House of Self-Indulgence

Like any normal, red-blooded, fake Lithuanian, I love gore. But after watching Braindead (a.k.a. Dead Alive) for the first time the other day, I've noticed that my love of gore has gone down a few pegs on the gore-meter. I know, how lame of me. I'll probably change my mind by the time I finish this review (hopefully rendering myself less lame in the process). But as of right now, I've got to say, this film sapped me of all of my Oprah-approved inner-strength. Despite the fact that no one asked me directly, I could sense people out there wondering why I hadn't got around to reviewing Peter Jackson's contribution to the zombie/splatter genre. If they had asked, I would have probably answered by saying: The reason I haven't reviewed it is because I want to watch the uncut version. Well, I've seen the uncut version, and, man, was that an error in judgment on my part. The final forty minutes feature some of the craziest gore effects ever captured on film. And there's no let up. We're talking at least forty straight minutes of non-stop gore. While part of me admired the unrelenting bukkake of gore/theater of guts that was transpiring on-screen, my more sensible side began to wonder what the point of all this was. I mean, when Uncle Les starts pulling out Zombie Father McGruder's teeth with a pair of pliers, I was like, Dude, why are you doing that? Then it dawned on me. The film's creature and gore effects team had already made the prosthetic mouth. In other words, they weren't going to let all that effort go to waste. Regardless if it came across as pointless or excessive, every special effect they had was going to be employed no matter what.

However, it's not like that all the time. The first hour, while just sick and twisted as the final forty or so minutes, does give us room to breathe. And it has a pretty awesome cemetery fight sequence that boasts a kung-fu fighting priest who kicks ass for the Lord. Actually, the ass kicking for the Lord scene is when the film really starts to get insane.

Of course, I'm not saying the scene where Lionel's mum eats Fernando, Paquita's dog, or the scene where Lionel's mum treats Nurse McTavish's face like a hand puppet were anything close to being compos mentis. I'm just saying, when it came to the unrestrained expulsion of viscous liquids, the kung-fu priest scene was the turning point, cuckoo-wise.

Personally, the most revolting pre-gore party scene occurs when Lionel's mum unwittingly eats her own ear (it fell into her custard). Yum.

If you must know, the reason so many ghastly things occur in this Wellington, New Zealand set film is because of a rat monkey from Sumatra, and because Vera Cosgrove (Elizabeth Moody) doesn't want her grown son, Lionel Cosgrove (Timothy Balme), dating Paquita Maria Sanchez (Diana Peñalver), an attractive, probably Paraguayan woman who works at a small grocery store.

Let me explain. While on a date with Paquita at the zoo, Lionel hears her mother let out a blood curdling scream (she was spying on them - she doesn't like Paquita). Running over to where the scream originated, Lionel and Paquita watch in horror as Vera angrily stomps in the head of the rat monkey that just bit her on the arm. While the rat monkey (the by-product of monkey raping slave ship rats) won't be biting anyone else anytime soon (mum crushed its head real good), the damage has been done. You see, anyone who is bit by a Sumatran rat monkey will eventually turn into a pus-laden zombie freak.

Since Lionel is a good boy, he tries to help his mother, despite the pus, get better. Unfortunately, the chances of Lionel's mother bouncing back from this are pretty slim.

When Lionel's mum turns Nurse McTavish (Brenda Kendall) into a pus-laden zombie freak, Lionel decides that the only sane recourse is to buy tranquilizers from the town's Nazi doctor, inject his mother and Nurse McTavish with said tranquilizers, and lock them in the basement.

After his mother breaks free from the basement, the authorities end up burying her. Realizing that she's not dead, Lionel plans on digging her up. This plan, however, is thwarted by a gang of greasers, who accost Lionel at the cemetery. Luckily for Lionel, Father McGruder (Stuart Devenie) just happened to be nearby and comes to Lionel's defense.

Sadly, one of the greasers ends up turning Father McGruder into Zombie McGruder (Stephen Papps). Taking Zombie McGruder and the greaser who wasn't completely dismembered by a series of roundhouse kicks, I'm guessing, Void (Jed Brophy), back to his place, Lionel is up to his chin in pus-laden zombies freaks.

To make matters worse, Nurse McTavish and Zombie McGruder develop the hots for one another and Lionel's Uncle Les (Ian Watkin) starts sniffing around (he's clearly after Lionel's inheritance). While the prospect of two pus-laden zombie freaks having dinning room table sexual intercourse doesn't sound all that bad. The byproduct of this sexual intercourse is. That's right, Nurse McTavish gives birth to a pus-laden zombie baby. And you know what that means? Exactly. Lionel is forced to take it on strolls through the park. As for Uncle Les. To celebrate the verbal agreement he made with Lionel (in exchange for his inheritance, he won't tell the police he's living with four pus-laden zombie freaks and a pus-laden zombie baby), Uncle Les decides to throw a party.

Five minutes into the party (a well-attended affair featuring women in dresses and guys in sweater vests) all hell breaks loose when Lionel's pus-laden zombies join the festivities.

"Boy, that escalated quickly. I mean, that really got out of hand fast." You said it, Ron Burgundy.

Sit back, because the next forty or minutes are going to feature some of the most heinous things you have ever seen. You could almost view the party sequence as an audition tape for the special effects team. And it obviously worked, as most of the folks responsible for the gore effects continue to work in the industry to this day.

Even though my stance has softened somewhat since the first paragraph of this review, I still think the sheer amount splatter on display during the finale was too much. I mean, when Lionel straps a lawnmower to his chest, I was... Hold on, I liked that part, as it moved things along . That being said, the sequence is still mind-numbing in its disgustingness. Oh, and I loved Elizabeth Mulfaxe as "Rita." I was rooting for her the moment I laid eyes on her. Of course, the chances of anyone leaving this party alive are pretty slim. But still, it was nice to discover a character I actually liked amid all the gonzo carnage.

While the anus-loosening methods used by the A-Busters in White Bunbusters to get American women to open the final section of their large intestines to penis traffic might seem crude by comparison, their European brethren in Jack Remy's The Backdoor Club are just as dogged when it comes to getting their cocks thoroughly shellacked by womanly butt-juice. Of course, like in the Dark Brothers classic, most American women don't want dicks in their asses. However, instead of calling up some shady operation on the outskirts of town (one that promises to send over the finest door-to-door anal rapists forty dollars can buy), you have to physically get on a plane and fly all the way over to Munich, West Germany if you ever want your forlorn penis to see the inside of your wife/girlfriend's flawless rectum. I know, you're probably thinking to yourself: What kind of person would go through all that trouble just to fuck his wife or girlfriend in the ass? Well, for starters, these aren't "people" we're talking about here, they're men. In other words, they will do just about anything if they think it will benefit their revolting cocks. And secondly... No, that just about covers it. I've said it once and I'll say it again: Men love holes.

And one of their favourite holes is, you guessed it, the human anus. Clamoring for free access to the fleshy canals for centuries, men have always been curious about the opening next to the vagina/ball-sack.

Since European men have been clamoring for free access for much longer, European women are more willing to indulge their anal fantasies. In American, however, anal sex between consenting adults has always been frowned upon. The nation's puritan origins obviously played a large role in explaining why anal sex isn't as popular as it should be. But the fact you can't get pregnant via anal sex has something to do with it as well. You see, in order to replace the native population that they had just slaughtered, the white people who would eventually call themselves Americans came to the conclusion that vaginal intercourse, not kinky ass play, was the best way to increase their numbers.

While the European population was busy butt-fucking and fighting wars (a population killer if there ever was one), Americans were having tons of state-sanctioned, baby-producing vaginal intercourse.

You might not realize it by looking at it, but The Backdoor Club encapsulates the gaping divide that exists between Europe and America when it comes to sex. (It can't be that simple, can it?) Um, in the movie, the film's three Euro-porn starlets are fucked in the ass, the film's three American porn starlets are not.

Oh, sure, multiple attempts are made to coerce the Americans into letting the likes of Gabriel Pontello and Sascha Atzenbeck fuck them in their asses, but the Americans' cheeks remain clenched.... closed for business.

After taking us on a tour of the streets of Munich (the decision to use the video camera's blurring effect during this sequence was ill-advised), and delighting us with the film's on the cusp of being catchy theme song by "Galaxy" ("Slip in through the back door, like a thief in the night!"), the singer, by the way, sounds like Nina Hagen, if she had a head cold, The Backdoor Club gets down to business by showing an American couple, Tony (Herschel Savage), a dumpy palooka, and Sadie (Danielle Martin), a lithe blonde, entering the "Backdoor Club," a lavishly furnished home complete with expensive-looking artwork on the walls and fancy couches.

Reluctant to have her ass penetrated by a throbbing rock hard dick, Sadie manifests her unwillingness by pouting on a white couch (this couch, in case you're wondering, is the film's least fancy).

Noticing Sadie's childish antics are another couple, Horst (Gabriel Pontello) and Missy (Taija Rae), who are sitting nearby. Since I can't understand a word Horst says, I can't tell you what he asks Missy. That being said, I'm going to go ahead and assume that his query was butt-sex-related, as her response goes something like this: "Are you serious? My asshole is doing flip-flops." What does that mean, I thought to myself. Either way, the dialogue I did understand is clunky, and I can't wait for them to stop saying words out loud to one another.

Even though they say a few words here and there (ugh), the scene where Backdoor Club's butler, Hans (Sascha Atzenbeck) has sex on a table with two Backdoor employees, Gretchen (Christine Level) and Rachel (Tracey Adams), wearing satin garter-belts is up next. And it's here where we get our first taste of the film's continental divide when it comes to anal sex, as Tracey Adams' asshole goes conspicuously un-fucked during this scene. Come to think of it, I don't think Tracey Adams' character actually works there. I mean, it doesn't make sense for a woman who doesn't do anal to work at a brothel that specializes in anal sex.

When Sadie asks Horst if he's an "old hand," she realizes right away that she needs to dumb things down a shade. Gesturing toward her asshole, Sadie asks Horst, "Does it hurt"? To which Horst responds: "You mean, ass-fucking"? I'll admit, that line caused me to make a laughing sound. The combination of Gabriel Pontello's broken English combined with the fact that he's a terrible actor is probably the film's strongest non-stocking element.

Oh, what's that? I haven't mentioned the stockings yet. How strange. Well, it's a given that all the female performers wear stockings. After all, the film is European (stockings and Euro-porn go hand in hand). So, you won't be getting any complaints from me. Anyway, I have to say, the fully-fashioned stockings attached to Danielle Martin's beautiful legs are pretty much perfect. Everything from the colour (jet black), to the thickness of the nylon, to the size of the seams was absolute delight. 10/10!

It also helped that Danielle wore a red dress with red strappy heals, as I thought they went well with her black stockings.

As for Taija Rae (the reason I watched this film in the first place). She isn't really given that much do. Sure, it's 1985 (the height of her shapeliness) and her thighs look amazing as usual. But watching Herschel Savage anal shame Taija Rae as he plowed into her vagina doggie-style kinda ruined the mood.

Hey, Herschel. Do you mind not asking Taija Rae every other hump if she wants your dick in her ass, it's hampering my ability to appreciate the hypnotic ripple effect your pedestrian thrusts are causing to occur on the surface area of her sublime mid-80s buttocks. Seriously, one of my favourite things in the whole world is to watch the flesh on Taija Rae's ass ripple as a direct result of being fucked, and you're ruining it.

While the editing of the final scene is, let's just say, off-putting (four sex scenes are slapped together in a haphazard manner - video editing at its worst), you can't undermine Danielle Martin's sex appeal. Doing it with some guy who looks like Paul Bernardo on one of them fancy couches I alluded to earlier, Danielle (after some of the most awkward dialogue I've ever heard - it made me want to crawl underneath my non-fancy couch) gets fucked in the hole of her choice. And that is, of course, her vagina.

Should more American women allow their anuses to be fodder for erect penises? Who's to say? All I know is this: Don't let guys named Horst force you insert things in places that you don't want things... inserted.

Even though it contains a shitload of stuff that I wholeheartedly approve of, it took quite some time for Jungle Virgin Force (a.k.a. Perawan rimba) to give me something to latch onto. Let me put it this way. Whereas the similar Virgins from Hell had things to latch onto from start to finish, this particular Indonesian action-adventure movie was a tad lacking in the latch department. However, unlike Virgins from Hell, Jungle Virgin Force has cannibalism going for it. I know, there's a scene in Virgins from Hell where leggy virgins are roasted on a spit, but they weren't eaten. At least I don't think they were. Anyway, the colossal douche nozzle in the Fila shirt in this movie is definitely eaten. Accept he isn't roasted on a spit. No, this guy is zapped by a laser beam that came shooting out of the hand of an elderly high priest/nutjob/wizard. So, yeah, this film's got cannibalism going for it. Yay! Wait, did I mention what I eventually latched onto? I didn't? That's weird. Displaying some mildly objectionable qualities when we first meet her, the gorgeous and wonderfully skanky Enny Beatrice doesn't let her hosebeast flag fly to its fullest potential until the final third when she brilliantly orchestrates a three-way battle for the ownership of the Indonesian archipelago's finest slab of Indonesian cock.

Actually, she orchestrates a battle featuring two women, not three. You see, she's only pretending to be interested in his Indonesian cock. What Enny Beatrice is really interested in is hidden treasure, and the man attached to this Indonesian cock is the only one who knows where it's hidden.

(Why did you feel the need to nationalize his cock?) I'm not nationalizing his cock. I abhor nationalism. It's made-up nonsense. Geography, on the other hand, is real. In other words, what I'm doing is more in line with genital geography than it is with cock-based nationalism.

As I was saying, Doris (Enny Beatrice), utilizing her innate irresistibleness, sets in motion a series of events that will hopefully pit Jelita (Lydia Kandou), an almost jungle queen, against Maya, a leggy reporter. And by doing so, create a wedge between them and the man attached to the aforementioned Indonesian cock.

Of course, if this plan doesn't work out, there's always plan B. As expected, this plan is eerily similar to plan A. Oh, and before you starting accusing Doris of having Indonesian cock on the brain, ask yourself this: If you looked as good as Doris does in skimpy black leather shorts, would you waste your time trying to achieve your goals via non-Indonesian cock-related means? I don't think so.

What I think I'm trying to say is this: Cut Doris some slack. All she wants to do is snag herself some hidden treasure. And if that means debasing herself a little bit in order to do so, than so be it.

While there are many obstacles that stand in Doris' way, I think most observers will agree that the biggest one is the tribe of black magic practicing cannibals that populate the jungles where the treasure is hidden.

Located on an island somewhere in the middle of The Triangle of Death, the hidden treasure is currently on the radar of some city folk. Told by their professor to stay away from The Triangle of Death, a group of students, Haidar (Harry Capri), Maya (Nena Rosier), John (Torro Margens), Larasati (Rita Zahara) and Matt Solar (Mat Solar), ignore the professor's warning and plan on leaving right away.

Since the professor doesn't want his students deaths on his conscience, he has arranged that Mr. Bunion (Pitrajaya Burnama) be their guide.

You're probably wondering, how does Doris and her group find out about the treasure. Well, you can blame John for that. You see, John let's slip that he's going on a treasure hunt to his girlfriend. Anyone care to guess who John's girlfriend tells? That's right, she runs straight to Doris. When Doris and her gang confront the professor and demand that he give them a map to the treasure, a huge brawl breaks out. One that has Larazati attack Doris with a teaching skeleton.

Meanwhile, on The Triangle of Death, a power struggle is brewing between a witch and a wizard. The cause of this struggle is Jelita, a mysterious woman who wears a magic medallion. While the witch and her followers (sexy women in animal print bikinis) want to make Jelita their goddess/queen, the wizard and his crew (scallywags and scumbags, some sporting horns) are not down with this course of action. The power struggle eventually morphs into an all out war, as the two sides battle with one another over Jelita's role in their society.

Of course, Haidar's group and Doris' group (they managed to bribe the pilot who took Haidar's group to The Triangle of Death to fly them there too) have no idea that they have landed smack-dab in the middle of a jungle war zone.

Jungle war zone or not, that doesn't stop Doris from shaking her money-maker. When shaking it in the general direction of Haidar gets her nowhere, Doris turns her mouth-watering money-maker toward John. Exploiting his weakness for fine Indonesian booty, Doris manages to convince John (and, I suppose, his Indonesian cock) to switch sides with a relative ease. Sure, it might not be the Indonesian cock she wanted, but in this kooky topsy-turvy world, where upside down decapitation and douchebag BBQ are never not de rigueur, any Indonesian cock will do.

If films about skanky hosebeasts who will do just about anything to find hidden treasure are not to your liking, I have to say, what the hell is wrong with you? She's skanky and a hosebeast... what more do you want? Seriously, though, if you want more, just open your ears real wide and let that fucking amazing synth score wash over you. It's so good, I thought I was listening to a lost Coil album.

I've heard that the net is vast and infinite. I've also heard that the sky over the port is the colour of television tuned to a dead channel. And while I'm not on the topic: "You're no good for me, I don't need nobody / Don't need no one that's no good for me." Hey, everybody. I'd like to officially start off my review of Hackers by apologizing to 1995. I don't know what I was thinking when I dismissed you recently as bland and uninteresting. You're actually pretty rad. Now, granted, my memory of you is a tad on the foggy side. But thanks to Hackers, your innate awesomeness came flooding back to me like a 28.8 Kbps modem dipped in battery acid (in other words, ultra-fast). The fact that the previous films I watched from 1995 were not set in New York City didn't give me accurate overview of the year in question. And, as everyone knows, New York City makes everything better (even 1995). Take, for example, the amazing Party Girl. It takes place in NYC and came out in 1995. You could also include the New York set Vibrations from 1996 in this category. But that film was shot during the summer of 1993. Either way, I was wrong about 1995. And I'm more than willing to make it up to it by lavishing copious amounts of misguided praise on the only film to make computers seem cool. Yeah, that's right, I said cool. Think about all the movies that have featured computers over the past twenty years. Okay, did any of them make you feel any less lame for having watched them? Of course they didn't. If anything, they made you feel more lame. And given that I'm an expert when it comes to things that make you feel cool, I can safely say that Iain Softley's Hackers is the only movie to boast excessive computer usage that will make you feel cool afterward.

Well, Ghost in the Shell, also from 1995, has, if I recall correctly, plenty of computer usage throughout it. So, it's not exactly the only movie. And, yes, while that is true. Does Ghost in the Shell have a short-haired Angelina Jolie scowling up a storm in a leather racing jacket? No, it doesn't. Does Ghost in the Shell have a more pillowy lipped than usual Angelina Jolie wearing black stockings at night? No, it doesn't. Does Ghost in the... (Stop! We get it.) Good. 'Cause I could have kept going.

And I'm not even that big a fan of Angelina Jolie. In fact, I don't think I have seen more than three of her movies (Gia and Girl, Interrupted are the only ones I can think of at the moment). That being said, her performance as Kate, a.k.a. "Acid Burn," is so freakin' sexy.

Getting back to Ghost in the Shell for a second. The line that unofficially opened this movie review, "The net is vast and infinite," is from Ghost in the Shell. And the one that follows it is the opening line from William Gibson's Neuromancer. And the one that follows that is from The Prodigy track, "No Good (Start the Dance)." The reason I opened my review by quoting a classic piece of anime science fiction, the world's most famous cyberpunk novel and a the oft-repeated vocal hook from a mid-90s techno floor filler is because without them, Hackers wouldn't exist.

Oh, before you snarkily chime in by saying, "Maybe Hackers not existing is a good thing." try to remember the sight of Angelina Jolie's giant eyelids slathered in red eye make-up. Yeah, that's what I thought.

Man, I don't know 'bout you. But it feels weird saying nice things about Angelina Jolie. It's weird because, to me, she's the epitome of humour-challenged Hollywood. Plus, she cares about stuff. I got give it up to her, though. She's on fire in this movie. So much so, that I can't remember the name of the film's lead actor. Oh, yeah, it's Jonny Lee Miller.

Nevertheless, you know the movie you're about to watch is going to be awesome when it opens with Orbital's "Halcyon + On + On." Playing over the scene where former child hacker, Dade Murphy (Jonny Lee Miller), is flying to New York City with his mother (Alberta Watson), the use of the Orbital track signaled to me early on that Hackers was serious about its techno.

Though, you have to wonder, why are the walls of Dade's bedroom covered with posters for grunge bands? I mean, the soundtrack is chock-full of techno. And grunge is basically heavy metal. Think of it as Ratt in knitwear.

Other than screwing up the posters in Dade's room (someone clearly didn't inform the production designer that this is a pro-techno movie), Hackers manages to get everything else right. And fans of 1990s nostalgia will eat this shit up. However, angelheaded hipsters who feed off irony will have a difficult time making fun of this movie, as it eerily predicts the internet explosion years before it... well, exploded.

Of course, some might say that Lorraine Bracco's character's lack of tech savvy was an exaggeration. But her attitude was the norm in 1995. In all honesty, I'd say her viewpoint represented at least 99% of the North American population. Hell, even the secret service agent (Wendell Pierce) in charge of cyber-crime seemed to have no clue when it came to 'puters and the interweb.

Believe it or not, the characters played by Jonny Lee Miller (Dade, a.k.a. Zero Cool/Crash Override), Angelina Jolie (Kate, a.k.a. Acid Burn), Matthew Lillard (Emmanuel Goldstein, Jr., a.k.a. Cereal Killer), Swimfan's Jesse Bradford (Joey, a.k.a. Boy Meets World*), Laurence Mason (Nikon, a.k.a. Lord Nikon), Renoly Santiago (Phreak, a.k.a. The Fantom Phreak) and even Fisher Stevens (Eugene, a.k.a. The Plague), are pretty much life-size facsimiles of everyone currently living on the planet. And it's probably going to stay this way for quite some time, as I can't really see the genie being put back in the bottle. Unless, of course, the sun decides to hit the earth with an electromagnetic pulse, and it's bye-bye smartphone, hello pencil and notepad.

If the name "Fisher Stevens" seems out of place among the other names I mentioned, that's because he's not a roller-blading high school student who spends most his or her free time hanging out at Cyberdelia (the city's hippest hacker hang out). He's actually a skate-boarding hacker (with great taste in clothes) who works for a multinational corporation. I know, Lorraine Bracco mocks The Plague's fashion sense at one point in the film, but what can I say? I dug his style. Anyway, when Joey/Boy Meets World tries to impress his fellow hackers by hacking into the company The Plague provides cyber-security for, he finds himself labeled a terrorist by the authorities.

Meanwhile, Dade and Kate begin their exhaustive courtship of one another. Competitive about almost everything, Dade and Kate spend the bulk of the movie not fucking like rabid monkeys, but annoying each other. While these phony I hate you, I love you movie relationships are typically off-putting, I actually liked theirs. And besides, I loved how their initially meeting in cyberspace is set to The Prodigy's "Voodoo People."

From a technical point-of-view, I don't know how director Iain Softley managed to make the hacking scenes seem exciting. And the shots that take us inside "the matrix" were not as cornball as I thought they would be. Granted, none of it very realistic, but Hackers isn't a documentary. It's a slick techno-thriller that does the impossible, it redeems 1995. Oh, and, Happy [belated] Twentieth Anniversary, Hackers. May you continue to "Hack the Planet" for another twenty.

* Joey doesn't have a hacker handle (at least not officially), but I heard Phreak call him "Boy Meets World" at one point in the film. Which, and I think most people will agree, should totally be his hacker handle.

When most of us get a hankering to explore the subterranean depths of creepy big city apartment buildings, we dress appropriately. Meaning, we don't wear pleated skirts, puffy blouses and strappy heels. However, since the subterranean depths in this movie aren't being explored in any old movie, beige slacks, bland sweaters and ho-hum sneakers are just not going to cut it. In other words, the sight of a fashionable blonde slathered in Bulgari jewelry exploring every nook and cranny of the cellar of an alchemist-designed apartment building isn't that far-fetched. You see, in Dario Argento's Inferno, if you're going to foolishly poke around the underground caverns where evil usually dwells, you better look fabulous while doing so. I mean, seriously, who wants to watch a bunch of poorly dressed slobs explore the depths of pure acid hell? I know I sure don't. Granted, the film does boast a "final man" instead of a "final girl." But we do get to see three stylish women slowly make their way through a series of sinister hallways (four, if you include the mysterious cat lady). And we get to see the alluring Veronica Lazar befuddle the living shit out of some guy in beige slacks. Actually, I shouldn't call him "some guy," as Mark, played by the ridiculously named Leigh McCloskey, is the final man. In a way, you could view the decision to make the last person standing a man as a bold one, as men don't often make it to the ends of these types of movies. Then again, Inferno isn't your typical Dario Argento movie.

And you know it's not your typical Dario Argento movie when your favourite character turns out to be the differently-abled, unibrowed owner of an antique bookstore. In case you're not familiar with the bookstore owner, his name is Kazanian (Sacha Pitoëff) and he limped (he walks with the aid of crutches) his way into my heart. Of course, I didn't approve of his method of getting rid of the cats that have an annoying habit of hanging around his store. No, I simply liked the way he interacted with Leigh McCloskey and Irene Miracle (the woman in the pleated skirt), and his final moments are wonderfully horrific.

In fact, I would go as far as to declare Sacha Pitoëff's death scene to be one of the most effective death scenes to appear in a Dario Argento movie. And that, of course, is high praise, since everyone of his twenty-plus movies has a surplus of gruesome death scenes.

Stuffing a cat that was lounging underneath one of his bookshelves into a sack filled with two, maybe three other cats, Lazarian, the owner of Lazarian Antiques, ties the cat sack shut and proceeds to make his way to a nearby rat-infested creek.

After failing on his first attempt to dump the cat sack in the sewage-laden water, Lazarian gets the cat sack to sink on his second try. Obviously feeling good about himself (after all, he just drowned a sack of cats), Lazarian begins to leave. As he's doing so, he slips and falls into the very same sewage water the sack filled with cats are currently drowning.

Unable to reach his crutches, Lazarian flails about like a turtle on its back (except he's on his front). The hundreds of rats doing rat stuff close by notice this and begin to swarm around Lazarian. As you might expect, he begins to scream loudly when the rats start nibbling on his flesh. These screams attract the attention of a butcher, who comes running to help Lazarian. Or does he? I'm not going to say anything more, but what the butcher does is, uh... Let's just say, it's unexpected.

While Lazarian struggles in the water, Rose Elliot (Irene Miracle) is not only adept, she's downright fish-like. And she has huge balls. Curious about a book called "The Three Mothers" by an alchemist named Varelli, Rose discovers that one of these "mothers" are connected to an old apartment building in New York City. Deducing that the secrets of the book lie beneath the building, Rose begins to eyeball the grate located in the adjoining alleyway.

Where does it lead? She must be wondering to herself.

Instead of getting some man to help her, Rose simply walks down there and starts exploring.

Did I mention that Rose does so in a pleated skirt, a puffy blouse and a pair of strappy heels? I did? Good. This can't be stressed enough, as having your characters wear clothes that are interesting to look at is integral to interesting cinema. At least to me it is.

As she's wondering to herself about where the stairs lead, you'll notice that the wind is having a field day with Rose's pleated skirt and puffy blouse.

Accidentally dropping her keys in a flooded section of the building's basement, Rose decides to do a little underwater exploring. That's right, I said, "underwater exploring." Who does those chick think she is, Aquawoman and/or Aquagirl?

I'll admit, I wasn't expecting much from this film. I mean, it starts with a woman reading a book while a mysterious male narrator drops a ton of exposition in our laps. What is this? A horror movie or a homework assignment? However, my attitude changed somewhat when Irene Miracle starts doing her impression of Shelley Winters in The Poseidon Adventure. What I think I'm trying to say is this, I found the underwater sequence to be suspenseful and I was impressed with Irene Miracle's submerged acting.

According to Dario Argento, Irene Miracle was cast because she was a synchronized swimmer as a teen. In other words, she has the skills necessary to stay underwater for an extended period of time.

You might have noticed that Rose mailed a letter before exploring the building's cellar. Well, that letter was for her brother Mark, who studies musicology in Rome. While in class, Mark decides to read the letter. When he gets to about the third sentence, he notices a woman... a strange beautiful woman (Ania Pieroni), holding/stroking a cat.

Unable to concentrate, Mark zones out. The fact that Keith Emerson's synthy prog rock has started to blast on the soundtrack isn't helping matters. Following the cat woman, Mark leaves, forgetting his sisters letter in the process.

Did anyone else find it odd that Sara (Eleonora Giorgi), Mark's friend/classmate, reads his letter? Either way, after reading it, Sara develops an interest in The Three Mothers. In fact, she's so interested, she heads straight to the library to pick up a copy. To the surprise of no-one, spooky shit starts happening to Sara as soon she starts poking around. Hell, it starts to happen before she even enters the library (she cuts her hand while getting out of the cab).

Not wanting Rose to suffer the same fate as Sara, Mark tries to contact her. Realizing that his sister is in serious danger, Mark hops on the next flight to New York. And this is when the fun really starts to begin. My first question would have been, upon arriving at the Three Mothers building, what's the deal with the red hallways? Call me crazy, but it's almost as if the building is alive. The red hallways being blood vessels and the blue stripes on the walls being veins.

Oh, and pay close attention to Veronica Lazar's nurse character's demeanor when she chats with Mark in the elevator. I can understand her being not too bright (not everyone is scholarly and junk), but no-one is that dumb. No, she's hiding something. And there's definitely something shady going on with that old dude she's pushing around in a wheelchair.

While not as gory as Dario Argento's other films, or technically proficient, for that matter (the knife through the neck effect during the sequence where Sara is peril was poorly executed), Inferno has great atmosphere, top-notch production design (the interiors of the New York building are gorgeous), Daria Nicolodi's bangs were pinpoint perfect (as per usual), excellent animal stunts (rats, cats, ants, lizards and moths) and the Keith Emerson score slowly grew on me (Mater Tenebrarum is the shit - and we get to hear it twice within the span of five minutes). Good stuff.

It's finally come to this. I'm writing about Bob Clark's Porky's, the most successful Canadian movie of all-time. What's that? You didn't know Porky's was Canadian? Yeah, well, it is. Whenever you see Doug McGrath (Goin' Down the Road), Art Hindle (The Brood) and Kim Cattrall (Mannequin) in the same movie, chances are, it's Canadian. Anyway, I can't believe I'm about to review Porky's. It's not that the film is beneath me or anything like that. It's just that I've seen it so many times. Or have I? You see, Porky's is one of those films I've seen hundreds of times, but never from start to finish. What I think I'm trying to say is, I've gone out of my way more times than I care to admit to watch Coach Brackett fuck Miss Honeywell in the boys locker room. In other words, what happens before and after this scene has always been a bit of a mystery to me. Okay, maybe it's not a mystery, but I'm sure nothing that occurs before or after the sight of Kim Cattrall being boned on a pile of dirty gym socks can top it in terms of being iconic and junk. And trust me, it's iconic. Whenever Porky's would air on late night television back when I was a smallish person, I would stop everything I was doing the moment I saw Kim Cattrall in a gymnasium setting. Only problem being, there are, like, four separate scenes that feature Kim Cattrall in a gymnasium setting. Yeah, I said, four (there's a shitload of gym in this movie).

On top of there being four separate Kim Cattrall-related gym scenes, there's an intolerance subplot and a child abuse subplot. Though, to be fair, these two subplots are kind of related, as they both involve Tim (Cyril O'Reilly), a rampant anti-Semite with a dick for a dad. So, as you can see, there's a lot of stuff to wade through to get to my favourite scene.

(Given that you have now seen Porky's from start to finish for the first time, the big question is: Is the Coach Brackett and Miss Honeywell locker room sex scene still your favourite scene?) After giving it much thought, I've decided... What am I talking about? Of course it's still my favourite scene. Did I mention that Kim Cattrall is fucked on a pile of dirty gym socks? I did? Good. Did I mention that she wears a blue skirt that's the size of a dish towel? No? Well, she totally does... wear a blue skirt that can't be bigger than a dish towel.

The coolest thing about watching the entire film is that I got to see the build up to Coach Brackett and Miss Honeywell's locker room tryst.

It all starts in the gymnasium of Angel Beach High - located in the swampy wilds of Florida (it's 1954, by the way), when Coach Warren (Doug McGrath) implies to Coach Brackett (Boyd Gaines) that Miss Honeywell (Kim Cattrall) is a demon in the sack. No, actually, he implies that she's like Lassie, and that if you take her up the boy's locker room, she'll have sex with you. Either way, Coach Brackett is curious to learn more about Miss Honeywell and her Lassie-complex.

Even though Coach Warren tries his best inform his co-worker that he's about to be taken on the vaginal ride of his life, Coach Brackett still doesn't seem to fully-comprehend the magnitude of the sex fiend he currently has access to.

If only there was a way to get her up to the boy's locker room. It's no secret, but Coach Brackett finally does manage to get Miss Honeywell up there. And when he does, the whole school's going to find out why Miss Honeywell is called "Lassie." I'm guessing she's called that because her moans, or, I should say, her howls of pleasure, are canine-like in their application.

While the sight of Coach Brackett fruitlessly attempting to stifle Miss Honeywell's howling mouth hole as he plowed into her silky smooth vagina hole with his erect penis is the only sane reason anyone would watch this movie more than once. I have to say, Doug McGrath's equally fruitless attempt to stifle his laughter as he listened to Miss Honeywell howl is just important to the scene's success.

In fact, the film's two funniest scenes both involve Doug McGrath failing miserably when it came to stifling his laughter. The first one, like I've already mentioned, involves him trying not to laugh when he hears Kim Cattrall being screwed upstairs. And the second one has him unsuccessfully trying not to laugh as he listens to Miss Balbricker (Nancy Parsons) explain to the school's prudish principal that she wants put out an all-points bulletin for the teenage boy-penis she saw (and grabbed onto for a spell) in the girl's shower.

Convinced that the wayward adolescent cock belongs to Tommy (Wyatt Knight), Miss Balbricker wants the principal to allow her to stage a sort of penis lineup. As you might expect, Miss Balbricker's emphatic plea comes off as funny to the male coaching staff.

However, there's actually more to Miss Balbricker's grievance than simply a fugitive pecker. Ridiculed, fat shamed and sexually humiliated throughout the film by Tommy, Miss Balbricker sees the penis in the shower incident as her last chance to give Tommy his comeuppance through conventional channels. Of course, it being 1954, no comeuppance is forthcoming. And white male privilege continues unabated... for a little while longer.

Someone clearly benefiting from white male privilege is Dan Monahan's Pee Wee, a short basketball player with a small penis. Wait a minute, small penis?!? The opening scene shows Pee Wee waking up with quite the pup tent. Sure, he's not sporting John Holmes-quality morning wood, but it's not exactly tiny either. What gives?

Desperate to get laid, Pee Wee begs his friends to let him attend a gang-bang party they plan on holding in a shack in the woods. Only problem being, the whole thing is a ruse, as his friends have hired a large black man to play the hooker's machete-wielding husband.

Hold on, why am I writing about the Pee Wee subplot? Other than the "Mike Hunt" crank call he makes to Wendy (Kaki Hunter), this Pee Wee guy is a bit of a bore. Oh, and he calls "Blubber McNeil" a "lard ass" during the famous shower peepshow/glory-hole scene. Hey, Pee Wee. Just because "Blubber McNeil" doesn't fit into your narrow view of feminine beauty, doesn't give you to right to call people hurtful names. I know, I just got finished stating that white male privilege basically gives you that right, and she was blocking your view, but what you did was totally uncool.

After the shower peepshow scene, a traumatized Miss Balbricker tries to convince the school's principal to take disciplinary action against Tommy (he inadvertently taunts Miss Balbricker with his tallywacker through a hole in the shower wall). When this scenes ends, the credits should begin to role. But they don't. What we get instead is a thirty minute plus sequence where the gang, including Billy (Mark Herrier) and Meat (Tony Ganios), plot their revenge against Porky Wallace (Chuck Mitchell), the owner of a bar/brothel named... Porky's.

When the gang first show up at Porky's in the early part of the film to get laid, it ends badly. Dunked in water, the thoroughly degraded gang slink back to Angel Beach with their tails beneath their legs. Well, not Mickey (Roger Wilson), who apparently goes back repeatedly, only to get his ass beat. Now, I used the word "apparently," because we never actually see Mickey get his ass beat. The lack of visual evidence regarding Mickey's many trips to Porky's is the film's biggest flaw. I mean, I had completely forgotten about Porky by the time the revenge subplot gets underway. Meaning, the film's final third is pretty much a colossal waste of time.

In fact, the only bright spot of the "Porky's"subplot was the brief shot of the three ladies Pee Wee and the boys were supposed to have sex with had they not been deceived by Porky. The brunette on the right in the black hold-up stockings was my favourite, in case you were wondering.

Despite there only being four, maybe five genuinely funny moments in the entire film, I can see how Porky's managed to inflame the imaginations (and the genitals) of countless sex-starved teenage boys back in the day. Personally, I prefer to get my old school juvenile kicks from films like, Private School (mmm, Betsy Russell). Or better yet, My Tutor, Beach Girls, or pretty much anything else teen-related released by Crown International Pictures.

While most people, after they finish watching Kurt Wimmer's ultra-lame Ultraviolet, tend to focus on Milla Jovovich's never not unexposed midriff or that ridiculous nostril filter doohickey Nick Chinlund wears throughout the movie, I can't help but think, like I always do, about the staggering funeral costs the families of the 1000 plus henchmen Milla kills in this movie will face when all is said and done. And the crazy thing is, the reason they're killed is to save Cameron Bright. That's right, the creepy kid from Birth. Are the lives of a thousand henchmen really worth the life of some annoying little boy? I don't think so. You could argue, getting back to funeral costs for a minute, that The Archministry, the name of the evil organization the henchmen work for, will pay for the funerals of the dead henchmen. But then again, it's going to be hard for The Archministry to pay for anything now that they don't exist. What's that? Oh, haven't you heard? It would seem that The Archministry has pissed off Milla Jovovich. In other words, you don't really have to watch all the way to end to find out that The Archministry's days are numbered. On the plus side, The Archministry janitorial staff aren't going to have much to clean up. Sure, there's going to be lot's of broken glass and spent shell casings to sweep up. But as far as mopping up gallons of blood, you're pretty much off the hook. Unless, of course, Milla Jovovich decides to kill the janitorial staff. If that's the case, the broken glass, the spent shell casings and the not bloodied henchmen corpses will be staying put for awhile.

As I started to wonder why the henchmen didn't spew torrents of blood after Milla Jovovich slices them up with her sword, I remembered that this film is rated PG-13. Meaning, Ultraviolet has been pretty much neutered. Now, I'm not saying I wanted the walls of The Archministry's colourful hallways to be covered with the red stuff. I just think that a little gore would have made the film less antiseptic.

The other problem was that all the henchmen wore gas masks. This made their deaths even more meaningless. Granted, they looked cool (the henchmen costumes are the film's best non-Milla midriff element), but their outfits robbed them of their humanity. To make matters worse, hundreds of them are killed off-screen. I realize the ADD-infected robots who edited this movie were trying to break up the monotony of the fight scenes. But by not showing some of the battles Milla Jovovich engages in during her one-woman siege of The Archministry, the film signaled to me that Milla was never in any real danger.

And while, yes, Milla Jovovich does have a few close calls here and there, she's never really challenged. Oh, sure. There's a moment during the final showdown where Milla Jovovich takes the time to admire the back-flip a henchmen implements during a hallway sword fight. But other than that, Milla fights one faceless chump after another.

Oh, and when Milla Jovovich does face enemies with faces (the non-fearsome Blood Chinois), they end up accidentally shooting one another (Milla's quickness is no match for bullets fired from guns).

If you're wondering why Milla Jovovich's Violet Song Jat Shariff is able to dispatch her foes with such ease. It's simple, really. She's Milla Jovovich. It's what she does. Seriously, though. She's able to get the jump on her adversaries because she's a Hemophage. I know, a Hemo-what? Infected with a vampire virus, Hemophages are blessed with super-human strength and lightening fast reflexes. Unfortunately, Hemophages have a shelf life of only twelve or so years after being infected. If that wasn't enough, the germophobic human population are determined to wipe them out.

In charge of making sure all this happens is Vice-Cardinal Ferdinand Daxus (Nick Chinlund), the leader of The Archministry, a corporation dedicated to eradicating the Hemoglophagic Virus or HGV for short.

When word gets out that Ferdinand Daxus has come up with a weapon designed to solve the Hemophage problem once and for all, the Hemophages send Violet to steal it.

After an invasive security screening at The Archministry (every Jovo-hole you can think of is poked and prodded), Violet gets her hands on the weapon. Or does she? Either way, when The Archministry discover that Violet is an impostor, a twenty minute chase sequence gets underway. Well, I wouldn't call it a "chase sequence." It's more like an extended Nice 'N Easy commercial, as more attention seemed to go toward making sure Milla's hair looked just right than making sure the CGI looked halfway decent.

Using "flat-space technology" and "dimension-compressing" during her escape from The Archministry, Violet can defy gravity (she rides her motorcycle up walls) and can cause guns to materialize in her hand just by thinking about them. While everything I just mentioned sounds pretty cool, the execution is poor. You would better off watching Ghost in the Shell or the Æon Flux shorts that aired on MTV in the early 1990s.

Hell, you would probably be better off watching the Æon Flux movie with Charlize Theron. Which, for some strange reason, is what I plan on doing next. It's got to better than Ultraviolet. I mean, this movie is just plain awful.

Anyway, after babysitting Cameron Bright's Six (it turns out the weapon is a boy) and hanging out with William Fichtner (he wears non-hypoallergenic sweaters and wrap-around sunglasses) during the film's dull middle third, Violet fights some long-haired Hemophages in a cemetery (fighting Violet with a ponytail is never a good choice) and eventually musters up the courage to take on The Archministry all by herself. Since a large number of Vice-Cardinal's henchmen are killed off-screen, it's hard to say how many she dispatches during the final push to his office. But I think I overheard the Vice-Cardinal mention that he has 750 men under his command. And given that Violet kills them all, that means that there could be over 750 children whose daddy won't be coming home tonight. And it's all because some vampire ninja with a super-flat stomach doesn't want the scientist's at daddy's work to cut up Cameron Bright's brain. Ugh. Easy, breezy, dreadful.

It's been widely noted in the annals of noteworthiness that the creator of the Æon Flux universe, Peter Chung, felt helpless, humiliated and sad as he watched Æon Flux, the Hollywood adaptation of his much beloved animated science fiction series, with an audience (the series, in case you didn't know, initially aired on MTV's Liquid Television... Canada's MuchMusic would show the shorts on City Limits). Now, I can understand him feeling helpless and humiliated. I mean, imagine if somebody came along and turned your anti-utopian masterpiece into a bland slab of flavourless tripe. You wouldn't be all that thrilled, now would you? Of course you wouldn't. However, I have to question Mr. Chung's sadness. Sure, watching people you barely know ruin your life's work will make anyone sad, but the film, directed by Karyn Kusama, does sport Charlize Theron walking down a flight of stairs in a runway-quality, sci-fi disco bondage gear. I know, you're thinking to yourself: Why should Mr. Chung, or anyone else for that matter, care about Charlize's outfit? Take a closer look at what she's wearing. Exactly, she's wearing a skirt with massive slit down the front. And what does that massive slit help reveal? That's right, black stockings, baby! Just to be clear. I'm not letting this movie off the hook in terms of being a complete and utter failure. I'm just saying, if you look hard enough, you just might find what you're looking for.

It was also comforting to know that black stockings are still being worn by women in the year 2415. Unfortunately, Æon Flux (Charlize Theron) only seems to wear black stockings when she's casually strolling around Bregna, stopping occasionally to orally exchange Francis McDormand in pill form from hunky Monicans. For the rest of the time, she's usually infiltrating government buildings in skin-tight bodysuits. Wait. Hold on. That previous sentence doesn't make a lick of sense. No, not the bodysuit one. The other previous one. Bregna? Monicans? Francis McDorman in pill form? What the hell, man?

Hey, did anyone else think that the Monicans, who, it turns out, are an underground resistance movement, were inspired by Monica from Friends? Just me, eh? Anyway, if any of the Friends is going to inspire an underground resistance movement four hundred years in the future, I thought it would have been Chandler Bing. In addition, Chandlerites has a nice ring to it. Seriously, though, I've read that the Chandler character has influenced the manner in which most people speak in North America. I hear it's even called the "Chandler cadence" in some linguistic circles.

Since I kind of explained what the Monicans are. I might as well give you the skinny on Bregna and Francis McDormand in pill form. The former is easy, as Bregna is the name of the walled city where the only humans left on Earth live. If I had to describe Bregna to someone who had never been there, I would say it's like Logan's Run meets the garden center at your local Home Depot. Meaning, things are deceptively peaceful in Bregna. Oh, and there's a sale on ornamental razor grass and weaponized fruit trees.

(Huh?) Seriously, if you want to keep lithe lady ninjas with fly-catching eyelashes and grumpy assassins with hands for feet off your front lawn, make sure your fruit trees are installed with latest poison dart delivery systems.

As for Francis McDormand in pill form. Ah, jeez. Where do I begin? I'm not sure, but I think Francis McDormand is the leader of the Monicans. However, since Bregna is basically a surveillance state that frowns upon independent thought, Francis McDormand's "Handler" must communicate her subversive ideas to her operatives directly to their brains.

If watching Æon Flux ingest the Francis McDormand pill reminded you of a commercial for the nation's leading antacid, you're not alone, as that's first thing I thought of when she took the pill. Once the pill enters your bloodstream, you get to talk to Francis McDormand. Well, you don't exactly get to talk. She basically gives you an order, and if you want to remain a Monican, you will follow it without fail.

And the order Francis McDormand gives Miss Flux involves disrupting the surveillance apparatus that keeps a watchful eye on the residents of Bregna. You know Æon Flux is good at what she does when she infiltrates the facility at night while wearing all-white.

Since that mission went so well, Francis McDormand gives Æon Flux another one right away. And it's one that Æon Flux is itching to do, as she is instructed to assassinate Bregna's leader, Trevor Goodchild (Marton Csokas), the man she blames for killing her sister.

Only problem being, when Æon goes in for the kill, she can't pull the trigger. Is there something between Æon Flux and Trevor Goodchild? And why did Trevor call Æon "Katherine"?

Personally, I could care less, as it's been almost an hour now, and no-one has shot anyone yet. Every time I would turn on the animated series back in the day, I would see Æon Flux gunning down hundreds of minions. But this movie seems to go out of its way to not show Æon shoot anyone.

Eventually, just after the hour mark, Æon Flux finally does end up shooting someone. However, you have to wait until the final showdown to see Æon Flux blow away hordes of faceless henchmen. The sight of the henchmen falling like dominoes off a ledge as direct result of Æon Flux-orchestrated gunfire was the closet thing this film came to replicating the awesomeness of the animated series.

What I recommend doing is, watch the scene where Charlize Theron walks down a flight of stairs in an outfit that reveals the top portion of her left black stocking and orally exchanges Francis McDormand in pill form to Stuart Townsend (who looks like he just came straight from shooting an ad for Prada's new line of men's coats) and then fast-forward to the part when Charlize guns down lot's of henchmen. You could stop every time Francis McDormand appears on-screen (her character has a large mane of kooky red hair), but it's not really worth it. It's almost as if Hollywood doesn't know how to make an entertaining bad movie anymore. As both this, and the similar Ultraviolet, are devoid of fun and have zero camp-appeal.

First off, I just want to say how happy I am to be nuzzling up against the pulsating bosom that is Euro-sleaze. It's been too long. Don't get me wrong, I like other genres, too. It's just that I feel most at ease when the film flickering in front of me has a distinct Euro-sleaze sheen to it. And Carlos Puerto's Satan's Blood (a.k.a. "Escalofrio" and "Don't Panic") is definitely sleazy. Sure, it's not as sleazy as, say, The Mad Foxes, or even as sleazy as Juan Piquer Simón's Pieces. But as far as Spanish films about suave Satanists go, it's like a finely knitted sweater. Comfy and warm, the film... Wait. Why did I just compare this film to a freakin' sweater?!? Oh, yeah, that's right, the luminous Mariana Karr wears a sweet-ass sweater throughout this movie. In fact, it was Mariana's sweater that beckoned me to watch this film in the first place. The DVD put out by Mondo Macabro has four images on the back designed to pique my interest (or I should say, piquer my interest - Juan Piquer Simón is uncredited as the film's co-director). Anyway, the images included a severed head in a freezer, a skull, a woman being choked and a woman in a beige, brown and white turtleneck sweater. While I'm a big fan of severed heads, skulls and strangulation, I must confess, I'm an even bigger fan of sweaters with high necks. Of course, the question on everyone's mind is: Did Mariana Karr's turtleneck sweater manage to live up to the hype? What do you think? This review wouldn't exist if it wasn't for Mariana Karr's turtleneck sweater. Actually, I'm sure I could have focused on something else if Mariana Karr's sweater had been a let down. (Something else?!? You mean like, Sandra Alberti's strappy heels/white nylons?) Exactly.

Unfortunately, and this might sound a tad off-kilter, but the sheer amount of nudity in this film, some Satan-based, some bathing-based, put severe limits on the amount of time Mariana Karr appeared in her turtleneck sweater. Luckily for us, Annie (Mariana Karr) and her husband Andy (José María Guillén) didn't pack a suitcase when they decided spend the night at the creepy house that belongs to a couple of kinky Satanists.

Though, to be fair to Annie and Andy, they didn't know beforehand that they were going to spend the night. And they certainly didn't know that they were Satanist. Speaking as a non-practicing Satanist, spotting Satanists isn't as easy as it sounds.

Okay, fine. But Annie should have realized that something sinister was afoot when she noticed that glossy book on Satanism sitting on their bookshelf. In her defense, however, it was the 1970s. In other words, if you didn't have at least one book in your house on Satanism, you were looked at with suspicion. Seriously, Satanism and all things occult were seen as cool back in the 1970s.

On the other hand, eating your food like a dog has never been cool. And that's exactly what Annie catches one of her hosts doing at one point. A normal person would have politely excused themselves after witnessing this canine display and ran for the exit when the opportunity was right. But since it's the... (Yeah, yeah, it's the 1970s. People put up with all sorts of weird ass nonsense back then.) Either way, no such opportunity arises, and Annie and Andy, and, I suppose their dog, Blackie, are stuck there.

Stuck where, you ask? Well, Anna (who is four months pregnant) and Andy decide to spend the day cruising around the city, Madrid, I think. While driving home, Bruno (Ángel Aranda) and Mary (Sandra Alberti), the people in the car next to them, seem to think that they know them. It turns out that Bruno went to school with Andy. Even though Andy doesn't remember him, he agrees to go over to his house for drinks.

Truth be told, Annie and Andy had plenty of opportunities to flee. I guess you can't underestimate the power of Satan! I'm just kidding. I have no idea why they didn't leave. I mean, the Satanism book, the sight of Mary eating food (human organs) out of a dog bowl, not to mention, the spooky-looking doll in the living room, everything about this place practically screams psychosexual torment. Yeah, but it also screams ritualistic psychosexual satisfaction, and maybe, just maybe, Annie and Andy are proponents of Satanic orgies. After all, it's the... (Let me guess, the 1970s?) Bingo.

Quirky fun-fact: At least seventy percent of children born in Europe and the hipper parts of North America during the 1970s were conceived at Satanic orgies.

Personally, I would have turned around the moment I found out that the gate at Bruno and Mary's house made a creaking sound every time you opened and closed it. But then again, if they had turned around, we wouldn't have gotten to watch Annie, Andy, Bruno and Mary have crazy naked sex together on a black blanket with a pentagram on it.

At the end of the day, the question every Spaniard must ask themselves is this: Do you want to continue living an uneventful life in your matchbox-sized Madrid apartment, or do you want to embrace the dizzying world of clothing optional Satanism? Luckily for us, Annie and Andy choose the latter. Well, they don't exactly choose the latter. The Satanism lifestyle is more or less thrust upon them. Nevertheless, Annie and Andy end up partaking in a Ouija board session (or, I should say, Ouija table session - now that's a nice Ouija table), which leads to playful bathing, rough lesbianism and the mother of all creepy doll attacks.

The three things I just mentioned, by the way, are three of the main instances where Annie is seen without her trademark turtleneck sweater. It's a good thing Mariana Karr is so darned attractive (nudity looks good on her), or else I would have thrown a massive hissy-fit every time she took off her sweater.

If I had to point out a flaw, it would have to be the handling of Sandra Alberti's white nylons/strappy heals. Never shot in a manner that I found satisfying, the way they (the filmmakers) seemed to go out of their way to not give us any close-up shots of her white nylons/strappy heals was frustrating. That being said, I did appreciate her overall look (on top of wearing white nylons and strappy heals, Mary wears a chic red coat - with a matching purse - and a chunky necklace), and I found her cannibalistic dining habits to be wonderfully dog-like. I know, cannibals rarely ever use a knife and fork. But still, I liked the way she went to town on those tasty organs (which, I assume, used to belong to the guy in the freezer).

Anyway, despite the lack of leggy friendly camera angles, and the fact the film features way too much nudity for my liking, Satan's Blood is a definite must-see for fans of well-made Euro-sleaze. Boasting a foreboding atmosphere from start to finish (the ritualistic murder/groping that opens the film is first-rate softcore porn and the twist ending is pure gold) and a swirling organ score, the film harkens back to a time when horror and eroticism were paired together quite often. And I miss those days. Oh, and I'm just kidding about there being "too much nudity." Only a real square would say something like that, and I'm no square.

Let's say you're a yuppie who has it all. It's 1990, you got a sweet apartment (one that is filled with the kind of stuff yuppies like), you live in a nice neighbourhood, you're engaged to be married to Marcia Cross, your job, while tedious, pays well, and... Wait. Did I mention it's 1990? Or, more importantly, did I mention that you look like James Spader? I know, talk about having it all. Or does he? Have it all, that is. I don't think he does. Let's see. He doesn't really like Marica Cross, he doesn't need half the junk in his apartment, his slacker brother is always asking to borrow money and he hates his job. Sure, he still looks like James Spader, the sexiest man alive as far as I'm concerned. But even that doesn't seem to get him anywhere in Bad Influence, the film that begs the question: If James Spader approached Lisa Zane in a bar, would she really reject him? We'll get to that in a minute. Looking like James Spader can apparently only get you so far in Los Angeles circa 1990. But what if James Spader had a douchebag coach? What I mean is, what if James Spader had a sort of tutor that taught him how to be an asshole. I know, you're thinking to yourself: Isn't being an asshole a bad thing? Not in the world depicted in this film. In fact, the film should really be called "Good Influence." However, since Hollywood doesn't want it to get out that being a total dick/colossal hosebeast is the best thing a person can do for themselves in terms of self-improvement (everyone in Hollywood is either a total dick or a colossal hosebeast), the film turns into a cautionary tale about the dangers of ambition at around the midway point.

Enabling him to ditch his bland blouse-wearing fiancée is just one of the things James Spader's asshole tutor manages to swing for him. He also helps him turn things around at work, and finds a use for some of the stuff in his apartment. For example, the video camera (a purchase his stoner brother dismisses as wasteful) comes in handy in the dumping of his fiancée.

In case you haven't figured it out yet, James Spader's asshole tutor is played by Rob Lowe. Was there any doubt? I don't think so. With the stench of his sex tape scandal still lingering in the air, it made sense to exploit Rob Lowe's newfound bad boy status by casting him as an immoral con man/yuppie whisperer.

While any old con man can fleece a bunch of Hollywood phonies, it takes real skill to rehabilitate an under-performing yuppie. That being said, most of us will continue to ask the question: Does James Spader really need to be rehabilitated? Or, I should say, does Michael Boll (the name of Spader's character) really need rehabilitating? Of course, to most normal people, he's doing just fine. But to those living inside the L.A. douchebag bubble, he's floundering pretty badly. I mean, for one thing, this Paterson guy (Tony Maggio) at work is repeatedly making Michael look like a massive tool.

If Rob Lowe's "Alex," isn't fleecing Michael, why is he helping him? What I mean is, if it's not about the money (which Alex could have stolen from him without much effort), what does he want? Who knows? Seriously, though, I have no idea. Not much about Alex's background is revealed. It's true, the air of mystery that surrounds Rob Lowe's character gave him an almost supernatural quality (his apparent ability to disappear at will also added to this quality), but part of me would have liked to have known what his deal was.

The opening scene, which shows Alex leaving a woman's apartment in the early morning hours under suspicious circumstances, implies that he spends his days drifting from one con to another. But what is it about James Spader that makes him invest so much energy trying to improve his place the L.A. yuppie-verse of 1990?

At the end of the day it doesn't matter why he's helping him, all that matters is that Alex, despite his unorthodox methods, gets results.

And when I say "results," I'm talking about Lisa Zane's dynamic dick-pocket pounding the living fuckitude out of Michael's wayward cock.

As I just said, the film opens with Alex removing himself from the life of some woman in the early morning hours (he painstakingly gets rid of any photo that he's in and trashes all his personal-effects). Meanwhile, Michael is having a bad day at work. Not only does that aforementioned Paterson guy misplace "schedule 47," an important computer file of his, Marcia Cross, his fiancée, has decided to pop-in to tell him that she wants to postpone the wedding to November. You would think things couldn't get worse, but they do. The boyfriend of some chick at a nearby bar picks a fight with him and his brother, Pismo (Christian Clemenson), is asking for money again.

On the positive side, Rob Lowe's Alex steps in to help Michael with the whole bar fight situation. But unfortunately, Alex disappears before Michael can thank him. Oh, wait. There he is. While out jogging in black athletic clothes at night (fuck yeah), Michael spots Alex standing on a pier. After thanking him for saving his ass earlier in the day, Michael begins to wander away... when all of a sudden, Alex takes an interest in Michael's yuppie troubles.

Using the first of many nightclub passwords ("Dominate Athletic Woman"), Alex takes Michael to a club to see The Nymphs (an L.A. rock band fronted by Inger Lorre) and hit on Lisa Zane's Claire, the coolest woman... I want to say "the coolest woman on the planet," but let's not get carried away. Let's just say, she's the coolest woman currently in this club. Which is nothing to sneeze at, as the club scenes in this movie are chock-full of cool ass people.

Initially rebuffed by Claire, Michael... I don't know, man. Even though they have tried to make James Spader seem kind of dorky, he's still James Spader. Meaning, Claire should be wetter than an otter's taint. (An otter's taint?!?) What? They're pretty freaking wet. Anyway, after the Claire debacle, things begin to turn around for Michael when he out maneuvers, using advice he got from Alex, that Paterson guy at work the very next day.

Bumping into Alex later that evening, Michael is taken to an art gallery, where Alex introduces Michael to Claire. But instead of introducing him as Michael, he calls him "Dominique." It would seem that Alex (who now speaks with a French accent) has created a whole new persona for Michael. At first I thought, this seems unnecessarily convoluted. But then again, it gets results. And when I say, "results." I'm talking about Michael taking Claire back to his apartment to fuck her brains out.

Did I mention that Claire never leaves the house without a black backless dress and black stockings attached to her legs? I haven't? Well that's weird. The dress Claire wears during the art gallery/apartment scene is my favourite Claire outfit, as it boasts a healthy slit and had these oddly-shaped patterns around the neckline.

Asking what Michael fears and wants most in the world, Alex decides to speed things up, and takes his mentor-ship of Michael to the next level. Sabotaging his relationship with Marcia Cross and "neutralizing" his rival at work, Alex has done more for Michael in the past few days than anyone has in his entire life. However, and this is where things get complicated. You see, Michael has scruples, while Alex clearly does not. These differences in their characters end up clashing with one another and cause their almost brotherly bond to sour some bit.

While it was sad to see their relationship flounder the way it ultimately does, they at least got to attend what I consider to be one of the most awesome L.A. parties ever. Now, granted, the party isn't the wildest, nor does it feature music that I was particularly found of, but the atmosphere is too die for. A sort of late night goth garden party, the party (password: "Gay White Male") is teeming with black-clad denizens of the night. Call me crazy, but I could have sworn I saw Rozz Williams of Christian Death/Shadow Project fame hanging out on the stairs.

If you thought that party was awesome, wait until you get a load of the one where Pismo spies on Alex. First off, the club (password: "Fun Loving Couple Seeks...") is blasting "Who's Laughing Now?" by Skinny Puppy as lingerie-clad performance artists swing fluorescent lights with a reckless brand of abandon. And secondly... Actually, there is no "secondly." What else could you want? I mean, Skinny Puppy and lingerie. As far as I'm concerned, nothing else matters in this world.

It's too bad Michael and Alex couldn't have worked out their myriad issues in a less over the top (i.e. less violent) fashion, as I would have loved to have seen them (with Claire, of course) at this club together. Oh, well.

As with most thrillers of this type, the film gets super-ridiculous during its final third. That being said, the film is aesthetically superior to most of the junk I see on a regular basis. Let me break it down for you: James Spader, Rob Lowe, Skinny Puppy, black clothing, lingerie, slits, club scenes, Rozz Williams(?), and yeah. Wait, I almost forgot, Lisa Zane! I love her look. And, actually, you can thank her for making me aware of this movie. Oh, sure, I had heard of it. But after seeing her in the atrocious Freddy's Dead: The Final Nightmare, I thought to myself: I need more Lisa Zane in my life. So, I looked at her filmography, and the title "Bad Influence" jumped out at me. Thanks, Lisa and Freddy.

Instead of knocking them out with a chloroform-soaked rag and then tying them to a wheelchair in an abandoned factory, wouldn't it be easier to enlighten the person you have selected to pass on your venereal curse to with a brochure? I don't know, maybe you can title it: "So, 'It' is Following You." Either way, I think it's the courteous thing to do. At the same time, it's totally selfish as well. You see, in this oddly serene version of Detroit, sexual intercourse can lead to creepy consequences. And these "creepy consequences" can turn deadly... if you don't take certain precautions. Of course, not having sex in the first place is the most reliable method there is when it comes to preventing the consequences from getting creepy. But you try telling a bunch of teenagers to not have sex. Trust me, I've tried. It's damn near impossible. Oh, wait. I haven't tried. Nevertheless, once you have sex with a person who is currently being followed, the following onus is immediately thrust upon you. But don't forget, if you die while being followed, the following onus goes back to the person you had sex with. Meaning, that person should go down to his or her local printing store (is Kinkos still a thing?) and print up some motherfuckin' brochures. Of course, showing the person you "infected" the zombie-esque, scantily-clad monstrosities firsthand can be beneficial as well. But don't underestimate the power of a handsomely made brochure.

(Hold on. Who's following these people?) Um, the title of the movie is It Follows. In other words, "It" is following them. (Yeah, but what is "It"?) It doesn't really matter what "It" is. All that does matter is that It Follows is one of the most effective horror movies I've seen in years. And when I say "effective," I'm talking about the kind of horror movie that causes you change your behaviour after you see it.

I don't know, there's something inherently unnerving about the sight of a seemingly unending concourse of random strangers slowly walking towards you in a menacing manner. Granted, I didn't need a movie to make me paranoid about people I don't know, but the fact that I looked at folks on the street with more suspicion than usual afterward is a testament to quality of the film-making at work here.

And to think, I was ready, if need be, to unleash a shitload of soliloquies dedicated to this film's star and her first-rate legs. Don't worry, though, the stem-based soliloquies might still be coming (their gestating in my mind as we speak). It's just that the film, written and directed by David Robert Mitchell, doesn't really need me to go off on some unorthodox yet entertaining tangent, as it's a solid slab of John Carpenter-inspired horror goodness. I also noticed bits that seemed inspired by Wes Craven, Frank Henenlotter and David Cronenberg.

To be honest, I was kind of hoping that the film would have been a tad more on the sleazy side (more Brain Damage, less A Nightmare on Elm Street), but the fact that film opens with a leggy... followest? Followian? Followee? ...running down a leafy suburban street in high heel shoes was an excellent omen. Naturally, some people will probably argue that high heel shoes are the most impractical thing a person being followed can wear. I say, balderdash! Besides, you don't know what she doing before she came bursting out of that house. For all we know, her husband/boyfriend/or whoever that guy was (her father, maybe?) might have a fetish for high heels and she was simply indulging him when they were rudely interrupted by an unruly follower.

Anyway, proving that her performance in The Guest was no fluke, Maika Monroe stakes her claim as the queen of horror-based disaffection as Jay Height, the film's primary followee. Unfortunately, unlike The Guest's Anna Peterson, it's not clear if Jay Height likes industrial or goth music. That being said, all her swimming, sex, leggy lounging and following scenes are set to the wonderfully synthy score by Rich Vreeland (Disasterpeace). Seriously, the synth flourishes in this film are amazing.

If you recall my review of The Guest, you might remember that I compared Maika Monroe to Chloë Sevigny. Well, in It Follows she seems to be challenging Brittany Murphy. Wait, that didn't come out right. What I mean is, she looked exactly like Brittany Murphy at times. This especially true during the scenes where she swims in her backyard above ground pool in suburban Detroit. And after the high heeled followee is successfully followed (ouch, that's gotta hurt), this is where we find Maika's Jay Height, floating in her above ground pool, as two little kids watch from the bushes. Ah, pre-pubescent peeping. You don't see that portrayed in movies that much nowadays. But then again, I don't watch as many "new movies" as I used to. Meaning, maybe every other movie has a pre-pubescent peeping scene. I doubt, though, as I hear all movies nowadays are either about superheroes who fight giant armies of CGI robots or live action remakes of cartoons from the 1980s.

Speaking of which. Did you hear that someone made a live action Jem and the Holograms movie? How did this happen? Or more importantly, why wasn't I given 10 million dollars to direct it? It makes no sense. My Jem movie would have been sexy as hell and a box office smash.

I'm sorry, I got off track. After introducing us to Jay's friends, Yara (Olivia Luccardi), who's reading The Idiot, her sister Kelly (Lili Sepe) and the lovesick Paul (Keir Gilchrist), she prepares to go a series of dates with a guy named Hugh (Jake Weary). The first date, despite an odd incident at an old-timey movie theatre (Charade was the movie playing), goes pretty well. And the second date... uh, not so much. It starts off pleasant enough, except it takes a bit of weird turn post-coitus.

In case you haven't figured it out, Hugh passes his venereal curse onto Jay by having sex with her in the backseat of his car.

Even though Hugh explains what he's done to her (even giving her an enlightening yet terrifying demonstration), Jay's not buying it. And she, or her friends, call the police.

After a close call at school and another one at home (the film's scariest scene), Jay and her friends, including Greg (Daniel Zovatto), a former childhood pal who lives across the street, team up to track down this Hugh fella. While it makes sense to get more information, Hugh, or, I should say, Jeff, told Jay everything she needs to know about the venereal curse the night he gave it to her. The meeting with Hugh/Jeff seems more for the benefit of her friends, who are a tad skeptical that she is being pursued by scantily clad demons who walk at a leisurely pace.

The best way to rid yourself of the followers is to pass it on to someone else. But who do you pass it on to? It's a tough decision, but I totally believed that it's a common dilemma in Detroit, as the cities increasingly people-free landscapes are well-suited for this kind of horror film. Yeah, I realize the curse probably exists outside Metro Detroit. But I like to think curse only effects Detroiters. And besides, the electronic score perfectly represents the city.

It looks great, it sounds great, and it's creepy as fuck, It Follows is, simply put, a new horror movie that doesn't suck. I know, our standards have become so ridiculously low over the last ten years or so, that we heap tons of praise on anything that comes close to being not lame. But I was genuinely impressed with the way this film was put together. And the director's awesome habit of featuring Maika Monroe's legs in almost every scene was a pleasant surprise (Filmed in Scintillating Leg-o-Vision); most modern directors don't even know what the word "legginess" means. I know, what a bunch of weirdos.

Three cocks fall to the ground in Teeth after being gnawed off by a vengeful vagina. The former owners of each fallen cock reacts differently as they stare at their once attached members. Just kidding, they all scream at the top of their lungs, clasping at their bloody dick stumps with a confused horror. Though, it should be noted that the vagina itself is not vengeful. You see, at first I thought it was the vagina that killed. But as we soon find out, things aren't as simple as that. And that's what makes this film so special. I mean, any old jackass can make a crazed vagina movie. However, it takes real skill to make one that oozes intelligence. (Are you sure you're talking about "Teeth"? The movie where a dog eats a guys recently severed penis and spits out the pierced tip with a heedless brand of canine indifference?) Yep, that's the movie. (The movie where a guys recently severed penis is devoured by cave crabs and another guys recently severed penis is reattached, but not after the doctors ridicule it for its lack of girth in the hung department?) How is that so difficult to understand? Trust me, I've seen plenty of movies over the years that boast characters who experience genital-based distress. In other words, I know an intelligent vagina dentata movie when I see it.

Call it a feminist allegory, call it a first-rate slab of body horror, call it what you will, Teeth is probably the most thought provoking killer cunt movie since Liquid Sky. Okay, you're probably thinking to yourself: Huh? Think about it. Both Teeth and Liquid Sky feature celibate women who suddenly find their dust-laden vaginas under attack by a seemingly unending concourse of unwelcome pre-ejaculatory fluid-slathered cock. Yet, it's actually outside forces, not the coozes themselves, who are fighting back against this penile pile up.

What I mean is, in the case of Teeth, the vagina has the means to slice and dice the cocks that enter its damp realm, but it ultimately has no say when it comes to initiating the actual chomping of cocks, and, I suppose, pockmark-dotted slabs of scrotal overhang. I don't want to say anymore about who or what is controlling the serrated teeth that lie beneath the fleshy folds of juicy lady skin, but the fact that we're repeatedly shown two nearby cooling towers billowing toxic smoke has lead me to believe that Dawn's pussy has developed an ingenious defense mechanism.

You could say, the inside of Dawn's pussy contains the world's first society dedicated solely to the cutting up of men. Of course, given its relatively small-size, no one can move to this society to start a new life. At least not yet. But any obstinate cock harbouring malicious intent will quickly find out that Dawn's dime store jizz jar isn't a velvety knapsack filled with gluten-free gummy bears and secret secretions. If anything, it's an angry she-beast that eats rapist junk for breakfast.

Since I've implied that Dawn's pussy kills many dicks in this movie, it only makes sense for writer-director Mitchell Lichtenstein to cast someone who is both believable as an abstinence advocate and as a vaginal vigilante. And even though I've never heard of her, I thought Jess Weixler was an excellent choice to play Dawn, the spokesperson pro-abstinence group called "The Promise."

After a brief opening scene that shows Dawn cutting her soon to be step brother's finger with her vagina when they were little kids, we're quickly whisked into Dawn's sex-free playworld. Speaking to a rapt audience of abstinence freaks, Dawn talks about sex like it were a gift, and that you should keep it wrapped for your wife or husband.

As she's speaking, Dawn can't help but notice the Jonas brother-esque Tobey (Hale Appleman) sitting in the audience. Popping several lady-boners during their initial meeting, I have a feeling this Tobey fella is going to cause Dawn to open her gift prematurely. If you know what I mean.

Now, you might have noticed that I have already used the word "vagina" several times over the course of this review. Well, you won't hear that word used in Dawn and Tobey's sex-ed class. Seriously, the sex-ed teacher can't even say it. Why that is, I'm not quite sure, as I've always used the word. Nonetheless, I think what the film is trying to say is that vaginas are dangerous.

Hell, even Brad (John Hensley), Dawn's dirtbag step brother, knows not to travel vaginal passageways, as he always penetrates his girlfriend Melanie (Nicole Swahn) anally. It would seem that Brad's misguided attempt to finger Dawn as a kid has traumatized him to such an extent that he fears his girlfriend's vagina.

He also must fear fishnet pantyhose, as he fails to savour the sight of Melanie pulling them on after anal sex, as she says this gem of a line: "I have a perfectly good pussy." Sure you do, honey.

In what has to be favourite non-penis severing scene, Brad playfully tries to feed Melanie a dog biscuit after anal sex. What can I say? I'm a sucker for awkward post-coital post-play.

Unable to stop having sexy dreams about Tobey, Dawn finally givens in and invites him to go to a nearby swimming hole. Speaking of holes, I thought everything seemed vaginal during the swimming hole scene. The trees, the water and the ground had a vaginal vibe about them. Things get even more vaginal, when Dawn and Tobey end up in a cave together. And, as everyone knows, caves are nature's vaginas.

Deciding that she doesn't want to give Tobey her gift, at least not inside nature's vagina, Dawn politely asks Tobey to cease and desist with the penile probing. When he fails to do so, that's when the sound of cocks being sliced begin. If I had to describe the sound a penis makes when it's being severed by serrated vagina teeth, I'd have to say it sounds like someone walking through a muddy field in galoshes.

Since it's implied that most men need to revisit "the dark crucible that hatched him," Dawn should expect that many more penises will attempt to penetrate her unusual box. However, it's ultimately up to Dawn which penis she severs and which penis she allows to spew its goo without incident.

Don't forget, just because she allows you spew your goo without incident the first time you have sex with her, doesn't mean she won't pierce your penile stump with her jagged vagina teeth the second time. Oh, and don't confess to her mid-hump that you and your friend made some wager to see who could fuck her first. It's not only inconsiderate, and, not to mention, ungentlemanly as all get out, it's downright foolish. I mean, she can end your dick in the blink of an eye. And I think that's the most important lesson one can take away from this movie, don't rape women, or anyone for that matter. It's totally uncool, bro.

Even though there are four chicks on the poster, only one of them is giving off what I would consider a Goth vibe. I mean, what gives, The Craft, mid-90s gothploitation yarn about a trio of teen witches who befriend a new teen witch in order to complete "the circle," or some nonsense like that? Why are you short-changing me, Goth-wise? If I'm gonna sit down and watch a movie about four teenage girls who practice witchcraft in their spare time, at least half of them better be Goths, or, at the very least, Goth-adjacent. Which brings me back to the film's poster. One Goth? That's it? What a rip off. Thankfully, the one Goth is played by Fairuza Balk. In other words, I think it's safe to say that she has enough Goth in her to make up for the non-Goth vibe the other girls are putting out there. Still, it's kind of weird that Robin Tunney, Neve Campbell and Rachel True weren't all that Goth. Think about it, they're teenage girls who spend nearly all their time together. What I mean is, do they shop for clothes separately? It makes no sense. I know, the producers probably told the director to tone down the film's Gothiness, as "Middle America" isn't ready for a movie that is chock-full of Goth chicks. But still, you would think they all shop at the same store.

What does Fairuza Balk do, sneak off to Ipso Facto and Retail Slut (which was still open in 1996) to buy clothes when no one is looking? It's the only logical explanation I come up with at the moment. I was going to make a comment about Fairuza's character not being able to afford the pricey Goth cthreads she wears in this movie (after all, she's lives in a trailer with her white trash, Connie Francis-loving mom). But then it dawned on me, Fairuza, or, I should say, Nancy Downs, doesn't pay for anything. Or maybe she does. She could work at the Yarn Barn during the summer months, what do I know?

What I do know is, Fairuza Balk looks fantastic in this movie (pointy granny boots!!! PVC raincoats!!!), and she is the only reason people should watch this movie. And not only does Fairuza Balk look fantastic, she gives an amazing performance. Sure, it gets sort of campy near the end. But you're never going catch me complaining about an actor's performance being too campy. No, I think Fairuza Balk's performance strikes a nice balance between measured and campy. (Measured? Fairuza Balk in The Craft? What movie were you watching?) Yeah, I guess she starts camping it up before the opening credits even begin. Either way, it was fun watching Fairuza Balk do battle with a bunch of colossal squares.

Oh, who am I kidding? There's no "bunch" of colossal squares. There's only one colossal square. That's right, I'm looking at you, Robin Tunney. Or, I should say, Robin Tunney, The Goth Ruiner. Now, I'm not saying the future star of The Mentalist single-handedly ruined Goth. But she does undermine it, like, big time.

In fact, this movie was recently rated (and by "recently" I mean 1998) the most anti-Goth movie of all-time by The Goth Anti-Defamation League. What's that? There is no Goth Anti-Defamation League. Funny, I could have sworn there was. Anyway, Robin Tunney, who doesn't have a single Goth bone in her body, repeatedly undercuts Fairuza Balk's attempt to create a world where Goths are accepted as productive members of society.

And, not to the mention, Nancy does her darnedest to bring would-be rapists to justice. (Huh?) Pay attention, man, Skeet Ulrich totally tries to force himself on Robin Tunney's Sarah Bailey at one point. It's true, he was under the influence of a love spell. But still... it was a dick move on his part.

Nonetheless, Sarah thinks Nancy has gone too far, and decides right then and there that she wants out of her so-called coven.

Just for the record, the most anti-Goth movie in history has to be The Breakfast Club. The de-Gothification of Ally Sheedy's character by Molly Ringwald is pretty much the most heinous thing I've ever seen in a motion picture (I can still taste the vomit it produced).

Okay, what was I saying before I got sidetracked? Oh, yeah, Robin Tunney, the true villain of the piece, shows up at this new Catholic high school, located in a part of L.A. where torrential rainfall (a.k.a. overstated movie rain) is, apparently, quite common, and sets about destroying a coven of teenage witches.

Well, she doesn't attempt to destroy the coven right away. The first thing she does is flirt with Skeet Ulrich. However, when Skeet rejects her, Robin Tunney quickly sets her sights on Fairuza Balk's Nancy Downs, Neve Campbell's Bonnie (whose body is covered in scars) and Rachel True's Rochelle (who is being bullied by a perky white supremacist).

The perky white supremacist, by the way, who is played by the always funny, Christine Taylor, gets the film's biggest laugh with the line, "I don't like Negroids." I know, it might not look all that hilarious on paper. But Christine's delivery of the line is pure gold. Plus, you don't usually hear racists use the word "Negroid" all that much anymore.

When the girls start making wish spells, Neve Campbell's character obviously wishes her scars would disappear. And when they do, that means... you guessed it, black hold-up stockings! Show off them creamy, scar-free thighs, you saucy, Guelph-born minx, you. Watching the newly confident Neve Campbell prance around campus in black hold-ups reminded me of that Kids in the Hall sketch where the employees at a pizza joint located near a Catholic high school get flustered whenever the girls would come in en masse for their midday 'za. Sure, it helps that a pre-Party of Five Neve Campbell appears in that sketch, but it's still an apt reference.

You would think that a film that boasts a soundtrack that is laced with lame cover versions of songs by The Beatles (Our Lady Peace), The Cars (Letters to Cleo) and The Smiths (Love Spit Love), features Breckin Meyer (at the height of his floppy-haired obnoxiousness) and has an anti-Goth temperament would be easy to dismiss as bland mid-90s twaddle. But I have to admit, I have a soft spot for The Craft. Granted, it's mainly do to Fairuza Balk's go for broke performance as a poor white trash Goth with an expensive Goth wardrobe... (Don't forget, she also attends a pricey private school.) Well, yeah, that doesn't make a lick of sense. As I was saying, focus on Fairuza, and you should be able to navigate the film's weaker moments with a lavender-scented ease.

Awash with the kind of politically incorrect humour that would most likely get you banished from today's overly sensitive outrage-verse, Doctor Detroit was originally intended to amuse the people of the 1980s (blue collar slobs, closeted white supremacists, unaware yuppies, middle-class geeks and shiftless wastoids and dweebies). In other words, why would anyone in their right mind watch it now? I have two words for you, and I think you all know what I'm about to say: Fran Drescher! I was thinking about faking you out by saying, oh, something like, Nan Martin. Who, don't get me wrong, is hilarious, and, not to mention, pretty hot, for an "old chick." But let's get real, there's only one reason to watch this completely asinine tale about a dorky English professor who gets coned into becoming a cyborg pimp named... "Doctor Detroit," by a high class Chicago pimp (Dr. Johnny Fever himself), and that reason is, to bask in the otherworldly beauty that is Fran Meshuggahumpin' Drescher. Though, to be fair to the film itself, the opening credits sequence, the one that features a spry Dan Aykroyd power walking across town while Devo's "Theme from Doctor Detroit" blasts on the soundtrack, is kind of amazing. Who am I kidding? It's lots of amazing. I don't know, there's something about the sight of Dan Aykroyd walking really, really fast in red short shorts to the sound of Devo that brings me a shitload of joy.

Now, normally I would say something like this: Well, things can only go downhill from here. And, yes, while it's true, things do go downhill. The prospect that I will get to see Fran Drescher (UHF) tarting it up as Karen Blittstein, the slinkiest, leggiest whore this side of Archer Avenue, allowed me traverse this film's idiotic landscape with a buttery, Cumberbatchian ease.

That being said, I seriously have to question the logic of not sheathing Fran Drescher's womanly curves in a dress that boasted a slit during the Players Ball sequence. And if that's the case, how do you expect Fran's floozy character to shimmy without a slit? (The Players Ball, in case you don't know, is an annual event where pimps and their hos alike get to strut their stuff in front of their peers.)

I mean, Jasmine Wu (Lydia Lei, Vice Squad), the Asian one (I love how she uses a fake Engrish accent when speaking to men), Thelma Carter (Lynn Whitfield), the black one, and Monica McNeil (Donna Dixon), the blonde one, all get slits. What gives, Doctor Detroit?

Oh, and please don't make me play the anti-semitism card, as I don't want this review to become a scathing indictment of Hollywood discrimination (Jews can never seem to catch a break in the movie business). But I couldn't help but think that's what was happening as I watched Fran Drescher struggle to bust-a-move in her slitless gown. It's more tragic than anything else.

Did I let the fact that Fran Drescher's dress had no slit ruin my enjoyment of an otherwise harmless piece of filmed entertainment. Of course not, as the film provided no real enjoyment in the first place.

Just kidding, it's not that bad. The montage where Howard Hesseman's "Smooth Walker," and the aforementioned foursome of high-end escorts (a walking, talking Benetton Ad in heels), take a nerdy comparative literature professor named Clifford Skridlow (Dan Aykroyd) out to every nightclub in Chicago, for example, is teeming with righteous energy. If only the entire film could have maintained that "righteous energy" from start to finish. Oh, well.

I think the biggest problem is Doctor Detroit himself. The quality of the film seemed to take a nosedive the moment Clifford Skridlow becomes Doctor Detroit. Seriously, I don't know what they were thinking when they came up with the Doctor Detroit's voice, as it's beyond irritating.

The reason the mild-mannered Clifford Skridlow becomes über-pimp Doctor Detroit is a convoluted as you might expect. To deflect attention away from his own pimp-related problems, Smooth tells Mom (Kate Murtagh), a powerful pimp who rules Chicago's criminal underworld with an iron fist, that a pimp named "Doctor Detroit" is taking over her turf. And since Doctor Detroit doesn't really exist, Smooth convinces Clifford Skridlow to play the part.

First noticing him while he was out power walking to Devo, Smooth runs into Clifford Skridlow later that day while dining at an Indian restaurant. Using Fran Drescher and the other three ladies as bait, Smooth manages to win over Cliff over. It also didn't hurt that Smooth drowns Cliff's nervous system in drugs and alcohol.

After his crazy night is over, Cliff goes back to work at Monroe College. Little does he know, but Cliff's a pimp now. He even has a limo driver, played by T.K. Carter (The Thing), and access to a vulgar penthouse filled with utterly tasteless furnishings.

Even though Fran Drescher's legs are visible multiple times over the course of the film, Dan Aykroyd's legs are mentioned at least four times. As you might expect, this annoyed me like you wouldn't believe. Granted, it wasn't as annoying as the whole slit debacle during the Players Ball sequence, but it still irked me.

Did anyone else find it mildly interesting that Smooth refers to Mom's minions as the "Yul Brynner clones" and as a "cue-ball convention" at one point? The only reason I ask is because society viewed male baldness differently thirty years ago. Nowadays, you see men with shaved heads almost everywhere and no one seems to care. But back in 1983, it was still pretty rare. In fact, in some circles, male baldness was met with open hostility. Simply put, if you weren't a Buddhist monk or Yul Brynner/Telly Savalas you and your hairless dome were viewed with suspicion.

What the? Why am I talking about male baldness when I could be blathering on and on about Fran Drescher's wicked organic structure? Bizarre. Truly bizarre. Anyway, take special note of Clifford's dream sequence, as it's your best opportunity to see Fran Drescher in sexy lingerie in the entire film. Unfortunately, the camera doesn't linger on Fran's stocking encased gams for all that long, so you might have to pause the video to get the full effect. Which is a shame, because Frannies shouldn't have to resort to such flapdoodle to get an eyeful of Fran.

In a surprise twist, Lynn Whitfield gets a nice stocking-related close-up near the end of the film. Of course, you might miss it, as it takes place as T.K. Carter and Fran Drescher are on-screen (since actor Howard Hesseman collected his check and got the hell out of there, T.K. and Fran are saddled with doing the majority of the heavy-lifting, comedy-wise... which makes sense, as they're both talented comedians). At any rate, if you look at the left side of the screen, you will notice that Lynn is sheepishly putting her stockings on. I can't believe I almost missed this.

In closing, Doctor Detroit doesn't really deserve the amount of attention I've given it. If you're fan of Fran Drescher or even Dan Aykroyd, I guess you should watch it. On the other hand, you''re probably better off just watching Jekyl and Hyde... Together Again, as it as way funnier and way more politically incorrect.

Oh, and why is Glenne Headly (Making Mr. Right) listed in the credits as "Miss Debbylike"? She has no dialogue and she's only on-screen for a few seconds. I'm thinking there must have been a subplot involving Dan Aykroyd and one of his students, and it was obviously cut out of the movie.

Damn you, Daniel Waters! Damn you for making me choose between Emily Bergl (Carrie 2: The Rage) and Dominique Swain (Lolita 2: The Quickening). I know, what about Jaime King? Screw that free spirit vibe she was putting out there, this is clearly a battle between the Berglster and the Swainstress. Of course, given my track record when it comes to championing those who possess, oh, let's just say, an oft-kilter brand of beauty, you would think I would naturally gravitate towards Emily Bergl (Francis Jarvis from Gilmore Girls!!!). But holy crap does Dominique Swain ever bring her A game to Happy Campers, the lesser known summer camp comedy from 2001 (Wet Hot American Summer being the more known one). Written and directed by the writer of Heathers, the film, as expected, is darkly humourous and refreshingly unsentimental. But like I was saying, it put me in a bit of a bind. And that is, repeatedly forcing me to choose between two actresses I have the hots for. Granted, the characters in the film itself seem to have no trouble whatsoever making their decision (they either went with Swain or King), but I'm not Brad Renfro (Ghost World) or the Xander-esque Jordan Bridges (Dawson's Creek), and I'm definitely not Justin Long (Drag Me to Hell). Which reminds me. Can you believe that Justin Long actually settles for Emily Bergl at one point? The nerve of some people. But don't worry, Emily Bergl sees right through Justin Long's lame attempt to reluctantly woo her and shuts him down right in the middle of the eye of a hurricane.

You're probably thinking to yourself: Great, another camp movie where youthful heterosexuals try to hump one another over the course of the summer. While, yes, it's true, there are plenty of attempts to hump the opposite sex in this movie. I was pleasantly surprised that two camp counselors, the rebellious Wichita (Brad Renfro) and the perky Wendy (Dominique Swain), decide to use live frogs instead of their genitals to court one another. What I mean is, instead trying to insert certain parts of their anatomy into each other, they would try to stuff live frogs down one another's shorts/bikini bottoms.

While this all sounds completely normal on paper, the actual practice of frog stuffing causes Oberon (Peter Stormare), the dictatorial camp director of Camp Bleeding Dove, to loose his shit. Oh, and just to let you know, the scene where Oberon catches Wichita shoving a live frog down the backside of Wendy's bikini bottoms in front of a rapt audience of camp counselors and campers is the film's first big laugh. Well, at least it was for me.

I think the line went something like this: "What kind of sick fucky-fuck ritual is that"?

And, yes, the camp at the center of this movie is called "Camp Bleeding Dove." And while this sounds like the ideal location for a machete-wielding madman to get his kill on, the only thing that is killed in this movie is the buzz that Wendy repeatedly kills with her deranged brand of enthusiasm. Actually, I think that's a tad on the harsh side. What can I say? She sucks at her job. That is until she's gets a whiff of Wichita's salty man-scent.

Oh, and when I say, "sucks," I mean it in a good way. You see, Wichita's social experiment for the summer is to change the definition of "sucks" from a negative verb to a positive one. On top of telling Wendy she sucks, Wichita tells Trevor Christensen's Wes (my favourite camper) that what he did for a fellow camper sucked. As a reward, Wichita tells Wes to go down to the lake, where he gets an eyeful of side-boob.

Eventually growing tired of the frog stuffing scene, Wichita and Wendy decide to start using their junk to communicate their affection for one another. Much to the chagrin of the cynical Talia (Emily Bergl) and the dorky Donald Dark (Justin Long), who both have massive crushes on them.

Hold up, I just remembered that hippy-dippy Pixel (Jaime King) makes a play to get into Wendy's ultra-tight panties (pressing oh so tightly against her goose bump-laden crotch skin). Sure, she ultimately settles on the cock attached to the crude and pig-like Adam (Jordan Bridges) as her summertime plaything, but the fact that she tries to cut herself a sweet slice of Wendy pie before hopping on Adam's pork stick was quite telling. And, on top of being telling, annoying as hell.

I mean, seriously. What does Talia have to do to get noticed around here? She could make a play for Jasper (Keram Malicki-Sánchez), but he's as queer as a three dollar bill. In other words, no nookie for Talia.

Speaking of queer, the scene where Jasper tells Wichita that he will go down on him if Cliff Moore's "Don't Touch Me" Todd catches a about to be tossed football was pretty tense. I mean, call me seriously gay, but I never wanted someone to catch a football so badly.

When Oberon says early on that fun without structure is chaos, he isn't kidding around. After Oberon is knocked out of commission by a bolt of lightning, the camp counselor's take over and anarchy reigns supreme.

You could tell at times that Happy Campers was written by someone who was alive/fully conscious during the 1980s when Adam mentions Phoebe Cates at one point and Jasper says such in such should be avoided like a Spandau Ballet tribute album. Of course, not many nineteen year-olds in the year 2001 probably knew who Phoebe Cates or Spandau Ballet were, but I appreciated the references, nonetheless.

My favourite non-Peter Stormare (whose presence is greatly missed after the lightning strike) line was actually uttered by Emily Bergl when she tells a camper that, "Behind every great woman is a great embarrassing first menstruation story." It's the kind of line Diablo Cody would give her left nut to write.

Some of the characters fuck, some of the characters learn life lessons, some of the characters paint tribal markings on the body and attack the sexually active characters with condoms filled with water. But at the end of the day, I laughed a few times and, most importantly, I got to see Dominique Swain in a bikini.

Finally, a movie with the guts to expose the ugly truth behind the popularity of hair metal. I always knew the genre's inexplicable run as the music of choice for America's youth was voodoo-related. I mean, how else can you explain the fact these bands sold millions of albums? Guitars and drums? Oh, how boring. Of course, I'm being somewhat facetious. But deep down, you have to wonder, what if the reason so many L.A. hair metal bands became so popular back in the 1980s/pre-Nevermind early 1990s was because their members had made a demonic deal with a Voodoo Woman with Mobility Issues? Personally, I could care less about hair metal and why it was so popular, as Shock 'Em Dead is probably one of the most stocking top friendly movies I've ever seen. And we're not talking bland nylons up in this joint, we're talking statement hose, yo. What's "statement hose," you ask? Statement hose is hosiery that makes a motherfuckin' statement, and the hose attached to the legs of the leggy floozies assigned to demonic rock star Angel Martin do just that... make a motherfuckin' statement. I know what you're thinking to yourself, how do I get "assigned" a trio of statement hose-wearing leggy floozies? Well, the first thing you have to do is run into a Voodoo Woman with Mobility Issues. Granted, she doesn't have to have "mobility Issues," but it doesn't hurt. What I mean is, you have a better chance of running into a Voodoo Woman if she has mobility issues. It's simple physics. And from the looks of things, the best place to run into a Voodoo Woman with Mobility Issues is outside Pizza Playhouse.

It should be noted that the Voodoo Woman with Mobility Issues (Tyger Sodipe) in this film can grant you anything your heart desires. But seeing that this film takes place entirely in Hollywood, the majority of the Voodoo Woman with Mobility Issues'"clients" are wannabe rock stars. Which, again, explains why L.A. was crawling with so many grown men in leather pants during that particular period in history.

Now, I don't mean to imply that grown men in leather pants is a bad thing. It's just that... Actually, uh... I'm sorry, but the image of Stephen Quadros (the scarecrow from Dr. Caligari) sitting on the couch in that sleazy record exec's office in a pair of leather pants just popped into my head. And, I have to say, what a glorious image it is.

In fact, if I was in charge of men's fashion, I would force everyone to dress the way Stephen Quadros does after the Voodoo Woman with Mobility Issues makes his dream of becoming a rock star come true. I liked how his look combined classic L.A. hard rock stylings with traditional Gothic fashion.

To put it another way: Type O Negative? More like, Type O Positive, as am I positively in love with Stephen Quadros' gothic doom metal attire in this movie. Gorgeous.

And to think, before he met the Voodoo Woman with Mobility Issues, he was just a lowly pizza chef without big hair who lived in a rundown trailer park.

Speaking of being without big hair, what's up with Traci Lords' hair in this movie? I mean, why isn't it big like her co-stars? At first I was annoyed. Then it dawned on me. Not only is Traci Lords' hair awesome, it's precise as fuck.

Look at her bangs, goddamn it! Have you ever seen anything so meticulously crafted? I don't know who did Traci's hair, but the fact they bucked the big hair trend that was literally polluting the atmosphere in 1991 needs to be recognized (I love the smell of Aqua Net in the morning...). And since I'm only one here at the moment, it's up to me to get the word out about Traci Lords' hair in Shock 'Em Dead.

As for Traci's wardrobe. While it's a tad on the conservative side, especially when compared to Stephen Quadros' assigned leggy floozies and even the Jonny Crack (Markus Grupa), the flamboyant soon to be ex-lead singer of Spastique Kolon, I did like how she mixed vests and jeans with old Hollywood glamour. If I had to pick two people who clearly inspired her looks in this movie, I'd have to say, Debbie Gibson and Veronica Lake.

In case you didn't know, my favourite cover version of Jimi Hendrix's "Purple Haze" is by The Fibonaccis. But if I had to choose a second favourite, it would have to be the one by Spastique Kolon that opens Shock 'Em Dead. While it's nothing all that special musically (the guitar work is weak), the sheer enthusiasm of their aggressively campy frontman, Jonny Crack, is hard to ignore.

Seriously, how do you ignore a man in a teal crop-top?

The reason, by the way, that guitar work is weak on their "Purple Haze" cover is because Spastique Kolon are in the process of auditioning a new guitar player at their rehearsal space. And what we hear as the film gets underway is another in a long line of terrible musicians.

Since the band have an important show tomorrow, the band, desperate to fill the position, let a dorky pizza chef named Martin (Stephen Quadros) audition. To no-one's surprise, Martin is awful, and is openly mocked by Jonny, who usually let's the auditionees down easy.

Unable to get his job back at Pizza Playhouse (he quit in order to go to the audition), Martin decides to consult the mysterious Voodoo Woman with Mobility Issues. Asking him what he wants, Martin tells the Voodoo Woman with Mobility Issues that he wants to be "the greatest rock star in the world." And, after a brief ritual and a freaky dream sequence (a green-eyed Michael Angelo Batio is shown at one point playing a double-guitar in a graveyard), Martin wakes up with big hair in a mansion that contains three leggy floozies who are there to do his bidding.

Did I mention that Martin's leggy floozies are never not in lingerie? No? Hmm, that was stupid of me. Anyway, greeted at first by Michelle (Karen Russell), Martin eventually meets Monique (Laurel Wiley) and Marilyn (Gina Parks), and is told that he can have anything his heart desires. Well, anything but food. I'll explain that in a minute (if there's time). In the meantime, Martin, who now calls himself "Angel Martin," wastes no time heading down to Spastique Kolon's rehearsal space (with his leggy floozies in tow) to show off his newly acquired talent. Of course, the members of Spastique Kolon, including the aforementioned Jonny, their bass player Greg (Tim Moffett), drummer Dustin (Christopher Maleki), keyboardist Izzy (David Homb) and manager Lindsay Roberts (Traci Lords) have no idea that Angel Martin is the pizza guy who auditioned earlier. Nevertheless, despite giving Jonny plenty of attitude (this scene reminded me of the interplay between Mozart and Salieri in Amadeus), the band hire Angel on the spot.

To celebrate, Angel invites the band over to party at his mansion. While this might seem like a nice gesture on his part, what Angel really wants is to put the moves on Lindsay. Unfortunately, just as the party is about to get underway, Angel learns that his new life as a rock star comes with a price. And one of the biggest is that he has to kill (using special daggers) in order to survive (something about absorbing their souls through their stab wounds). Now, you would think that learning that he's a soulless rock demon would put a damper on his love life. But it doesn't. If anything, Angel seems to be more determined than ever to woo Lindsay away from Greg the bass player.

Will the now demonic Angel be able to shred his way into Lindsay's heart? How do the leggy floozies feel about Angel's obsession with Lindsay? Aren't they enough for him? Normally, I would say that the leggy floozies have a point. But you've got to remember, Lindsay is played by Traci Lords, who, in this film, is at the height of her post-porn foxiness.

Oh, and get this, I recently learned that Linda Blair was the first choice to play Lindsay, but her manager at the time was trying to get her non-horror roles, so, he or she passed on it. Sure, Traci Lords is amazing. But imagine Linda Blair as Lindsay. Dang, that would have been sweet.

All right, where was I? Oh, yeah, the spurned leggy floozies. Don't feel too bad about the leggy floozies. They seem content to serve their metal master, especially Marilyn, who performs exemplary work during the film's epic finale. And she does so while wearing lingerie.

It's true, I'm not the biggest fan of hair metal (a.k.a. glam metal), but as far as hair metal fashion goes, you're not going to find a more appealing aesthetic. And if wasn't for that aesthetic, I don't think this film would be as beloved as it is. I'm not kidding around, the way the Hollywood hair metal aesthetic, which, unlike other metal scenes, manages to include punk (Angel Martin wears a T.S.O.L. t-shirt at one point), goth (the outfit Angel wears to the office of the record company his band signs with practically screams Andrew Eldritch... well, the leather pants do) and new wave (the leggy floozies wear radioactive lingerie-esque lingerie) styles is the key to its success. And, of course, it's the key to this film's overall success.

In Real Genius, a ragtag group of university students at a Caltech-style California technical institute unwittingly help the U.S. military develop a powerful laser that will enable them to kill anyone they want with the simple push of a button. When said ragtag group of university students eventually learn what their laser is going to be used for, they try to stop them. Wow, talk about science fiction. The reason they try stop them, by the way, is because to them the idea of being able to vanquish your foes from the comfort of your living room is immoral and unethical. Of course, nowadays, killing people with the flick of a switch is commonplace. But back in the mid-1980s, not being in at least the same zip code of the person you wanted to kill was seen as cowardly. Oh, how times have changed. Don't worry, I'll get to the scene with the sexy beautician students from The Wanda Trussler School of Beauty frolicking [makeshift] pool-side and I'll be sure to talk about Michelle Meyrink's delectable Meyrinkian thighs, and, not to mention, her Colleen Moore-inspired haircut in a second. It's just that I wanted to prove that I could make a profound point if I wanted to. Now, you wouldn't think that Real Genius would be the type of film that could elicit such a point. However, as most people know, Real Genius isn't as dumb as it looks. Sure, the look plastered on Val Kilmer's face throughout this movie practically screams cluelessness, but underneath that doltish grin lies a sly form of intelligence.

In the past decade or so, the pop culture landscape has been littered with smirking eggheads like Val Kilmer's Chris Knight. Whether they be on TV shows like, Silicon Valley or The Big Bang Theory, or in movies, like, oh, let's say, The Martian or Interstellar, knowing stuff about science has somehow become cool.

Oh, and in case you're wondering, watching two derelicts fight over a half-smoked cigarette while waiting in line to see Laibach was what was considered cool back in my day. And just for the record, I've never seen an episode of The Big Bang Theory from start to finish.

Call it the anti-Revenge of the Nerds, Real Genius is the thinking man's college set comedy. While not as raunchy or crude... or lewd... or even lascivious as Revenge of the Nerds, this Martha Coolidge-directed film has two of the best montages I've seen in a long time. Placed near the beginning and the end of the movie, these montages help move the plot forward by showing the rapid passage of time. Featuring a series of events that go out of their way to show the evolution of the principal characters, these montages are the reason the film is ninety minutes and not three hours. Allowing directors to cram more movie into their movies, the montage is a vital component of cinema.

You're probably thinking to yourself: Um, every movie from the 1980s has a montage. While, yes, that is true. The montages that appear in Real Genius are different. In that, they actually serve a purpose. And it shouldn't come as a surprise, as Martha Coolidge's Valley Girl has some totally awesome montages as well. Get it, "totally awesome." I'm using Valleyspeak in conjunction with Valley Girl, which, most of you will probably agree, is not even close to being grody to the max.

While there's no Valleyspeak spoken in Real Genius, Valley Girl's Michelle Meyrink is basically the female lead and Deborah Foreman has a small part as the daughter of Ed Lauter, who, of course, plays a hard-ass military man.

Don't let the I ♥ Toxic Waste t-shirt fool you, Val's Chris Knight is no Spicoli. He's neither a manipulative sociopath like that Ferris Bueller creep. No, Chris Knight is one of the better cinematic role models to be hatched during the 1980s. Quick-witted, smart as a whip, sexually active and sporting a social conscience, Chris Knight represents all that is good and pure. Seriously, he's one of the few slovenly rebellious types I've seen that I didn't want to slap silly by the time the Tears For Fears song started to inevitably play over the closing credits.

Sure, it helped that Chris Knight's antagonists, the aptly named Kent and Prof. Jerry Hathaway, are played by William Atherton and Robert Prescott (actors renowned for their ability to be first-rate assholes), but you can't help but like Chris Knight. And a lot of it has to do with Val Kilmer, whose never been more charming than he is here.

After an opening credits sequence that shows us the evolution of weaponry (from the bow and arrow to the atomic bomb), we get a military demo of some kind of space laser and a scene featuring a 15 year-old science whiz-kid named Mitch (Gabe Jarret), who specializes in lasers. Call me perceptive, but I think this film is an artful satire about how the military exploits scientific innovation in order to make killing easier. I mean, how long did it take for some military commander to suggest that they put machine guns on airplanes after they were invented? Five... maybe ten minutes?

Invited to study at Pacific Tech (the Caltech-style school I alluded to earlier) by William Atherton's Prof. Jerry Hathaway, Mitch finds himself rooming with an eccentric student named–you guessed it–Chris Knight. Invited because of his knowledge when it comes to lasers, Prof. Jerry Hathaway hopes Mitch can breathe new life into his laser project, which he is actually doing for the military. Of course, Mitch and Chris have no idea what Prof. Jerry Hathaway is up to. Though, they should, Prof. Jerry Hathaway is a major slimeball.

Since Mitch is only 15, he finds college life a little overwhelming at first. You would be to if some guy, Lazlo Hollyfeld (Jon Gries), would disappear in your closet every now and then, and a student named Ick (Mark "They're Beauticians?" Kamiyama) had this weird habit of turning the dorm hallway into a skating rink.

As habits go, it might be weird, but Ick's indoor skating rink is where Mitch meets Jordan (Michelle Meyrink) for the very first time. And trust me, meeting Michelle Meyrink is hella positive. So, thanks, Ick. Thanks for being the catalyst that introduced the one-woman adorable symposium that Michelle Meyrink in Real Genius.

After another awkward scene between Mitch and Jordan in the bathroom (Jordan attempts to give Mitch a sweater she knitted for him while he's trying to take a piss), we get our first montage. While editing is a key ingredient when it comes to making a good montage (the sight of Mitch gradually surrounded by tape recorders and less actual students in class is a terrific sight gag), the song choice is probably the most important element. And this particular montage is blessed with a gem called "I'm Falling" by The Comsat Angels.

Under pressure from the military to speed things up, Prof. Jerry Hathaway threatens to flunk Chris if doesn't produce "five megawatts by mid-May." I'm no scientist, but that sounds like a lot. Not wanting to see his classmates burn out, Chris decides to help them unwind by throwing them a pool party in the school's auditorium. Even though there are countless lines in this film worth quoting, I can't help but make a chuckling sound every time I think about Mark Kamiyama's "They're beauticians?" line. He, of course, is referring to the babes currently dancing pool-side.

No thanks to that Kent cun... Um, I mean, no thanks to that Kent jerk, Prof. Jerry Hathaway busts up the pool party, and becomes even more dickish.

Speaking of dicks, did Deborah Foreman just ask Val Kilmer if he could hammer a six-inch spike through a board with his penis? He did? Well, that was unexpected.

Determined not to flunk out, Chris and the boys turn up the heat, and focus the bulk of their energy on that damned laser. Which brings us to the film's second montage. This one features a catchy song by Chaz Jankel called "Number One."

Anybody else find it odd that in a film that boasts songs by Bryan Adams and Don Henley, that the most memorable songs are by The Comsat Angels and Chaz Jankel? What am I saying? Of course those songs are more memorable. Bryan Adams and Don Henley are lame. It's true, the use of "Everybody Wants to Rule the World" by Tears for Fears is technically cliched, and on the cusp of being lame. But since this film was actually made in 1985, I'll give 'em a pass (using overplayed 80s songs in the 80s is acceptable).

Anyway, when Chris and the boys (and Michelle Meyrink) learn that they're actually working for the military industrial complex, more scientific hi-jinks transpire and more hilarity ensues. I can't believe they made three Revenge of the Nerds, yet there's only one Real Genius. Come to the think of it, maybe that's a good thing. Though, I have read that there's a Real Genius TV series in the works.

Did creepy men in raincoats still go to see "adult movies" in theatres back in 1987? If so, I wonder if any of them were as horrified as I was when they saw what porn had done to Taija Rae. Sure, she could have done it to herself. But I have a feeling someone within porn industry forced Taija to loose all that weight. If you don't know, the main reason Taija Rae is so fondly remembered as one of the greatest porn stars of the 1980s has nothing to do with her acting or charisma. No, the reason porn fans the world over loved Taija so much was because her body had oomph. What's "oomph," you ask? Well, to put it another way, Taija's body had a shapeliness to it that caused her to stand out in the porn crowd. Nowadays, porn stars come in all shapes and sizes. But back in the 1980s, all porn stars looked pretty much the same. Of course, stars like, Keisha and Lois Ayres stood out as well. But Taija Rae had that all-natural look long before anybody else. Which is why it was such a shame to see it eroded in Eric Edwards'Motel Sweets, a tepid porn sitcom set in a motel. Now, I wanted to say, "set in a weird motel," but the motel in this movie isn't as weird as Eric Edwards thinks it is. At any rate, getting back to Taija Rae's drastic weight loss. I don't know what she did to lose so much weight (drugs, perhaps?), but seeing her as an emaciated stick figure was disheartening. Her thick, delicious thighs reduced to formless pipe cleaners. Her rotund rump robbed of its ripple-inducing splendour. Her child-bearing hips plundered of their innate sway-appeal. Her juicy... Well, you get the idea.

Since I don't want this entire exercise to be about Taija Rae's tragic transformation from a shapely porn goddess to a gaunt, cocaine-soaked bag of skin, I'll try to complain about something else. Hmm, there's so much to choose from. (How about the fact that you have to wait thirty whole minutes before a pulsating pussy is properly penetrated by a pockmarked penis?) Nah, that's the kind of thing the raincoat crowd would complain about. I actually liked the fact that Eric Edwards made an attempt to tell a story. Only problem being, it's no Squalor Motel. And that right there is my biggest non-Taija-drastic-weight-loss-related problem with this movie. It thinks it's Squalor Motel. But trust me, it ain't.

As I stated earlier, Motel Sweets isn't as weird as it thinks it is. It also doesn't help that Eric Edwards' late night motel manager keeps saying that Friday nights bring out the weirdos. Every time he would refer these so-called "weirdos," I would say: What weirdos?

Yes, the extremely fussy Mrs. Tirebiter is a tad on the eccentric side, but Tantala Ray is basically channeling Audra Lindley's Mrs. Roper from Three's Company. In other words, she's not exactly weird. That being said, Tantala Ray proves yet again that she is one the finest actresses in the business. No matter what the role. Whether it be Moms, the owner of the cafe in Café Flesh, the warden in Desperate Women or the staunch lesbian in The Devil in Miss Jones 4, Tantala manages to elevate the material. However, unlike the movies I just mentioned, Motel Sweets needs all the help it can get.

While Tantala is working her milfy butt off to provide the comedy relief (to be fair, Eric Edwards says a few things that are on the cusp of being funny as well), who brings the sexy? After all, this is supposed to be a porno. And the last time I checked, porn is supposed to be sexy. At least it was back in the 1980s.

Well, since there's nothing sexy about Taija Rae in this movie, who's going to step in to fill the void? Why, it's none other than Shanna McCullough.

When I saw Shanna McCullough's delightfully round ass and workmanlike thighs appear onscreen for the very first time, I let out a sigh of relief. Bringing big booty majesty to the pre-Sir-Mix-a-Lot age, Shanna McCullough's never not pound-worthy organic structure is something I can always count on. And while Eric Edwards doesn't fully exploit Shanna McCullough's hefty thighs and larger than life buttocks to the degree I had hoped, I took solace in the fact that her curves were representin' something fierce.

However, until Shanna shows up, we have to endure Eric Edwards' wannabe film noir narration. Playing Sam Cooper, the night manager of a modest motel on the outskirts of town, Eric bemoans the fact that it's Friday night, his least favourite day of the week.

When Sam arrives to start the night-shift, he finds Taija Rae's Daisy the prostitute's skinny ass not making a dent in his office couch. I will say this, even though Taija no longer has the curves to properly fill her super-tight neon yellow tiger print hooker dress, the thrift store garment itself is quite fetching.

After we learn that Daisy prefers to be called "Sunshine" (she thinks it's more skank-appropriate), Martha (Tantala Ray) and George Tirebiter (Wayne Stevens) walk in the door. While Martha is paying the 27.50 for room 13, George is getting a cup of coffee. Well, at least he's trying to. You see, the coffee is as thick as molasses. And in order to stop the flow, you need a pair of scissors. Even though the cutting the coffee gag is only employed twice, it feels like it's employed at least five times. What I think I'm trying to say is: Would somebody fuck someone already.

Just kidding, I'm a big fan of character development. Besides, I loved it when Martha Tirebiter calls the front desk to complain that the toilet in her room doesn't have a sanitation strip on it, and Juanita (Ona Z), the night maid, misinterprets Sam's instructions to put a sanitation strip room 13's toilet (there's a bit of a language barrier between them). Instead putting a strip on their toilet, she performs a striptease, complete with black fully-fashioned stockings and wacky sound effects, for a befuddled Martha and George. I know this is an odd thing to say, but pay close attention to Tantala's face as Ona Z strips, her exaggerated facial expressions are pure gold.

Unlike the coffee cutting gag, the language barrier bit between Sam and Juanita is actually employed several times over the course of the film. (Several?!?) Okay, maybe three or four times. But still, it's more than two. Anyway, Juanita ends up in a three-way with a couple of truckers (Billy Dee and Jon Martin) and screwing Robert Bullock's Al the bug guy, who can be usually found hanging out in The Rusty Pipe Lounge, which, I have to say, is nowhere as cool as The Reptile Room, the motel-adjacent club from Squalor Motel.

After Sam gives newlyweds, Tom (Mike Horner) and Trisha (Shanna McCullough), a room on the house, Daisy/Sunshine finally hooks up with her trick for the evening. Now, I have to say, this guy (Nick Random) could be viewed as weird. I know, he seems harmless, but that puppet sex routine involving Mr. Weasel she makes Daisy/Sunshine partake in was not even close to being normal. In fact, you could call it abnormal. Either way, after some puppet-based foreplay, Nick Random sticks his dick Taija's primary fuck-hole... and the crowd goes wild.

(How come you didn't mention the fact that we get to see the tops of Taija's stockings during the puppet scene?) If Taija's thighs were the size they were a year ago, than, yes, I would have mentioned the tops of her stockings. But her thighs aren't the size they were a year ago, are they? No, they aren't. So, screw Taija's scrawny thighs.

As for Shanna McCullough... damn, girl! Sure, she doesn't wear stockings, but Shanna McCullough's rooftop sex scene with Mike Horner pretty much saved this movie from being an exercise in tedium.

Actually, Nikki Knights'"Devilina," who wears red suspender hose, does her best to fight tedium as well, with her devilish performance as "The Devil." While I liked Taija's hooker dress, I couldn't help but laugh when Devilina calls it "god awful" and tells her to "burn it."

You could say the same things about Motel Sweets. But it's not really all that bad. And, yes, the raincoat crowd must have found the thirty minute wait for penetration to be excruciating, I could care less. No, the film's biggest problems are simply this: Taija Rae is not hot as a skinny slut (Marlene Willoughby, on the other hand, is a hot skinny slut) and the film is basically a poor man's Squalor Motel.

Most people, at least the ones I've come across, seem fascinated by the fact that this film started off as a project call "Twisted Souls," directed by two guys named Brendan Faulkner and Thomas Doran. But then, for some strange reason, it ended up becoming Spookies, directed and edited by a gal named Eugénie "Genie" Joseph. I, on the other hand, could careless about who directed what. Though, I will say this, with the exception the insane zombie-filled finale, all the stuff that Miss Joseph shot pales in comparison to what Faulkner and Doran shot. Anyway, the reason I could careless is because I was too busy basking in the odd mannerisms of Charlotte Alexandra's Adrienne. Okay, maybe her mannerisms weren't exactly odd, but they're definitely the best thing about this movie. Well, to be fair, I dug the creature effects by Gabe Bartalos (Frankenhooker and Brain Damage) and his make-up team as well. But let's get real. The only reason any sane person should watch this movie is because Charlotte Alexandra plays an ultra-stylish woman who chain smokes and battles reptilian snake demons with a breathless elan, and... (Hold up, does she smoke cigarettes and battle snake demons at the same time?) I'm not sure. But if she does, that would elevate my misguided love of this equally misguided movie even more.

Itching to gush about Charlotte Alexandra's performance after the film was over, I turned on my internet machine and set about typing a few words about her amazing performance. Not expecting to come across much when I inevitably checked Charlotte's filmography for more info, I nearly fell off my chair when I discovered that she appeared in two of my favourite Euro-art perv-placating-twaddle fun-time movies, Contes immoraux (Immoral Tales) and Une vraie jeune fille (A Real Young Girl). Mildly giddy, I tried to remember which "Immoral Tale," she appeared in. While she's the star of the former, I figured she played one of the dozens of naked virgins in the Elizabeth Báthory segment of the latter. Then I saw her name attached to Thérése Philosophe, a.k.a. the zucchini masturbation scene. Which is, like, the sexiest scene in the movie.

So, as you might expect, the fact that Spookies–that's right, SPOOKIES!!!–features the actress from Contes immoraux and Une vraie jeune fille blew my mind. Of course, this didn't make it a better movie... it's still a jumbled, nonsensical mess. It did, however, give me something to write about. And at the end of the day, that's what's most important: Me typing words on the internet about semi-obscure movies. (I think it's safe to declare Spookies fully-obscure.) Either way, Charlotte Alexandra (who is apparently English, not French) should have been this film's final girl.

Now, I'm not saying Charlotte Alexandra's Adrienne is killed by a... (Wait, if she's not the final girl, how does she not get killed?) Good point. Well, spoiler alert... Adrienne dies... quite horribly. That being said, she shouldn't have died.

It's true, this film is chock-full of stuff that is mega-lame. But the lamest thing has to be the total and utter bungling of Adrienne's subplot. I don't know what they were thinking, but the handling of Adrienne's final moments were beyond piss-poor. Sure, Gabe Bartalos' creature effects are fantastic. But the scene itself is anticlimactic. It gets even more so when you consider all the hard work Adrienne had put in in the previous scene. I mean, just thinking about it makes me angry.

If anyone deserves to be a final girl, it's Adrienne. Do any of the other characters do battle with a gaggle of reptilian snake demons and a large, slimy monster with tentacles? I don't think so.

Granted, the others experience adversity as well, but no-one faces it quite like the way Adrienne does. Seriously, I've never seen a horror character so poised while a mucus-laden reptile summoned from the depths of hell chomped on their neck like it was a t-bone steak.

Should I even bother to try to recap the film's plot? Or, I should say, plots. You see, there's this little kid named Billy (Alec Nemser), who runs away on his birthday. Winding up at large mansion surrounded by a graveyard, Billy is stalked and killed (as someone plucks away on what sounds like a Yamaha DX-7) by a creature who looks like Nightcrawler in a gold vest. It would seem that the Nightcrawler clone works for Kreon (Felix Ward), and every person his cat-like servant (Dan Scott) kills helps bring back Isabelle (Maria Pechukas), Kreon's dead wife.

In a comatose state as the film gets underway, Isabelle is about to get an injection of life, thanks to the arrival of two cars filled with victims. Of course, when Isabelle regains consciousness, she isn't too thrilled when she finds her husband from seventy years ago is trying to bring her back from the dead. It's not that she doesn't want to be alive again, it's just that I don't think she wants to spend eternity with this Kreon loser.

As the car load of victims is entering the house, the only thing that stands out about these people is Linda's cleavage and Duke's Duran Duran shirt (no, I don't mean a Duran Duran t-shirt, I mean, it looks like the kind of shirt a member of Duran Duran might wear circa their self-titled debut - I can totally see Roger or John Taylor wearing this shirt). What was I saying? Oh, yeah, there's nothing really to this group.

That all changes when I see Charlotte Alexandra. Her white blazer shimmering in the moonlight, Charlotte Alexandra's Adrienne has arrived just in time to save this film from being a total disaster.

Holy crap. It just dawned on me that there are nine people in the group who enter Kreon's house. How the hell am I going keep track of all these chuckleheads? Thankfully, Lewis Wilson (Al Magliochetti) is killed right away when he's eaten by the ground (oh, and the reason I know his full name is because a grave stone with his name on it magically emerges from the ground on the spot where he dies). But still, eight people is a lot to handle.

After messing around with a ouija board (they find it in a closet - the plancette is in a box on a nearby shelf), and after Carol (Lisa Friede) turns into a demon, the group split up. The aforementioned Duke (Nick Gionta) and Linda (Joan Ellen Delaney) go downstairs to fight shit monsters (that's right, monsters made out of fecal matter... who make farting noises when they walk), while Peter (Peter Dain) and Meegan (Kim Merrill) go upstairs to fight... I forget what they fight. Oh, the group's resident goofball, Rich (Peter Iasillo, Jr.) has a creepy run-in with Soo Paek's "Spider Woman."

And that just about covers everyone. Just kidding. Adrienne (Charlotte Alexandra) and her dumbass boyfriend Dave (Anthony Valbiro) decide to stay put. Which makes sense. I mean, Adrienne doesn't look like the type of woman who would be into poking around an old, dusty mansion. No, lounging in a leggy manner while holding a cigarette aloft is more her speed.

While Adrienne manages to pull this off for longer than I expected, the dark forces at play in this film eventually show themselves. And this, unfortunately, applies to Adrienne, whose lounging/smoking session is interrupted by a those reptilian snake demons I alluded to earlier.

When one of the reptilian snake demons bites Adrienne on the neck, I thought to myself: Well, that was fun while it lasted. But then something unexpected occurs. Adrienne begins to fight back. However, she does so in a manner that suited her character. More annoyed or inconvenienced than scared or horrified, Adrienne fights back the only way she knows how. The best way to describe Adrienne's demeanor as she fought off the reptilian snake demon would be, savage nonchalance.

Dispatching the reptilian snake demons with a "savage nonchalance" (yeah, baby), Adrienne stands up, straightens her skirt, and leaves the house alive and well. The end. Nah, that doesn't happen. Though, I kinda wish it did. Sadly, the movie continues on without her. Which, to be honest, makes no sense whatsoever. You could also apply the same logic regarding this review. I mean, without Adrienne, this review makes no sense. So, yeah, I just reviewed Spookies. Parts of you suck ass, parts of you don't... suck ass.

We've all been there. You're staring at your twenty year-old girlfriend, when all of a sudden, this kooky thought trickles through your mind: Why can't my twenty year-old girlfriend be a sexy woman pushing forty? I'm no math whiz, but you're going to have wait fifteen maybe twenty years for that to happen. But what if I told you there was a way speed up the milfication of your twenty year-old girlfriend? All you have to do is become a race car driver in, let's say, 1991, and hope Mick Jagger and Esai Morales decide to zap your body to 2009 just before the car you're driving explodes into a million pieces during a big race. Sure, your twenty year-old girlfriend in 1991 is going to be upset that you died and junk. But your thirty-nine year-old girlfriend in 2009 is going to be... freaked out when she learns that her dead boyfriend from 1991 is still alive. Okay, the plan isn't perfect, but that's the beauty of Freejack. It wants to be the Blade Runner of the '90s, but it unwittingly becomes the ultimate ode to insta-milfing. You see, while your girlfriend has slowly been aging for the past eighteen years, you haven't aged one bit. Meaning, you can rub your taut twenty year-old cock all over her fine thirty-nine year-old vagina. Well, in theory you can. Convincing a twenty year-old Rene Russo, who seems to channeling Drew Barrymore, to rub the shaft containing your organic tautness all over the bean-sized squishy lumps that pepper her not even close to being weather-beaten vulva is pretty much the epitome of easy-peasy-lemon-squeezy. However, managing to persuade a thirty-nine year-old Rene Russo, one who is now a sophisticated executive with a wardrobe to match, to do is same is going to be difficult.

How difficult, you ask? Well, the makers of Freejack try to answer that question by showing the lengths a hot shot rookie race car driver named Alex Furlong (Emilio Estevez) will go to get a delicious piece of mature pussy. I know, you're thinking to yourself: That's a pretty crass way to describe Rene Russo. But I can't think of a less vulgar way to put it.

In a way, Rene Russo should be flattered that Alex Furlong is so eager to enter her fully-developed lady-hole. In the majority of movies that explore the insta-milf phenomenon, the man usually dumps the older woman for someone younger. But not here. Uh-uh. Alex Furlong risks his life multiple times to get with the sexually attractive older woman of his dreams.

Of course, the reason Alex Furlong has to risk his life in order to hook up with Julie Redlund (Rene Russo) has nothing to do with society's reluctance to accept relationships that involve young men dating older women, but everything to do with Mick Jagger and Esai Morales wanting to use his body for reasons that are a tad complicated.

Actually, they're not that complicated. In the future, certain people on the verge of death can transport their mind into the mind of a healthy body. I know, why go through the trouble of snatching the bodies of race car drivers from the early 1990s just as they're about to die in a horrific car crash? Well, the reason the individual Mick Jagger and Esai Morales work for, McCandless (Anthony Hopkins), the CEO of McCandless Corp., wants this particular body is personal/convoluted. But it makes sense overall, as the bulk of today's society are too sickly to transport one's mind to.

It's like that movie Millennium. Only, instead of transporting an entire doomed airliner's worth people into the future, they transport one person. And that person is called a "freejack." Unfortunately for McCandless, his freejack manages to escape moments after being transported from 1991 to 2009.

After a narrow escape, Alex Furlong sets about finding his milfy prize. That is, of course, if she's still alive. I mean, the 2009 version of New York City looks a tad on the bleak side.

Helped by a shotgun-wielding, internet surfing nun (Amanda Plummer), Alex is sent to Park Slope, Brooklyn, where his agent from '91 (David Johansen) apparently now lives. Despite the constant raging gun battles in the street, Alex manages to find his agent and is well on his way to reuniting with Julie. All he has to do is not get caught by Mick Jagger's Vacendak, and his band of armored car driving, helmet-wearing laser-rifle-packing goons.

Even though it sounded like I was joking about Rene Russo channeling Drew Barrymore, I'm actually dead serious. Since the bulk of the film's budget went to designing those futuristic bubble cars and paying the steep rental fees for the fleet of armored cars used in this movie, there wasn't anything left over to cover the cost of making Rene Russo seem believable as a twenty year-old. Well, after watching Drew Barrymore in Poison Ivy, Rene Russo decided right then and there that her (Saturn Award winning) performance in the early going of Freejack would be based on Drew Barrymore (watch her eyes, they're so Drew). It's true, I still didn't buy that Rene Russo looked twenty. But she did act the part, I'll give her that.

As for Emilio Estevez... Since he stays the same age from start to finish, no make-up is necessary to make him seem older. Nevertheless, he brings nothing of note to the film. Personally, I would have cast Christian Slater or James Spader as Alex Furlong.

My opinion as far Mick Jagger goes seems to change from day-to-day. One minute I'm like: Can you believe Mick Jagger is in this movie?!? And the next minute I'm like: Can you believe Mick Jagger in this movie?!? Wait, that's the same exact thing I said about the first minute. Either way, the sound of Mick's unique accent uttering lines like, "Get the meat!" and "Who's firing hard ammo?" was quite something. But like I said, I can't really decide if it's a good thing or a bad thing. I will say this, I did let out a mild giggle every time they would show Mick Jagger wearing his helmet (safety first).

When we do eventually meet Rene Russo in 2009, she's so chic it hurts. And, yes, her legs are usually adorned with hosiery. What kind exactly, I'm not entirely sure. But they were typically jet black and worn with long, slit-friendly skirts.

Now working for the McCandless Corp., Rene Russo has no idea that her boss (Anthony Hopkins) is planning on bringing her dead boyfriend from 1991 to 2009. If I was her, I would be flattered by the amount effort both McCandless and Alex Furlong go through to be with her.

If you think about it, the whole thing is freakin' romantic. Of course, Rene Russo doesn't see it this way. At least not right away. And because of this, Alex Furlong must jump through even more hoops to claim his milfy prize. And by "hoops," I mean, car chases, laser gun battles, and, not to mention, defeat a more conniving than usual Jonathan Banks (he plays an evil McCandless employee named Michelette). Just for the record: When it comes to being an asshole twenty-five years ago, no-one can top Jonathan Banks.

Anyway, it's a good thing Alex Furlong's "milfy prize" looks like Rene Russo, as I wouldn't have bought the film's premise (twenty year-old race car driver jumps through multiple hoops to hook up with a thirty-seven year-old executive) had the so-called "milfy prize" been someone who lacked milf-appeal. And Rene Russo... (Has milf-appeal?) Yeah. She does.

On the other hand, I didn't buy that nightclub's in 2009 would be playing Jesus Jones. Remember them? They were briefly popular back in 1991. Hell, the film can't even get 1992 right, as the use of a Scorpions song over the closing credits seems dated. Though, to be fair, hardly anyone predicted that grunge would take off the way it did at around the time of this film's release.

Oh, and keep an eye out for Jerry Hall as a newswoman (she appears during the nightclub scene) and Grand L. Bush as "Boone" Rene Russo's driver/body guard, who carries a TEC-9 and a samurai sword.

Braindead (Peter Jackson, 1992)

The Backdoor Club (Jack Remy, 1985)

Jungle Virgin Force (Danu Umbara, 1988)

Hackers (Iain Softley, 1995)

Inferno (Dario Argento, 1980)

Porky's (Bob Clark, 1981)

Ultraviolet (Kurt Wimmer, 2006)

Æon Flux (Karyn Kusama, 2005)

Satan's Blood (Carlos Puerto, 1978)

Bad Influence (Curtis Hanson, 1990)

It Follows (David Robert Mitchell, 2014)

Teeth (Mitchell Lichtenstein, 2007)

The Craft (Andrew Flemming, 1996)

Doctor Detroit (Michael Pressman, 1983)

Happy Campers (Daniel Waters, 2001)

Shock 'Em Dead (Mark Freed, 1991)

Real Genius (Martha Coolidge, 1985)

Motel Sweets (Eric Edwards, 1987)

Spookies (1986)

Freejack (Geoff Murphy, 1992)