julie who gets the idea to humiliate Melvin by having him wear a pink tutu; Julie somehow manages to convince Melvin that she digs guys in pink tutus. (What are you talking about, "somehow"? Look at Julie's body. She can make any guy, mop boy or not, do anything her heart desires.)

I don't know why, but Julie wears four different outfits over the course of the next sequence.

The first is the blue Pony shirt she wears while playing racquetball (she comes up with the plan to humiliate Melvin while in this ensemble).

The second is light blue one-piece bathing suit (she wears this to seduce Melvin by the pool). The third is a blue leotard with magenta tights (she wears this get-up when she tells her friends the plan is in motion). And the fourth is a skimpy pink bikini (she asks Melvin to put on a pink tutu and to meet her by the pool - the club has long since closed for the day).

Now, did Julie's scheme involve Melvin falling headfirst into a barrel of toxic waste on the back of a truck that just happened to be parked outside the health club? That's a subject for film scholars and hardcore Troma-philes to debate. All I know is that Melvin will never be the same again. Reborn as a large, musclebound freak covered in deformities, Melvin (now played by Mitch Cohen) is shunned by society.

Rescuing Officer O'Clancy (Dick Martinsen), Tromaville's only non-corrupt cop, from a trio of thugs who were about kill his ass in an alleyway, this new version of Melvin can't help but destroy people who are evil. Whereas most superheroes choose to fight the forces of darkness using their own freewill, Melvin's desire to vanquish the wicked and punish the immoral seems innate.

When word gets out that there's a crime-busting monster roaming the streets of Tromaville, the mayor, Peter Belgoody (Pat Ryan, Street Trash), goes into panic mode. (Wait, shouldn't the mayor be happy that someone has finally decided to clean up his town?) You're joking, right? The mayor has his hand in most if not all the illegal rackets in Tromaville; drugs, violent crime, prostitution, toxic waste, you name it, he profits from it.

Does he profit when a trio of thugs (a different trio of thugs than the trio of thugs that Melvin confronts in the alleyway- in Tromaville, crime comes in threes) decide to hold up a Mexican restaurant? You bet he does. The more important question you should be asking is... (Who holds up a Mexican restaurant?) No, not that. Though, it does make one doubt the collective brain power of the Tromaville's criminal underclass. (Who's that vision of loveliness eating a taco with Cary, her service dog?) Why that's Sara (Andree Maranda), the most attractive woman in all of Tromaville.

(Am I crazy or are the women who appear in Troma movies more attractive than the women who appear in non-Troma movies?) You're not crazy. In fact, you're absolutely right. Whether it be Janelle Brady and Théo Cohan in Class of Nuke 'Em High or Jane Jensen in Tromeo and Juliet, the Troma woman is always interesting to look at. And as everyone knows, being interesting to look at is the reason cinema exists in the first place. I mean, you wouldn't want to watch a film where the people in them weren't interesting to look at, now would you? Of course you wouldn't.

While a lot of time and effort seems to go into making these movies as disgusting as humanly possible, I think Troma's talent when it comes to casting female characters is second to none.

Anyway, getting back to Andree Maranda as Sara, the leggy woman who Melvin saves from Frank, Leroy and Rico, the Mexican restaurant bandits. Just as Frank (Larry Sulton) pulls up Sara's pink skirt and says, "I'm about to cornhole me a blind bitch," Melvin makes his presence felt. And in doing so, prevents Sara's cornhole from being violated. In case you're not good at putting four and six together, Sara is blind.

If you don't become obsessed with the way Andree Maranda tilts her head in this movie, then there's something seriously wrong with you. (Don't you think that's a little harsh?) Normally, I would say, yes, I am being a little harsh. But this is Andree Maranda in The Toxic Avenger we're talking about. She gives hands down one of the best performances by an actress playing the blind girlfriend of a deformed superhero from New Jersey that I have ever seen.

Since her service dog was filled with lead during the standoff at the taco joint, Melvin escorts Sara home. Grabbing a cane from her vast collection of canes, Sara asks if she can touch Melvin's face. Not wanting to repulse her (he tells her he has acne), Melvin instead allows her to read his palm. If you thought the way Andree Maranda tilted her head in this movie was awesome, wait until you see the way she moves her eyes.

Always in a constant state of motion, Andree Maranda's darting eye movement, combined with propensity to tilt her head in a jerky manner, is beyond adorable.

(Even more adorable than the romantic montage--set to the kick ass strains of "Is This Love" by Race-that is utilized to signify the rapid progression of their relationship?) Ugh, I don't know that's a tough one. Let's just say they're both equally adorable. Speaking of adorable, I think this is the only superhero movie where the hero seems to actually like his or her love interest. Okay, Christopher Reeve seemed to like Margo Kidder in Superman: The Movie. But other than that, I'm not getting much of a romantic vibe from those other tight-wearing jackasses.

Come to think of it, I would be pretty comfortable in declaring The Toxic Avenger to be the most date-friendly superhero movie in existence. It's true, I didn't give this much thought. And I failed to factor in the excessive violence that is liberally sprinkled throughout this film. But my gut is telling me that this is the perfect film for people who think romance is dead and that love is stupid. And I guarantee you won't think either those things after you watch The Toxic Avenger, as it will not only entertain the living shit out of you, it will fuck with your core beliefs.

I'm not sure if Asunción Calero (credited as Ida Balín) was supposed to be Lina Romay's replacement in The Inconfessable Orgies of Emmanuelle (a.k.a. Emmanuelle Exposed). But either way, Miss Calero does a terrific job filling Lina's black stockings in this sun-drenched ode to sexual awaking. Even though I knew Lina wasn't in this film, I could have sworn it was her standing on the nightclub stage in the sparkly greenish zebra-print disco pants suit smoking a cigarette. Shot from a distance, the sight of Asunción Calero leering at the audience with Euro-fied contempt, the reflective straps on her heels coiling up her legs like two cunt-hungry serpents, had a distinct Lina Romay flavour about it. And I'm convinced this was on purpose, as nothing that appears in the films of Jess Franco is done by accident. Sporting a similar body type: strong, shapely legs; wide, garter belt antagonizing hips; a generously rotund backside; semi-ample breasts; and a set of succulent lips that look like bloodstained pillows when smeared with red lipstick, Asunción Calero was obviously hired because she boasts these particular attributes. I would have loved to have been at the casting session for this movie. The sight of a cavalcade of leggy brunettes coming into Jess Franco's office and standing in front of him wearing nothing but black stockings attached to a white garter belt must have been glorious. Anyway, let's just say, whoever gets the part, they will have big black stockings to fill.

(I don't want to sound like a dick, but you kind of already implied that Asunción Calero got part, and that she does a "terrific job" filling Lina Romay's black stockings.) I did? (Yeah.) Oh, well.

While it might sound like I'm bemoaning the fact–in my own long-winded sort of way–that Lina Romay isn't in this film, I'm not. On the other hand, if I'm watching a Jess Franco film that was made after, oh, let's say, 1973, I expect Lina Romay to be in it. And it doesn't matter if she's the star of the film (Macumba Sexual) or if she just makes a cameo (Diamonds of Kilimandjaro), I need to see Lina Romay's dark, piercing eyes at some point for me to feel safe and secure.

So, as you can clearly see, this film has caused a mild rift to occur in the nylon vortex that dictates the ebb and flow of my Jess Franco experience.

(Excuse me, are you finished not bemoaning the fact that Lina Romay isn't in this movie? The only reason I ask is because the sumptuous stems attached to the torsos belonging to the sensuous Asunción Calero and the mercurial Muriel Montossé--credited as Vicky Adams--are patiently waiting to receive the lavish praise they so rightly deserve. Yeah, yeah, I know, it's sad that Lina Romay and her black hold up stocking-covered legs couldn't appear in this film--trust me, I feel your pain. But you have got to get it together, man.)

Shot in Mojácar and Águilas, Spain (two small towns on the Mediterranean), the film opens with some brief, Jess Franco-approved landscape porn. After establishing that the landscape is indeed beautiful, Jaime Moraleda de los Enhebros, a.k.a. Marqués de Altuna (Antonio Rebollo), "Tony" to his friends, begins to narrate this salacious tale of lesbian sex, lesbian sex and lesbian sex.

I don't remember exactly what Tony says, but I do recall it having something to do with a couple named Emmanuelle (Muriel Montossé) and Andreas (Antonio Mayans), who are on vacation.

We meet Emmanuelle and Andreas just as they're about to enter a wax museum. (What's Muriel wearing? What's Muriel wearing?) Whoa, calm down, Skippy. She's wearing a kind of white shirt dress. (Is there a slit?) You bet there is. And it's a doozy. It goes all the way up to her hip. (Nice.)

Who would have thought that Liza Minelli would provide the film with its first nylon moment. (Wait, Liza's in this film?) Well, not really. However, her wax figure is. And since she's dressed like her character from Cabaret, she's wearing black stockings.

Kissing in front wax Humphrey Bogart, Emmanuelle and Andreas soon resign to the floor for some impromptu coitus. Tearing off her white bra, Andreas then pulls off her white panties in a non-gingerly fashion. The non-gingerly nature of Andreas' white pantie pulling technique causes Emmanuelle to sport an alarmed expression on her face. Now, I'm not sure if this was great acting on Muriel's part, or genuine surprise that Antonio pulled her panties off so abruptly. Either way, the shots of the wax figures faces edited together with their floor fucking was rather comical.

On top of being the only scene that features all five characters in the same room together, the nightclub sequence is also the most important, as it sets in motion the events that will dictate the paths the characters on this sex-fueled journey of self-discovery.

Clocking in at just over fifteen minutes, the nightclub sequence in The Inconfessable Orgies of Emmanuelle gets underway with the sight of María (Asunción Calero) standing on stage in front of an audience filled with young people. With one hand resting on her hip and the other holding a lit cigarette, María hypnotizes the crowd by swaying back and forth.

The fact that her greenish zebra-print disco pants suit sparkles when it catches the light does nothing but accelerate this process, as the audience is practically eating out of the palm of her hand by the time she turns her back on them and proceeds to remove her belt.

When her sparkly disco pants suit falls to the floor, we get a great close up of her black stocking ensnared feet in a strappy pair of heels (the straps, like her disco pants suit, sparkle when they catch the light).

As María swayed, I began to wonder what was going on underneath that greenish zebra-print disco pants suit that sparkles when it catches the light. Was I delighted when it's revealed that María is wearing black stockings attached to a white garter belt? You bet I was. I was even more delighted when the music score goes from being jazzy to synthy the moment María's disco pants suit hits the floor; which, by the way, is covered with a cowhide rug.

Watching from the bar, Emmanuelle, Andreas, Tony, and her milfy friend Carmen (Carmen Carrión), look on with a mix of shock and amusement as María reveals her succulent pussy with much fanfare. Framed by her white garter belt, the audience gasps when they realize her pubic hair is a perfect upside down triangle. The reason it's upside down is because it acts as a sort of penile guidepost. Luring cocks and other objects into its clam-like opening on a daily basis, in terms of reproductive efficaciousness, the upside down pubic triangle is probably one of the most important shapes in the universe.

Adding arm-based gesticulation to her swaying motion, María kneels down on the floor, and invites an audience member to play with her pussy. Surprisingly, no one jumps at the chance to play with her pussy. Asking the audience again, this time Emmanuelle, who is drunk, accepts her invitation and staggers toward the stage.

While everything up until this point has been handled perfectly, the decision to shoot Emmanuelle as she approached the stage from a distance was ill-conceived. Unable to savour Emmanuelle's stocking-covered legs, which are poking out from a red dress and being poured into a pair of red pumps, the audience is denied the opportunity to relish the beauty that is Muriel Montossé's lanky frame.

Things don't get any better when María tries to remove Emmanuelle's silky grey panties, as the tops of her black stockings are only visible for a brief moment. I know, it's pretty outrageous.

Disgusted by the sight of María and his beloved Emmanuelle engaged in the 69 position in front of a bunch of pimple-faced perverts in training, Andreas leaves in a huff.

Have Emmanuelle and Andreas broken up? Who's to say. All I know is, nothing will probably come close to topping the nightclub scene.

While Emmanuelle is lezzing out with Carmen (she shows Emmanuelle the unexpected tightness of her mature body and it goes from there), María invites Andreas to a "party." Still wearing the heels with coiled straps from the night before, María seduces Andreas by flashing one of her tits and by giving him carte blanche to grope her legs.

Stumbling upon Carmen and Emmanuelle whilst in the throes of lesbianism, Tony interrupts them to declare Emmanuelle to be just his type: Blue eyes, soft skin, and a body made of alabaster like an amphora of the ancient Assyrians. Stop it, Tony, you're making Emmy blush. Tony gets his chance to wow Emmanuelle from a humping point-of-view at a later date, but botches it by employing a series of lackluster thrusts. Which is a shame, really, as we should all be able to fornicate with the things we love in an admirable fashion.

Is María really wearing lime green footless pantyhose as pants? I don't know why I'm acting surprised. After all, Maria Rohm, if you remember, famously wears black pantyhose as pants in Eugenie. Yeah, but, the opaque nature of her hose as pants at least obscured her pussy. On the other hand, the lime green footless pantyhose that María has sheathed her lower half in are leaving nothing to the imagination. Paired with a ruby red sparkly tube top and the strappy coiled heels, María gives Tony a chance to get back his humping cred by allowing him to fondle the living fuck out of her lime green footless pantyhose.

Even though the film uses the name "Emmanuelle,"The Inconfessable Orgies of Emmanuelle is not an Emmanuelle film. While I should have stated this fact much earlier, I'm doing so now, as I don't want to give the impression that this some kind of sequel to the Just Jaeckin classic. Someone simply slapped the name Emmanuelle on the title in order to generate more revenue. In closing, if you were to take away the scene in the wax museum, the fifteen minute nightclub sequence, and Asunción Calero's lime green footless pantyhose, what you would be left with is a filmed travel brochure masquerading as a dull softcore lark.

"Is your lube tube on the fritz?" asks Dan, the moment he starts pawing at, what he perceives to be, Louise's unresponsive crotch on her parents' reddish couch.

Normally, a line like that would get you tossed on your ass, but Dan's resolve is so fervent, that she buckles under the sheer weight of his pestering.

Quirky fun-fact: An excerpt of "Owner of a Lonely Heart" is featured on Michael Jackson's "DS" from his 1995 album, HIStory.

C'mon, you stupid movie, give me something to write about! Ugh. It just dawned on me, there are no naked breasts in this movie. Come to think of it, the only nudity in Jason Lives: Friday the 13th Part VI comes in the form of Tom Fridley's knees poking out from the holes on his strategically ripped jeans. And I could have sworn no one says "fuck" in this movie; if you remember, the word "fuck" is overused in Friday the 13th: A New Beginning. What gives, man? Maybe the studio sent the producers a memo that said: "There is to be no nudity and no swearing in the next chapter of our highly successful horror franchise." I don't see how one can go about making a Friday the 13th movie without tits or cuss words. Well, writer-director Tom McLoughlin clearly doesn't see things that way, and has definitely done just that. (Look on the bright side, at least the film has fashion forward new wave chicks prancing about in brightly coloured clothing.) Um, yeah, about that. (What? Don't tell me. No fucking way. I'm not watching a horror flick without fashion forward new wave chicks.) I'm afraid you already have. (Aww, man. Yeah, well, I'm not watching it again.) You shouldn't be surprised. I mean, does the name "McLoughlin" sound Italian to you? Please tell me there's at least some perversion to be found in this film? 'Cause seriously, how do you go from having naked breasts and new wave dancing in every other scene (like there were in the last chapter), to having none at all? It doesn't make a lick of sense.

You say you want perversion, eh? Well, let's see. I got it. When Tommy Jarvis (Thom Mathews) and Megan Garris (Jennifer Cooke) are driving to Camp Crystal Lake, renamed Camp Forest Green (for obvious reasons), their orange Camaro runs into a police road block; Megan's dad, Sheriff Michael Garris (David Kagen), doesn't want her daughter hanging around this Tommy punk (mostly because he thinks he's trouble). In order to prevent the Sheriff's deputies from seeing her with Tommy, Megan, whose driving (it's her car after all) grabs his head and shoves it between her denim ensnared legs.

Now, I'll admit, the scene had the potential of being even more perverted had Jennifer been wearing a short skirt (preferably a red leather mini-skirt with jet black panties). But still, the fact we get two close-up shots of Jennifer's crotch is nothing to poo-poo about.

Keeping with the perversion theme, other than jettisoning the nudity and the swear words, the film doesn't deviate much from the Friday the 13th playbook. One that involves Jason Voorhees (C.J. Graham) murdering couples who are not directly connected to the film's plot. (You mean random people who are killed simply to add to the film's body count?) Exactly.

Well, the so-called couple in this film are Steven (Roger Rose) and Annette (Cynthia Kania), who, from the looks of it, just got engaged (Annette can be seen admiring the newly acquired ring on her finger when the scene commences). Why they decided to make out in the woods is anyone's guess (they're mature adults, couldn't they spring for a motel room?). Nonetheless, when Steve and Annette are about start swopping mouth spit, we can briefly see right up Annette's dress. (Wait a minute, did you say, dress?) That's right. Congratulations, Annette, you are the sole female character in Jason Lives: Friday the 13th Part VI who dresses like a woman.

Of course, I'm not saying you have to wear a dress to be considered a woman. On the contrary, I think women should be able to wear whatever they please. However, when all the other female characters in the film dress like twelve year-old boys, even a smidgen of traditional femininity is a welcome sight.

Oh, and just because a film doesn't have nudity, doesn't mean you can't a raucous sex scene. And, boy, does this film have a doozy. Straddling him with a vice-like vigor, Nikki (Darcy DeMoss) pounds her vagina and surrounding pelvic region into Cort's cock with two tons of gusto in the back of her camper. Great, not only have I seen Tom Fridley's naked knees, I have now seen his naked stomach. (So, I take it that Tom Fridley plays this Cort fella?) You catch on fast. Anyway, I liked the aggressive manner in which Nikki went to town on Cort's cork-like penis.

(Is that it?) Is that what? (Is that it as far as perversion goes in this film?) I guess. Unless you think having Ron Palillo in your movie is somehow perverted, that's it I'm afraid.

(Are there at least some bold fashion choices to talk about? It is, after all, 1986.) None that I can think of at the moment. Oh, who am I kidding? The reason I can't think of any at the moment, is because there are none. (Nothing at all?) Zero. Nada. Zilch. Ništa.

I just remembered another perverted moment. Sure, it occurs during one of the perverted moments I already mentioned. But I think most of you will agree, it's top drawer as far as perversion goes. As Tommy's face continues to bang into Megan's crotch as a direct result of the dirt road car chase their currently engaged in (and the fact that Tommy's head is in her lap), Megan tells Tommy that she plans to lose the cops by turning onto Cunningham Road. Get it. Cunningham Road! His face is bashing against her cunt. Cunningham Road! Cunningham! Cunnilingus! Cunningham! Cunnilingus!*

And not only that, Megan warns Tommy that there's a hairy turn up ahead. Get it. Hairy turn! Hairy pussy! Tommy's face might be knocking on a hairy pussy. Knock-knock-knockin' on Megan's hairy pussy. Knock-knock-knockin' on... Okay, okay, they get it.

Who needs naked breasts when you have writing like that?

Should I even bother describing the plot? (Yeah, go ahead, but not too much.) Let's see, the film opens with Tommy and Horshack digging up Jason Voorhees' grave; the latter wants to make sure he's dead. Seeing his rotten corpse isn't enough, though, so Tommy stabs Jason's maggot-laden body with a large iron rod. Just as he's about to cover him with gasoline, the iron rod is struck by lightning. This causes Jason to spring back to life a la Frankenhooker, except Jason doesn't want a date, he wants to straight up kill your ass.

Since killing Horshack isn't going to be enough to satisfy the audience's lust for blood, some of Megan's camp counselor friends are introduced: There's Paula (Kerry Noonen), Sissy (Renée Jones), and Cort (Tom Fridley). I don't think that's going to be enough. It should be noted, by the way, that Kerry Noonen is wearing a flowery skirt with lavender tights when he character is introduced at the police station where Megan's dad works. However, the frilly nature of her skirt and the tightness of her tights are completely ignored in this scene. But then again, I'm not surprised, as this is what happens when you hire a non-Italian to make a horror film.

In order to pad things out a bit, Jason kills some people in the woods who were playing paintball. Yawn. On the plus side, this film does boast a creepy atmosphere. You'll notice the woods are much more eerie than they were in the previous chapter. Wow, I can't believe I just praised the woods. What have I become?

* I'm aware that "Cunningham Road" is probably not an allusion to cunnilingus, but a shout out to Sean S. Cunningham, director of the first Friday the 13th film. Whatever, man. I'll take my cunnilingus allusions where I can get 'em.

Out of these four Italian actresses, Mariangela Giordano, Carmen Russo, Andrea Belfiore and Anna Veneziano, which one shows her bush in Patrick Still Lives? I'll give you a minute to think about it. Okay, if you said Mariangela Giordano, you would be correct. However, if you chose Carmen Russo, you would be correct as well. Actually, if you answered Andrea Belfiore, ding ding ding, you're a winner, too. In fact, if you selected Anna Veneziano as your choice, congratulations, you clearly know your stuff, or, I should, you clearly know your bush. (Hey, what gives, man?) Gives?!? Why, nothing gives. Every Italian actress who appears in this film, one that is loosely based on the Australian chiller, Patrick, is stark naked at one point or another. And therein lies the innate appeal of this psychological barn-burner from Mario Landi. In most movies, you'll be lucky if you can get one actress to allow you to film her being killed by dogs while wearing an open robe. But the producers of this film somehow managed to snag four actresses willing to perform the various uncouth activities that are peppered throughout this sleazy enterprise. (Now that I think about it, you should have framed your opening question this way: Out of these four Italian actresses, which one exposes her jet black Italian bush onscreen for the longest?) Damn, that's a tough one. Is it okay if I watch the film again? (Sure, go ahead.)

While my alter ego is getting out their bush-based stopwatch, let's discuss the hair located in a different region all-together, shall we? (Don't tell me, someone finally decided to tweeze Patrick's eyebrows?) Very funny. No, if you remember correctly, I was quite shaken by the fact that none of the nurses in the original Patrick bothered to trim/pluck coma boy's eyebrows. And it's clear from the get-go that the Patrick in Patrick Still Lives, played by Gianni Dei, isn't going to have the same problem, as his eyebrows are trim and neat. But get this, Patrick's father, a one Dr. Herschel (Sacha Pitoëff), is sporting the ultimate unruly unibrow.

What the hell happened? Did the eyebrow hair jump from Patrick's face and land on his fathers? After all, he does have psychokinesis. Think about it, if he can transport objects with his mind, why not eyebrow hair? And the last time I checked, eyebrow hair is still classified as an object.

Of course, I'm bringing my own personal eyebrow baggage to the eyebrow discussion. If, say, a less superficial person was reviewing these films, they might not even make a passing reference to eyebrows. But since that person isn't here right now, the topic shall remain eyebrows. However, since the Italian Patrick doesn't have a unibrow and Dr. Herschel usually shields his unibrow with his doctor glasses, this reviews eyebrow content will be scant at best.

Which is a shame, really, as I would much rather talk about eyebrow hair than pubic hair.

Just kidding. While I like both for different reasons, I find pubic hair to be way more appealing than eyebrow hair. I don't know, there's just something about the shape that speaks to me. Yet, it's more than just a triangle-shaped patch of curly hair, you get a sense that everything is going to be all right when you gaze upon a moderately landscaped field of crisp nether fleece.

The only problem being, its soothing nature causes the viewer to become somewhat distracted. In other words, you're supposed to be watching a gripping scene where life and limb are at stake, but instead, you can't help looking at their unclothed crotches kicking up an Italian fuss.

Unlike me, this film wastes little time, as it opens with Patrick being struck in the face by a bottle tossed from a moving vehicle. Rushed to his father's clinic, there's nothing much he can do to bring back his son to the land of the not comatose.

Not sure who threw the bottle, Dr. Herschel decides to invite a strange mish-mash of people to his palatial house/clinic with the hope that Patrick might be able to finger the culprit by using his psychic abilities.

In charge of making sure the doctor's guests are taken care of is his secretary, Lydia Grant (Andrea Beliore); a blondish woman who moves her arms when she walks outside. (Huh?) Oh, it's just something I noticed. If you pay close attention to Mrs. Grant when she walks, you'll notice she doesn't swing her arms as much when she walks indoors. But once you get this gal outside, she's a regular orangutan (This just in: Blonde Italian girl-monkey escapes from local zoo).

The five people invited are as follows: Stella Randolph (Mariangela Giordano), a fierce brunette with dangerous curves, Cheryl Kraft (Carmen Russo), a fierce brunette with dangererous... You know what? Let's change things up a bit and call Mrs. Kraft a dangerous brunette with fierce curves. And the guys include the hunky David Davis (Paolo Giusti), Peter Suniak (John Benedy), he's with Stella, and Lyndon Kraft (Franco Silva), Cheryl's politician husband.

Since David Davis is the only guest who's not accompanied by a fierce and/or dangerous curvy brunette, he seeks out Meg (Anna Veneziano), the maid, who's definitely brunette. (But is she fierce?) Um, she tells him to go to hell when they first meet. Is that fierce enough for you? (I guess.) Anyway, I liked how David says "she seems nice" after being told to go to hell.

Meanwhile, down in the doctor's super-secret laboratory, naked test subjects (who are hooked up to machines covered in blinking lights) are twitching on gurneys in a room that is being bathed in this weird green light. As this is going on, Patrick lies in a catatonic state in an adjacent room (by the way, his room is being bathed in purple light as supposed to green light). To give the lab scenes an even more sci-fi vibe, the soundtrack erupts with the kind of spacey music you might in a 1950s alien invasion movie every time the action moves to the lab.

Unaware of what's going on in the lab, the guests chill out by the pool. I'm no expert when it comes to humans, but I don't think Stella and Cheryl like one another.

Quick question: How is Lydia Grant supposed to stay hydrated if Patrick keeps breaking the glasses she's about to drink from? If I was her, I would be severely annoyed.

After a rather uneventful dinner, Cheryl slips out of her slit-heavy black dress (no stockings!) and heads to the bathroom to admire her hardy bush in the mirror. Indicating to her husband that she is ready to be mounted in a manner that can best be described as "sexual," Cheryl gestures sheepishly toward her aching vagina. Clearly uninterested, Lyndon tells her, "maybe tomorrow." What a tool.

It serves right when Patrick cooks his ass in the swimming pool the following morning; a topless Stella is the one who finds his burnt corpse. Even though he wouldn't mount her last night, Cheryl is still distraught by Lyndon's death.

One by one, the doctor's guests are met with circumstances of a supernatural nature. But not before Stella and Cheryl engage in a nasty fight during dinner. Both wearing red, a drunken Stella stumbles into the dinning hall, her open robe revealing a pair of red panties that are doing a piss poor job at keeping her hairy bush under wraps, shouting brunette nonsense at her fellow brunette. An unamused Cheryl jumps to her feet an begins to hurling haphazardly aimed blows in Stella's general direction. Since both brunettes are a tad tipsy, the fight quickly devolves into a horizontal kicking match.

With no clear winner, Stella heads to her room to admire her hairy bush in the bathroom mirror. (Wait, isn't that what Cheryl did earlier in the film?) Yep. So, you see, Stella and Cheryl have more in common than you think. Of course, that doesn't mean they should be best friends. I mean, if everyone who liked to admire their furry junk in the bathroom mirror got along with one another, the world would be a much nicer place.

In my favourite scene, Lydia Grant goes to visit Patrick down in the lab after receiving a message from him on her typewriter that said, "I'm waiting for you." While sitting beside Patrick's bed, Lydia notices that she is starting to feel a tad chilly. Looking down at her pleated skirt, Lydia realizes the reason she's feeling chilly is because Patrick is slowly hiking it up using his mind. Hike that skirt up, you glassy-eyed pervert! Hike it up! Hike it up with your mind! Swooooosh!

I wonder if I should attempt to describe the gruesome scene that involves an unwilling vagina being stabbed by a large, floating metal rod? No, I think I'll pass. I will say this, though, the scene in question is surprisingly graphic. In fact, I would recommend that all vagina owners tread lightly when watching this particular scene, as it could cause unwanted psychological irregularities to occur the next time you want to use your vagina for reproductive or recreational purposes.

Speaking of vaginas, since Cheryl and Stella have already put their hairy holes on display, it's time for Lydia and Meg to get their boxes out. The former does so in the lab; she masturbates on a couch for Patrick. And the latter does so while lurking the halls in an improperly cinched robe. One of these instances ends with what I consider to be one of the most realistic dog attacks I have ever seen captured on film. What's most impressive is that's there were no, as far as I could tell, puppet dog heads used in this scene. Looking over the credits, I shouldn't have been surprised by the quality of the makeup effects, as Rosario Prestopino (Burial Ground, Delirium, Amazonia, and countless others) is the one responsible for them in this movie.

(Aren't you forgetting something?) This movie rules? (No, who's bush is onscreen the longest?) Oh, that. It's hard to say, really. But if I had to take a guess, I would say it was either Andrea Belfiore's Lydia or Mariangela Giordano's Stella. I'm sorry I couldn't be more specific. Anyway, if you like suspenseful thrillers that are well-acted and made with a Hitchcockian flair, you should go with the original Patrick. However, if you're like me (and why wouldn't you be?), and you dig watching attractive Italian chicks act insane in the vicinity of their impotent male companions, go with Patrick Still Lives.

Seriously, look at those legs! One errant kick to the face from one of her super-long, super-shapely appendages will guarantee an extended stay in the nearest hospital.

When the Chairman of Apocalypse Inc. and Malfaire discover Toxie wasn't killed in the blast, they sick about a dozen or so henchmen on his charred tutu-wearing ass.

With Toxie busy windsurfing to Japan to find his father, Apocalypse Inc. take advantage of his absence to remake Tromaville in their own corporate image and crush all those who stand in their way.

Well, Claire ain't no slouch, either. I mean, she serves up Chicken à la Clorox in white stockings for her deformed man like a pro.

If you were to tell any other actress that the super-tight gold trousers they wore in their latest movie produced a camel toe so pronounced, that you could probably see it from space, she would look at you with a mix of horror and embarrassment. Well, my friends, Lina Romay isn't any other actress. In fact, as far as I'm concerned, she is the only actress. I know, technically, that's not true. The world, unfortunately, is filled with millions of women who think they're actresses. What I mean is, Lina Romay is the only actress who is fully committed to putting herself out there. Hence, the cavalier indifference she would most likely display if you were to inform her that the super-tight gold trousers she wears in Jess Franco's Mansion of the Living Dead generated the mother of all camel toes. Did they even have camel toes in the mid-1980s, you might be inclined to ask? Of course they did. Granted, the expression itself might not have been bandied about with the enthusiasm it is today (not a minute goes by without me hearing about someone sporting a camel toe, or its male cousin, the moose knuckle). But trust me, snug fabric was still pressing tightly against labias the world over in 1985 whether it had a cute name or not. Given the popularity of tight trousers throughout Europe in the '70s and '80s, it was not uncommon for your average reprobate to spot at least fourteen camel toes in a single day.

(Are you going to talk about camel toes for the entirety of this review?) Maybe. What's it to ya? (No, no, no, I want you to talk about camel toes for the entire review. Seriously, you talking non-stop about Lina's Romay's camel toe would be a refreshing change of pace from all the Mansion of the Living Dead reviews I've read lately that don't even bother to mention Lina Romay's camel toe in passing.) How could you not at least make a passing reference to her conspicuous cunt-based indentation in this film?

(Did it ever occur to you that not everyone in this world is a mentally unstable pervert?) I thought about that, and I have say, I'm not buying it. You don't have to be mentally unstable or a pervert to notice a camel toe and then inform others that you noticed it by writing about it using words. Sure, going on and on about it to the point of physical exhaustion isn't for everyone, but would it kill you to type three or four words pertaining to its existence?

And another thing, while the expression "camel toe" is overused nowadays, good luck spotting one in today's prudish, non-pornographic environment. There are literally thousands of publicists, stylists, agents and personal assistants floating around out there whose job it is to squash camel toes on sight. And you'll never see a camel toe in mainstream entertainment ever again because of these people. That's why you need to cherish the instances when one does appear in a movie. (Like you're doing right now?) Exactly.

Arriving at their hotel with a whorish aplomb... (Hold on, "whorish aplomb"?!?) No good? Okay, how 'bout, skanky self-assurance? (Yeah, I like that.) Arriving at their hotel with a skanky self-assurance... no, wait, with a skanky brand of self-assurance (yeah, baby), Candy (Lina Romay), red shorts, Mabel (Mabel Escaño), maroon shorts, Lea (Mari Carmen Nieto), jean shorts, and Caty (Elisa Vela), white shorts, walk up to the front desk to get a room.

It should go without saying, but all the shorts the women are wearing when they arrive at the hotel are ridiculously short. This especially true in regard to the shorts Lina Romay is sporting, as they're barely there fabric-wise.

When they realize there's no one to help them, they start to theorize that everyone must be at the beach. This theory is mentioned at least five times over the span of two minutes, and if someone mentions it again, I'm going to scream. Seriously, ladies, stop saying everyone is at the beach. (All right, calm down.) But they keep mentioning it. (I know, I know.) Oh, look, here comes Carlo Savonarola (Antonio Mayans), the hotel manager.

Putting the women in rooms 609 and 3, Carlos gives them the keys and sends the leggy tarts on their way. Not pleased that their suites are so far apart from one another (one of them even says, "this sucks," at one point), the women flip a coin to decide who's rooming with who.

Each thinks they hit the jackpot when they're assigned their roommate, as Mabel and Caty think Candy and Lea are pious squares and vice versa. Judging by the way the start groping and kissing one another upon entering their respective rooms, I think it's safe to say that the ladies have plenty of misconceptions about each other. Oh, and the manner in which their similarly worded dialogue was edited together was surprisingly clever.

Hitting the beach, which, like the hotel, is empty, for some topless sunbathing, the women are startled when a large butcher knife is thrown at them from one of the hotel balconies. No one is hurt, but the incident does shake the ladies up a bit. Not too much, though, as Candy relaxes by eating out Lea's pussy, which she does with a... (A whorish aplomb?) Sure, why not.

(Am I crazy, or are the jean shorts Mari Carmen Nieto wears during her post-cunnilingus walk the same jean shorts she wears in Diamonds of Kilimandjaro?)

After doing some half-assed research, I've come to the conclusion that you are in fact crazy. The jean shorts Mari wears in this movie are much darker than the one's she wears in the Jess Franco-directed jungle movie. And on top of that, there's less crotch material on Mari's jungle jean shorts. Meaning, they're totally different. (Oh.)

Different or not, I thought Lea's choice of footwear for her early morning walk was completely impractical. That being said, I did enjoy watching her walk in heels, and the way Jess simply uses wind and the sound of a monastery bell chiming in the distance to create an ominous atmosphere was ingenious.

In a similar vein, Jess employs interesting camera angles to capture the sense of isolation of the characters must be feeling by giving us plenty of shots of empty hallways.

It takes some time, but we finally have a character writhing on a bed in black hold up stockings. Can I get a hallelujah? I can't hear you. That's better. In surprise twist, it's not Lina Romay who's wearing black hold up stockings while writhing on a bed, but the effectively lumpy Eva León (Golden Temple Amazons).

Playing Olivia, a short-haired blonde woman who is chained to wall of her hotel room, Eva León brings an extra helping of sleaze to the proceedings. Why is she chained to the wall? Well, it would seem that Carlo wants her to be chained to the wall. Wait, that's not a very good explanation. Let's just say, their relationship is somewhat sick and very twisted.

Hiding something behind his back when he enters Olivia's room, Carlo asks her to guess what it is. Since it's all she can think about, she guesses it's food. Wrong! Her second guess is stockings. Wrong again, honey. But then again, I like where your priorities at. Food and stockings, it's what makes the world go round. I won't reveal what Carlo is hiding, but I will say Olivia does try to eat it.

To punish her for trying eat her present, Carlo deposits a hearty dollop of seminal fluid in her vagina. How does he get in there, you ask? It's simple, really. He fucks her pussy with his erect penis.

When Mabel and Carlo meet for a date, Mabel discovers the mansion of the living dead. Though, technically, it should be called "the monastery of the living dead." Either way, there are these white robe-wearing zombie motherfuckers that talk, and they rape and kill leggy chicks for more than just shits and giggles.

Since Lea and Mabel have gone missing, Candy is given no choice by to dyke it up with Caty. Awaken by a woman's screams, Candy decides to investigate. Slipping on a pair of heels, Candy... (Um, isn't Candy going to throw on a robe?) There's no time, these screams need investigating. (Yeah, but she's naked.) Look, Jess Franco clearly wants to film Lina Romay wandering the halls of the hotel without any clothes on, who am I to question his logic?

The thickness, my God, the thickness. I'm sorry, I'm recalling the image of Lina Romay's ample, paella-generated backside traversing the halls of the hotels, as each step is fraught with ass worshiping greatness.

Of course, the woman making all the noise is Olivia. And when Candy discovers her, she's in the middle of trying to reach a tray of food that's been purposely placed just out of reach with one of her stocking ensnared feet. Helping her reach the food, Olivia explains to Candy what's the deal with the Carlo fella while stuffing her face like a pig.

Told by Olivia to leave this place, as it's cursed, Candy puts on a pair of tight gold trousers and proceeds to set in motion a series events that will hopefully lead to her eventually escape. Only problem being, her gold trousers are pressing so tightly against her crotch, that you can see the shape of her labia. Just kidding, that's not a problem. In fact, it's the complete opposite of a problem, if you ask me.

Anyway, before I wrap this thing up, I just wanted to say that this film contains my favourite Antonio Mayans performance.

Like the majority of Jess Franco made during this period, there are plenty of dull patches here and there that might test your patience. However, I think there's enough sleaze sprinkled throughout to satisfy your average Jess Franco lover. Important keywords: Wind, camel toe, hold up stockings, BDSM, jean shorts, food just out of reach, cunnilingus, woman sitting on toilet, rape, heels, female nudity, and lipstick.

You know, you're awfully choosy for someone with no booty whatsoever. Let me rephrase that: You're insane! I mean, look at him, he's gorgeous! And to make matters even more ridiculous, he's hitting on you! In case you haven't figured it out yet, I just watched The New Kids, directed by Sean S. Cunningham (Friday the 13th) and co-written by Stephen Gyllenhaal, and I've been wracking my brain for the past, oh, let's say, twenty-four hours trying to figure out what the hell Lori Loughlin was thinking when she decided to shutdown Eddie Dutra's multiple attempts to ask her out. I know, maybe she thought he was a creep. And you know what? I'll admit, Eddie Dutra can come across as somewhat creepy at times. But here's where she loses me. Are you sitting down? Okay, here it goes: Eddie Dutra (simply Dutra to his friends) is played by a cowboy shirt-wearing, platinum blonde-haired James Spader. Did your pussy just explode? Because mine just did. Sweeping aside the jagged shards of recently exploded pussy fragments for just a second, I don't know if I can sustain this level of rage and disbelief for the entire length of a movie review, so, I might have to take a break every now and then. But make no mistake, the amount of misplaced anger I felt towards Lori Loughlin and her misguided taste in men was off the bleeding charts. Well, that might be a tad harsh, as her decision to rebuff the advances of one of Dutra's henchmen in the school's library was actually the correct course of action; Gideon, I think his name was, now that guy's a creep.

Who does Lori Loughlin think she is, Lea Thompson? Well, let me tell you, honey, you're no Lea Thompson. You're Lori Loughlin, the poster girl for Reagan-era blandness. Yet, despite your, how should I put this, flavourless temperament, James Spader has developed a crush on you. Okay, maybe "crush" isn't the right word, but he definitely wants to defile the various holes that pepper your lukewarm anatomy.

If memory serves me correctly, all James Spader did was ask you nicely to go the dance with him. He even wore one of his swankiest cowboy shirts and showed up in his cherry van. (Wait a minute, you didn't mention that James Spader drove a van.) Well, he does. (This doesn't change anything for me, as I was on board with your thesis right from the get-go. But I bet the people out there who weren't sure you were being fair to Lori Loughlin are now completely with you.)

For all of you just joining us, let's recap: A cowboy shirt-wearing, platinum blonde-haired, van driving, pitbull owning, drug dealing James Spader asks Lori Loughlin (from TV's Full House) to go to the dance with him and she says no. Do I need to repeat that... What's that? You're good. Okay, just checking.

How does Lori Loughlin, who plays Abby MacWilliams, get in the enviable position to be asked to go to a high school dance by a cowboy shirt-wearing, platinum blonde-haired, van driving, pitbull owning, drug dealing James Spader? It's simple, really, Tom Atkins, who plays her father, and the actress who plays her mother are both killed in a car accident at the beginning of the film, so, she and her brother Loren (Shannon Presby) move to Florida to live with their Uncle Charlie (Eddie Jones), who just happens to be the owner and operator of Santa's Funland, a rundown carnival.

(Wow, you weren't kidding, that is simple.) Well, we do get to see Tom Atkins jogging in the early morning hours with Abby and Loren before he is unceremoniously killed off screen. While I can sort of understand why Tom Atkins would want to go jogging, he is, after all, in the military. But what kind of teenager exercises in the 1980s?!? I mean, if I was a teenager in the 1980s, I wouldn't be getting up at the crack of dawn to go jogging. No fucking way, I would be doing tons of cocaine, listening to Front 242 and having as much unprotected sex with transsexual prostitutes as humanly possible.

Speaking of chicks with dicks, anybody else hypnotized by the sight of Shannon Presby's flaccid cock swinging back and forth in his shorts as he jogged in slow-motion? Anybody? Just me, eh? Interesting.

(Yeah, so, I hear James Spader wears a different cowboy shirt in almost every scene.) That's right, he does. The first cowboy shirt we see James Spader in is the burgundy one he wears when we first see him at the Florida school Abby and Loren have started going to. Hey, would you look at that, Eric Stoltz is the same algebra class as Abby.

Anyway, getting back to the burgundy cowboy shirt, James Spader's Eddie Dutra doesn't really say anything when we first meet him (he let's his goons do the talking for him - a couple of them get in Loren's face while in line at the drinking fountain), but that all changes when we see Dutra and the boys shooting glass jars off a ledge with a pistol. As Dutra takes aim at one of the jars, we get an excellent look at his cowboy shirt. After the last jar breaks into a million pieces, the idea to start a competition to see who can have consensual sex with Abby first, Dutra or Gideon (John Philbin), is set motion.

What I would like to know is, who in their right mind would bet against Dutra? Nothing against this Gideon fella, but picking James Spader to win seems like a no brainer to me. No matter, each member of Dutra's gang wages fifty dollars, and the contest begins in haste.

In fact, in haste is a bit of an understatement, as James Spader, now sporting a purple cowboy shirt with some mild flourishes on the shoulders, is already making his first attempt to snag his prey. Showing up at the gas station that Uncle Charlie runs in front of Santa's Funland, Dutra watches as his van is being serviced by Abby, who is wearing white shorts. As she's pumping gas, Dutra makes his move. Asking her nicely to accompany him to an upcoming dance, Dutra is shocked when Abby flat-out rejects him. I was all like: What?!? What's wrong with you? When she rejects him a second time, I nearly passed out.

As he's about to leave, Abby adds insult to injury by calling Dutra crazy. To which he responds, "You want crazy? I'll show you crazy." Oh-oh, you done fucked up big time, Lori Loughlin. Now, if any other actor had said that, I would have probably shrugged my shoulders and said, whatever. However, this is James Spader we're talking about. Meaning, when he says he's going to show you crazy, buckle your seatbelt, Lori Loughlin, you're about to experience some serious ass crazy.

Realizing that he probably didn't completely blow his opportunity to court Abby utilizing conventional means, Dutra takes another stab at her in the school's cafeteria. This time wearing a checkered cowboy shirt (one that employed the colours yellow, black and grey to great effect), Dutra approaches Abby's table and apologizes for his churlish behaviour the previous day. After the apology has been administered, Dutra goes back on the offensive. Unfortunately, the result is exactly the same as it was at the Funland gas pump. Only this time, he's rejected in front of an audience, one that includes her brother (who, according to Dutra, is "made out of mouth") and Eric Stoltz (who is currently wooing Abby using a more stealthy technique - in fact, his technique is so stealthy, I don't think Abby realizes Eric Stoltz is in the process of wooing the living fuck out of her boney ass).

Since adding insult to injuries is what people do best in this town, Eric Stoltz calls James Spader "unpleasant" after he leaves. Can you believe that, "unpleasant"? Um, hello, it's called a personality. I love you in Some Kind of Wonderful, but you're seriously getting on my nerves Eric Stoltz in The New Kids.

After vandalizing Funland with graffiti, the next day, Dutra and the boys wait in the middle of town for Abby and Loren to show up. How did Dutra know Abby and Loren would arrive in the middle of town? It's simple, really. He knew they would have to go to the paint store to pick up some paint to paint over the graffiti they sprayed all over Funland. And where's the paint store? That's right, it's in the middle of town.

Taking their uncle's red 1960 Cadillac Eldorado convertible into town to get some paint, Abby and Loren are in for a nasty surprise. Even though we don't actually see them do it, it's obvious that Dutra and the boys scratched Uncle Charlie's car while Abby and Loren were inside getting paint. As you would expect, this act intensifies matters. But more importantly, check out the floral cowboy shirt James Spader is wearing during the paint run scene, it's simply divine.

Note to self: Make a trip to Kensington Market to pick up some new cowboy shirts, as the ones I currently own are not only old, their not even close to being Spader-esque.

The scene that features Loren breaking into Dutra's house after dark and holding a knife to his throat demanding he pay for the damage he caused to his uncle's car is famous within the James Spader appreciation community because we get to see James Spader in nothing but a pair of skimpy briefs. Yet, my cowboy shirt obsessed ass can't help but notice that this is the scene where we get to see inside Dutra's closet. I'm not kidding, every shirt on the rack is a cowboy shirt.

Just before the point of no return is about to be reached, we see James Spader in a grape-coloured cowboy shirt, a black cowboy shirt and a white cowboy shirt.

When that point is reached, The New Kids starts to resemble a horror film, as Dutra and the boys take on the role of psychotic rednecks who are out to destroy a couple of wholesome outsiders. The film's biggest flaw is just that, Abby and Loren are just too damn wholesome. Hell, they make Lawrence Welk seem edgy. And I didn't buy for a second that their parents were dead (a scene that showed them being all distraught and junk would have been helpful). No, the real reason to seek out this film, in case I haven't made it clear already, is to bask in the cowboy shirt-attired tour de force that is James Spader. Despite the fact the chances of his character coming out on top are pretty slim, you still can't help but admire the zeal in which he applies his scumbag art.

Bad fashion continuity, floating head cunnilingus, female armpit hair, impromptu Indonesian thigh tattoo inspection, or cackling Leák Queens, which topic should I open my long-awaited review of Mystics in Bali, an epic tale, based on the novel, "Leák Ngakak" by Putra Mada, about black magic, overly curious white people (they ruin everything) and human-pig hybrids? Well, as for "bad fashion continuity," leave that subject to the nitpickers who seem to get off on pointing out errors and goofs in movies. What else does it say there? "Floating head cunnilingus." Yeesh. I have a strong feeling that this is the topic that most people gravitate towards when attempting to discuss this movie, and I can't say I really blame them for doing so. If you're thinking to yourself, what about female armpit hair? All I have to say is, what about it? While I enjoyed the cackling Leák Queen, I don't think cackling, whether it be by a Leák Queen or a non Leák Queen, is really my forte. You know what that means? C'mon, don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about, it's the only one I haven't mentioned yet. That's right, impromptu Indonesian thigh tattoo inspection is my drug of choice. Oh, and make sure to stand clear because I plan on abusing the hell out of this particular drug over the course of this mostly futile exercise.

Let's examine the contents of this so-called drug before we begin, shall we? "Impromptu," the act of doing something that is not planned or rehearsed. And you could definitely classify the act of inspecting the lead characters thighs as not planned or rehearsed. I mean, how many Indonesian men with faint mustaches get up in the morning and say to themselves: I can't wait to inspect the thigh tattoo on my white American girlfriend that was put there the previous night by the elongated, electrified snake-tongue belonging to an elderly Leák Queen? Not many, I assure you.

"Indonesia" is an archipelago made up of around 17,500(!) islands. And the name "Indonesia" comes from the Greek words Indós and nèsos, which mean "island," I think.

A "thigh" is, well, I don't really have to explain what a thigh is, now do I? A "tattoo" is a mark people get embedded in their skin; the person drawing the tattoo is usually covered in tattoos as well. And an "Inspection" is the act of reviewing an object in a meticulous manner.

It should be said, though, the thigh tattoo Catherine (Ilona Agathe Bastain) gets in Mystics in Bali isn't your average thigh tattoo. In other words, it's not a blue butterfly or a rose on fire inked by some dirtbag with a rockabilly haircut. Uh-uh, the tattoo Cathy gets on her thigh will enable her to perform black magic.

However, in order to apply the thigh tattoo that will enable her to perform black magic, she must first remove her skirt. Even though the Old Leák Queen (Sofia W.D.) clearly enunciates the phrase, "remove your skirt," Cathy just stands there with her long yellow skirt still on. In order to expedite the skirt removing process, the Old Leák Queen tells Cathy again to "remove your skirt." However, this time, the Leák Queen says it in a louder voice.

It's not that Cathy didn't hear the Old Leák Queen tell her to remove her skirt, it's just that Cathy isn't sure she wants her skin to be marked by an elderly witch with a taste for blood. Put yourself in Cathy's shoes, would you blindly agree to have one of your luscious thighs marked by an elongated, electrified snake-tongue? Think about it, you don't know what she's going to put on there -- it could be a picture of a naked Lee Iacocca riding an openly homophobic tractor for all you know.

While I totally thought that Cathy was right to exercise caution. At the end of the day, I think we can all agree that it's time to remove your skirt. You heard me, Cathy. Remove your fucking skirt! I'm sick and tired of waiting. Don't make me come out from behind these bushes and make me remove it myself.

All white people are interested "exotic cultures," and Catherine Kean is no different in that regard. On the other hand, all straight men like pussy, and Mahendra (Yos Santo) is no different in that regard, either. Combine Cathy's interest in "exotic cultures" with Mahendra's love of pussy and you're looking at a situation fraught with consequences of a fucked up nature.

Do you think if Cathy wasn't an attractive woman who looks amazing in shorts that Mahendra would be so gung-ho to help her meet a Leák master? I don't think so. Sure, he tries to warn her that messing around with the Leák brand of black magic is quite dangerous, but deep down inside he knows that she will totally have crazy naked sex with his Balinese ass if he helps her.

After some fake hand-wringing, Mahendra finally agrees to arrange a meeting between Catherine and a Leák master. Of course, the meeting is set to take place in the middle of the jungle at night. But don't worry, the brightness of Cathy's yellow shirt (sprinkled with green and pink squares) will help them see in the dark. Noticing someone twirling in the distance, Cathy and Mahendra hear the Old Leák Queen's trademark laugh for the very first time. I don't know how Cathy and Mahendra managed to keep it together after hearing that laugh, 'cause I would have lost my shit big time if I heard that laugh in a real world setting.

Sporting long grey hair and even longer fingernails, the Old Leák Queen agrees to teach Cathy all about Leák black magic. In order to finalize the deal, the Old Leák Queen offers to shake Cathy's hand. Proving that the Old Leák Queen has a sense of humour, she leaves one of her hands behind. (Huh?) Leák masters, as we'll soon find out, can remove their body parts at will, and the Old Leák Queen does this with her hand, which crawls away when Cathy throws it on the ground. As it crawls away, the Leák Queen lets out another laugh.

They meet again the following night, only this time, the Old Leák Queen is hiding behind some bushes. This is the scene where Cathy gets her thigh tattoo. It apparently gives Cathy a taste of the Old Leák Queen's power. In exchange for this taste of power, Cathy and Mahendra bring her jewels and a few jars of blood.

Instructed to come alone next time, Cathy is given a special skirt and a cloth with spells written on it. In the meantime, Cathy asks Mahendra to decipher her thigh tattoo (to her it's just mumbo-jumbo). Mesmerized by their creamy smoothness, Mahendra seems hypnotized by her American thighs. But Mahendra manages to tell her what the tattoo means. (And that is?) Oh, I'm sorry. Yeah, I have no idea. You try paying attention to the presentation of pertinent plot points when Ilona Agathe Bastian is standing near the middle of a room wearing nothing but a tropical themed red bikini and a devilish smile. It's nearly impossible.

In my favourite non-thigh inspecting scene, Cathy and the Old Leák Queen, who are both dressed the same, dance and laugh together to this synthy-sounding music. (Am I crazy, or did Cathy and the Leák Queen just turn into pigs?) No, you ain't crazy, man. That totally just happened.

During another meeting, the Leák Queen borrows Cathy's head for a short while. (Hold on, borrowing heads, turning into pigs, what's going on here?) Just go with it. You see, what makes Mystics of Bali so great, besides the eerie atmosphere and the close-up shots of women's thighs, is the story is based on a real Balinese folklore. Anyway, the reason the Leák Queen needs to borrow Cathy's head is because she needs more blood, specifically the blood of an almost new born baby. In the film's most disturbing scene, Cathy's head (which has lungs and other various organs attached to it) devours a pregnant woman's baby just as she's about to give birth.

At first, I thought she was performing cunnilingus on the pregnant woman. But when I saw that the pregnant woman's baby bump was slowly shrinking, I quickly realized that she wasn't licking pussy, she's eating the pussy's baby.

A floating head ate my baby! Sure it did. Tell it to a judge, honey.

Alarmed by what Cathy is turning into (a floating head for hire/unwitting disciple of the Old Leák Queen), Mahendra asks his uncle Machesse (W.D. Mochtar) for help.

What ensues is a flaming ball fight (giant fire balls collide in the night sky in an attempt to attain dominance over one another), the Old Leák Queen gets makeover and becomes the Young Leák Queen (Debbie Cinthya Dewi), mice vomit happens, female armpit hair rears its lickable head, a meeting where the village elders discuss the seriousness of the floating head situation takes place, neck wound toothpicks are employed (one's that are specially designed to prevent vampiric floating heads from returning to their bodies), an electrified black magic kung-fu showdown, and, of course, lot's of laughing. It should go without saying, but if you were to take away the Old Leák Queen's signature laugh, this film would lose a sizable chunk of its appeal. Mwahaha!!!!!

You're initial thought might be, as you begin to enjoy Jess Franco's The Hot Nights of Night (a.k.a. But Who Raped Linda?), how much longer do we have to watch Alice Arno–who is, to the best of my knowledge, not wearing nylons on her shapely, Arno-ian legs–walk around Paris, France in a bulky winter coat? However, once she has finished walking around Paris, France and arrives at the location of her new job, you will no doubt start to miss the streets of Paris, France. In fact, you will probably wish they would cut to anywhere in the world after you have spent a day or two with the Steiner family in their Greek-style castle/home on the ocean, or was it on the sea? No matter, the film, like the best Jess Franco's films, manages to create a world unto itself. You see, by ignoring what's going on beyond the walls of the film's primary location, the film slowly begins to develop its own unique ecosystem. And if, say, you were to own a noodle factory similar to mine, the first thought you would have is: Why can't I get a job at a Greek-style castle/home where a nympho-virgin prances about in black stockings and where said nympho-virgins eat penis-shaped fruit in an erotic fashion? And after that thought had subsided, your second would most likely be: Are the women in this film writhing on their beds in order to escape their dreary existences or are their backs simply itchy?

First of all, there's nothing dreary about living in a Greek-style castle/home with a nympho-virgin. (Yeah, maybe for you, but what about the nympho-virgin? Don't you think she wants more out of life?) And secondly, you're kinda right. They do want to escape. And best way to do so is to grind your naked body into the bed your currently lying on.

(Are you sure that's the best way? I mean, wouldn't the front door be a more effective way to escape?) It's true, doors are a terrific root to go when trying to leave somewhere (as someone who has used doors all his life, I can attest that what this person just said is indeed a factual statement), but The Hot Nights of Linda isn't about providing easy ways out, it's a... (Wait, let me guess, is it a psycho-sexual maelstrom of perverted proportions?) Hell yeah. That's exactly what is.

Let's see how that looks when written out as a semi-proper sentence: "The Hot Nights of Linda is a psycho-sexual maelstrom of perverted proportions." - Yum-Yum, House of Self-Indulgence

Oh, yeah. We have a winner. Put that sucker on the box, baby. Do it. What are you waiting for?

What do you mean Severin Films isn't going to put that quote on the back of their handsomely produced The Hot Nights of Linda Blu-Ray + DVD Combo Pack? You're not going to come across a better blurb than that. What's that? Uh-uh, I see. Well, it would seem the reason my quote is nowhere to found on the artwork of the combo pack is because it's already in stores. Meaning, I'm a little too late. *sniff*

Anyway, getting back to grinding and writhing. Even though it's physically impossible to grind your way to freedom by writhing on your bed without any clothes on, the message you are sending to the world is loud and clear.

While the primary purpose for the all writhing is no doubt connected to the desire to flee, you could argue that a large chunk of the writhing has a lot to do with pent-up sexual frustration. Speaking from personal experience, whenever I find myself writhing in the nude, it usually has nothing to do with wanting to getaway and everything to do with heterosexual ineptitude.

(Enough about writhing, what's this film actually about and is it any good?) Uh, yeah, about that. Believe or not, but those are some pretty tough questions you're asking there, budski. I mean, I could try to explain the film's plot. But then again, I don't want to damage my brain while doing so. As for being good. What does "good" even mean? Seriously, can you tell me?

(I'm sorry, pal. I can't help you there. What I can tell you is, if you patiently wade through this film's...) "psycho-sexual maelstrom of perverted proportions"? (Yeah, that... you'll be generously rewarded with the sight of Lina Romay sunbathing in the nude, Lina Romay peeling and sort of eating a banana, and Lina Romay putting on black stockings--roll them up into a little ball and slip them onto your sturdy legs, you brown-eyed harlot.)

If you watch Les Nuits Brûlantes de Linda, a rare cut of the film that comes with the Severin Films Blu-Ray + DVD Combo Pack (limited to the first 2500 copies), you will be generously rewarded with the sight of Lina Romay sucking on some retards uncut cock, Lina Romay performing cunnilingus on a couple of well-made cunts, and Lina Romay allowing the genitals attached to some retard spew their probably retarded load all over her stomach. Oh, and when I say, "retard" and "retarded," I don't mean it in a Lindsay Lohan sort of way, the retard in question is actually retarded.

The best part about this particular cut of the film is the fact that the scene where Lina Romay puts on black stockings includes some garter belt adjustment--the softcore version omits the garter belt adjustment scene all-together. (Are you sure the best part of this particular cut wasn't the sight of Lina Romay wiping up a dollop of the retard's snot-like jizz with her hand and proceeding to consume with her mouth?) Oh, I'm sure. It should go without saying, but garter belt adjustment is way hotter than eating pearly droplets of spunk.

In order to not cause any unnecessary confusion, I'll stick to referencing to the softcore cut of the film from now on. Even though, deep down, I kinda prefer the hardcore version. (Are you sure you want to do that? I mean, Lina Romay rapes her invalid cousin with a banana in the hardcore version.) A banana, eh? You know what? I'll mention both. Let unnecessary confusion reign!

If you're wondering where Alice Arno fits in all this... What's that? You weren't wondering that. I see. Well, either way, she plays Marie-France Bertrand, and she gets a job working as a nurse/teacher at the home of Radic Steiner (Paul Muller), who lives with his invalid daughter Linda (Verónica Llimera from Tombs of the Blind Dead), his sex maniac niece Olivia (Lina Romay) and Abdul (Pierre Taylou), their retarded houseboy.

Since the sex scenes in the non-hardcore don't take up as much time, the running time needs to be padded with filler. And that's where a photographer (Catherine Lafferière, who played the sex-crazed mental patient in black hold up stockings in Lorna the Exorcist) and a detective (Richard Bigotini) come in. They appear onscreen every now and then. But don't ask me what their connection to the main plot of the film is, cause I haven't the slightest idea. Well, that's not entirely true, I have a general idea, but it's not really worth getting into.

The only aspect of this subplot that held my interest was when we get a Jess Franco orchestrated close up of Catherine Lafferière's creamy thighs as she is attempting to climb a fence.

Highlights of the softcore version include: the scene where Alice Arno meets Lina Romay for the very first time. Filing her toenails, smoking a cigarette, and drinking Champagne (the girl knows how to multitask), Lina tells Alice that life in this town is monotonous and dull (hence the reason she writhes so much). What makes the scene so great is that Lina and Alice stare at each with a fiery intensity.

You gotta love the film noirish scene where Lina and Alice chat while smoking.

And the scene where Lina, who is wearing black boots, toys with Abdul by peeling a banana in a–you guessed it–erotic manner. You probably already know this, but Lina Romay does everything in this movie in a manner that could be construed as erotic. (Everything?) Yeah, you heard me, everything.

These three scenes are not in the hardcore version, so... enjoy them, I guess, because nothing in the hardcore version comes close to topping them in terms of non-threatening titillation.

My only complaint, besides the boring bits, is the fact that the lovely Monica Swinn's part as Lorna, Paul Muller's dead wife, is so skimpy. There's a scene where she is having straightforward bedroom intercourse with her lover while wearing back hold up stockings, but the lighting is so dark, you can't really appreciate the shape of Monica's Jess Franco-approved curves.

Turn on the smoke machine and dust off your Polish-English phrase book, it's time once again to enter the shadowy, clothes-optional realm of... the Fantom Kiler. (Wait, didn't you already watch and review that movie?) You see... (Oh no, don't tell me, they made a sequel, didn't they?) Yep, they most certainly did. That's right, turnip lovers, I finally decided to get off my freshly shaven ass/taint and tackle Fantom Kiler 2 with the full-force of my fucking face. Lacking the rectal wooden spoon antics, janitors with fake mustaches, nonsensical dialogue and the naked barbed-wire fence traversing that made the first film such a goofy delight, writer-director Roman Nowicki is all business in this time around. Resembling a real horror film at times (the key phrase there being "at times"), part two has the Polish police investigating a string of grisly prostitute murders. I know, Polish police investigating crimes, what is this, Polish Law and Order? Well, I don't know about that (doink doink), but it does feel like that season three episode of Miami Vice where a crazed Vietnam vet is killing dark-haired prostitutes with a ka-bar. (You mean, "The Savage," a.k.a. "Duty and Honour"?) Yeah, that's the one. If that particular episode taught us anything (besides the fact that Sonny Crockett looks damn good a dark teal sports coat), it's that in order to catch a serial killer who is butchering prostitutes, your wisest course of action is to entrap them by using live bait.

Since the killer seems to be only targeting female prostitutes, that rules out using a male police officer as bait. No, what Detective Uri Polanski needs to do is enlist the help of a female police officer, a shapely female police officer. And that's where Officer Kinska (Katarzyna Zelnik) comes in.

Since the scene where Kinska gets tarted up is still a ways away, let's lavish some praise on the gorgeous Liliana Cybulska in the meantime, shall we?

After listening to some industrial-sounding techno music and enduring a brief scene where the detectives explain what happened in the first flick, we get our first taste of the film's most attractive cast member. Now, the majority of you will remember that I thought Eliza Borecka was the most attractive woman who appeared in the first movie. But not anymore. For one thing, she doesn't wander around the woods in nothing but a pair of chunky black heels. Nor does she traverse any barbed wire fences in the buff. Boo!

Smoking a cigarette in the misty part of town just outside of town, Ramona (Liliana Cybulska), who is wearing is a red wig and a short blue skirt, is waiting for someone to come by and purchase a reasonably priced ticket to ride her pulsating Polish pussy all the way to Poundtown, population, your Polish penis. Suddenly, another Polish prostitute (Magda Szymborska) shows up and tells Ramona a sob story about how she needs to turn tricks to support her family. When the last customer of the evening comes by, Ramoma, a seasoned whore, allows the neophyte sex worker to get in the car.

Little does she know, but Ramona, the self-proclaimed "Patron Saint of Prostitutes," will never see that Polish prostitute alive again.

Brought in for questioning, Ramona and Det. Polanski have a chat. Since the inside of the police station is not as misty as the misty part of town just outside of town, we get some great shots of Ramona's outfit. Wearing a short black fur coat, a pink top, white nylons and black high-heel boots, Ramona plops down on the chair in front of Uri's desk.

After arguing about the merits of prostitution, Ramona decides to have some fun with the humourless detective. Noticing that he can't stop looking at her legs, Ramona calls out Uri's gratuitous gam gandering the only way she knows how.

Lifting up her legs and placing them on his desk with a playful thud, Ramona proceeds to entice the detective by stroking her calves in a seductive manner.

Boasting of their softness like a proud parent, Ramona is relentless when it comes to wielding her legs for erotic purposes. Hiding behind her knees in the most sheepish fashion ever to be recorded on film or video, the wide-eyed Polish prostitute continues to do so until Uri explodes with a weird mix of ecstasy and frustration.

Okay, and... I'm done. Well, that was a fun movie. Who wants to get rhubarb pie? What do you mean it isn't over? I don't care if it's not over. There's no way Roman Nowicki can top the leg-tastic splendour that is the scene where Romana, the self-proclaimed Patron Saint of Prostitutes, turns a misogynist fucktard into a quivering bowl of impotent molasses simply by caressing her knees.

Sure, I'm sort of curious to see him try. But throwing one scene after another at us that involve naked chicks with fake-looking tits covered in oil being chased by a faceless killer isn't exactly going to cut it. That's true, I don't know if every scene that takes place after Pani Cybulska's stem show is going to play out this way. However, the chances they might, given the franchises oily naked chicks being chased pedigree, are pretty freakin' high.

What's that? Fine, I'll continue to type words about this movie. But just to let you know, my heart's not in it. Just kidding, my heart's always in it, especially when it comes to movies that shamelessly sport leggy Polish chicks pretending to be prostitutes.

(C'mon, it's not that grim, is it? I mean, word on the street is, Katarzyna Zelnik wears a belly chain and strappy black heels at one point.) Yeah, she does. But get this, that's all she wears. (How is exactly is that a bad thing?) Um, hello? I watch movies to see hot chicks in clothes (this not a porn blog, this is a fashion blog!). Where have you been for the past twenty years? Everybody knows this. So, anyway, the prospect of watching a movie that seems obsessed with filming oiled up naked women being stabbed isn't all that inviting... I mean, enticing.

Nonetheless, Katarzyna Zelnik's Officer Kinska is dressed up as a prostitute and sent out into the street. What the... Since when has a coat, a belly chain, and a pair of strappy heels been considered dressing up as a prostitute? Where are the fishnet stockings, the red leather mini-skirt, the zebra print top and the fingerless opera gloves? And don't give me this nonsense about the police being on a tight budget. I want to see Katarzyna's legs in fishnet stockings and I want to see them now! Since the film was made some time in the late 1990s, my demand, unfortunately, was not even close to being met.

Even so, let that be a lesson to all you young filmmakers out there, make sure your prostitutes are dressed like first-rate whores.

Anyway, the idea is to lure the killer out in the open and then arrest him when he tries to harm the undercover Kinska. Using a radio to keep in contact with her, Uri constantly badgers Linska, telling to act more slutty. Sitting next to Uri is Ramona, who is there to tell him when she sees the killer's car. Other than the camera pan that went up the entirety of Katarzyna's body, the stake out since is overlong and dull (Ramona seems to think so too as she yawns several times over the course of the stake out scene).

When the killer finally does get around to stabbing someone, the wounds caused by the retractable knife are non-existent. In other words, the special effects are downright laughable. That being said, the scene where a real prostitute is slashed in the vagina by a large knife with a serrated blade was actually well done, gore-wise. And not only that, the actress playing the real prostitute, Natasza something, is wearing black stockings. So, yeah, the film manages to get at least one thing right.

Will I be watching part three? Oh, how do I know there's a part? Trust me, there's a part three. To answer my own question, it depends. 1) Are the women wearing clothes at any given time? And 2) Is the naturally attractive Liliana Cybulska in it? If part three manages to answer these two questions to my satisfaction, I might watch it.

After being harassed by the local sheriff of a small seaside town, two female ex-cons hoping to start over in said small seaside town decide that it's probably a good idea to change out of their hooker clothes. I don't recall which one said it to be exact (it was most likely the brunette, since she was dressed sluttier than her blonde friend). But the second one of them implies that they should start dressing more conservatively, I immediately dropped to my knees, raised my arms in the air (clenching my fists along the way), looked up at the ceiling and yelled, "Fuck!!!!" in an overly dramatic fashion. Of course, as I soon found out, this pathetic, shameful display was completely unnecessary. But during those fleeting moments after the suggestion to dress less whore-like was put out there, my mind was racing. I mean, I'm not interested in watching a film about two attractive, sensibly dressed women who just got out of jail. I don't care if the film, which, by the way, is called Junior (a.k.a. Hot Water and A Cut Above), features a mentally unbalanced Jeremy Ratchford wielding a chainsaw in an unorthodox manner, this isn't what I signed up for (truth be told, chainsaws in movies are rarely ever used in an orthodox manner, it's a fact, look it up). The way they were dressed when they got out of prison was perfectly fine, I thought to myself, as these tarty-looking hosebeasts strutted down the street free women at the beginning of the film.

To make things even better, the women, K.C. (Suzanne DeLaurentiis) and Jo (Linda Singer), are confronted by a scumbag in a convertible. How does that make it better, you ask? I was just about to get to that part. Judging by the way he roughed up K.C., I'm guessing he's her pimp (he slaps her around like a rag doll). Or maybe he was a drug dealer? Yeah, that makes sense, he did, after all, shove K.C.'s face into a pile of cocaine on the hood of his car. Pimp, drug dealer or both, it doesn't matter. What does matter is, these chicks are both skanks and they both have criminal records. (Um, those are good things?) What are you fucking kidding? Of course they're good things.

As almost everyone knows, I'm only interested in dating women who have criminal records. And the same logic applies to the movies I watch. The prospect of watching a film that boasts women who aren't felons makes me physically ill. I don't care if you're caught smuggling hashish in your pussy or found guilty of poisoning the elderly, you had better done something illegal, or else I ain't wooing or watching your ass. It's that simple. So, what you waiting for? Go out and commit a crime, so we can get this party started.

While I could have used a scene that showed what life was like for K.C., a tough as nails brunette, and Jo, a tough as nails blonde, in the pokey, the film, nonetheless, opens with them being released from prison. Who knows what they were in for, but by the looks of their clothes, I would say they were in for prostitution. But then again, prostitutes don't really get lengthy prison sentences. No, I would say it was something drug related. Which makes sense, as we have already established that the guy who slaps K.C. around after they get out is a pimp/drug dealer.

Speaking of which, just as I was about to start admiring the structural fortitude of K.C.'s ensemble (black pantyhose paired with a gold lame jacket), along comes this pimp/drug dealer in a convertible. You have to give up to Jo for trying to come the aide of K.C., who's currently being repeatedly slapped across the face. However, she really needs to work on her technique, as none of her blows are causing the pimp/drug dealer to stop was he's doing. Just when the pimp/drug dealer thinks he's subdued K.C., she stabs him the right nostril with some kind of cocaine pendant, and Jo, who's already in the driver's seat, hits the gas, and the two are on their way.

Well, well, well, would you lookie here, it would seem that pimp boy keeps a loaded shotgun in his car; I'm no expert when it comes to foreshadowing, but I think their newly acquired shotgun should come in handy as the film progresses.

Driving through the countryside, K.C. and Jo takes turns behind the wheel. You know what that means, don't you? (Um, let me guess, K.C.'s pantyhose adorned thighs are going to periodically brush up against the steering wheel, causing you to feel envy towards yet another inanimate object that appears in a Canuxploitation/Hicksploitation film from the mid-1980s?) Damn, you're good.

Not one to be overshadowed in the sexy department, Jo volunteers to give a blow job to a gas station attendant who has taken the their car keys hostage. Exiting the convertible with a surge of legginess, Jo, utilizing the slit on the back her short blue skirt for added mobility, saunters into the garage and prepares to feast on his junk. (She's not really going to blow him, is she?) Don't be silly, Jo's got class and dignity. Wait a minute, no she doesn't. Either way, her mouth has no intention of touching his stupid-looking dick (it's true, I didn't see his dick, but trust me, I bet it looks stupid).

Realizing that Jo took some of her thunder away in the previous scene, K.C. decides the best way to get some of it back is stick her butt out while working on their car's engine. The idea, I think, is to let all the other motorists get a nice look at what she's got going on in her junk drawer. And given that it's encased in jet black pantyhose and a pvc leotard, her ass is actually listed in the official driver's handbook as a road hazard.

You might find this hard to believe, but Junior isn't about two leggy ex-cons driving cross country. I wish it was, but it isn't. No, what it's really about is two leggy ex-cons battling a mentally unstable Mama's boy named–you guessed it–Junior.

The leggy ex-cons plan on fixing up a rundown marina. Only problem being, the locals, including the aforementioned Junior (Jeremy Ratchford), are not too thrilled with the idea of a couple of trashy sluts (their words, not mine) defiling their quiet, soggy armpit of a town. Oh, and don't expect local law enforcement to be on their side, as the unnamed Sheriff (Ken Roberts) is the one leading the charge to get rid of these leggy outsiders (I guess they have something against attractive, non-native women with shapely legs).

Wearing a fedora and red suspenders, Junior ups the ante each time he harasses K.C. and Jo at the marina. And each time he's done harassing them, he consults his deranged-looking mother.

The most memorable of Junior's harassment-based forays is when Junior attacks Sally (Alanne Perry), a local woman K.C. and Jo befriend, with a chainsaw. However, my favourite harassment-based foray has to be the scene where Junior and K.C. square off against one another in motorboats. After besting Junior (his flimsy boat was no match K.C.'s boat - it has a powerful souped up engine - that she installed herself), a bunch of Junior's redneck pals show up and surround K.C.'s boat. Desperate, K.C. removes her bumble bee print bikini top, stuffs it into a bottle of petrel, lights it and throws it at one of the boats, causing it to burst into flames.

(Hold up, are you saying K.C. used her bumble bee print bikini top as the wick for her makeshift Molotov cocktail?) Yep. (I think I'm in love.) And get this, she threatens to use her bumble bee print bikini bottoms for her next Molotov cocktail. When the other rednecks notice K.C. gesturing toward her bumble bee print bikini bottoms, as if to say, I've got another fiery cocktail with your names on it, they get the hell out of there.

To celebrate her victory over Junior, K.C. shows off her legs in an act of pure, unadulterated legginess (kick them stems, you sassy temptress, you). Actually, the real celebration takes place when K.C. takes the cock attached to Bud (Michael McKeever) and uses it as her own personal sex toy. Who's Bud, you ask? He's a redneck K.C. managed to lure away from the redneck lifestyle (it wasn't that hard given that K.C. is foxy as all get out).

If you're wondering where Jo's sex toy is at. Look no further than the crotch belonging to Luke (Cotton Mather), a plant-loving singer-songwriter who lives on a house boat.

Even though the film is clearly Canadian (it was shot just outside Montreal), it doesn't pretend to American either. In a shrewd move, the film lacks any references to geography. Nor does it feature any nationalistic symbols. This gives the film a neutral, almost otherworldly vibe. It's almost as if it doesn't place on Earth. Seriously, the film features two leggy chicks performing manual labour in bikinis. If that's not otherworldly, I don't know what is.

Oh, and if the name "Linda Singer" sounds familiar, it might be because she's the same Linda Singer who performs on "Leather High" by Nudimension, a Quebec new wave/synthpop group.

The tenants of porno chic and state of the art visual effects repeatedly collide with one another in the deliriously campy Flesh Gordon, the raunchy space adventure from... Ugh, I don't like that at all. I mean, I sound like a real douchebag. Speaking of things you insert in [hopefully] damp places, is this first film to feature the word dildo as an insult? I have no way of backing this up, but I think this is where dildo started its long, arduous journey to becoming a respectable putdown. I know Chevy Chase and others of his ilk used the term as far back as the late '70s, but this is the film, directed by Howard Ziehm and Michael Benvensiste, where it all began. If I'm wrong, I will happily retract everything I just said. In the meantime, until I'm told otherwise, the word "dildo" was first used in Flesh Gordon, and that's that. Oh, and you might have noticed that I used the word douchebag in the lead up to my dildo-based proclamation. I had read somewhere that Lily Tomlin considered the word douchebag to be sexist when used by males in a perjorative context. When I read this, I agreed, and ceased using the word from that day forward. However, it later came to my attention that Lily Tomlin disapproved of the classic music video for the Devo song "Whip It" back in the '80s (again, something to do with it being sexist). When I heard this I thought to myself: I can't take linguistic council from a person who's not down with Devo. So, without fail, I re-entered "douchebag,""douche" and "douchebaggery" back into my vocabulary. In conclusion, let that be a lesson to all of you. (And that is?) Sorry. Don't fuck with Devo.

Favourite uses of the word dildo in a movie or television show: "Goddamn-dipshit-Rodriguez-gypsy-dildo-punks." - Bud, Repo Man and "I don't think that I need to sit with you fuckin' dildos anymore." - John, The Breakfast Club

Favourite use of Devo in a movie or television show: "Going Under" (from the album, "New Traditionalists"), Miami Vice (from the episode, "Heart of Darkness")

Thank you for indulging in my mini-vocabulary rant. We now return to our regularly scheduled movie review.

I was going to start complaining about how Flesh Gordon wasn't sleazy enough for my taste. But then it dawned on me. There's a scene in the film where Flesh Gordon (Jason Williams), Dr. Flexi Jerkoff (Joseph Hudgins) and Prince Precious (Lance Larsen) try to shake loose a power pastie that's been lodged in the hard to reach confines of Rene Bond's well-travelled vagina. (Hold on, if her vagina is hard to reach, how can it be well-travelled at the same time?) You really want me to answer that? Never mind. Anyway, the film is definitely sleazy enough. Trust me, I should now.

A power pastie, by the way, is a powerful weapon Queen Amora (Nora Wieternik) bestows on Flesh Gordon after they make sweet love in her giant space swan. And when worn on the nipples, as Dr. Jerkoff does on several occasions, they enable the person wearing them to fire laser beams... from their nipples. (Where else would they fire from?) I just wanted to make sure people realized they fired laser beams from their nipples and not somewhere more conventional -- you know, like, your eyes or from the tip of your penis.

How the power pasties bestowed to Flesh Gordon by Queen Amora ended up on Dr. Jerkoff's nipples and then ultimately crammed into Rene Bond's well-travelled vagina is a long and complicated story. However, since I'm not one to shirk from things that are long, or things that are complicated for that matter, I plan on diving head first into this film's murky stew with my trademark gusto. (Don't forget your trademark verve.) Oh, yes, how could I forget. There will be verve.

After a lengthy disclaimer that states that this film is a satire and is in no way to be confused with Flash Gordon, and a beautiful opening credits sequence (Corny Cole), the film begins, where else, on Earth. But not the Earth you and I know, no, this Earth is overrun with an affliction known simply as sex madness.

The story finds Flesh Gordon meeting Dale Ardor (Suzanne Fields) aboard a plane. When the plane's pilots leave the cockpit in order to partake in the impromptu orgy that has broken out in coach, the plane begins to crash. Jumping out of the plane via a parachute, Flesh and Dale land near the secret lab belonging to Dr. Flexi Jerkoff. Before I continue, I'd like to point out that one of the pilots unsuccessfully tries to put Dale's foot in his mouth during the coach orgy and that Dale gives Flesh a blow job while they parachuted to safety.

Oh, and if the plot so far sounds eerily similar to the plot of the Flash Gordon film that came out years later, that's because it is...eerily similar.

Determined to find out what's causing the Earth's population to behave like a bunch of sex-craved maniacs, Flesh and Dale agree to accompany Dr. Jerkoff in his penis-shaped spaceship.

As expected, their journey leads them to Planet Porno, a dastardly rock ruled with a limp-wristed fist by Emperor Wang the Perverted (William Dennis Hunt), an impotent tyrant who commands an army of dickless chuckleheads.

Just as Emperor Wang is about to put Flesh in the "sex depletor" (they're captured shortly after crash landing on the planet), Amora, Queen of Darkness and the Guardian of the Sacred Power Pasties, appears in Wang's thrown room and states that she wants Flesh for herself. In order to claim Flesh, Wang says that he must wrestle three deranged women in the arena. When Flesh wins (Flesh can wrestle deranged women with his eyes closed), Amora swoops in to claim her prize. Ushering him aboard her giant space swan, Amora fucks Flesh utilizing a series of thrusting motions and the occasional moan-assisted hump.

Meanwhile, Dale is to marry Wang (he says of Dale upon meeting her, "My eyes have never behold such loveliness") and Dr. Jerkoff is being forced to do science stuff in Wang's lab. While Dr. Jerkoff is smart enough to outwit his captors and escape (quickly reuniting with Flesh), Dale isn't so lucky. (Are you saying Dale is too stupid to escape.) I wouldn't exactly go that far, but she isn't the brightest bulb in the egg carton of life, if you know what I mean.

I'll give her this, she sure can writhe. (Writhe?) Yeah, writhe. You know, squirm, wriggle, twist... Writhe! At any rate, when Flesh and Jerkoff crash Wang's wedding, an enchanting woman with long black hair ushers Dale to the Amazon Underground of Porno. A girly, subterranean realm ruled by Candy Samples (a unruly dyke wearing a ruby-encrusted eye-patch and metal leg brace), Dale has her clothes ripped from her body (all that remains is a single black hold up stocking) and is strapped to a gurney. Kudos to the director(s) for providing us with an overhead shot of Dale as she writhes on the gurney in one black hold up stocking. I love writhing.

(Did it ever occur to you that the fact that the Amazonians left one of Dale's black hold up stockings on wasn't accident?) Huh? (If you look closely, you'll notice that Candy Samples is wearing one black hold up stocking as well. However, it can't be mandatory, as some of the other Amazon women are clearly wearing two hold up stockings.) Nonetheless, after inspecting the troops (checking to make sure their nipples were in order), Candy Samples chooses a black Amazonian woman to be the first to ravish Dale. Midway through the black lesbian rape, Flesh and Jerkoff show up to break things up. And with the help of Prince Precious, a Robin Hood-esque character who digs gay sex and knitting just as much as he hates Wang, they manage to usher Dale to safety.

Am I crazy or are the special effects in this film pretty great? After doing some mild research, I soon discovered that the majority of the effects crew on Flesh Gordon went on to have successful careers in the visual effects field. Seriously, the stop-motion animation beetle, the one-eyed penis monsters, and King Kong-style creature (voiced by Craig T. Nelson) were all well done. The robots with drill penises were excellent, too (though, they weren't created using stop-motion animation).

Grabbing Dale, the King Kong-style creature takes her to the top of the Tower of Murder (it's where he likes to hang out). Why am I mentioning this? Oh, yeah, when the creature gets Dale to the top, he says, "I wonder how you'd look in black nylons." All right King Kong-style creature who appears at the end of Flesh Gordon, I like the where your head is at.

Let's see how long I can go without using the word "insane" when writing about The Boxer's Omen, the literally bat-shit insane new film from the Shaw Brothers. Okay, go! What's that? You say I already used the word. Damn, that was fast. Well, as you can clearly see, it's nearly impossible to type a sentence about this film without employing the I-word. (Is the film really that insane?) I don't know where to start. But, seriously, to answer your question, yes, it really is that insane. In fact, it's so insane at times, that I felt guilty about all the instances in the past where I used the word to describe other so-called works of cinematic insanity. Not so much in regard to movies like, Dandy Dust and Blood Diner, as those films are truly insane. But there are plenty of films floating around out there that are not worthy of being called insane. (But this one is you say?) Haven't you been paying attention? Yes, it's definitely worthy. Our hero is attacked by animated alligator skulls and red-eyed bats. Actually, that's kinda backwards. You see, the red-eyed bats are conjured by a demented witch doctor by pouring chicken blood over a bunch of alligator skulls that just happen to be lying around (just for the record, the alligator skulls were conjured too). Emerging from the eye holes of the alligator skulls, the red-eyed bats fly towards our hero in a menacing manner. When that doesn't result in the desired effect, the witch doctor sends the alligator skulls.

I'm not ashamed to admit this, but I totally want to be like Chan Hung (Phillip Ko Fei), the aforementioned hero of the story. (Of course you would. I mean, who wouldn't want to be a Hong Kong boxer who learns he was twins with a powerful monk named Abbot in a previous life?) What?!? No, I was referring to the fact that he gets to have sex with his Chinese girlfriend. (Oh, I see.) She, the Chinese girlfriend (Wai Ka-Man), is leggy as all get out, and, like I said twice already, she's Chinese.

(I'm sorry, but what's that got to do with anything?) Her being Chinese? (Yeah.) This may sound weird, but doesn't everyone want a Chinese girlfriend? Oh, and when I say "Chinese," I'm talking about women who are either from China or are of Chinese decent. (No, we understand what you mean.) I don't think you do. Every time I put on a "erotic movie" that purports to feature hot Asian chicks, none of them are ever Chinese. Sure, some of look like they're on the cusp of being Chinese, but they're never really Chinese. (And this annoys you?) You're goddamn right it does.

Anyway, after being rescued from certain death by the spirit of a dead monk, Chan Hung goes home to bask in the legginess that only a woman who is truly Chinese can provide.

And oh my God! Does he ever bask.

Look at you!

You Chinese Chinese girlfriend-sporting motherfucker!

I'm going to find out where you live.

And when I do...

I'm going to come over and congratulate you on your good fortune in the Chinese girlfriend department. Just kidding, I'm going to wait until to you travel to Thailand to become a monk, then go over to your house and start hitting on your Chinese girlfriend something fierce.

(Wait, why does Chan Hung need to be rescued?) Do you really want me to get into this? I mean, I could talk about Chinese chicks for hours. (No, really, why does he need to be rescued?) Okay, you remember how Bolo Yeung cheated when fighting Jean-Claude Van Damme's character in the movie Bloodsport? Well, after Chan Lung's brother defeats Bolo Yeung, a Thai boxer, in a boxing match, Bolo does the same by breaking his brother's neck, which paralyzes him from the neck down. After the fight, Chan Hung, a low level gangster of some kind, is set to meet a rival gangster at a warehouse on the mainland. When he gets there, he's ambushed. However, just as he's about to be killed, a mysterious monk intervenes, rescuing him from–you guessed it–certain death.

(Did the mysterious monk purposefully cause the Thai boxer to paralyse his brother so that he would be forced to travel to Thailand to avenge him?) I don't know 'bout that, but Chan Hung does travel to Thailand to confront Bolo Yeung. While riding in a small water taxi, Chan notices a gold symbol glowing on the top of a nearby temple. Similar to the symbol he saw the night he made sweet love with his leggy Chinese girlfriend against the rain-soaked sliding doors of his swanky pad, Chan instructs the driver to swing on by the temple.

And wouldn't you know it, not only do the monks know his name, they were expecting him. One of them tells Chan that Abbot, the mysterious monk, died not so long ago, and explains how that came about. The flashback sequence detailing how Abbot's death came about is our first hint that this film isn't hooked up right. It shows Abbot confronting a black magician at the airport. Causing the black magician's skin to turn green, he eventually, after the green flesh bubbles have burst, collapses and dies. Out of his mouth, a bat emerges, which Abbot manages to capture.

Meanwhile, a witch doctor/shaman/professional crazy person is fuming over the fact that a monk is ritually killing his bat. "How dare they kill my bat," he says to himself, as he prepares to right this proceived wrong. Using rats blood to revive it, the reanimated skeletal remains of his bat try to make a run for the temple door, but the monk stops it just in the nick of time and proceeds to smash the upright bat's bones with a mallet.

If you thought the witch doctor was going to just sit idly by let this bat-based transgression go unpunished, think again. Extracting venom from some snakes, the witch doctor plans to poison the bat-murdering monk. But how does he get the poison into the monk's body? It's simple, really, have some spiders drink the poison, and then lower them onto his face as he sleeps. (Why doesn't he just shoot him in the head with a gun?) Witch doctors don't shoot people with guns. Duh.

The look on Chan Hung's face after being told this weird and wild story is one of disbelief. When the monks show Chan Abbot's nearly decomposed body sitting cross-legged in a special room, he's still not convinced. (He must have been convinced when Abbot--who's legally dead--tells Chan that they're twins from a past life, and that he will die when his body fully decomposes in a few months.) Not really. I won't say what finally does convince him, but let's just say it's pretty gross.

In order to defeat evil, this Hong Kong gangster must retire from the world and become a monk. Running his hand through his hair one last time, Chan Hung gets down to business. (Don't you mean, monk-ey business?) I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that.

Re-branded as "Kaidi Baluo," Chan is now ready to fight. Swooping in right on schedule, the witch doctor, a minion of the Lord of the Darkness, starts things off by sicking a bunch of red-eyed bats on Chan. After a handful of similar tactics fail to yield results, the witch doctor decides to employ his own head. Removing it via black magic, the witch doctor's head attacks Chan by strangling him with the tendons that are dangling from his neck. Nice.

When the battle is over, Chan goes back to Hong Kong to have sex with his Chinese girlfriend and to kick the crap out of the Thai boxer who paralyzed his brother, the end. Damn, what an amazing movie. It has everything: Leggy Chinese chicks, leggy Chine... Hold on, what's this? It would seem some of witch doctor's disciples are up to no good. Great. That means he has to go back to Thailand and do it all over again. However, this time he fights a demented warrior princess in Nepal. Cue the weirdness. Or I should say, cue the awesomeness. At any rate, I give this film five leggy Chinese chicks out of five.

After the debacle that was Fantom Kiler 2, you would have thought I would have learned my lesson. But, no, here I am, ready and willing to debase myself in public by admitting to the world at large that I watched Fantom Kiler 3 utilizing my own freewill. I mean, it would be one thing if someone held a loaded gun to my head and forced me to watch these movies. But that's clearly not the case. (Quit your bellyaching, deep down you know you like these movies.) No, I don't. I find them to be morally objectionable. They're the kind of violent, sexiest trash that only a diseased mind would enjoy. (Whatever. Didn't you whisper in my ear that the walls of the auto repair garage toilet reminded you of the gatefold sleeve of a certain live album by the Revolting Cocks?) I don't remember whispering that. (You totally did. As the ultra-leggy Eliza Borecka, who's back with a vengeance after her tepid, not-so leggy turn in Fantom Kiler 2, is about to sit down to take a pee, you said, and I quote: "You Goddamned Son of a Bitch!" At first I was like, what the fuck? But then you explained to me that that's the name of the live album Revco put out in the late 1980s. Anyway, only a person with a deep seeded love for these movies would take the time to notice the makeshift pornographic wallpaper plastered all over the walls of the film's primary auto repair garage toilet. And I don't give me no line about how you were so bored that you were reduced to noticing the wallpaper, you're a closet Fantom Kiler fan.)

While I wouldn't exactly go that far. I think I may have unlocked the secret behind the reason "Fantom Kiler" is spelled the way it is. Let's say you're a faceless serial killer who wears a black leather trench coat and a black Panama hat, and you want to leave a calling card at the crime scenes you create. Now, writing your name in blood is an excellent calling card. It's straight-forward and to the point. That being said, have you ever tried to write your name in blood? No? Well, neither have I. But I can tell you this, I bet it ain't easy.

Okay, and, now, let's say your name is the "Phantom Killer" and you have just killed a nightclub singer/exotic dancer with wonderfully natural breasts. Gathering up as much blood as you can, you begin to write your name on a mirror. Then it hits it hits you like a ton of bricks, you could save a lot of time and, not to mention, a lot of blood, if you simply replace the 'Ph' in Phantom with an 'F,' and drop one of the 'l's' in Killer. And just like that, you have doubled, maybe even tripled, your productivity.

The next time some geek/know-it-all comes up to you and launches into some spiel about how his favourite actor raped him with a Mr. T Pez dispenser in the parking lot of an aluminum siding convention, cut him off mid-Pez dispenser rape brag, and start explaining to him why the titles of the Fantom Kiler movies are spelled the way they are. It doesn't matter if he hasn't heard of the Fantom Kiler series, you'll blow his mind.

Actually, I'm not entirely sure if this theory of mine is on the level. So, I might want to tread lightly when dealing with the Mr. T Pez dispenser rape guy (who's not a real person, but a composite of the kind of people who go to aluminum siding conventions). But you have got to admit, as far as theories go, it's pretty rock solid.

If you're beginning to think that I'm spending way too much time going on and on about the origins of the name, "Fantom Kiler," you're right, I am. However, since the first, oh, let's say, fifteen minutes of Fantom Kiler 3 are a complete waste of time, you'll agree that my rambling is highly appropriate. Unless, of course, you consider the sight of Magda Szymborska oiling her fake breasts while leaning on the hood of her car to be worthy of your time. If you do, feel to paw at your genitals, that's what they're there for.

In the meantime, the rest of us (i.e. us relatively sane people) will be patiently waiting for ultra-leggy Eliza Borecka to appear onscreen.

You would have thought that Roman Nowicki would have improved his special effects during the time between making Fantom Kiler 2 and Fantom Kiler 3. But, no, the stabbing of Magda Szymborska's character looks just as fake in this film as Katarzyna Zelnik's stabbing did in the previous film.

Out in the woods to take erotic pictures of herself next to her yellow car, Madga Szymborska is suddenly attacked by a faceless killer. When this happened I was like, whoa, I didn't see that coming at all. I mean, a naked, oiled up Polish woman with cuoco-esque tits is attacked by a faceless killer wielding a knife? Seriously, who comes up with this stuff? It's crazy!

On the one hand, I have to commend Magda for wearing a black leather mini-skirt with a slit down the side. On the other hand, I must scold her for not wearing stockings. Bad Magda, bad Magda. Here's a huge wad of złotys, go to the lingerie store in Łódź and pick up some black stockings. Tell them Yum-Yum sent you. Oh, and Magda, never, ever appear onscreen without stockings on your legs. You got that? Good, now get your ass to Łódź.

After a pair of detectives are done wasting our time pretending to investigate Magda's murder, we enter an auto repair garage, where two mechanics are busy admiring their giant wall of erotica.

Interrupting the fellas is the leggiest woman in all of Poland. Pushing her car into the garage, Eliza Borecka is now on the screen. Sure, she ain't wearing stockings either. But at least her breasts are real. Anyway, wearing a caramel mini-dress, it would seem that Eliza's car isn't running properly.

If the mechanics had said something to affect of: "I can't wait to look up her exhaust pipe," I would have been fine with that. But, no, these assholes have to spend the next ten minutes throwing every car-based sexual innuendo they can think of at Eliza Borecka as she stood by her broken car in a leggy manner. We get it, when you say you want to "check under her hood," you're not talking about the hood of her car.

Luckily, nature calls, and Eliza Borecka asks to use their toilet, which thankfully ends the barrage of car-based sexual innuendos. And just like the walls of the garage, the walls of the toilet are covered in erotica. A confused-looking Eliza Borecka can't seem to decide what she finds more disgusting, the wall of garish Eastern European porn or the shit-stained toilet. Did anyone else find it odd that Eliza Borecka didn't flush the toilet before using it? Just me, eh?

It's true, I've been shaking my head in frustration a lot during this film. But I did start to nod ever so slightly when the one of the mechanics tells Eliza Borecka that she has the legs of a dancer. Finally, someone decides to say something that actually makes sense. Because, up until now, it's been nothing but wall-to-wall incoherent gibberish.

With no way of paying the mechanics to fix her car (one of the mechanics stole her money when she wasn't looking), Eliza Borecka is told to put those dancer's legs to good use. Reluctantly, Eliza Borecka agrees, and begins to perform a striptease for the sleazy mechanics. Take note, when Eliza Borecka's caramel mini-dress hits the ground, it's the last time she will be seen with clothes on. (You mean the mechanics are about to kill her?) Don't be ridiculous, this scene has at least another twenty minutes to go. (What?) All right, at least another eight minutes.

Just as I was about to lose hope that Roman Nowicki didn't have any surprises left up his sleeve, he unleashes what has to be one of the best sequences of the Fantom Kiler series so far. Of course, no one will be surprised when the mechanics douse Eliza Borecka's naked body with motor oil. However, it's when Eliza Borecka decides to fight back against her grease monkey tormentors that things start to get interesting. (Hold up, "interesting"?!? Are you sure you're talking about Fantom Kiler 3?) That's exactly what I said. But take my word for it, things get interesting.

When I saw the chainsaw hanging over by the door of the toilet my initial reaction was: What kind of auto repair garage needs to have a chainsaw on hand? In true Fantom Kiler style, the sight of the chainsaw did noting but confuse the hell out of me. Then, as the mechanics began to harass Eliza Borecka, I realized that the anachronistic chainsaw was about to be employed as a weapon. However, Eliza Borecka was the last person I expected to see using it in a manner that its designers hadn't intended.

The mechanics, now armed with metal pipes, confront Eliza Borecka, who just stabbed one of them in the leg with a screwdriver. Since it's obvious to her that her long, Polish gams are no match for metal pipes, Eliza Borecka grabs the chainsaw (which, like I said, is hanging near the toilet) and proceeds to saw her way out of this sticky, elongated pickle of a situation. If the sight of a naked Eliza Borecka holding a chainsaw doesn't excite the shiftless rabble who watch these films, then nothing will; keen observers will notice Eliza Borecka's hair goes from being up to down between shots.

If that wasn't enough, Fantom Kiler 3 gives us an extended nightclub music sequence courtesy of electroclash superstar Melochna Naskovystylist (Alicia Malikova), a singer/stripper who entertains the detectives in-between murders. While not as leggy as Eliza Borecka, Alicia is all-natural and has a modicum of charisma.

Since the film's twist ending involves a Fantom Kiler regular, I won't mention her name. At any rate, I have to commend Roman Nowicki for at least trying to breath new life into his flagship franchise.

Oh, and if you're wondering what end of the Mr. T Pez dispenser the aluminum siding convention guy was raped with, let's just say... Wait a minute, let's just say nothing. (Aw, c'mon. Tell us which end! Please! We don't ask for much.) Okay, the rapist shoved Mr. T's head up his butt. Are you happy? (Ouch! I pity his anus.)

According to my crack research staff--and by "staff," I mean, Steve, Justin, Agnieszska, Big Lloyd and Tammy--white people didn't start taking martial arts classes until 1973--you know, the year Enter the Dragon came out. (Okay, if that's the case, how do you explain the fact that Herschell Gordon Lewis'Something Weird opens with two white guys doing karate?) Truth be told, I don't think anyone can explain why this film opens with two white guys doing karate. (A paradox for the ages, perhaps?) It looks like it. (Oh, well.) Another thing before I begin my lavishly ornate tribute to one of the most alluring witches in film history, did anyone else find it strange that Dr. Alex Jordan (William Booker) told two Jefferson, Wisconsin detectives that he was attacked by a blanket? I mean, if I was attacked by a blanket in Jefferson, Wisconsin, I would have kept it to myself. I don't care how savage the blanket might have seemed, you don't go around telling other men you were nearly murdered by a blanket. If I was to tell the fellas about my unique brush with death, I would have told them I was attacked by a demonic armada of commemorative dinner plates, or better yet, a psychotic blender with mommy issues, as these household items are far more menacing than a blanket. (White guys doing karate, homicidal blankets? I don't want to come off as close-minded, but this film sounds like a huge piece of crap.) Oh, it's a huge piece of something all right. I'm just not sure crap is the term I would use. (Shit?) No, that's not right either. (Fecal matter?) Nope. (Unrefrigerated diarrhea?) *sigh*

This film is a huge piece of Mudite Arums. (Huh? Is that a new euphemism for poo?) Uh-uh. Credited as "The Hag," Mudite Arums is the main reason to watch this movie. (First of all, what the hell is a Mudite Arums? And secondly, is there any gore?) Let me answer you're second question first. No, there isn't any gore. I know, a Herschell Gordon Lewis film without gore might seem redundant, but that's just the way it is (the majority of H.G.L.'s films, by the way, are not so-called "gore films").

What is a "Mudite Arums"? I've been asking myself that very question non-stop for about a week. (Are you sure Mudite Arums is not some figment of your witch-loving imagination?) Oh, she's real all right. And I have the stains to prove it. I can't believe I just said that. It was not only inappropriate, it was downright disgusting. I am truly sorry.

In my defence, though, Mudite Arums does have a pair of lips on her left knee. (No she doesn't.) Yeah, she does. (If that's the case, this film must have reduced you to a quivering pile of gelatinous goo.) It must have? (Aren't you the one who's always going on about how they want to lick and/or kiss the knees attached to witches?) Oh, yeah, you're right. I am that one, aren't I?

And just like the white guys doing karate and the homicidal blanket, I can't really explain why Mudite Arums has lips on her left knee. However, unlike the karate and the blanket, I don't really want to know why Mudite Arums has lips on her left knee, as the mystery surrounding their existence gives her character an added layer of depth.

Let's say you're non-psychic who works for an electrical company and you sort of look like a blurred photo of a young George Peppard. You might not be psychic, but you get a regular paycheck and you sort of look like a blurred photo of a young George Peppard. In other words, life is good.

What if a terrible accident took away your ability to not only work for an electrical company but robbed you of your ability to sort of look like a blurred photo of a young George Peppard, how far would you go to get the latter back? (What about the former?) Fuck that noise, I want to sort of look like a blurred photo of a young George Peppard. (Right, where's my head.)

While I implied earlier that Something Weird opens with the two white guys doing karate, in truth, it actually opens with a killer choking a woman wearing a white knee-length skirt with matching pumps. We eventually see the woman's face as she falls to the ground, but the killer's identity is not revealed; at least not yet. I just wanted to mention this before anybody got bent out of shape and accused me misleading them into thinking they were going to get white guys doing karate right from the get-go.

One of the white guys doing karate is Dr. Alex Jordan (William Brooker), a government scientist who is in charge of parapsychological research. After karate class, we see Alex making out with a blonde woman on a couch. And just as the blonde woman is telling Alex that he is "positively electrifying," we see an electrician get electrocuted and fall off a roof. A bunch of his co-workers come to his aide. One of these of helpful co-workers, Cronin 'Mitch' Mitchell (Tony Mccabe), tries to grab a live wire, but it hits him in the face.

At the hospital, two doctors are discussing Mitch's case (one of them calls him "almost deranged"). While getting half your face burned off sucks and all, Mitch is now psychic. Yeah, it would seem that Mitch's accident was a curse and a blessing. On the one hand, the electricity has given him a rare gift. Yet, part of his face looks like burnt toast covered in a healthy dollop of lumpier than usual marmalade.

Doing what any other electrician turned scarred psychic would do, Mitch charges people two dollars a pop to get a psychic reading from a real psychic.

One day, while giving readings, in walks a vision of... loveliness?!? That's doesn't sound right. In walks a vision of tasteful elegance. (Are you sure you know what words mean?) What? ("Tasteful elegance"? C'mon, man.) Whatever. Enter The Witch (Mudite Arums). Oh, before I continue, I should mention that a book on witchcraft magically appears in Mitch's hands before The Witch comes in. At any rate, The Witch greets Mitch by saying, "Good day, Mr. Mitchell," in a decidedly witchy manner.

If you're thinking The Witch in Something Weird looks like Elizabeth Montgomery from Bewitched or Nicole Kidman from Bewitched, think again. This witch is the kind of witch who slouches a lot and has facial warts. Meaning, she's my kind of witch. But, of course, this witch isn't Mitch's kind of witch, so, he rebuffs her the bargain she tries to make with him, one that entails that he become her lover in exchange for fixing his fucked up face.

As The Witch was listing the framework of her bargain, I was already chomping at the bit to agree to her terms, as I was already head over heels in love with her, facial warts and all.

Even though he rejects her, The Witch fixes Mitch's fucked up face anyway. When Mitch goes to thank The Witch, she has mysteriously disappeared. Or has she? No, wait, she's definitely not here. What I mean is, I don't think this will be the last we'll hear from The Witch, as witches rarely do things without getting something in return. In fact, forget about witches, most people don't do anything without at least getting something in return.

Entering a fancy restaurant with a newfound swagger, Mitch approaches an attractive woman in a yellow dress sitting all alone. And before you know it, Ellen Parker (Elizabeth Lee) is sitting on Mitch's couch wearing nothing but a towel.

Suddenly, without warning, Ellen Parker turns into The Witch. Laughing in a manner befitting a witch, The Witch sort of stands up (don't forget, she's a sloucher), and evilly reminds Mitch about their bargain. The way Mudite Arums says the word "lover" drives me wild (the emphasis she puts on the 'L' is the stuff shameful erections are made of). Oh, and it's in this scene where we get our first glimpse of the lips on The Witch's left knee.

"I had a dream--I wanted to lick your knees." ~ Camper Van Beethoven

Since the police in Jefferson, Wisconsin are desperate to catch a blow torch-wielding serial killer, one who has killed seven women, they turn to Mitch for help. As he's being recruited by the cops, Dr. Alex Jordan arrives in town to gauge Mitch's validity as a psychic, the federal government is eager to exploit his gifts to fight the Soviets.

After providing the police with multiple demonstrations of his power, Mitch is put on the case. However, Dr. Jordan is still somewhat skeptical. It doesn't seem to matter, though, as he seems more interested in wooing Ellen Parker than investigating Mitch's psychic abilities.

Even though we're given the occasional reminder that Ellen Parker is, in actuality, a witch. I thought the film could have used more scenes that featured Mudite Arums acting all witch-like, and less one's that boasted squares with boring haircuts sitting around talking about serial killers and demonically possessed blankets. I did like it when Dr. Jordan uses karate to subdue a couple of drunken troublemakers outside a bar, as it totally justified the existence of the white guys doing karate scene that sort of opened the film.

Oh, and I could have used more of Peg Stewart, she plays the leggy brunette Mitch chats with at a party.

Patrick (Richard Franklin, 1978)

Driller (Joyce James, 1984)

Entrails of a Virgin (Kazuo Komizu, 1986)

The Toxic Avenger Part II (1989)

The Toxic Avenger (1984)

The Inconfessable Orgies of Emmanuelle (Jess Franco, 1982)

Driller (Joyce James, 1984)

Jason Lives: Friday the 13th Part VI (Tom McLoughlin, 1986)

Patrick Still Lives (Mario Landi, 1980)

The Toxic Avenger Part II (1989)

Mansion of the Living Dead (Jess Franco, 1985)

The New Kids (Sean S. Cunningham, 1985)

Mystics in Bali (H. Tjut Djlil, 1981)

The Hot Nights of Linda (Jess Franco, 1975)

Fantom Kiler 2 (Roman Nowicki, 1999)

Junior (Jim Hanley, 1985)

Flesh Gordon (Howard Ziehm, 1974)

The Boxer's Omen (Chin Hung Kuei, 1983)

Fantom Kiler 3 (Roman Nowicki, 2003)

Something Weird (Herschell Gordon Lewis, 1967)