House of Self-Indulgence

What's with you people? Didn't I ask you some time ago to recommend movies to me that feature milfy women who wield syringes filled with iridescent liquid? Well, I just watched Body Melt. Anyone care to guess what transpires in the opening scene of this mucus-friendly film from Australia? That's right, an attractive woman of a certain age holds up a syringe that is clearly filled with an iridescent liquid of unknown origin. So, I ask again. What's with you people? I thought we had a deal. I write mildly entertaining reviews for cult movies (free of charge, mind you), and you inform me about the existence of movies that feature lithe forty-something chicks and iridescent goo. Anyway, if you search this site using the word "iridescent," there's a high chance the movies that come up will be awesome. And this one is no different in that regard. Sure, it looks like your average tale about an evil health spa who use the residents of a seemingly quiet cul de sac as test subjects for their new wonder drug. But it's got more to it than that. Wait a minute, I don't think there is actually more to it. Either way, people hallucinate, people experience organ failure and people melt. Fun is had by all. "Whether you be glad, sad or bad You've got to know that there's fun to be had..."

Did I mention a former scientist's inbred yet sexy daughter takes an Australian man of Italian decent to her special shag shack and eats his genitals while an exotic bird showers them with packing peanuts? No? Well, I should have. But, you know what they say, better late than never.

Just to let you know, I have no way to prove that Slab ate Sal Ciccone's genitals. However, judging by the crimson complexion of the blood coagulating around her mouth area after she exited her special shag shack, I'd say some of it was definitely crotch-related. Trust me, I have a sixth sense about these kind of things. Call it foreskin foresight, call it an offhand brand of testicular jurisprudence. Call it what you will. I know congealed dick blood when I see it.

Okay, now that we cleared that up, what do you say we methodically examine every scene that features an instance where a body melts?

Great, I'm glad you're on board. But first, let's talk about milfy scientists who appear in well-produced promotional videos for health spas.

The film opens with said milfy scientist, Shaan (Regina Gaigalas), injecting a fellow scientist, Ryan (Robert Simper), with a mysterious substance. Given that this so-called "substance" is bright green does not bode well for this Ryan fella, who is apparently dissatisfied with the work they're doing at Vimuville, a health spa/research lab located out in Yantabulla.

In case some of us didn't pick up on Ryan's dissatisfaction, we're shown him burning his Vimuville I.D. card before he drives off.

The reason Shaan doesn't seem worried that Ryan seems set on warning the residents of Pebbles Court in Homesville, Australia is because... That's right, she injected him with iridescent goo. Yay! Paying attention is awesome. As I was saying, Ryan wants to tell the residents of Peebles Court that the not-so fine folks at Vimuville have been using them as guinea pigs for their experimental drugs.

Unfortunately for Ryan, he only gets as far as the detergent aisle at the local Ampol station. Squeezing as much detergent into his mouth and neck wounds as he possibly can (you know, to stave off the melting process), Ryan actually does make it to Pebbles Court, but he's in no shape to warn anyone about anything. His body melts just as Gino Argento (Maurie Annese) and Sal Ciccone (Nick Polites) were about to embark on a road trip.

Unfazed by the sight of a man spewing mucus and other greenish liquids all over their driveway, Gino and Sal hit the road. Woo-hoo! Aussie road trip! No worries here we come!

The same goes for their neighbour, Paul Matthews (William McInnes), a record exec, who heads to the airport in a similar unfazed fashion.

While I can't speak for the entire Noble family, it's obvious that Thompson Noble (Adrian Wright) and his son Brandon (Ben Geurens) don't seem all that shook up about the melting man in their next-door neighbour's driveway.

As for Brian (Brett Climo) and the very pregnant Cheryl Rand (Lisa McCune), the young couple who just moved in, it's hard to say what they think about the melting man, 'cause we haven't met them yet.

What I can say is this: All these people, including Mrs. Noble (Jillian Murphy) and her daughter Elloise (Amanda Douge), will soon feel the effects of Vimuville; which, in case you don't know, stands for: Visceral/Muscular Vitalization of Latent Libidinal Energy.

Since the empty bottle of pills found on Ryan had the Vimuville logo on it, the police make their way to–you guessed it–Vimuville.

It's too bad Gino and Sal didn't hear about the cops plan to head to Vimuville, they could have tagged along. That's right, Gino and Sal were driving to Vimuville, too. Instead, they end up getting sidetracked at a gas station run by a family of inbred freaks.

Or, I should say, a family of inbred, kangaroo adrenal gland-eating, porn-watching freaks and Slab (Anthea Davis), who, and I think most of you will agree, is one of the breathtaking, cranially-interesting women to ever walk the face of the earth.

Sure, the scarred woman, Kate (Suzi Dougherty), Paul Matthews meets at the airport is just as breathtaking. But she's not as cranially-interesting as Slab. Though, you could probably chop carrots on Kate's cheekbones, if you were so inclined. Okay, let me put it this way, Slab and Kate are both breathtaking and both have interesting craniums. However, I have to give Slab a slight edge in the boner department because she's a demon in the sack (don't believe me, just ask Sal's perforated ball-sack). All Kate seems interested in is stealing your ribs (she has an extensive rib collection).

It's true, I could go on forever debating with myself the pros and cons of dating women with interesting craniums. But I think I should wrap things up. And the best way to do so is to place Body Melt alongside other body horror classics such as, From Beyond, Brain Damage, Street Trash, Slime City and Rabid. Oh, and major kudos to writer-director Philip Brophy (Salt, Saliva, Sperm and Sweat). Not only did he make a sick movie, he made one with a techno score; the "Body Melt Theme" rules.

Let me quickly start things off by giving all you fine folks out there some free advice: Never turn your back on Susan Tyrrell when she's holding a meat cleaver. I don't care if it seems like she's in a good mood, the odds that she will try to hit you with said meat cleaver the moment you turn your back are pretty high. In fact, forget about not turning your back, I would avoid being in the presence of Susan Tyrrell all-together when she's holding a meat cleaver. On the other hand, if I was in Susan Tyrrell's kitchen (let's say I was over there to fix her television) and she began hiking up her skirt in an erotic manner, I would be tickled pink by the sudden upshot in Susan Tyrrell-based titillation. Now, both the scenarios I just put forth do occur in the decidedly off-kilter Night Warning, but it was the so-called "sudden upshot in Susan Tyrrell-based titillation" that sent me over the edge. Envious that Phil Brody (Caskey Swaim), television repairman extraordinaire, was chosen by Susan Tyrrell's Aunt Cheryl to be the man to satisfy her sexual hunger, I sat back and waited for Phil to mount his shapely prize on the kitchen table with bated breath.

Get between those milky thighs, you lucky bastard. Get between them real good. Is what I thought to myself, when I realized that Phil was about to be taken on a wild, pelvic ride.

However, the only thing that's going to be penetrated on this day is Phil's jugular. You heard right, Phil rebuffs Aunt Cheryl's attempt to seduce him. I'll get to jugular penetration in a minute. But let's just say I was flabbergasted by the sight of Phil rejecting the advances of an amorous of Susan Tyrrell; I had trouble fathoming that anyone in their right mind would this.

I mean, does this movie really expect me to believe that a grown man would turn down a free helping of Susan Tyrrell-orchestrated poontang?

Just as I was about to dismiss this movie as unrealistic poppycock, the film throws us a plot twist that does a lot to explain why Phil shunned Aunt Cheryl's lewd overture so assertively.

While a plot twist like this would have been greeted with yawns if it were from a movie made today, back in 1982, the subject was still taboo.

The gayest horror film to come out of the 1980s, Night Warning (a.k.a. Butcher, Baker, Nightmare Maker) doesn't receive this distinction because the film's primary crime solver is a raging bigot with a grudge against "fags." Nor does it receive this distinction because Susan Tyrrell has an inordinate amount of camp appeal. No, the reason this film is so gay is because Jimmy McNichol appears shirtless onscreen a total of seven times. If I have to explain why that's gay, then you clearly don't know gay.

Oh, and, yes, I kept track of how many times Jimmy McNichol appears topless in this movie; it's what I do.

It's a good thing Julia Duffy, the actress who plays Jimmy's heterosexual girlfriend, Julia, was wearing black pantyhose when she talks to a shirtless Jimmy during basketball practice. (Why?) Isn't it obvious? Her pussy would have exploded otherwise. (That doesn't make a lick of sense.) Um, the tightness of her black pantyhose no doubt bore the brunt of the vaginal blast. Duh.

What I think I'm trying to say is this: Whether you're gay, straight, somewhere in-between or Bill Paxton, your genitals won't stand a chance when up against the shirt-free onslaught Jimmy McNichol unleashes in this movie.

You could say this is why Aunt Cheryl (Susan Tyrrell) is so possessive of Jimmy... she wants him all to herself.

After opening with a flashback that shows Billy's parents being killed in a horrific traffic accident back in the late 1960s (his dad's face is smashed in by a log), we jump forward to the early 1980s, where a teenage Billy (Jimmy McNichol) is living in a large house with his Aunt Cheryl. I was going to say that things seem normal enough, but I just remembered that Susan Tyrrell plays Aunt Cheryl. Now, I'm not saying Susan Tyrrell can't play a sane person. But let's get real, shall we? I mean, look at the way Aunt Cheryl wakes up Billy. That's just plain weird.

While Aunt Chery putters around the house in ratty housecoats for most of the day, Billy can usually be found playing basketball at school (he's apparently quite good... despite not being Lithuanian).

Tired of being celibate, Aunt Cheryl gets fixed up and offers herself to the television repairmen. When he rejects her (he pushes her away), Aunt Cheryl does what any cock-starved shut-in would do, she stabs him to death. Just as this is taking place, Billy's comes home. Embarrassed that the television repairmen rejected her, Aunt Cheryl tells Billy that he tried to rape her; a story that Billy believes.

Unfortunately, the same can't be said of Detective Joe Carlson (Bo Svenson) and Sgt. Cook (Britt Leach), who have different theories as to what happened. And, yes, I meant to pluralize the word "theory." You see, Carlson and Cook both have differing opinions as to what transpired in Aunt Cheryl's kitchen. The former thinks Aunt Cheryl is a butch lesbian covering up for her gay son, who killed the gay television repairmen during a lover's quarrel involving Billy's gay basketball coach. While the latter thinks Aunt Cheryl is, to put it mildly, a psycho-hosebeast.

You might be thinking: Wow, Sgt. Cook's assessment of the case is dead-on. However, that doesn't mean it's an open and shut case. The problem is Det. Carlson is so obsessed with the case's gay angle, that all logic is thrown out the window.

I loved how Det. Carlson is set up to be the film's hero, but turns out to be the world's biggest asshole. Of course, I don't know if this was done on purpose or not, but his dogged determination to spin the case into a gay-themed homicide was one of the film's most appealing aspects. The key phrase there being "one of," as there's nothing more appealing than a movie that features a shirtless Jimmy McNichol and a more deranged than usual Susan Tyrrell.

Roughly three years after bringing us the super-cool mods vs. bikers epic, Mod Fuck Explosion, writer-director Jon Moritsugu returns with Fame Whore, a movie that features three separate stories interwoven to make one sort of succinct motion picture. (Huh?) What a mean is, one of the stories (the one that takes place in New York City) should definitely be called "Fame Whore." However, the title doesn't really apply to the other two, which are set in Trenton, Jersey and San Francisco respectively. While that's an interesting observation, what's even more interesting is the origin of the term "fame whore." I always thought the saucy phrase was a product of the reality show boom of the early 2000s. But, as you can clearly see, this film is not from the early 2000s. What I'm trying to say is, did Jon Moritsugu come up with the expression? If so, kudos. The idiom, if you don't know, is a term used to describe someone who is so desperate to become famous, that they will do just about anything to achieve this goal.

Sure, the title doesn't really apply to all three stories, which, like I said, are interwoven together. And the origin of the expression "fame whore" is on the cusp of being interesting and/or fascinating. But the reason I'm writing about this film is because of Amy Davis, who stars as Sophie, the world's most deluded woman.

Remember how I prattled on obsessively about Amy Davis's face in my soon to be award winning review of Mod Fuck Explosion? Well, I'm pleased to inform you that not only is Amy Davis's face still awesome, but her acting has greatly improved as well.

Now, I don't mean to imply that she wasn't a good actress in Mod Fuck Explosion. On the contrary, I found her perpetually confused mug to be rather endearing in that film. It's just that she's so brilliantly deadpan in Fame Whore, that I could easily be excused for mistaking her for another actress. But let's be blunt, shall we? There's no way I could mistake Amy Davis for another actress. In fact, there's no way I could mistake Amy Davis for anyone the world over, as she oozes rarefied form of uniqueness.

Don't worry, I'll get to the other stories–you know, the one's that don't star Amy Davis–in a minute. It's just that I need to get my love for Amy Davis out of my system.

I just remembered what connects the three stories featured in Fame Whore. They all take place on April 15. I know, it's not much, but it's something.

Anyway, after the listening to the film's bratty theme song ("I'm a fame whore! Can't you give me more and more.") we're introduced to Sophie (Amy Davis) and J (Jason Rail), her long suffering assistant. If you're wondering what Sophie's last name is, don't bother, she doesn't have one. Her motto is: If Madonna and Cher don't have last names, why should she? Actually, I'm not entirely sure if that's her motto or not. But it seems feasible.

You could say the reason J is suffering is because he has to listen to Sophie's grating monotone voice all day long. However, I wouldn't say that, as I found Sophie's voice to be quite heavenly. Okay, maybe heavenly is a bit of a stretch. But I did come to love it as the film progressed. It also helped that almost everything that came out of her mouth was pretty freakin' hilarious.

Oh, would you look at that, I still haven't mentioned the other stories that make up the Fame Whore family.

All right, let's get this out of the way. The first one takes place in San Francisco and follows the misadventures of Jody George (Peter Friedrich), the #1 ranked tennis player in the world. A huge asshole, Jody spends most of the movie berating his manager (Michael Fitzpatrick), beatboxing, watching porn, speaking in the third person, tipping bellboys autographed tennis balls, giving head to shapely hotel maids, and, oh, yeah, desperately trying to squash rumours that he's gay.

However, unlike gay athletes today (Michael Sam comes to mind), Jody fears that these rumours will cause him to lose his lucrative sponsorship deals. To illustrate how many sponsorships could potentially be at risk, Jon Moritsugu pans up Jody's body, stopping every and now then to point out one of his sponsors. Everything from the shoes on his feet to the dandruff shampoo on his head earn Jody truckloads of money.

The second story is about George (Victor of Aquitaine), a nervous ninny who works at the Urban Dog Placement Center, a Trenton, New Jersey dog shelter. When he's not getting crank calls or people calling up complaining the dog they got at his shelter is pissing all over their fancy (museum quality) quilts, George can usually be found in his office chatting with Mr. Peepers, the imaginary giant dog who comes and goes over the course of the day.

In-between all the crank calls, complaints and conversions with Mr. Peepers about organic food, George has a nasty encounter with Sabrina Mayflower (Izabela Wojcik), a woman who wants to adopt a dog. This, however, will never happen, as George refuses to deal with someone who wears fur. "Real fur is for real fools," he tells her, as he kicks her out of his office.

While these two stories are entertaining and, at times, mildly satirical, the real jewel in the Fame Whore crown is hands down Sophie's saga. And I'm not just saying that because I'm obsessed with Amy Davis. Okay, maybe a little bit. Nevertheless, the Sophie saga has a lot of bite to it, especially when it coming to mocking our celebrity-obsessed culture.

I'm still having trouble believing this film is from the late 1990s. The only solid evidence I have that this film was shot in the late 1990s comes whenever Jon Moritsuga shows Sophie talking on a cellular telephone. It's true, the size of the cell phone practically screamed Clueless. But it's the manner in which the phone is used that caused me to think that this film was actually shot in the late 1990s. You see, back in the '90s, in order to convey to the audience that a character was a douchebag, the director would simply have them use a cellular telephone, as cell phone usage back then was synonymous with douchiness. This technique is impossible to employ today, as almost everyone uses a cellular telephone... and almost everyone is a douchebag.

Whew, I'm glad that's settled. In order to recover from the excessive profundity I just threw in your face, please enjoy a sampling of "Femanatomy by Sophie," the hottest item from Sophie's new fashion line, It's All About Sophie. Model: Turquoise

On top of being a fashion designer, Sophie is also a video artist, a painter, an actress, a photographer, a producer, an art director, an image consultant, a playwright and a performance artist.

Is she any good at any of these occupations? How the fuck should I know? As Sophie would say, "Having priorities is what separates us from the savages." Meaning, you gotta keep busy in this hectic go for broke universe. And no one is busier than Sophie. A startling vision of what society would eventually become, the Sophie segment of Fame Whore exams how vanity mixed with insecurity will be the world's downfall.

Oh, and I would have loved to have seen the model Sophie says this about at one point: "If she had anymore of an under-bite, we could use her as an ashtray. Sadly, all the models for Sophie's doomed music video all appear off-screen; one of the many drawbacks to independent film-making.

I've read that in the early days of MTV, the then music video channel would play just about anything. Now, this policy had nothing to do with MTV being open-minded or adventurous, it was like that because they to had play something. You see, music videos in the early 1980s were still a bit of a novelty. Meaning, not every artist bothered to make a music video. So, if you were in a band with a music video, the chances of it getting it played on MTV were pretty good. What does this have to do with Rock Hard, a Taija Rae porno movie from 1985? It's simple, really, if I was in charge of deciding what got played and what didn't get played on MTV, I would have flat-out refused to air "Hotter Than Hot" by Adonna and The Sexelettes on the grounds that it sucks ass. Seriously, what was that? Okay, I get it, Adonna (Taija Rae) is the singer. But what are those other chicks doing? Are they even in the band? Ugh. We wouldn't be in this mess if writer-director Bob Vosse (Yank My Doodle, It's a Dandy! and She-Male Sex Clinic) had the horse sense to hand them guitars. Hell, even a tambourine would have been a step in the right direction.

And don't give me any of this crap about musical props being expensive. The opening scene clearly

shows a drum-kit and two mannequins, one with a guitar and one with a bass guitar.

Look at them, they're right there. Grab 'em.

That being said, it sort of makes sense that Adonna and The Sexelettes were kinda terrible. Think about it, they would have to have sexual intercourse with almost everyone connected to the music industry in order to get their shitty music video on the air. And–you guessed it–that's exactly what they end up doing. Humping anything with a pulse, Adonna and The Sexelettes literally fuck their way to the top.

After enduring the music video for "Hotter Than Hot" (which is played in its entirety during the opening credits) Taija Rae's Adonna gets right down to business at hand by massaging the cock attached to her manager's crotch with the inside of her mouth. Even though they're technically a couple, Adonna treats Phil (Jerry Butler) more like a boy-toy. In other words, she'll continue to let him make the flesh on her juicy, pale ass ripple as a direct result of his pelvic thrusts as long it helps her career.

Call me avuncular tree frog, but I simply adored how each thrust caused a brand new ripple to appear along the surface of Taija Rae's untanned backside.

Pinning her legs back as far back as they will go, Phil penetrates Adonna with not as much gusto as I would have liked. The fact Adonna obviously wanted to be somewhere else minimized the impact of his thrusts. And it didn't help that Phil and Adonna stopped to chat every once and awhile either.

I did like Taija's purple satin garter belt and the torn up nature of her black stockings, which looked like they had just survived a nuclear explosion.

While to a certain degree it was also annoying that the opening sex scene between Taija Rae and Jerry Butler is periodically interrupted by the scene where The Sexelettes try to convince a VJ to play their video, I wasn't too upset, as the scene introduces us to Ultra Box!!!!

Yep, you heard right, Rock Hard has a character named Ultra Box, who I'm officially declaring to be one of the greatest movies characters of all-time. Sure, a lot my hyperbolic praise has got to do with the fact that she's called "Ultra Box," but Patti Cakes, the actress saddled with the task of bringing Ultra Box to life, is simply amazing. It doesn't have to be noted, but unlike Taija Rae, and Nina Hartley, who plays Cindi Looper, Patti Cakes doesn't have hundreds of credits on her resume (according to my research, Patti Cakes only appeared in ten movies during her film career). Anyway, Cindi Looper, who is wearing an orange sweater dress with a longer pink dress underneath it (creating a nice layering effect) and Ultra Box, who is wearing black stockings with a short skirt, approach Billy VJ (Billy Dee), the VJ for a MTV-style music channel. She hasn't said a word yet, but I like Ultra Box already; she starts clawing at her skirt (reveling the tops of her stockings with every claw).

When Billy VJ implies that there is something they can do to get their video played on the air, Ultra Box assumes he's talking about money, and says, "I thought payola was unlawful." Ahh, I love it. Her voice is so snotty and uncouth; she would be perfect in an early John Waters' movie.

He's not talking about money, by the way, he's talking about sex. Pulling out the mattress he had tucked away underneath the studio mixing board, Billy VJ invites Cindi Looper and Ultra Box to dine on his genitals.

Wearing a red ruffle garter belt, a giant blue crucifix earring and sporting pink highlights in her hair, Ultra Box is the one who gets jizzed on when Billy VJ is finished. Or does she? I know her bush is thick and all, but I can't see any cum. Man, what a piss poor cumshot. Whatever. Lying in a post-coital heap together, Billy informs the ladies that he can set up an appointment with the station's program director (he doesn't have the authority to decide what gets on air).

Meanwhile, Adonna is over at her record label's sales department to smooth talk Super Sales (Eric Edwards), his secretary (Mai Lin) and Dave Darling (Francois Papillon), an art director (he's in charge of designing the video boxes).

My initial thought when Adonna comes barging onto their office was: Holy crap, that pink dress with the zipper sleeves is so fucking chic. However, after that initial thought had subsided, I thought to myself: I wonder how much cocaine Taija Rae did before shooting this scene?. And it would seem that I wasn't the only one who was thinking this, as Eric Edwards asks Adonna at one point if she's on anything. After giving Adonna's body the once over, Dave Daring suggests that since Cindi Looper and Ultra Box aren't there, that Super Sales and Mai Lin stand-in for them in order that he imagine what the box art will look like. One thing leads to another, and the four end up having group sex on the floor. As was the case with the studio scene with Cindi and Ultra Box, the music during the floor foursome is all wrong. I mean, the jazzy score just doesn't fit with the tone of the movie. If this had been, oh, let's say, a Doris Wishman-directed nudie cutie flick from 1964, it would have been perfect. But this film is about hot new wave chicks fucking their way to the top in 1985.

Wearing pink pantyhose, knee-high black boots, a pink top covered in splotchy black dots, multiple gold chains around her neck and a short black and white skirt, Cindi Looper shows up at the office of Joan (Lili Marlene), a booking agent of some kind. And I don't have to tell you what happens next. For those who don't know, Cindi Looper and Joan engage in lesbian sex with BSDM undertones.

Since Adonna and Cindi Looper have both tried to get their band's music video air play by employing sexual favours, it only makes sense that Ultra Box give it a shot. And her target is Mr. Wilson (Roger Scorpio), the music video channel's program director. As luck would have it, Mr. Wilson digs trampy chicks who talk dirty. And no one comes close to being as trampy or vulgar as Ultra Box. Unlike the previous scenes, the one between Ultra Box and Mr. Wilson has pep. What I mean is, there's nary a dull moment. This is because Ultra Box never stops berating Mr. Wilson, who is inundated with crass put-downs and insults of an emasculating nature. My favourite line during the cunnilingus/annilingus portion of their love-making session is this Ultra Box gem: "I'm going to cum all over your executive neck-tie, you asshole!" Though, I have to say, "Come on, faggot. Give it to me," has its charms as well. Oh, and when Ultra Box informs Mr. Wilson: "I'll show you what Ultra Box is," I didn't doubt her for a second.

There was a moment when I got scared, as I didn't think Mr. Wilson had it in him. It occurs after Mr. Wilson had just expelled a modest amount of seminal fluid all over Ultra Box' ample hindquarters. When she instructs him to lick it off, I wanted to crawl under a rock. Assuming that Mr. Wilson would ignore her request, I braced for the awkwardness that was surely to come. To my unexpected delight, Mr. Wilson does exactly as he's told and laps up his spunky leavings with more vigor than I expected. You rock, Mr. Wilson.

Unfortunately, the same can't be said for Ron Jeremy's Teddy Turner; this guy's repulsive. Nonetheless, if Adonna, Cindi Looper and Ultra Box wanna get their music video on the air, this is is man to see, or, I should say, this is the man to fuck. I know, you're thinking to yourself: Why don't they just upload their shitty music video to YouTube? (that's what everyone else does). Believe or not, there was no YouTube in 1985. So, on the downside, they have to fuck Ron Jeremy in order to get famous. On the plus side, they wear pink (Cindi Looper), red (Ultra Box) and yellow (Adonna) stockings while doing so.

Despite having a lead character who sports what I consider to be one of the greatest haircuts of all-time and opening with a shot of Rosie Perez's booty in all its mid-90s glory, I was still on the fence about Perdita Durango (a.k.a. Dance with the Devil), Álex de la Iglesia's raucous road movie about, well... I'll get to that in a minute. Then something occurred that caused me to sit up and take notice. No, not the scene where Harley Cross briefly recalls the time he lost his virginity to a rotund woman with an profound pair of sagittally symmetrical indentations on her lower back (pound that chaste cock into the ground, you chunky harlot, you... pound it!). I'm talking about the face Javier Bardem makes while listening "Spanish Flea" by Herb Alpert and The Tijuana Brass. I know, that's a weird thing to get excited about it, especially in a movie where James Gandolfini gets hit by a car not once, but twice. But what I can say? I'm sucker for scenes in movies that feature demented psychopaths with kick-ass haircuts making funny faces while listening to jazzy pop music as two blubbering blonde gringos cower in the backseat of said demented psychopath's car.

The mechanics surrounding how those blubbering blonde gringos ended up in the back of the car belonging to Romeo Dolorosa (Javier Bardem) is somewhat complicated, yet, it's also pretty straightforward at the same time.

If you were to tell me that the reason Romeo and Perdita Durango (Rosie Perez) plucked Duane (Harley Cross) and Estelle (Aimee Graham) off the streets of Juárez was for cannibal-related purposes, I would say that, yes, that's "pretty straightforward."

However, if you were to add the fact that both Romeo and Perdita develop crushes on Duane and Estelle (who are as white as their names imply), I would have no choice but to declare their particular situation "somewhat complicated."

Yet another movie that has cast some serious doubts on my previous claims about being alive during 1990s (I have no idea how I missed this film), Perdita Durango is one of the most well-made pieces of trash cinema I've ever had to pleasure to witness. I mean, check out that aerial shot of all those cars waiting at that Mexico-U.S.A. border crossing. The last film I saw with aerial photography this good would have to be Cavegirl. What I'm trying to say in my own clumsy way is that, I don't usually get to see films that sport complicated aerial photography. Seriously, it was like something out of a Michael Bay movie.

Later that night, near that very border crossing, Romeo spots Perdita Durango's reflection in the Herb Alpert and The Tijuana Brass compact disc he is currently holding. As Romeo approaches Perdita Durango, who is enjoying a cool beverage, I thought to myself: Nothing good can come from talking to a man with a haircut like that.

Short in the front and long in the back (with the sides shaved), Romeo's haircut is a force of nature in this film.

As she proves in the film's opening scene, Perdita Durango isn't the kind of woman you simply walk up and start a conversation with (earlier in the film, she shuts down the pedestrian advances of a lumpy gringo in an airport lounge). But, as we all know, judging by his haircut and his crazed demeanour, Romeo is no lumpy gringo. In other words, I think these two were made for each other.

When he's not taking the time to inspect the breasts of attractive bank tellers in the middle of a bank robbery, or having exuberant sexual intercourse with Perdita Durango on a rickety old bed (there's no way that bed can handle the Latin-tinged thrusts Romeo's workmanlike pelvis puts out there on a regular basis), Romeo conducts bizarre "voodoo style" rituals for tourists and superstitious locals.

Usually involving blood-spitting and bongo music, the first show of this type we see is well-attended, and... Wait a minute, who's that in that back with the video camera? Why, it's Willie Dumas (James Gandolfini), an officer with the DEA.

It would seem that the DEA want to bust Romeo for a series of drug-related offenses. Only problem being, they can never seem to catch him in the act. We're clued in early on as to why this could be, when we see Romeo employ a magic necklace to great effect to pass through customs unmolested. Except, he wasn't trying to smuggle drugs into the U.S., he was trying to smuggle a dead body; one that we later see him use in his "voodoo style" ritual show.

Figuring he can get to Romeo through Perdita Durango, James Gandolfini follows her around town. While an excellent plan on paper, James Gandolfini clearly forgot about the importance of looking both ways before crossing the street. Now, it might not sound like it, but the sight of James Gandolfini getting hit by a car is one of the funniest scenes in the movie. I don't want to over-analyze the reasons why I thought the sight of James Gandolfini's body crashing into the windshield of a speeding automobile was funny. But I will say this, the bulk of the humour came as a direct result of the arrogant air that floated around James Gandolfini's nimbus just before he started to cross the street.

At around this point in film we're introduced to Duane and Estelle, two relatively clean cut American teens. While their introduction seems unrelated to the Romeo and Perdita Durango saga, as we'll soon find out, their respective lives will soon intersect something fierce.

Blessed with some downtime before they do a job for a gangster named Santo (Don Stroud)–a job that has them transporting a trucked filled with frozen human embryos–Romeo and Perdita Durango decide to kidnap a couple of gringos to use in their next "voodoo style" ritual. And wouldn't you know it, they pluck a couple of blonde gringos named Duane and Estelle.

Even though it's best known as the song that appears at the end of Flirting with Disaster, I thought the way "Camel Walk" by Southern Culture on the Skids used in this film was more appropriate. You wouldn't think the same could said for "Spanish Flea" by Herb Alpert and The Tijuana Brass, but, as I stated earlier, the sight of Javier Bardem dancing–whilst in the seated position–to this particular ditty is awesome.

Will Duane and Estelle be able to survive their insane road trip with Romeo and Perdita Durango? Will James Gandolfini remember to look both ways before crossing the street? Who's to say? Of course, I realize I'm the one "to say." But I feel like I've already said too much.

Boasting not one, but two shoot outs (three, if you include the finale), a sexy Mexican stoner chick with killer thighs who doesn't "get" anime, Mascaras de la Lucha Libre, a gruesome death involving a bottle, Screamin' Jay Hawkins, an Ava Gardner assisted blow job, Alex Cox as an annoying DEA agent and a scene where a man over fifty-five uses an Abflex while watching The Mary Tyler Moore Show, Perdita Durango is a first-rate crime movie with darkly comedic overtones.

Since I'm a bad boy who doesn't play by the motherfuckin' rules (that's right, I said doesn't), it only makes sense that I watch the first chapter of Gregg Araki's Teenage Apocalypse Trilogy last. And to the surprise of virtually no-one, this chapter is loaded with teen angst and plenty of butt-fucking. Presented as "fifteen random celluloid fragments,"Totally Fucked Up (a.k.a. Totally F***ed Up) is a cautionary tale about the dangers that can arise when you let a guy sporting a My Life With The Thrill Kill Kult t-shirt into your heart. Don't get me wrong, I love their early stuff (Confessions of a Knife... is the shit), but this guy is wearing a My Life With The Thrill Kill Kult t-shirt that features artwork from the "Kooler Than Jesus" 12" single. In other words, run, James Duval, run! Take your racially ambiguous ass and get the hell away from him. He's going to hurt you!!!! Wow, see how easy that was? That's what's so great about the film's in Gregg Araki's Teenage Apocalypse Trilogy, I'm able to relate to just about anything that transpires onscreen. What I think I'm trying to say is, they're clearly made by someone who is cool. And by "cool," I mean they like industrial music, they aren't afraid of sex and they have a sly sense of humour.

Sure, you're thinking to yourself, lot's of other directors have sex scenes and sly humour peppered throughout their movies. Yeah, I suppose they do. But do they like industrial music? Let me answer that question for ya: They don't. Or, if they do, they don't show it. Well, Gregg Araki definitely shows it.

The only director that I'm aware of to acknowledge of the existence of industrial and shoegazer music simultaneously, it's obvious that Gregg Araki loves music, as his films, particularly the one's in the Teenage Apocalypse Trilogy, are stuffed to the gills with songs.

Anyone who is even vaguely familiar with either of these music scenes will recognize songs by Coil, Red House Painters, Numb, Pale Saints, The Wolfgang Press, Ministry, 16 Volt, Unrest, My Life With The Thrill Kill Kult, Ride and His Name Is Alive.

If being cutting edge when it comes to music wasn't enough, Gregg Araki also manages to predict the rise of self-absorption. To be fair, people have always been self-absorbed. However, since the dawn of the video camera, the self-absorbed have started to document their lives for all to see. And Gregg Araki captures this burgeoning phenomenon by having one of his characters film himself for some kind of video diary. While what he's doing might not seem de rigueur in the early 1990s, millions are partaking in this sort of behaviour as we speak.

Everything from the purchasing of food, to the eating of food, to the shitting of food is recorded for posterity.

In a not-so shocking twist, James Duval, who plays an eighteen year-old named Andy, starts off the movie by saying, "I guess you could say I'm totally fucked up" (all these movies start off this way).

Introduced via video confessional, we also meet Tommy (Roko Belic), Deric (Lance May), Steven (Gilbert Luna), the maker of these videos, and gal pals Michelle (Susan Behshid) Patricia (Jenee Gill), who are bored and disenfranchised.

While it was difficult for me to relate to the feeling of disenfranchisement the characters experience throughout this film (since they don't like disco, Joan Crawford or drag balls, they feel cut off from the majority of the gay population), the way teenage boredom is depicted, however, was spot-on, as I, too, remember wasting an entire summer standing around in front of a convenience store; after they told us to scram, we'd usually head over to a nearby parking garage.

Speaking of which, one of the parking garage hang out scenes in this movie features the best use of a My Life With The Thrill Kill Kult song, "The Devil Does Drugs," in motion picture history.

Anyway, these video confessions deal with a variety of topics. While I can't remember everything they talked about, I do recall sex being a major topic of conversation.

After enduring seven "random celluloid fragments" (one that includes the gang playing Heartthrob: The Dream Date Game until two in the morning), the film finally gets around to introducing its narrative drive. Taking place near the twenty-five minute mark, things get somewhat conventional when Andy is approached by Ian. (Oh, no, not the guy in the Kooler Than Jesus t-shirt?) Yep. (This isn't going to end well.) Breaking the ice by discussing their mutual love for Ministry, the two hit it off. As expected, they end up kissing in a–you guessed it–parking garage.

In the film's most adorable moment, Andy can be seen later that evening staring at a scrap of paper with Ian's phone number on it with a gleeful smirk on his face. (That's weird, I didn't notice the gleeful smirk, as I was too busy admiring the living fuck out of that kick ass Front 242 poster on his bedroom wall.) Well, that's where you I are different, as I was able to notice the gleeful smirk and admire the Front 242 poster on his wall. Multitasking, FTW!!!

Of course, his playful smirk soon turns to one of abject horror, when Andy finds out that Ian (Alan Boyce) isn't exactly a nice guy. To make matters even more dramatic, the relationship between Deric and Steven begins to fall apart and Tommy gets kicked out of his house.

It's true, I was somewhat disappointed by the film's overly serious tone; Totally Fucked Up doesn't have the same whimsical feel that The Doom Generation and Nowhere do. That being said, if you look closely, you'll see brief flourishes of whimsy transpire in unexpected places.

Take the scene where Andy goes to Ian's apartment (the dreaded pop-in). As he's walking up the stairs, we see a blue-haired punk princess dragging the body of a man wearing nothing but tightie-whities down a flight of stairs. In true Gregg Araki fashion, no explanation is given as to what is exactly is going on here. If you keep an eye out for these wacky touches, you should be able to swallow the film's more earnest moments.

It's easy to sit back and laugh at bold predictions that fail to materialize in works of speculative science fiction that came out thirty years ago. However, just because evil bastards who look like Gene Simmons from KISS aren't running around stealing microchips with the help of an army of robot spiders doesn't mean the premise of Runaway is that far-fetched. Sure, the film, written and directed by Michael Crichton, might come across as a little hokey, but it pretty much predicts humanities over-dependence on technology. Of course, you still might say that the idea of a robot cooking you dinner is something straight out of The Jetsons. So while the aesthetics are a tad off, the theory the film puts forth is eerily accurate. Though, I have to wonder, who's designing these robots? I mean, why are so many of them malfunctioning? Actually, they're not just malfunctioning, they're hurting people. Don't believe me, just ask Kirstie Alley's jet black pantyhose-ensnared thighs, as they just got zapped by a burst of electricity that came from her 577 Sentry (a glorified paper shredder on wheels).

Don't look at me like that. You didn't think I purposely went out of my way to watch a movie that stars Tom Selleck, did you? C'mon, man, you know me better than that. All it took for this film to pique my interest was the sight of Kirstie Alley looking all business-like in her blouse, belt, skirt, hose and heels ensemble. It also helped that I liked Michael Crichton's previous film, Looker, which starred Albert Finney and Susan Dey.

Unfortunately, Tom Selleck is no Albert Finney. I know, that's my second dig at Mr. Selleck, but simply put, he just not that good in this. You would think he'd be perfect as a cop. But he's not merely a cop, he's a cop who's in charge of pacifying "runaway" robots. And I didn't buy for a second that Tom Selleck knew anything about robots.

No, what this film needs an actor like, oh, let's say, Harrison Ford or Peter Weller. Or better yet, turn it into a Hong Kong set Category III flick called "RoboCops" (with, of course, Danny Lee in the Tom Selleck role and Anthony Wong as the villain). But then again, every film in existence would be better off if it was remade as a Hong Kong set Category III flick. Seriously, think of a film. It doesn't matter, just pick one. Okay, now imagine it took place in Hong Kong circa 1991-94. Pretty awesome, eh?

Okay, let's get things back on track. First off, the poster for this movie lied to me. Not once does Jack Ramsay (Tom Selleck) hold the cool futuristic pistol that fires mini-heat seeking missiles.

Most cops have to deal with the dregs of society on a daily basis, but Jack Ramsay is in charge of tracking down and disabling wonky robots.

On the day he's assigned a new partner, Jack gets a call about a 7799 Pest Controller (your standard agricultural model) that's running amuck in a corn field. Wait is it "amuck" or "amok"?

Ah, who gives a shit. Check out the gams on Ramsay's new partner. I bet you're wondering how I knew her gams were worth checking out, you know, because she's wearing a pair of standard issue lady police pants (which are infamous for dampening lady-based legginess). Well, that's just it, she wasn't wearing lady police pants, she was wearing a lady police skirt. Nothing too short, but short enough to get a good idea what she had going on gam-wise.

At any rate, Ramsay's new partner is a failed dancer named Thompson (Cynthia Rhodes)–which is apt since Cynthia is best known for being a dancer. After a couple of mild hiccups, Ramsay and Thompson manage to wrangle the wayward robot. It's no wonder it malfunctioned the way it did, it's CPU was an 8088. Am I right, fellas?

The next call the robot police get is a 709, which, according to Marvin (Stan Shaw), is when a robots kills someone. It would seem that a model 912 stabbed to death two people and threatening to kill a baby with a hand gun.

Arriving at the scene (a quiet suburban street), Ramsay asks them to prep a "floater" (a drone) to send in the house, so that he may access the situation. Deciding that the only option is to go inside himself, Ramsay dons his trusty electromagnetic scatter suit and prepares to face down the killer robot.

Despite a few minor glitches, Ramsay emerges from the house a hero. I have to say, this particular sequence is pretty gripping stuff. Granted, Tom Selleck looked ridiculous in his electromagnetic scatter suit (even the name is giggle worthy), but the scene is kinda cool. Oh, and you know something sinister is afoot when we see Gene Simmons' Luther lurking in the crowd that has gathered to watch Ramsay do his thing.

And wouldn't you know it, Luther was the one who planted the "non-standard chip" inside the model 912 that made it go nuts. Meaning, this was no runaway, this was murder.

The non-standard chips are highly sought after by Luther, who wants to sell them to terrorists (nice guy). And when we meet him again, he's shaking down an employee at Vectrocon Security Systems for a butt-load of these non-standard chips. Unsatisfied with merely attaining more non-standard chips, Luther wants the templates that will allow him to produce more. And it looks like, judging by the way dispatches one Vectrocon stooge with a bunch of robot spiders and another (Chris Mulkey from The Hidden) with a gun that fires heat-seeking missiles, he'll do just about anything to acquire them.

While investigating the Vectrocon connection, Ramsay comes face-to-face with the shapely splendour that Kirstie Alley circa 1984. Playing a Vectrocon employee named "Jackie," Kirstie, it would seem, is having a little trouble with her 577 Sentry (it keeps zapping her black pantyhose-adorned thighs). Luckily for her, Ramsay and Thompson are currently in the building.

I liked how when Thompson offers to get Ramsay's electromagnetic scatter suit from the car, he says no. Now, before you accuse Ramsay of being careless. It should be noted that Ramsay doesn't want to look like a total dork in front of Jackie. Yes, even a seasoned professional like Ramsay is willing forgo safety in order to impress an attractive woman. And it looks like, much to Thompson's chagrin, Ramsay's gamble is paying off, as Jackie's pussy is clearly pulsating at a magnum-infused rate of speed. (Huh?) She totally wants to fuck him. (Oh.)

Even though the script seems to favour the pairing of Ramsay and Thompson, I thought Ramsay and Jackie produced more heat.

Speaking of pairing things, if I had to pair Runaway with any other film, I would go with Black Moon Rising. Think about it, both film's feature tons of newfangled gadgetry, yet no attempt whatsoever is made to make their respective worlds seem futuristic. Though, in terms of quality, I have to give Black Moon Rising a slight edge. It's simple, really, Tommy Lee Jones is a better actor than Tom Selleck. That being said, Runaway has robot spiders and Kirstie Alley in black pantyhose going for it. So, yeah.

I don't mean to start off on a somber note, but what I'd like to know is: Who, if anyone, is going to bury all the henchmen and cops that are killed throughout this action-heavy sci-fi action movie? Since, the film, Hologram Man, is supposed to take place in the future, I guess they could have developed some kind of newfangled way to dispose of dead bodies (corporeal vaporization perhaps?). But still, the sheer number of henchmen and cops who fall to the ground as a direct result of gunfire in this Richard Pepin-directed masterpiece is ridiculous. Unless the henchmen and cops who buy it were grown in some kind of lab, I'm going to go ahead and assume they all have families. And if that's the case, I think it's safe to assume that the members of these so-called "families" aren't going to be too pleased when they find out their loved ones (whether they be dastardly henchmen or deluded cops) were killed by holograms with amazing hair. Okay, maybe calling the hair on the head of the one responsible for killing the cops "amazing" might be pushing it (though, fans of the KoЯn look may beg to differ). Nevertheless, I think it's safe to say that the dreamy-looking fella who kills henchmen like it were a bodily function has the best hair ever.

(You never really explained why the families of the dead henchmen would be upset when they found out the man who killed their loved ones has amazing hair.)

And I never will. Just kidding. The reason is simple. They all had this idea in their heads that their loved ones were slaughtered by a cruel, inhuman monster. Which, granted, is annoying, but understandable (it's what cruel, inhuman monsters do). However, the second they find out their loved one was done in by someone so exceedingly hunky, they're going to be quite angry. In fact, I'd go as far as to say their anger was tinged with a hint of jealously. Anger, for obvious reasons. As for jealously. Think about it. Who wouldn't want to gunned down by a man with long, flowing locks? I know I would, and I'm not even that big a fan of being gunned down.

In my own convoluted way, what I think trying to say is: A lot of people are killed in this movie (most of which are shot to death, but some are blown up... blown up real good), and that Joe Lara has great hair.

While I am somewhat jealous of Joe Lara's hair (it's so silky and manageable), I was actually more jealous of Evan Lurie. No, not because of his hair (to be honest, I found his KoЯn-do to be revolting). The reason I was jealous is because his henchmen are played by Nicholas Worth (Don't Answer the Phone), Tommy "Tiny" Lister and William Sanderson!!!

(Don't forget Cole S. McKay as "Thug with Flame Thrower.") Fuck yeah, that guy ruled.

If that wasn't enough, he engages in multiple position sexual intercourse with his blonde lady friend in the film's second scene. At first I was like: Why does Evan Lurie get an epic sex scene and Joe Lara only gets a pre-coitus fade out? It's simple, really. Evan Lurie wrote the screenplay. Meaning, Evan Lurie gets an extended sex scene. If Joe Lara wants an extended sex scene in a movie, he should write a screenplay.

Anyway, before we're subjected to this so-called "sex scene" (I almost threw up when Evan Lurie does a mid-thrust hair flip while plowing into his lady friend's futuristic vagina with his futuristic penis), we get a taste of what to expect from this movie in terms of entertainment value.

Opening with an intense shoot-out between–you guessed it–a heavily-armed gang of henchmen and an outgunned collection of cops, the film makes it clear early on that a lot of people are going to get killed in this movie. Though, I have to say, the henchmen and the cops are mostly to blame for the excessive body count. No, not because they're the one's shooting at each other, but because they don't seem to know how to use cover. I mean, standing out in the open in firing your weapon aimlessly is a surefire way to get yourself killed. I tried yelling: Use the parked cars as cover!!! But I guess they couldn't hear me.

(I'm not surprised, with all that gunfire, and the fact that it's only a movie.)

In the end, the cops, lead by Wes Strickland (John Amos), a veteran cop who doesn't play by the rules, are the one's who come out on top during this particular shoot out. And while he appreciates the fact that it was his partner's non-rule playing ways that lead them to narrowly defeat the henchmen, Decoda (Joe Lara), a regulation following rookie cop, is conflicted by his unorthodox methods.

When a plot to assassinate the governor is uncovered, Wes and Decoda are put in charge of protecting him. Using his loyal sidekick One-Eye (Nicholas Worth) as a diversionary tactic, super-villain Slash Gallagher (Evan Lurie) rams the governor's motorcade with a stolen bus. As expected, a shoot out ensues, followed by a car chase. Both of these events lead to the death of the governor and Wes Strickland, and the capture of Slash Gallagher.

Instead of being put in a normal prison, Slash Gallagher is placed in holographic stasis. You see, in the future, prisons as you and I know them are obsolete.

We flash-forward five years to find Decoda somewhat stressed. You might think, what's this guy got to be stressed about? I mean, he's still got great hair, he's got a reasonably attractive lady scientist lady friend. In other words, what's the deal?

Haven't you heard? Slash Gallagher is up for parole today. I know, you're thinking: There's no way they're going to grant him parole... he killed the governor, and, not to mention, a non-rule playing cop. That's true, there's zero chance Judge James Daughton (The Beach Girls and Malibu Beach) would allow this to happen. However, while Slash has been in holographic stasis, his loyal henchmen, including the aforementioned One-Eye, computer expert Giggles (William Sanderson), Eightball (Tommy 'Tiny' Lister) and Thug with Flame Thrower (Cole S. McKay), have been hard at work trying to free him. And they see Slash's parole hearing as the perfect opportunity to spring him.

How do you free someone whose been separated from their physical body? I got one word for you: Cyberspace. Downloading Slash's holographic essence, his henchmen manage to free him during his parole hearing, much to the chagrin of Decoda and his new partner, Carradine (Anneliza Scott), a blue jean-wearing lady cop.

The coolest thing about Decoda's quest to recapture his nemesis is that the system he works for is just as corrupt and malevolent. Caught between the sheer villainy of Slash Gallagher and the fascist California Corporation, or "Cal Corp, " (a domed section of Los Angeles run by a ruthless Michael Nouri), Decoda must struggle to come to terms with the fact that both entities are evil.

When you hear Decoda's simplistic solution to this quandary in the film's final scene, you'll probably think to yourself: That might just work. That being said, a lot people are going to have to be shot and killed for it to do so. Seriously, if you piled the dead on top of each other, you could probably reach the top of the tallest building in Dayton, Ohio; which, at 124 meters, is pretty freaking tall.

Who is this "Nightbeast"? Where did he come from? And, most importantly, what does he want? These and countless other questions are never answered, nor are they asked in Nightbeast, the Don Dohler movie about a toothy space alien who is forced to tear humans apart with his bare hands after an elderly gentlemen destroys his ray-gun with an Earth bullet fired from an Earth rifle (it would seem that while the "Nightbeast" himself is impervious to Earth bullets, his ray-gun is not). Actually, now that I think about it, the question, "Who is 'Nightbeast'"? is asked plenty of times throughout this film, which, up until about five seconds ago, I was ready to dismiss as a non-thought provoking enterprise. You see, while the man-masticating miscreant from who knows where is an obvious candidate for Nightbeast-hood, Drago, the town's biggest lowlife, is quite the "Nightbeast" in Nightbeast as well. A sort of variant of the feminine, "hosebeast," the "Nightbeast" typically has no use for the rules that dictate common decency. And judging by the way Drago roughs up his Asian ex-girlfriend, I would classify Drago as your classic "Nightbeast."

So, to answer my own question, "Who is 'Nightbeast'"? It's tough to say, as many beastly acts are carried out at night in this film, by numerous individuals, I might add. Oh, and when I say, "by numerous individuals," I mean two. Nevertheless, it's one more "Nightbeast" than I initially thought there were.

While most people will probably be wondering how our curly-haired skinny-fat hero and his blonde boyishly hipped sidekick will stop the alien version of the "Nightbeast," I couldn't help but wonder what the Earth version of "Nightbeast" was getting up to.

You could say the mayor of this ingrown armpit hair of a town is a bit of a "Nightbeast" in his own right. However, he doesn't disembowel anyone, nor does he manhandle any of the town's tan-line adorned Asian chicks. That's true, he doesn't do any of those things, but he does risk the lives of an entire pool party for political gain.

(Did someone say pool party?)

I had a feeling that might get your attention. And get this, it's an early 1980s party. Meaning, no smartphones, no tramp stamps, and definitely no post-millennial apathy.

Oh, how I wish I could have attended the pool party that takes place smack-dab in the middle of Nightbeast... or, at the very least, watched it through a pair of binoculars.

Ain't no party, like a Nightbeast pool party! Can I get a hey? No? How 'bout a ho? No ho either, eh? Well, you're no fun.

Let's quickly go over my "Nightbeast notes" and see if there's anything besides the mayor's ill-advised pool party that makes this film stand out from the sci-fi horror pack.

Okay, I found something. The laser sound effects, while cool the first few times we hear them. But I have to say, they did start to get on my nerves after awhile. As for the drone-heavy score by a sixteen year-old J.J. Abrams. It's all right; there were some nice synthesizer flourishes here and there.

Since every sci-fi film has them, it made sense for there to be a bunch of flannel shirt-wearing, beer-drinking rednecks with shotguns onscreen at one point (the "Nightbeast" has to zap something with his ray-gun). The only problem being, one of these flannel-wearing, beer-drinking rednecks appears during the epic showdown at the end of the film. Why is that a problem, you ask? I don't know, he kind of just shows up without explanation.

Battling the creature from start to finish, Sheriff Jack Cinder (Tom Griffith), Deputy Lisa (Karin Kardian), Jamie (Jamie Zemarel), Dr. Price (George "I don't want no white man looking at my Tampex" Stover) and Dr. Sherman (Anna Frith) put in a lot of effort to fight the "Nightbeast." Working as a team, these folks slowly become experts when it comes to fighting the "Nightbeast." That's why it annoyed me when this Johnny-come-lately suddenly joins the fray.

Who are you? I didn't see you during the initial shoot out between the "Nightbeast" and every able-bodied flannel shirt-wearing, beer-drinking redneck the town had to offer, and I definitely didn't see you at the mayor's pool party (which had a strict no flannel, no beer, no redneck policy). So, I'll ask again, who are you?

In the end, it doesn't really matter, as I got to see Eleanor Herman in a blue one-piece bathing suit for an extended period of time. She plays Mary Jane, Mayor Bert "Don't Call Me Berty" Wicker's sexy secretary. And, yeah, she's great. In fact, she's the second best actor in the entire movie; the best being, of course, Don Leifert, who plays Drago, the real "Nightbeast."

In terms of dialogue, my favourite line has to be the one where a black redneck says, "Don't argue with Crebs, Doc." I know, it doesn't look like much on paper, but the fact that it's uttered by a black redneck and the fact that it sounds like he's saying, "Crabs" makes this particular line the gem that it is. And, yes, there's such a thing as a black redneck. Let me put it this way, if you're a black man and you wear a trucker cap without a hint of irony, you might be a black redneck.

While the film is no Night of the Creeps (hell, it's not even The Deadly Spawn), Nightbeast has its charms. As to what those charms are exactly, I have no idea. Actually, the title of the documentary about the career of Don Dohler sums up these charms quite well: Blood, Boobs and Beast. Check out if you get the chance, it's a pretty good doc.