House of Self-Indulgence

As I was busy wracking my brain trying to figure out where Jeana Tomasina (10 to Midnight) and Melissa Prophet (The Van) appear in this movie, I was apparently subjected to an eerily accurate portrait of the future. You could say my obsession with finding two attractive brunettes in a sea of skinny blondes played right into the hands of Digital Matrix Inc. and Reston Inc., the two sinister corporations situated smack-dab in the middle of Looker, Michael Crichton's highly intelligent techno-thriller about a humble plastic surgeon who finds himself embroiled in a vast conspiracy involving fashion models and light guns that freeze time. (How so?) How so what? (How did your obsession with brunettes play into the hands of The Digital Matrix Inc. and Reston Inc.?) Oh, I'm sorry. My explanation regarding the film's plot was so long-winded, that I forgot about the salient point I was in the process of making. Again, forgetting my point is exactly the kind of thing the not-so fine folks at The Digital Matrix Inc. and Reston Inc. would be encouraged to see. That's because they want to control the aim of your focus. In the old days, and by "old days," I mean the late 1970s/early '80s, corporations relied on television to get their message to the masses. And by "television," I'm referring to that glowing box that was usually located in a room called "the living room." Only, there wasn't much living going on in these rooms (unless you count sitting and staring into a flickering void as living).

Hypnotizing the viewer by bombarding their visual cortex with pleasing shapes and vivid colours, the corporations were able to hold the viewer's attention by putting so-called "shows" in-between the commercials for their products. Lulling the viewing into thinking they were using their own freewill by giving them a choice when it came to what shows they watched, the corporations had the powerful tool at their disposal.

(What if you told the corporations there was away to get the viewer to focus on the products they're tying to sell them to an even greater degree, do you think they would jump at the chance?) If it meant making more money, than, yes, they would definitely jump at the chance.

Suffering from a mild form of social anxiety, I used to dread going outside, as it usually meant that I would be subject to the prying eyes of the general public. The feeling that everyone was looking at me used to make me a tad uneasy. (Hey, wait a minute, I can't help but notice that you're using the past tense to describe your disorder. Does that mean you're cured?) Not exactly. But I have noticed that my anxious feelings are not as pronounced as they used to be. Why is that, you ask? Well, I'll you why, everyone is so self-absorbed nowadays, they could careless about those around them.

Remember those glowing boxes I alluded to earlier? Okay, now imagine everyone is carrying one those glowing boxes everywhere they go. In other words, no one is looking at me anymore, as they're way too occupied with their screen to notice me. In a weird twist, now I'm the one who's staring at them.

(What does all this mean?) Well, if the heads The Digital Matrix Inc. and Preston Inc. knew that one day people will be staring at screens all day long, their heads would probably explode. Then again, if they knew that one day people would be able to skip past their precious commercials with the simple push of a button, the part of their head that had already exploded as a result of hearing about humanities obsession with looking at screens would probably explode again.

Wow, judging by some of the words I've written so far, it would appear that I took a lot away from Looker. I don't want to belabour the point, but the way this film predicts the future is downright eerie. The characters, understandably, are shocked and appalled by the things they see transpiring in this movie. However, being a smug prick languishing in the present means that everything the occurs in this film, with a few exceptions here and there, has already come to fruition.

In order to reacquaint myself with my usual perverted self, let's talk about Terri Welles, shall we? Dominating the proceedings in the early going, Terri Welles appears in a commercial for Ravish perfume, exchanges dialogue with Albert Finney, wears a purple over purple leopard print, gets facial reconstruction surgery, puts makeup on to "Looker" by Sue Saad, wanders around her pink apartment in nothing but a black bra and matching panties and carries a small dog.

It's still early on, but I'm declaring Looker to be Terri Welles' movie, as she exudes a...Hold on, someone's at the door. And by "the door," I mean, Lisa Convey's door; which, by the way, is the name of Terri Welles' character. I'll wait to see who it is before I continue singing Terri's praises. Hmm, it would seem that no one was there after all. Did you hear that? It sounded like someone letting the air out of a tire. And what was with that flash of light? Something weird is going on.

When the synths start percolating on the film's synth-tastic soundtrack, which is composed by Barry De Vorzan, you know something awful is about to happen. However, her killer isn't wielding a drill or carrying a hatchet. No, he's employing a light-based weapon of some kind. We'll learn more about the light gun as the film progresses. In the meantime, what we just witnessed was one of the more unusual murder sequences in film history.

The killer, played by ex-football player Tim Rossovich, who is credited as "Mustache Man," may be only a henchman, but I thought he had a real presence about him. Oh, and the decision to give him no lines was the correct one. Of course, I'm not saying this because I don't think Tim Rossovich can handle scripted dialogue. On the contrary, I'm saying this because it gave his character an added air of mystery.

The following morning we meet plastic surgeon Dr. Larry Roberts (Albert Finney) as he enters his practice in a chipper mood. And why wouldn't he be? Women are paying him ridiculous amounts of money to cut up their faces. Sure, he removes the occasional sebaceous cyst and seems genuinely interested in opening a pediatric burn unit, but the majority of his surgery is purely cosmetic; in other words, completely unnecessary.

After flirting with a patient named Cindy Fairmont (Susan Dey), he was just checking out her face (she had some work done recently), Dr. Roberts is visited by Lt. Masters (Dorian Harewood), who informs him that two of his patients, both actresses who have appeared in commercials, have recently died under suspicious circumstances. If you listen carefully, the name of one of the dead actresses is Susan, and since Jeana Tomasina is listed as "Suzy" in the credits, I can only assume that Jeana's scenes were cut. Boo!

Naturally, Dr. Roberts thinks this is nothing but a tragic coincidence. His attitude changes almost immediately when another actress, a patient named Tina Cassidy (Kathryn Witt), drops by the office demanding that Dr. Roberts change her back. The frazzled woman tells Dr. Roberts that a man with a mustache is killing women who are perfect. Now, you might think someone's a little full of themselves. I mean, perfect? Get real, lady. However, as we'll soon find out, they are perfect, and they have the scientific data to back up their boastful claims.

Instead of showing Tina's inevitable confrontation with the Mustache Man the same way they did with his confrontation with Terri Welles, we see things from outside her apartment building. And so does Dr. Roberts, who rushed after Tina after she left his office in a paranoid haze (plus, she forgot her purse). Falling, like Terri Welles, from the balcony of her apartment, Tina's body crashes violently onto the roof of a parked car like a lifeless rag doll. Only, this was no dummy, the woman hitting the roof was clearly real. It's an amazing stunt.

Inside Tina's purse is a list of women, and three of them are dead. Noticing that Cindy's name is on that list, Dr. Roberts makes it his mission to make sure no harm comes to her.

Tracking her down at a photo shoot for Starting Line Lingerie, Dr. Roberts asks Cindy to accompany him to a fundraiser.

Who is responsible for the deaths of these models/actresses? And more importantly, why are they being killed? I have a sneaking suspicion that John Reston (James Coburn), president of Reston Inc., and the alluring Jennifer Long (Leigh Taylor-Young), president of Digital Matrix Inc., know who's behind these bizarre murders.

Maybe my senses have become dull over the years, but I thought Cindy's falling technique was excellent. Well, the people who run Digital Matrix Inc. don't seem to think so, and make her fall over and over until she's gets right. But then again, who decides what is right? In the world depicted in Looker, every minute detail is important. Hence, the frightfully specific measurements the models/actresses bring to Dr. Roberts for their plastic surgery (right down to the very last millimetre).

When so-called perfection is finally attained, the models/actresses are scanned by a computer. Once her data has been recorded, there's no need for the model/actress. (I don't want to alarm you, but Cindy is being scanned as we speak.) But I thought Dr. Roberts was protecting her? (He is, but he doesn't know what Reston Inc. and Digital Matrix Inc. are up to yet. Besides, he's being given a guided tour of the DMI's headquarters by none other than Jennifer Long, who is my new milf-spiration.)

You're what? (My milf-spiration. Doesn't everyone have one? Anyway, if I was a stylish woman in her late 30s who ran an evil corporation, I would dress and act exactly like Leigh Taylor-Young does in this movie.)

The film's final third is filled with shoot outs, fist fights and car chases. Yet, none are executed in a conventional manner. And how could they be when the aforementioned light gun is the principal tool used in all three?

Even though their only connection is the fashion industry and dead models, I wouldn't hesitate putting Looker on a double-bill with Eyes of Laura Mars, as both ooze style and sophistication. The former, however, has a scathing satirical edge the latter lacks. And it's this edge that makes this film the superior picture. Everything from advertisement and to our perception of beauty is skewered. Open up any fashion magazine or watch any television commercial, and you'll see a series of images that have been so digitally altered, that the people in them don't even look human anymore. They might as well appear as what they really are, a bunch of ones and zeros mindlessly cavorting about in a synthetic environment. And Looker is dead on when it comes to predicting the western world's misguided obsession with perfection.

What do you think was the catalyst that caused me to make such a concerted effort to seek out and watch Love and a .45? Was it: A) Good word of mouth; B) The film's trailer; C) Renée Zellweger in cut-off jean shorts; or D) The music of The Reverend Horton Heat. If it was 'A,' you would have probably seen it when it came out, and according to my research, it came out 1994, so, you can forget about 'A.' As for 'B,' well, I never watched the trailer, simple as that. And I'm not really a fan of so-called psychobilly music (unless of course we're talking about The Cramps). In other words, that's rules out 'D.' You know what that means, right? Book me a room in the loony bin, I just watched me a movie solely because Renée Zellweger purportedly wears cut-off jean shorts in it for an unknown amount of time. Well, you can stop throwing around words like, "purportedly" and "unknown," because Renée Zellweger not only wears cut-off jean shorts in this movie, she's wears them from start to finish. You mean? That's right, Renée Zellweger, whose legginess and acting ability have always been undervalued as far as I'm concerned, is in cut-off jean shorts when the film begins and she's in cut-off jean shorts when it ends. Oh, and before you ask, yes, you can win one of them stupid ass Oscar thingies and still be undervalued as a thespian. The cut-off jean shorts she wears in this film, by the way, are cut so high, there's very little denim left. Only problem being, first time director C.M. Talkington isn't a pervert. (How can you tell?) Are you serious? The film is a severely lacking when it comes to gratuitous shots of Renée Zellweger either standing or sitting in cut-off jean shorts.

(Channeling every lovers on the lam film that came before it, Love and a...) Hold on, who said I was finished talking about Renée Zellweger in cut-off jean shorts? (You can't possibly have anything else to say about Renée Zellweger in cut-off jean shorts.) Oh, can't I, eh? Well, we'll just see about that, shall we? Wait, you might be right. Just kidding, I could a write a thousand words about Renée Zellweger and her cut-off jean shorts. But you know what? I won't. You wanna know why? Because I care.

Okay, now where was I? Oh, yeah, Renée Zellweger's cut-off jean shorts. (Liar.) They don't have a name, nor do they have any dialogue, but Renée Zellweger's cut-off jean shorts speak volumes in this film. Volumes!!!

It's a good thing Renée Zellweger has two legs worthy enough to dangle in a downwardly fashion from the cut-off jean shorts that star in this movie, or else things could have gotten messy. I mean, just the mere the thought of a less leggy actress poured into these cut-off jean shorts makes my brain hurt. (Whoa, "brain hurt"? What are you, some sort of caveman?) I'm sorry, the thought of some not as leggy actress donning the exalted shards of diminutive denim that which you speak so fondly of would have given me a severe headache. (That's more like it.)

Put aside your love of Renée Zellweger in cut-off jean shorts for a second. (Why?) I'll tell you why. Gil Bellows is about to rob a convenience store. (You interrupted my flow to tell me this?) Ah, but what I failed to mention is Gil Bellows kills it in the film's opening scene. (Kills it?!? Gil Bellows, the guy from Ally McBeal?) Don't hold that show against good old Gil, as it was still an asinine twinkle festering inside David E. Kelly's semi-hairless nut-sack. No, Gil Bellows, playing career criminal Watty Watts, is amazing in this film.

Entering a convenience store (with Wiley Wiggins behind the counter), Watty Watts, whose charisma manages to shine through even in an orange ski mask, gives the young clerk a few life lessons while robbing the joint at gun point.

Meanwhile, somewhere down the road, Watty's sidekick, the alluring Starlene Cheatham (Renée Zellweger), is busy making sure the armored car heading Watty's way doesn't arrive to pick up the large sum of money Watty plans on stealing. If you're wondering how Starlene is going to manage this feet. Remember, never underestimate the power of a leggy lady in roadway distress.

After imparting some wisdom to Wiley Wiggins, and bagging around 450 dollars in cash (10% of the loot is given to Wiley Wiggins for his troubles), Watty Watts, via narration, waxes poetically about his station in life. Calling himself "an artist," Watty Watts declares that all you really need to survive in this world is love and a .45; I get teary-eyed just thinking about that.

When "Turn It On" by The Flaming Lips is done doing its thang on the soundtrack, a soundtrack that includes songs by Mazzy Star, Meat Puppets, Butthole Surfers, The Jesus and Mary Chain, and the aforementioned The Reverend Horton Heat (they also make a cameo as the live entertainment at a strip club), we see what kind of home two people who "specialize in risk management" live in. If you guessed a trailer, you would be right.

The serenity of their morning is sullied somewhat when Dinosaur Bob (Jeffrey Combs) and Creepy Cody (Jace Alexander) show up collect the money Watty Watts apparently owes a local gangster. My first impression of Dinosaur Bob and Creepy Cody is that these are two take being scumbags seriously. I mean, look at Jeffrey Combs' bolo tie, it practically screams Frank Booth. It's funny you should mention Frank Booth, as it appears as if Dinosaur Bob and Creepy Cody have both been attending classes at The Frank Booth Academy for Advanced Scumbaggery (it's adjacent to the dumpster behind The Learning Annex). They're not quite ready to graduate, but the quality of the scumbaggery they're putting out there as they defiled Watty Watts trailer park garden was first-rate.

Is Watty Watts' trailer the Grand Central Station for scumbags? The only reason I ask is because just after Dinosaur Bob and Creepy Cody slither away, Billy Mack Black (Rory Cochrane) shows up at Watty's door. However, unlike those other scumbags, Billy and Watty are on friendly terms. Sure, Starlene thinks he's a worthless piece of shit, but Watty needs Billy's help to land a big score (wedding rings don't pay for themselves).

Of course, the big score ends up going south when Billy kills a convenience store clerk (don't worry, it wasn't Wiley Wiggins). What do you expect when your partner in crime is a speed-snorting psychopath? I have no idea, but according to Watty Watts, the best thing to do when he gets out of hand is to stab him in the neck with a fork.

Just as Watty and Starlene were planning their trip to Mexico, two more scumbags in the form of Ranger X (Michael Bowen from Valley Girl) and Simp (Scott Roland) show up.

Not only did they interrupt Watty and Starlene's vacation plans, they interrupted some of Renée Zellweger's best leggy lounging. And for that, they both deserve to be shot point blank in the chest.

Hitting the road in a 1972 Plymouth Roadrunner, Watty Watts and Starlene get hitched by Jack Nance (the bride wore cut-off jean shorts), visit Starlene's parents, two handicapped suburban hippies played by Peter Fonda (whose dialogue is filtered through a voice-box) and Ann Wedgeworth, cash a cheque at the bank, and buy some film for Starlene's Polaroid camera.

On top of being wanted by Johnny Law, Watty Watts and Starlene are also being pursued by Billy Mack Black, Dinosaur Bob, and Creepy Cody. And if you thought the actors playing these three were gnawing on the scenery when they were onscreen separately, you should see them when they're all in the same scene together. To call the performances given by Rory Cochrane, Jeffrey Combs, and Jace Alexander "over the top" would definitely be one of them understatement thingies. If I had to choose one, I would definitely give Rory Cochrane the award for overacting in this film. Though, to be fair, the reason mostly has to do with the head tattoo (a giant eagle) he gets midway through the film.

If you like movies that feature scumbags in bolo ties cocking their guns every five seconds for dramatic effect, Renée Zellweger in cut-off jean shorts, atypical 1990s indie rock, and are hip about time, then I highly recommend Love and a .45.

If I was serving aboard a space station with Linda Hamilton's character in Black Moon Rising, the high-tech techno thriller co-written by John Carpenter and directed by Harley Cokeliss (who's credited here as "Cokliss," but I guess he, wisely, decided to add the 'e' at a later date), I would have stolen all her pant suits and... (You pant suit obsessed pervert. Not only have you created a scenario that would never happen--like any reputable space agency would allow you to go into space--but you managed to creep everyone out in record time.) Um, you didn't let me finish. As I was saying, I would have stolen all Linda Hamilton's pant suits and tossed them in the nearest airlock. (You mean you would have jettisoned them?) Yeah, jettisoned them, I like that. Anyway, I would have jettisoned them without hesitation. (Don't you think her decision to wear pants made it easier to perform her job? I mean, her job is to steal cars, not to give shiftless reprobates boners.) Hello? Since when has it been impossible to steal a car while wearing a modest skirt? And besides, these "boners" you speak of will actually come in handy. (Huh?) What? You don't think Linda Hamilton steals the cars herself, do you? Don't be crass, Linda Hamilton is too classy for that. No, she distracts the car's soon to be former owners with her womanly charms, while a team of men in blue jumpsuits pick the parking lot clean of the cars their boss desires.

(I'm still not convinced. Call me daft, but I think a modest skirt, one that boasts an equally modest slit, would have been a far more effective garment for Linda Hamilton to wear while stealing a shitload of cars.)

You don't say. Well, I think you might be underestimating the intrinsic allure of Linda Hamilton. (Ya think?) Yes, I do. She's got something about her that transcends modest slits and skimpy hemlines. (Don't tell me, it's her captivating face.) While I don't exactly care for the smug tone you're currently using, you're absolutely right, Linda Hamilton's face rules in this movie.

If that's the case, doesn't that mean her face would have to rule in every movie? I know, when you cast Linda Hamilton to be in your film, you usually get Linda Hamilton's face as well. But there's something different about the way it's shot in Black Moon Rising. Part of it has to do with the manner in which cinematographer Misha Suslov photographs her face (he has a tendency to bathe it neon light whenever possible), but most of the credit has to go to Linda Hamilton herself, as her face oozes a peculiar brand of sadness.

("A peculiar brand of sadness," eh? Colour me intrigued.) While she's grateful to her boss, Ed Ryland (Robert Vaughn), the car thief king of the west coast, for getting her off the streets, she's not all that happy being a criminal. Having access to fancy cars and an unlimited wig budget is great and all, but Nina, the actual name of Linda Hamilton's character, seems lost.

(You're not implying that she needs a rugged, freelance thief in her life, one, perhaps, who is played by Tommy Lee Jones, are you?) While I would never imply that, a little T.L.J. is never a bad thing.

A government e-mail is sent to an Agent Johnson (Bubba Smith), F.B.I., instructing him that they need to get their hands on the financial records of the Lucky Dollar Corporation out of Las Vegas for an upcoming grand jury trial. Not wanting to steal "data tape #757-65" themselves, the government suggests that Agent Johnson, F.B.I., employ a freelance operative to procure the desired tape. In other words, hire a professional thief.

We meet this freelance operative while he nonchalantly confronts an inexperienced criminal wielding a pistol during an attempted convenience store robbery. Is Quint (Tommy Lee Jones) brave, suicidal, stupid, or all three? Either way, he manages to talk the gunman out of robbing the store, and then calmly continues to drink his coffee. Instead of labeling him, "brave, suicidal, or stupid," I'm declaring Quint to be a badass. Why? Look at the way he drives around Las Vegas to the music of Lalo Schifrin, it practically screams badass. The stealing of the data tape itself goes relatively smoothly. That is, until, Lee Ving shows up with Uzi (as he's one to do). Since Quint knows Lee Ving's character (he's in charge of security for the Lucky Dollar Corporation), he feels like he deserves more money (he didn't expect there to be any "old friends" firing Uzis at him on this job).

Eventually, Lee Ving and the boys (his underpaid underlings) track Quint and his bullet-ridden car down at a gas station located somewhere between Las Vegas and Los Angeles. Hiding the data tape in the back of an experimental car called Black Moon--one that was just clocked in at 325 mph during a recent test run and is being towed by Earl Windom (Richard Jaeckel), the car's designer, Billy Lyons (Dan Shor), the car's driver, and Tyke Thayden (William Sanderson), the car's mechanic--Quint hopes to rendezvous with the car at The Betsy, a fancy restaurant in Hollywood, where the Black Moon team plan on inking a deal with an Italian car company.

In the meantime, before Lee Ving and the boys show up, Quint takes the time to chat up an attractive redhead. Hey, wouldn't you know, the attractive redhead is played by none other than Lisa London, Rocky from Savage Beach and Guns.

After evading Lee Ving and the boys and acquiring another, less bullet-ridden, automobile, Quint heads over to The Betsy to get his precious data tape. Well, I must say, that wasn't a very interesting movie. Wait a minute, we have Linda Hamilton in a wig. I repeat... (don't repeat that.) Yeah, but, Linda Hamilton is... (We get it, she rules.) I don't think you get it, Linda Hamilton is wearing a wig and she's carrying a cellphone that's as big as a shoe box. (Aw, man, I didn't think you would become one of those blithering gits who constantly make snide comments related to the size of cellphones seen in movies made during the 1980s.) What can I say, I'm a snide git who loves to blither about chunky cellphones.

She must have a robust data plan, because Nina (Linda Hamilton) is always talking on her morbidly obese mobile phone.

Anyway, after bumping into Quint in the parking lot, Nina goes inside The Betsy and allows some dingus aggressively hit on her at the bar; you can tell Quint likes her already by the look on his face as he eavesdrops on her "conversation."

Little does anyone in the bar know, but Nina is planning on stealing a Rolls-Royce, an Excalibur, an Aston Martin and two Mercedes Benz's. I know, how is a single woman going to steal that many cars? Well, don't worry, she's got an entire team of car thieves working for her. As the desired cars are being driven away, Nina notices a strange car sitting on the back of a trailer. Deciding that she wants it, Nina hops in, pushes a few buttons, and she's off. Of course, Quint's data tape is still hidden in the back, so he jumps in his car and begins to follow her.

Oozing retro futurism and featuring cool camera angles, the chase between Quint's Dodge Daytona and Nina's Wingho Concordia II is probably the film's most memorable in terms of style. It's true, the music could have been more techno-ish, but I think it's safe to say that the sight of Linda Hamilton behind the wheel of that kooky car (the lights emanating from the dashboard dancing across her face like bolts of neon lightning), is worth its weight in scrunchies.

While the well-paid underlings in the blue jumpsuits answer to Nina, she answers to Ed Ryland (Robert Vaughn), a vintage car collector/evil bastard; to prove he's an evil bastard, he has Nick Cassavetes strangle a rival, and does so with a sly smile.

The fact that Nina stole the Black Moon without Mr. Ryland's permission causes friction between them. It also doesn't help matters that Quint (who still has Bubba Smith breathing down his neck) and the owners of the Black Moon are snooping around Ryand Towers, Mr. Ryand's state of the art headquarters (he keeps his car collection on the top floor and runs an elaborate chop shop/import-export business out of the basement).

When Nina is pissed, she drives a Jaguar XK-E, when she's horny, she drives a Studebaker Gran Turismo Hawk. Look at me, namedropping car models like it were a bodily function. She drives the latter to a nightclub (Tech-noir, perhaps?), where she meets Quint, and has...well, I won't spoil what happens next.

Eventually turning into a heist movie, a la Thief, the characters spend most of their time trying to figure out how to break into Ryland Towers. It's not exactly compelling stuff, but Tommy Lee Jones and Linda Hamilton are great as a couple of thieves who are tired stealing for others. If I had my way, I would have instructed Linda Hamilton to wear more skirts, added one more car chase involving the Wingho Concordia II (the car is not a factor for a huge chunk of the film's middle third), cast Jenette Goldstein as Bubba Smith's take no guff partner, and told Lalo Schifrin that I need to hear more synthesizers on the score.

Folding my arms in a manner as if to say, entertain me, you insignificant bag of cinematic trash, I sat down in front of Godmonster of Indian Flats with the lowest of expectations. Preparing to laugh at the sheer stupidity that was about to be unfold before my very eyes, I was shocked when the film, written and directed by noted sculptor Fredric Hobbs (Alabama's Ghost), turned out to be an intelligent satire about the ills of an ill-conceived society. Oh, you mean it's one of them monster movies that imply that it's humanity, and not the giant slimy/hairy, or this film's case, flocculent creature, who is to blame for everything that is wrong with the world? I guess. But this film tackles race relations, greed, fascism, tyranny, groupthink, and the burgeoning surveillance state. Wow, that sure is a lot of topics for one film to cover. Whereas most mutant killer sheep movies seem content to point the finger at pollution, this one has many fish to fry. Didn't it annoy you that the mutant sheep plot seemed secondary to the one about the black guy who was trying to buy land in and around Virginia City, Nevada? Are you kidding? That's what made the film so weirdly appealing. You think you're watching yet another mindless movie about an upright mutant sheep with an excessively elongated right leg, but in reality, you're getting a surprisingly thoughtful lesson on how power ultimately corrupts. Did you say, "uptight mutant sheep"? If so, why is the mutant sheep uptight? Was it raised Catholic? Ha, ha, very very funny. You know I said "upright." In order to give the mutant sheep at the centre of this ~~wool~~ hair-raising enterprise a more menacing appearance, the effects wizards in charge of creating the creature have it walk upright; as supposed to walking on all fours. And judging by the genuinely terrified looks on the faces of the kids whose afternoon picnic is interrupted by a giant upright mutant sheep, they made the right decision.

Shooting the picnic scene in the middle of the day was also the right decision. Of course, most directors of these kinds of movies try to avoid filming in daylight, because, you know, the light of day is usually unkind to special effects (every flaw is magnified). However, and I think most sane people will agree, that the sight of a giant upright mutant sheep staggering across a neatly trimmed lawn on a sunny day is way more effective than hiding your creature in the shadows of the dark.

While I like the sound of a giant upright mutant sheep movie with a social conscience, does Godmonster of Indian Flats have anything else to offer? Whatever do you mean? You know, does it have something for us perverts can latch onto? This movie poses deep, philosophical questions and all you can think about is your crotch? You disgust me. Just kidding, your query makes perfect sense. I mean, who wants to watch an overly earnest movie about a giant upright mutant sheep that doesn't feature some shapely distractions for all the sleazoids out there? I know I sure don't.

Does Carolyn Beaupre play Windy? Who? The alluring pickpocket (in the period accurate floozy duds from the late 1870s) who distracts Eddie (Richard Marion) the sheep farmer with her shapely gams long enough to steal his slot machine winnings? The only reason I ask is because I want to make sure I give the right actress credit. It's definitely not Erica Gavin, as she plays the woman we briefly see at a bar in Reno. It might be Evalyn Stanley, but... ahh, stupid credits. Well, whoever she is, she provides the film with its first genuinely sexy moment.

Stealing, like I said, the slot machine winnings Eddie the sheep farmer won in Reno when he wasn't looking, Windy, a Virginia City prostitute who works for Madame Alta (Peggy Browne), stuffs the cash in her cleavage. Noticing that his money is gone, Eddie the sheep farmer puts two and two together, and figures that the leggy enchantress in the reddish lacy hose must have stole his winnings. Since Eddie is not a local, Sheriff Gordon (Robert Hirschfeld) doesn't believe the fur-vested sheep farmer in the cowboy hat. And neither does Philip Maldove (Steven Kent Browne), the mayor's right hand man, who has his goons rough up Eddie before throwing him out.

Sympathetic to Eddie's plight, the town's resident scientist, Professor Clemens (E. Kerrigan Prescott), drives the mildly beaten Eddie home. Dropping in a heap in one of his sheep pens, Eddie proceeds to have these weird hallucinations involving flying sheep and gold dust.

Curious to see how he's doing, Prof. Clemens and his lovely, and, as we'll soon find out, flaky assistant Mariposa (Karen Ingenthron), pay Eddie a visit the following morning. Finding him underneath a pile of hay, they also discover a half-formed sheep embryo laying next to him. Putting it in his truck, Prof. Clemens, along with Mariposa and Eddie, take the half-formed sheep embryo up to his lab in Indian Flats.

While Prof. Clemens, who thinks this could be a huge scientific breakthrough, starts to grow embryonic sheep in his lab, the mayor of Virginia City, Charles Silverdale (Stuart Lanchaster), is busy refusing the offer given by Mr. Barnstable (Christopher Brooks), the emissary for a rich landowner from New York, to buy up land in the area.

Soon, after much dilly dallying, the land deal and mutant sheep subplot converge with one another. But not before we have a fake dog funeral, an attempted lynching, a Cognac-infused frame job, a wild west gun fight demonstration, and a pie eating contest. Don't forget the scene where Madame Alta eavesdrops on a private moment between Eddie and Mariposa in the town's cemetery. Okay, I won't. It turns out that Madame Alta is a fortune teller and she uses what she heard at the cemetery to her advantage during her Mariposa fortune telling session.

And judging by the look on Mariposa's face, she was deeply impressed with Madame Alta's clairvoyance. But before you call Mariposa a rube for falling for the oldest fortune teller trick in the book, check out the way she communicates with the giant upright mutant sheep.

When most of us see a giant upright mutant sheep roaming the countryside, our first instinct is to run in the opposite direction. On the other hand, Mariposa isn't most people. That's right, when the giant upright mutant sheep breaks out of the professor's lab, Mariposa runs after it. Wearing a yellow dress, which is apt, since the giant upright mutant sheep owes its existence to yellow phosphorus, Mariposa catches up with the wooly beast and attempts to not only have a conversation with it, she tries to get it to dance with her.

As martial law is declared in Silverdale County, the film's satirical bent becomes more apparent. But don't worry, there's plenty of giant upright mutant sheep action as well. If you were a newly free giant upright mutant sheep, where would you go first? My thoughts exactly. Heading over to a picnic being held by a small group of children, the giant upright mutant sheep crashes it in classic giant upright mutant sheep style. If I had to summarize my thoughts on Godmonster of Indian Flats, I wouldn't, the movie is about a giant upright mutant sheep. But in some ways it's about so much more.

Leaving your place of residence to masturbate might sound like a chore in today's click, spank, cry, sanitize and refresh universe. But back in 1985, it was an everyday part of life. Sure, there were a number of different ways to achieve moist-adjacent satisfaction during the height of the fingerless glove era without having to resort to public indecency, yet there was something oddly appealing about obtaining an idiot-proof orgasm in an environment teeming with filth and confusion. Even though I never got the chance to personally experience 42nd Street when it was awash with sexual deviance and flexible women named Tasha, still, one can't help but get a little teary-eyed while watching Times Square Comes Alive (a.k.a. Times Sq. 'Cums' Alive), Marc Roberts' touching ode to sex shops, garter belts, self-administered vaginal irrigation and perversion in general. Everyone from the heavy-set fella manning the double-headed dildo counter to the overworked guy in the hardhat (Bobby Astyr, a.k.a. The Clown Prince of Porn) whose job it is to chisel off the crusty chunks of semen that have accumulated on the floor and peepshow glass over the course of the day is given their moment to shine in the stained-illuminating sun. Harkening back to the days when a person (over the age of eighteen, of course) could find cheap thrills on just about every corner, the film, directed by Vince Benedetti, and shot mockumentary style, is a love letter (okay, it's more like an incoherent diatribe written on a soiled napkin) to the adult book stores of yore.

Tactile and oozing an authentic brand of sleaze, sex in New York City is grimy, coarse and always seems to reek of stale desperation. In California, however, specifically, the San Fernando Valley (the place where smut went after being evicted from the Big Apple), the sex always comes across as impersonal and antiseptic. And call me someone with serious emotional problems, but I will always choose foul and unclean over bland and sterile.

Capturing the unsavoury spirit of New York's unofficial red-light district, Times Square Comes Alive is set up as an expose by a television reporter named Christine Career (Veronica Vera), the genial host of a hard hitting program called "69 Minutes." Standing on the street outside a sex emporium, one that is aptly called "The Sex Emporium" (in reality, the infamous Show World Center), holding her trusty ~~wireless~~ microphone, Christine, wearing a conservative dress–one that, no doubt, is shielding us from a wide array of frilly and sheer delights–invites us to come inside and watch as she attempts to undercover the shadiness that lies beyond its garishly adorned doorway.

A moment of unexpected clarity occurs just as Christine is about the enter the emporium when she wonders aloud about the future of such places. She even uses the term "wrecking ball" to describe the fragile nature of these so-called "massage parlours." As everyone knows, the 42nd Street featured in the film is no more, but it was fascinating to see that even the purveyors of porn knew their days in Times Square were numbered.

You won't believe...

what's lurking...

underneath Christine Career's super-long dress.

And there's no way to prepare yourself for you're about to see underneath Christine Career's super-long dress in Times Square Comes Alive. It's the stuff of pornographic legend. Do you thinking I'm overselling it? Nah.

After she finally does enter the scuzzy-looking establishment she's been standing in front of for the past minute or so, Christine, in the most awkward manner possible, approaches four dancers: Nikki (Nikki Wright), the dirty one; Scarlett (Scarlett Scharleau), the brash one; Tasha (Tasha Voux), the flexible one; and Angela (Angela Venise), the soft one, as they're preparing themselves for the sex-filled day ahead of them.

Asking them a series of questions pertaining to their job, Christine tries shed some light on the day-to-day existence of your average sex worker. A tad wary of this overdressed intruder whose entered their midst (if they only knew what wonders lurked underneath her clothing), the scantily clad women do their best to answer her frightfully lame questions.

One of them mentions needing to cleanse themselves with a douche, and leaves the room. I thought to myself, wouldn't it be great if they actually showed her douching herself (sexual intercourse can so pedestrian some times). To my surprise, it looks like we're about to be treated to what no-one likes to call a "front enema." The douche water starts to flow when the wonderfully gap-toothed Nikki, after fingering her clit (her nails are pink and her hands and arms are adorned with black fingerless opera gloves), starts to provoke the opening of the pinkish hole located between her legs with the nozzle of a douche.

Relaxing in a position that is conducive to douching, the soon-to-be spick-and-span blonde pokes and prods at her delicious pussy area in a way that seemed to be more geared toward her pleasure than the purification of her genitalia. But then again, that just goes to show how little I know about the douching process. Douche ignorance aside, it was nice to see someone being cleaned for a change, as there's something rather comforting about the sight of a woman who has decided to start their day off with an irrigated vagina.

Since the film can't be wall-to-wall douching, Angela, the soft one, and, to not to mention, the sexiest woman in the entire joint, gets her pussy pounded by the cock attached to a lumpy man with a faint mustache. Wearing black suspender hose and her hair in a bun, Angela absorbs the brunt of his run-of-the-mill thrusts with a disaffected nonchalance. All the while, Christine and a bunch of creepy gawkers watch from their respective peepshow windows. Speaking of windows, Nikki, douched and ready to go, manages to extract sperm from a man simply by pretending to fellate him (a sheet of glass separates the two participants).

You probably noticed that I said Christine Career approaches the dancers in the "most awkward manner possible," well, that's because everything about Veronica Vera's performance practically screams awkwardness. And I don't mean that as a negative. On the contrary, my perfume scented little douche nozzle, her awkward mannerisms, especially when she tries to interview people, are the film's greatest, non-sex attribute. Okay, maybe her clumsy style of gonzo journalism wasn't as appealing as the sight of the gorgeous Angela Venise prancing around a badly lit peepshow booth in nothing but a pair of black suspender hose, but it was definitely one of the film's strengths.

The scene where Veronica interviews "Billy," the heavy-set man in charge of the emporium's dildo counter, amplifies her awkward temperament. Part of me likes to think that Christine Career wasn't really a journalist, but actually a schizophrenic woman who likes to pretend she's the Diane Sawyer of the porno theatre scene.

Awkwardly gesturing toward some curtains, Christine introduces us to "fantasy theatre," a sort of Café Flesh-esque nightclub where unorthodox sex scenarios are acted out for the amusement of the saps in the audience. The one we're shown involves three sailors, who seem to be working on what looked like a submarine engine. Bathed in smoke and illuminated with this eerie pink light, the sailors are interrupted by three ladies in lingerie (one of which was definitely Nikki, the douche girl). Anyway, the weirdly edited (some moments are repeated multiple times) scene goes on for about eight minutes.

The next scene is interesting, not because it features a skinny dude with floppy hair having sex with a chick dressed like a man (think: Bruno Mars in a satin garter belt) in a room the size of a phone booth, but because the skinny dude with floppy hair is none other than Bill Landis (a.k.a. Bobby Spector), one of the writers of Sleazoid Express; an excellent book about exploitation cinema and the 42nd Street movie-going experience; "Blood Horror: Chopping 'Em up at the Rialto" is my favourite chapter. Oh and the director of this film, Vince Benedetti, is thanked in the "Acknowledgements" section.

Interviewing Nikki, the douche woman, in a peepshow booth, Veronica actually says, "Your p-p-p-p-pussy?!? Is that what you call it? Your p-p-p-p-pussy?" When she said that line I was like, give me a break, women with pierced nipples know exactly what a pussy is. Either way, I love the idea that Veronica pretended to have no idea that people called their vaginas pussies (the way she struggles to say "pussy" was beyond adorable).

(Maybe she didn't really know what a pussy was.) Do I have to say it again? Woman with pierced nipples have to know what a pussy is, it's as simple as that. (Hey, wait a minute, how do you know Veronica has pierced nipples?) She showed them to me. Well, she didn't just show them to me, she shows them to everyone in the audience.

In one the film's greatest moments, Nikki, after being inundated with what seemed like a thousand questions about her pussy, asks to see Veronica's pussy. Reluctantly lifting up her long skirt, Veronica is wearing black stockings that are being held up by these crinkly red garters. The way the tops of black stockings clung for dear life as they pressed tightly against her thick thighs was probably one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen.

Pop quiz, hotshot. How many one-handed hiking motions does it take Christine Career to lift up skirt until we see the tops of her black stockings? If you said, eleven. You would be not that far off. It actually took twelve separate one-handed hiking motions to reveal her red garters hanging on for dear life as they kept her black stockings aloft. Now, some fans of Times Square Comes Alive will tell you she hiked her skirt seven or eight times. But those people are flat-out wrong. Take it from me, I've studied this film long and hard. In other words, I know exactly what I'm talking about when it comes to one-handed hiking motions.

While Tasha Voux would definitely win the award for being the most flexible dancer in the joint, Angela Vinise is hands down the sexiest. Hold on, I think I already mentioned that Angela is the sexiest. Whatever, I'm saying it again, as it coincides with the scene I'm currently writing about. And that is, the scene where Tasha and Angela, who is wearing her trademark black suspender hose, dance for peepshow customers.

In the next two scenes, a trans man gives a trans woman a blow job in the so-called "Gaiety Room" (no cum shot) and a nurse (Ashley Moore in white stockings) performs an enema on a male patient (no taupe anal water, but we do get a drippy cum shot).

As you can clearly see, this film is not only educational, it features a wide array of sex acts. In the second to last scene, Veronica Vera shows off her red garters one more time as she deals with a glory hole. The way she says, "There appears to be a penis coming out of this hole," blew my mind. Again, she's pretty naive for someone with a nipple piercing. Yet, the world would be a far less oppressive place if we all approached sex with Christine's Career trademark brand of cockeyed wonder.

Given that this film is saturated with references to the founding of the United States of America, I thought I was going to be completely lost when it came time to decipher it as a piece of filmed entertainment. Then it dawned me, I know a shitload, maybe even a fuckload (if such a load actually exists), about America. You could even say that I know more about America than most Americans. Sure, I couldn't recite the Pledge of Allegiance if you held a registered hand gun to my head and I'm a firm believer in three down football, but I can name all the state capitals and I know the names of at least half the presidents. Hell, I even remember watching Schoolhouse Rock! as a kid. In other words, my foreign ass totally knows how a bill becomes a law. Thankfully, having knowledge of any kind floating around in your head is completely unnecessary when it comes to enjoying The Spirit of '76, the righteously groovy slice of nepotism a go-go that's been endorsed by Devo. All you need to know is that the United States Constitution is a very important document and you should be good to go. (I thought you said the film was, and I quote, "saturated with references to the founding of the United States of America.") Nah, I didn't mean that. I was just trying to scare you. The film's message can actually be applied to almost any country that feels like it's lost its way. To be honest, I'm way more interested in the love triangle that forms between Olivia D'Abo, David Cassidy and Leif Garrett. (Hold up. You mean to tell me that while you were boring us about your supposed knowledge of American history and culture, that you could have been talking about a love triangle between Olivia D'Abo, David Cassidy and Leif Garrett?!?) I guess.

(Do you know how rare this is?) How rare what is? (Think about it. Year after year, we see the same stupid faces, acting in the same stupid movies.) I don't understand. (Remember that brief period of time when Kate Hudson–speaking of nepotism a go-go–was in every other movie?) Yeah. (Well, that's what I'm getting that. It's the same people appearing over and over again. Okay, now how many movies are there that star both David Cassidy and Leif Garrett?) I don't know, how many? (Zero!) Are you sure? You might want to double check that. (No way, man, I don't need to. I'm confident when I say The Spirit of '76 is the only film with the guts to cast David Cassidy and Leif Garrett as its leads.)

I don't want to cause you to spill maple syrup all over your maxi-pads, but don't they suck? (Oh my God! I can't believe you just said that. No, they don't suck. If anything, they're complete opposite of something that sucks.) You mean they rule? (Yeah, they kinda do...rule, that is. You heard right, David Cassidy and Leif Garrett rule in this movie. And they totally almost come to blows over the gorgeous Olivia D'Abo, the actress who first won us over in Flying, the second greatest leotard-centric movie to come out of the Great White North during the 1980s; the greatest being, of course, Heavenly Bodies.)

Hey, get your head out of the 1980s, this film, written and directed by Lucas Reiner, is all about celebrating the 1970s. (Are you sure about that? I mean, the decade is mocked pretty hard in this film.) That's true, there's quite a lot of mocking going on. But if you look at the film's final scene, it's clear that the mockery comes from a place of love. You could even view the film as confirmation that the decade was the nation's cultural nadir, and that if the country doesn't get back to the fun-loving and frivolous ways that defined the decade, it could find itself turning into the drab, colourless landscape that it becomes in the year 2176.

You know how nothing is hardly even written down on paper anymore? Well, that decision, according this film, is going to bite humanity in the ass in a big way. You see, when a magnetic storm wipes out all the computers, history, specifically, the history of United States of America, ceases to exist.

Members of The Ministry of Knowledge, who are, of course, played by Devo, want to repair the damage the magnetic storm caused by piecing together the fabric of America. Turning to Dr. Von Mobil (Carl Reiner), one of the last Americans who remembers what the country was like before the magnetic storm wiped everything out, Devo, mostly Mark Mothersbaugh and Gerald V. Casale, ask him for his advice on how to re-build the nation; it has become a grey, ashy place devoid of joy.

If you wanna fix America, you're going to have to start at the beginning. And according to what I have gleamed from American television over the years, it began on July 4, 1776.

The Ministry of Knowledge, along with Heinz-57 (Geoff Hoyle), who runs the sector of psycho-historical inquiries, and Chanel-6 (Olivia D'Abo), the nation's foremost epistemological anthro-sociologist, offer Adam-11 (David Cassidy), the inventor of a time machine, as much tetrahydrozoline-6 (the stuff that makes his time machine run) as he wants, if he agrees to take Heinz-57 and Chanel-6 back to 1776. Since he's only interested in visiting "Ikiki Beach" (the "wa" on the Waikiki post card he carries around with him are missing - anything with printing on it is cherished in 2176), he declines their offer.

Of course, I forgot to mention that he didn't know Olivia D'Abo would be going with him. And let's just say, his attitude regarding the mission changes greatly once he learns that he will be stuck in a cramped time machine with Olivia D'Abo for who knows how long.

Setting the coordinates to 1776, Adam-11, Heinz-57 and Chanel-6 should be hanging out with George Washington and Button Gwinnett in no time.

(Call me crazy, but I don't think any of the Founding Fathers looked like the guys from Redd Kross.) Oh, I don't know, put a powdered wig on them and give them some buckled footwear, and I'm sure they could pull it off. (Um, hello, I don't think Thomas Jefferson rode a banana chopper four with quarter spokes and full knobbies. And he definitely didn't have a Gene Simmons patch sewn on the crotch of his pants.) Actually, the patch was adjacent to his crotch, it wasn't actually on it. (Whatever, it's clearly not 1776.)

The year is '76, but just not the one they expected. Something must have went wrong with the time machine. It doesn't matter, 'cause, funny thing, Adam-11, Heinz-57 and Chanel-6 still seem to think that it's 1776. We know it's 1976, but to them, it's acceptable to think that people wore tube tops, listened to Grand Funk Railroad, and drove yellow AMC Pacers back in 1776; they have no frame of reference.

(Speaking of tube tops, when are you going to get around to talking about Moon Unit Zappa? After all, she's the real reason you watched this film in the first place, isn't it?) No, I watched it because I was interested in the subject matter. What can I say? I've always been fascinated by time travel and American history. (What can you say?!? It sounds like what you "can say" is a steaming pile of horseshit.)

(Word on the street is that your obsession with all things Moon Unit Zappa has become so pronounced, that you can't even think straight.)

Okay, you're right, I am obsessed. But can you blame me? I mean, look at her. Her beauty is, like, transcendental and junk.

Anyway, let me get this out of the way before I continue down this path. When Adam-11, Heinz-57 and Chanel-6 arrive in 1976, they're greeted by Chris Johnson (Jeffrey McDonald) and Tommy Sears (Steve Johnson), two best buds who use the sight of Moon Unit Zappa in a tube top as beat-off material. Keen to help the wayward newcomers, Chris and Tommy agree to hide Adam-11's time ship at their "crash pad" - you know, keep it from the prying eyes of a couple of C.I.A. agents (played by The Kipper Kids) and Rodney Snodgrass (Liam O'Brien), an obnoxious pustule who would look great in drag (his bone structure practically screams fabulous).

Now that we got that out of the way, let's head to "Planet Earth," a local clothing store, to get Adan-11, Heinz-57 and Chanel-6 some new duds, 'cause the colour grey has no place in 1976. And guess who works at "Planet Earth"? You guessed it, Moon Unit Zappa!

Reading "Future Shock" by Alvin Toffler when the time travelers enter the store, Cheryl Dickman (Moon Unit Zappa)... (Hey, wait a second, if grey has no place in 1976, why is Cheryl Dickman's tube top grey? Answer that, smart guy.) Are you sure it isn't silver? (Are you kidding?) Whatever, man, Moon Unit Zappa is, like, wearing a tube top and a pair of super-short jean shorts. (Yeah, you're right.) So, where was I? Oh, yeah, Cheryl Dickman notices Adam-11 looking at shirts.

Asking if Adam-11 if he needs any help, Cheryl Dickman, making sure he catches a glimpse of her stunning calves as she approaches him, uses the old "my mood ring totally changed colours" trick to break the ice.

It obviously worked, as Adam-11 is hanging on her every word, even as she rambles semi-coherently about astrology.

The biggest tragedy about The Spirit of '76 is that Cheryl Dickman tells Adam-11 that she will see him later, but she totally doesn't. (Totally doesn't what?) She totally doesn't see him later. (Meaning?) Meaning, that's it as far as Moon Unit Zappa goes in this movie. (You must have been totally crestfallen.) You bet your ass I was totally crestfallen. I was also totally depressed, totally dejected, totally despondent, totally downcast and totally dispirited. In other words... No, wait, other words won't be necessary, as I think I totally just used all of them.

The second biggest tragedy is that Eddie Trojan (Leif Garrett) doesn't score with Chanel-6. (Who the fuck is Eddie Trojan?!?) Um, he's Eddie Trojan, a.k.a. The Bonemaster. Duh, where have you been? (Doesn't he, at one point, prevent Tommy Chong from dipping his cannabis-stained dick in some free range D'Abo pussy at Hocus Smokus?) Yeah, so? (I'm just saying.) Either way, I thought Leif Garrett and Olivia D'Abo had great chemistry together.

While Eddie Trojan is desperately trying to get inside Chanel-6's tight, lacey, purple pants, Heinz-57 receives a history lesson from Ms. Liberty (Julie Brown), a peepshow stripper/constitutional scholar in red stockings and red opera gloves, attends a self-help seminar being given by Rob Reiner (his way of helping people seems limited to calling them assholes), and gets in a heated argument with a large man waiting in line to buy gas.

In case you're wondering what Adam-11 is getting up to while all this is going on, he's hanging out with Red Kross at their crash pad. Nooice. No, seriously, it's pretty sweet. The art direction, the use of bright colours, the juvenile humour, the costumes (by a teenage Sofia Coppola), the music (every crappy/awesome '70s song you can imagine is featured on the soundtrack), Moon Unit Zappa in a tube top, everything about this movie is agreeable. Sure, I thought Eddie Trojan got shafted, but, in a way, Eddie Trojan, and 1976 in general, help save the future. I wouldn't be surprised if they put Eddie Trojan's face on Mount Rushmore in the year 2176. Don't tell anyone this, but if I could ovulate, I would totally have Eddie Trojan's baby.

While I didn't tear up during the final scene, I did catch myself trying to prevent a sly smirk from appearing on my face on several occasions. And you know what they say? Self-stylized sly smirk obstruction is the highest form of flattery.

In an ancient land ruled by a ruthless tyrant, a musclebound man wearing a buckskin diaper and an improperly tied headband must depend on his friends in the animal kingdom if he expects to survive. Getting him out of a wide array of jams and sticky pickles, Ruh, the tiger, is his strength, ferrets Kodo and Podo are his thieves, and Sharak, the eagle, is his eyes. We all have friends in the animal kingdom, but how does this fella get them to do stuff for him? Well, it helps that you were born with special powers. (Wow, it sounds like this guy is a master when it comes to communicating with beasts. Wait, now that I think about it, you could call him a "beast master.") It's funny that your thoughts would lead you to call him that, as I just watched a film called Beastmaster 2: Through the Portal of Time, a pseudo-documentary about a fitness freak/animal lover who learns to say "asshole, " is introduced to rock 'n' roll, and saves the world from nuclear annihilation all within the span of a single day. Of course, he can't accomplish any of those things all by himself. No, he needs help. And a card-carrying member of the kowabunga generation, a tiger, two ferrets, and an eagle are the ones who go out of their way to provide him with the necessary assistance he so desperately needs. I'll get to the kowabunga pusher in a minute, as I would just like to say how amazing the CGI was in this film. The animals looked so realistic. Hold up, what's that? What do you mean the animals seen throughout this film weren't created using a computer, that's kooky-talk. They were real animals?!?

You mean when the tiger jumps on one of the henchmen that was trying to stab Dar (Marc Singer), that it wasn't a digital effect? (That's right.) Well then, it must have been stop-motion animation tiger, right? (Nope.) A puppet, perhaps? (Uh-uh.) How 'bout an optical illusion? (No, it was a real tiger.) Damn. It makes you think, why does Ang Lee get all the praise for making the tiger-centric Life of Pi, a film based on a book that was deemed unfilmable, when Sylvio Tabet did the whole tiger thing twenty years earlier?

Now, I've seen real animals used in countless movies in the past, and I've even seen countless real animals killed as well, but there was something extra special about the animal work in this movie. Was it because they were integral to the plot? I guess. But it went beyond that. The bond between Marc Singer and his animal friends seemed genuine.

The henchman I mentioned earlier, by the way, wasn't trying to stab Dar, he was about to cut his head off. Convicted by a kangaroo court set up by Arklon (Wings Hauser), the ruler of this realm, for supporting the rebels and practicing witchcraft, Dar is about to feel the blade of the executioner on the back of his neck, when his animal friends come to the rescue.

As he's freeing himself, Sharak claws up Arklon's face. Don't worry, he didn't lose an eye, but the damage caused by Sharak's razor-sharp talons has forced Arklon to wear a leather covering over the right side of his face.

Meanwhile, the rebels are marching in search of Arklon's forces. Stopping in a gorge, their leader asks his men to bring forth "the witch." Here it comes, the moment we've all been waiting for. Boom! We have Sarah Douglas. I repeat, Sarah Douglas is on the screen. Playing Lyranna, she uses her powers to help the rebels locate Arklon's forces. Of course, she doesn't tell them they're about to be ambushed by said forces. And why would she? (Um, the leader of the rebels says he will cleave, yeah, that's right, I said, cleave, her "black heart from her bosom.") Oh, really? I'd like to see him try. Besides, he's going to have a hard time cleaving anything with an arrow through his neck.

Using the Key of Magog (a glorified laser gun/magic key), Arklon blasts the rebels into oblivion with relative ease. When the smoke finally clears, Lyranna offers Arklon her services. Promising him ultimate power, Lyranna tells Arklon that she can serve up the world to him on a silver platter. Not fully convinced, Arklon agrees to hear out the shapely sorceress, but informs her that he will cleave her black heart from her bosom at the first sign of treachery.

(When is Kari Wuhrer going to show up?) Soon. But first, Dar needs to have a chat with a swamp creature. Learning that his long lost brother is the source of all evil in the universe, he is told that he must destroy him in order to save the world. The swamp creature doesn't say exactly who is his long lost brother is, but he does inform him that he can be found in the "western region."

Showing Arklon a dimensional portal, Lyranna says something called a "neutron detonator" is the key to dominating the planet. And the location of such a device is on the other side of the dimensional portal in a place called "El Ae." Of course, we know it as "L.A." or "Los Angeles," but the way Arklon and Lyranna pronounce it is so much better. In fact, if ruling the world doesn't quite work out for Arklon and Lyranna, I wouldn't mind seeing them try their hand as a comedy duo, as they have great chemistry together.

Even though we've seen the El Ae skyline through the dimensional portal, it was still jarring to see Jackie Trent (Kari Wuhrer) driving her red Porsche through the streets of Los Angeles. Either way, Jackie, a bubbly teen who watches Jeopardy!, like, everyday, finds herself in Arklon's realm when her red Porsche comes crashing through the dimensional portal. Managing to escape Arklon's men, Jackie drives her red Porsche until it runs out of gas. And guess who she runs into while wandering the desert? Dar and his animal friends, that's who. Thinking Dar is a crazed biker at first, Jackie soon realizes that this is a different "western region" all-together.

Through circumstances that could be construed as convoluted, Dar, Ruh, Kodo, Jackie, Lyranna, Podo, Sharak, and Arklon all wind up in El Ae. The destruction and chaos they leave in their wake is investigated by a Lt. Coberly (James Avery) and Bendowski (Robert Fieldsteel), a couple of local detectives.

Now, I don't know what I liked better, Lyranna and Arklon shopping for clothes at a trendy Hollywood boutique or Jackie giving Dar a guided tour of scenic Sunset Blvd. While on the one hand, the shopping scene has Sarah Douglas in a blue sequined number, Rex Pierson in a yellow tie, and a leggy Jeanne Pfleiger is wearing black nylons. The tour of Sunset Blvd. features authentic L.A. street culture: Adult book stores, Ness Shoes, gaudy signage, The Frolic Room, and the movie Ghost is playing at every other theatre.

How 'bout this, let's just say I liked both equally and move on. As I was in the process of moving on, it dawned on me that the plot of this film is almost exactly the same as Masters of the Universe. The only difference being, Marc Singer is slightly better than Dolph Lundgren in terms of acting ability. Anyway, a somewhat passable chunk of piece of filmed entertainment if I ever saw one, Beastmaster 2: Through the Portal of Time is campy fun for the whole family.

If I saw Becky Mullen walking down the street, I would approach her--in, of course, the most sheepish manner possible--and tell her that she single-handedly restored my faith in Andy Sidaris, the writer-director of such classics as Picasso Trigger, Savage Beach and Guns. And let's say I did have the opportunity to speak with her, I think our encounter would have gone a little something like this: (Yum-Yum): Hey, Becky! (Becky): ??? (Yum-Yum): Becky! (Becky): ??? (Yum-Yum): Becky! (Becky): Get away from me, creep. (Yum-Yum): I will in a second, I just wanted to tell you that your performance in Hard Hunted was amazing. No, scratch that, it was...spectacular. Yes, it was spectacular! (Becky): Hard what? (Yum-Yum): You remember, Hard Hunted. You play Becky, the plucky intern/hot tub enthusiast at KSXY. (Becky): Oh, yeah. Don't I just stand around in a red bikini pouring coffee for most of that movie? (Yum-Yum): It's true, you do stand around a lot, and you do seem to pour a lot of coffee. But the way did both was so compelling, that I stripped down to my bra and panties and started to rock back and forth in the foetel position every time you appeared onscreen. (Becky): Is that a good thing? (Yum-Yum): I don't know, you tell me. (Becky): I'd rather not. (Yum-Yum): Yeah, it's probably better if you didn't. Either way, you ruled in this movie. (Becky): Thanks. (Yum-Yum): So, you wanna go get some beef jerky, maybe rent a Pauly Shore movie? I hear Son-in-Law is a real hoot. (Becky): Nah, I gotta go lance a boil. Maybe some other time. (Yum-Yum): Bye, Becky from Hard Hunted. You not only restored my faith in Andy Sidaris, but my faith in humanity. (Becky): Um, okay. Bye.

Why is Becky Mullen lancing boils, you ask? Well, in my world, Becky gave up acting/bikini modeling in the mid-90s to become a dermatologist who specializes in lancing boils. Anyway, after the debacle that was Do or Die, me and Andy Sidaris weren't exactly on speaking terms. After taking a bit of self-imposed Andy Sidaris sabbatical, I began to eyeball The Andy Sidaris Collection once again. Determined not to have a repeat of what happened the last time I sat down to watch an Andy Sidaris film, I approached the next film on the docket with just right amount of caution.

My trepidation melted away almost immediately, as Andy Sidaris gives us two sexy babes in black stockings right out of the gate. However, the film is technically a continuation of what occurred in Do or Die. Meaning, secret agents Donna Hamilton (Dona Speir) and Nicole Justin (Roberta Vasquez) are still on the trail of a super-villain named Kane. The only difference being Kane is now played by Geoffrey Moore and the film takes place almost exclusively in Hawaii and Lake Havasu City. If you remember correctly, most of Do or Die was shot in the swamps of Louisiana. Don't get me wrong, I love the swamp, it's just not that conducive to bikini-clad action sequences.

On a yacht located somewhere off the coast of Hawaii, Silk (Carolyn Liu) and Mika (Mika Quintard) are busy putting on a lesbian lingerie show for the crotch-based benefit of their boss Kane, a man whose thirst for power and riches is almost as great as his thirst for hot chicks in black stockings. Excited to finally get his hands on a jade Buddha figurine, one that contains the trigger to a nuclear bomb, Kane is on well his way to getting the power and riches he desires so thirstily. (I don't know, he seems pretty powerful and rich already.) Yeah, but they always end up wanting more.

The only problem with Kane's plan is that Silk and Mika are both in cahoots with the federal government. That's right, they're spies. While Silk is deep undercover, Mika is only mildly so. Which means, it's up to Mika to steal the jade Buddha from Kane. With the help of a windsurfer named Cole (Buzzy Kerbox), Mika manages to get jade Buddha away from Kane.

Meanwhile, over in Molokai, Edy Stark (Cynthia Brimhall) is back doing what she does best: singing cheesy pop songs for braindead tourists.

Arriving at Edy's with a leggy authority, Ava (Ava Cadell) gets out of her yellow jeep, plants her left leg on the pavement with a ton of gusto, and proceeds to make her way to KSXY studios, a radio station located near of back of Edy's. I don't know 'bout you, but it was weird seeing someone so large-breasted act so leggy. At any rate, removing her leopard print sarong, to reveal a leopard print bikini, Ava, despite being born in Hungary, grabs the mic and starts uttering English words with a breathtaking ease. Am I crazy, or is Ava Cadell's command of the English language far greater than everyone else who appears in this film?

I hope you don't mind, but I just did a little research on Ava Cadell, and it says that she attended school in England and is the author of at least seven books. Hot damn! I knew there was something more to Ava Cadell than just her giant tits. You can tell just by listening to the way she talks that she's got a lot going on when it comes to thinking thoughts and junk.

On the opposite end of the thinking spectrum, there's Becky Mullen. Wait, that didn't come out right. She might think thoughts, but she doesn't exactly get a chance to think all that much in Hard Hunted. Nevertheless, Becky Mullen plays Becky, the, according to Shane Abilene (Michael J. Shane), "outrageously gorgeous," agent in training who spends most of the movie getting Ava coffee in a red bikini.

Don't forget, Becky shoots three beer cans off a fence using Shane's .44 magnum, gets a fax, and hoses down a radio antenna. Oh, yeah, she totally does those things.

I might get around to explaining why Becky needed to hose down the KSXY radio antenna or I might not. Let's see how the next few paragraphs go first, shall we?

If you're wondering where Mika's headed with the jade Buddha, she's been instructed by Ava and Edy to meet up with Donna Hamilton and Nicole Justin, whose buttcracks are currently being strangled by something called a "thong" in the wilds of Arizona. I know, skimpy swimwear and Arizona aren't exactly a natural fit--and judging by the way they're going to town on their respective buttcracks, neither are the thongs--but just go with it.

Do you think Kane is going to sit idly by and let some double-crossing bimbo steal his jade Buddha? Think again. Kane sicks Al Leong's Raven and his super-cool gyro on her ass.

You know how I was surprised by the sharpness of Ava Cadell's brain? Well, I wasn't surprised at all by Al Leong and his ability to rule. And believe me, Al Leong rules so hard in this movie, it's not even funny.

Okay, I'm think ready to explain why Becky was asked to hose down the KSXY radio antenna. Apparently water helps strengthen the antenna's signal. That seems plausible. And the reason it needed strengthening was because Ava was trying to relay a message to Donna, who was being held captive by Pico (Rodrigo Obregón), the eye-patch-sporting leader of a gang of smugglers. Only problem being, Donna has amnesia. (Oh, no. Does that mean Dona Speir is going to try to act?) I'm afraid so. And get this, Roberta Vasquez tries to act as well. (Oh, the humanity.)

Luckily, Chu Chu Malave and Richard Cansino show up just in time to negate Dona and Roberta's feeble attempt to stretch their acting muscles (they should stick to doing what they do best, and that is, nothing). Playing, what else, bumbling assassins, Chu Chu (Wiley) and Richard (Coyote) are hired by Kane to kill Edy and Lucas (Tony Peck, who has replaced William Bumiller as the head honcho). Using their ACME Hovercraft A33Z, Chu Chu and Richard, while not dressed in drag like they were in Guns, bring some much needed intentional comic relief to the proceedings, as their hit on Edy and Lucas doesn't exactly go as planned.

(What do you mean, "doesn't exactly go as planned"?) Well, let's just say, Lucas is a master fisherman and Edy has a nasty surprise lurking underneath her sarong.

In a rare misstep, Andy Sidaris' decision to include a love scene right smack-dab in the middle of the film's explosive finale was ill-conceived, as it ruined the flow of the movie. Actually, I think he might have included two love scenes during the explosive finale. Either way, they took me out of picture. Nevertheless, Hard Hunted is a definite improvement over the tepid Do or Die, as it contains all the ingredients I look for in an Andy Sidaris film. Now, if you'll excuse, I gotta go see Becky Mullen about getting a boil lanced.

"First of all, what's the point of going to New York if everyone there speaks Italian? You might as well have called it "Fatty Girl Goes to Roma." Another clear giveaway was the fact that all the members of the television crew wore lab coats (something they only seem to do in Italy). And secondly, you expect me to believe that a slender disco queen in her mid-twenties is a fat teenager just because she wears high collars and turtleneck sweaters, and always seems to holding her breath? I don't think so." Hey, you! Get away from that keyboard. Yeah, you. Scram! C'mon, vamoose! What the hell did that pratt just write? Ugh, what a load of crap. I'm sorry, but looks like some wannabe "film critic" wandered into my realm and started typing words about the amazing Fatty Girl Goes to New York (a.k.a. Cicciabomba) without the express written consent of the House of Self-Indulgence. (Why don't you just delete what they wrote?) No, I want everyone to see what kind of lameness they would have to endure if I wasn't around to set them on the path towards righteousness. All right, now that I've done that, let's get this thing underway, shall we? It's racist, it's anti-gay, it looks down on fat people, it promotes bullying, and yet, it's totally awesome. And get this, it's directed by Umberto Lenzi. (You mean the guy best known for making Cannibal Ferox and Nightmare City?) Yep, that's him. Sure, there were parts of this film that made me uncomfortable, but any motion picture that goes out of its way to foster Italian legginess is okay in my book.

Growing up with a parent who had zero respect for the nation of Italy and not being a fan myself of mafia movies, I had a preconceived view about all things Italian. And let's just say, that view was mostly negative. As I grew up, I began to form my own opinions. And slowly but surely, I started to become exposed to Italian pop culture. At first, it started with horror movies. Then, in the spring of 2005, I discovered Italo Disco. Thanks to the internet, the powers that be (square, close-minded program directors) could no longer prevent me from hearing the music of the world. And after being given this new-found freedom of choice, I repeatedly found myself gravitating towards the synthy grooves of Italo Disco.

One of the first artists I came across who performed this style of music was Donatella Rettore. While technically not "Italo Disco" in the traditional sense (Rettore's music seems more influenced by punk, ska, and new wave, plus she sings, for the most part, in Italian - the majority of Italo Disco artists sing in English), she was close enough to fit the bill.

Looking like Anne Carlisle from Liquid Sky from certain angles (what am I talking about, she looks like Anne Carlisle from Liquid Sky from every angle), Donatella Rettore's brash appearance and slick sound really struck a chord with me.

However, when I heard that Donatella Rettore had starred in a movie that came out in 1982, the same year she released Kamikaze Rock 'n' Roll Suicide, I was somewhat skeptical. The reason? Well, for starters, the film's total lack of zombies, crazed killers in black leather gloves, women in prison or blood thirsty cannibals was troubling to me. And after my initial interest had faded, I sort of forgot about the movie.

Well, after giving myself a swift kick in the pants, I'm happy to say, I finally took the plunge, and I'm ready devour Donatella Rettore's film debut as Miris Bigolin with the full force of the area between my chin and forehead. (What about your genitals?) What about them? (Aren't they going to devour the film, too?) I guess. Anyway, ciao, and welcome to Happy, Italy. (That can't be right.) No, she said the town was called "Happy." (I don't know 'bout you, but that's kind of obnoxious. Nonetheless, don't forget to mention the opening credits.) Oh, yeah. They're set to a Rettore song and feature cartoonish drawings of the lead character getting into all kinds of comedic situations of a sticky nature.

Waking up at 6:35am, we quickly learn that Miris Bigolin (Donatella Rettore), who shares a room with her beauty queen sister Deborah (Gena Gas), doesn't like to be called "cicciabomba," which means "fatty girl." Her sister finds this out the hard way, after she receives to two pimp-quality slaps to the face. While Debbie is, according to her mother, "the pride of the village," Miris is a bit of pariah. You see, on top of being overweight (which I guess was frowned upon in early '80s Italy), Miris is causing headaches for the dipshits who run church radio station she works at. They want her spin classical music, but she insists on playing that newfangled new wave music.

As she's getting on her motorcycle to go to school, Miris gets in a confrontation with a waiter. The only reason I'm mentioning this is because Miris confronts the same waiter later on in the film. (Meaning?) Oh, I'm just pointing out, in my own awkward way, that the film isn't afraid to employ recurring gags.

Shirking complicated makeup effects, the makers of Fatty Girl Goes to New York basically stuff a couple of pillows underneath Donatella Rettore's clothes and shove cotton balls in her mouth. Oh, and to avoid using a prosthetic to give Miris a double chin, they simply cover her neck with scarfs and high collars. Though, they do use makeup to give Pinocchia (Adriana Russo), Miris' best friend, her trademark nose. (How do you know that's not her real nose?) Trust me, it's not.

While Pinocchia is obsessed with boys, it's obvious that Miris prefers cake. (Wow, that was a cruel thing to say.) No, Miris says, and I quote, "Boys?!? I prefer cake." Strangely enough, the boy Pinocchia is obsessed with, Mirko Mariani (Dario Caporaso), takes a liking to Miris. Well, not really, he wants her to do his Greek homework, which she agrees to do in exchange for a date. Before you call Miris naive for falling the oldest trick in the book, she has a trick up her clownish sleeve as well. Oh, and when I say, "clownish sleeve," I ain't being cute, her current wardrobe is beyond clownish.

After beating up a couple of homophobic scumbags (they were picking on Bimbo, the town's thoughtful Marilyn Monroe impersonator) and receiving a lecture from her lame bosses, Miris revels with her friends over the fact that Mirko was expelled for his Greek homework, or I should, say, her Greek homework (word on the street is, it was a tad on the crass side). Venting his anger at Miris and, what he declares, "The Ugly Girls Gang," Mirko vows to get his revenge.

Pretending to be "Angelo," Mirko pulls a nasty prank on Miris, one that culminates with Mirko and his sycophantic band of creepozoids hosing Miris with water while chanting "cicciabomba" at her. Had enough with being picked on, Miris decides to kill herself... Damn, this film took a dark turn. Don't worry, as she's preparing to seal her doom, she learns that she has just won a trip to New York City. So, in other words, suicide can wait, it's time to hit The Big Apple.

Barely off the plane, Miris is offered to be the spokesperson for a new weight loss program that involves swordfish extract or some bizarre shit like that by the hoty-toity Baronessa Judith von Kemp (Anita Ekberg) and Arthur (Howard Napper), her English lackey.

Realizing that being the test subject for a new fad diet isn't all it's cracked up to be, Miris struggles to lose weight in the early going.

Then one night, while dreaming of food, Miris wakes up to get a snack. Passing a mirror on her way to the kitchen, she barely recognizes herself. Letting out a scream, Miris is suddenly svelte and... (Don't you dare say fabulous. She still dresses like a clown.) In order to complete her transformation, Arthur sicks a hairdresser and a stylist on Miris.

The newly refurbished Miris makes her debut on national television. Bursting through a photo of her former self, Miris is now a new wave goddess. And get this, she's a pop star, too. (Huh?) Just go with it, man. Now sporting shortish blonde hair, Miris, who is wearing a red blazer as a dress and a pair of red tights, performs a song about exploding heads and sandwiches. Accompanied by six or seven dandies in tuxedos, Miris is a hit. Meaning, everybody loves her.

(Are you sure this is the right message you should sending young people? Lose weight, get a new wave-friendly makeover, and people will like you.) I don't know. Who cares. (Oh, when you put it that way.)

Deciding to strike while the iron is hot, Miris does a series of photo shoots for magazines such as Time, Vogue and Life. And you know what that means? (Overexposure?) Well, yeah. But more importantly, more kooky outfits. My favourite outfit from the photo shoot being the black leather and lace get-up. In terms of the entire film, my fave would have to be the orange and purple new wave get-up with the Chinese theme.

You'll notice that newly refurbished Miris utilizes her legs more than she did before. In fact, I didn't even know the pre-makeover Miris had legs. At any rate, Miris uses her legs to her advantage on four separate occasions. (Are you sure it wasn't more like six?) Yeah, you could be right, she does flaunt her legs a lot in this film. And why wouldn't she? They're only her best new feature. If I was suddenly blessed with long, shapely legs, the kind that drive Italian men and their non-Italian allies wild with desire, I would flaunt them as well. Hell, I don't think I would wear pants ever again if I had Rettore's gams.

When Miris discovers that her legs look great in red nylons, black nylons and even white nylons, she decides to go back to Italy to settle a score. (You mean get back at Mirko?) Exactly. Reuniting with The Ugly Girls Gang, who, like, Miris, have who have all gotten makeovers as well, Miris wields her lengthy legs like they were two mouthwatering batons of corporal comeuppance.

Since she's going to need to do more than just thrust her lusty legs in the faces of her enemies, Miris, who is, it should be noted, now unrecognizable to most of the townspeople (even her delusional grandmother doesn't recognize her), hatches a plan to sabotage Mirko's engagement with the mayor's daughter.

Will Miris and The Ugly Girls Gang come out on top? Who's to say? All I know is, Fatty Girl Goes to New York was a refreshing change of pace from the stuff I usually watch. While I didn't agree with the message the film seemed to be putting out there, it's light and frothy fun from start to finish. (Are you sure about that? Two characters nearly commit suicide and Miris and The Ugly Girls Gang force feed Mirko's fiance junk food--making her fat in the process. And I don't want to alarm you, but I think Miris's grandmother might have Alzheimer's.) Okay, minus the moments you just mentioned, it's light and frothy fun.

According to Pauline Wong Siu-Fung's leggy gal pal, the reason babies are born without teeth is because the father usually knocks them out with his erect penis. (Wait, that can't be true.) It isn't. It's what passes for humour in the delightfully irregular The Blue Jean Monster, the latest Cat III flick to unwittingly scamper across my desk with an unruly thud. (Please. Don't try to make it sound like you stumbled upon this film by accident, 'cause nobody is buying that; not even for a second. You saw that the curvaceous Amy Yip was prominently featured on the film's poster wearing a red bunny suit, and you did what any sane person would, you tracked the film down, and then you watched it. End of story.) You know what, you're absolutely right. That is the reason I watched this film. (In order to get to the scene where Amy Yip prances around in a red bunny suit, you're going to have to endure a lot of politically incorrectness. I mean, weren't you offended by the film's anti-gay temperament?) Offended? Me? I don't think so. First of all, I wouldn't call the film's overall temperament "anti-gay," just parts of it. And secondly, the anti-gay slurs come as a result of one of the characters witnessing something that angered them. Since you're already practically on the edge of your seat, I'll tell you what perturbed them. You see, a pregnant Pauline Wong Siu-Fung (Her Vengeance) was upset because she caught her husband rolling around on the living room floor with Power Steering (Tse Wai-Kit), their physically disabled friend. Interpreting their frenzied rolling around as man-on-man action, Pauline Wong Siu-Fung let's fly a barrage of anti-gay epithets. In reality, and in a manner that would have made the cast of Three's Company proud, Pauline Wong Siu-Fung misunderstood the sight of her husband and Power Steering merely trying to jump start the former's undead corpse using electricity for gay sex.

If that sounds absurd, it's just the tip of Amy Yip's glorious nipples in terms of brain-crippling weirdness. Here's another example that just came to mind. In order to find out which employee at a fast food joint felt up the breasts attached to ETC (Siu Jing-Yee), her less chubby friend, Gucci (Gloria Yip), instructs them to do the same to a couple of hamburgers. Remember that scene in The Thing where Kurt Russell tries to find out which team member is the alien by testing their blood? Well, the hamburger feel up scene in The Blue Jean Monster is just like that, only a million times more stupid.

Speaking of food, Power Steering gets diarrhea from eating undigested noodles. No big deal, right? Diarrhea happens. Yeah, but not that many people get diarrhea from eating noodles that had just oozed out of the gaping metal pipe wound located near the abdomen of Hisiang Tsu (Shing Fui-On), the "blue jean monster" of the film's title.

Is he monster, though? I'm not entirely sure. A zombie? Perhaps. A vampire? Nah. Other than shirking the light, he doesn't strike me as a vampire. A demon? I'll have to admit, his eyes did scream demon possession on several occasions. How 'bout a ghost? He could be, but who knows. Well, whatever he is, he's determined to be around when his son is born.

How did Tsu end up becoming a monster, you ask? Well, that's simple. After being killed by a gang of bank robbers at a construction site, lightning strikes the debris that crushed him. (Hold up, why did the bank robbers kill Tsu at a construction site? Don't bank robbers usually kill people inside the bank they rob?) Huh? Oh, I see. Acting on a tip from Power Steering, Tsu, who's a cop, a cop who plays by his own rules, chases a gang of bank robbers. And that chase leads him to a construction site, where, after a prolonged shootout, Tse gets crushed by a pile of building material.

Left for dead by the bank robbers, Tsu bemoans the fact that he'll probably miss seeing his son being born. However, seconds after he expires, the debris on top of him is struck by lightening. Now, I'm not entirely sure if the guy on the motorbike was a bank robber coming back to look for a missing bag of money (Gucci, who was taken hostage during the robbery, managed to snag some money for herself) or just some random dude. Either way, the guy on the motorbike stabs Tsu in the stomach with a large metal pipe. Of course, the pipe has no effect on Tse, who returns the favour stabbing the guy on the motorbike with the very same pipe.

Even though the pipe wound doesn't hurt, Tsu covers it nonetheless with one of his wife's tampons. When he notices the noodles he had for dinner are oozing out of his pipe wound, he replaces the tampon with cookie dough.

"Replaces the tampon with cookie dough"? What the fuck, early 1990s Hong Kong?

To makes matters even weirder, Power Steering not only eats the undigested noodles, he eats the cookie that Tsu's pipe wound creates after the cookie dough has been baking on it for a few days. He definitely got diarrhea from the undigested noodles; just ask Tsu's wife (the radiant Pauline Wong Siu-Fung), the smell of liquid fecal matter is stinging her pregnant nostrils. But I'm not sure what effect the pipe wound cookie had on Power Steering's digestive system.

Anyway, it would seem that Tsu's body needs a heavy dose of electricity every so often to stay animated. He learns this hard way when he is declared dead at a local hospital. Reviving himself using a defibrillator, Tsu gets up and leaves in a calm and rational manner.

(Does this "calm and rational manner" you speak of include putting aside some time to admire the black nylons attached to the legs of Nurse Ho? No? Well, that doesn't sound very rational, does it?) I guess you're right. (Of course I'm right. To not admire the black nylons worn by Carol Lee Yee-Ha, the name of the actress who plays Nurse Ho, is the epitome of irrational.)

Okay, we get it, he's not exactly rational when it comes to leaving hospitals. In case you haven't noticed, Tsu is slowly falling apart. In other words, he's got more important things to worry about. Hell, he can't even get an erection anymore. Instead of sulking, Tsu vows to make use of what little time he has left. Which reminds me, in-between all the jokes about the handicapped and AIDS, the film actually has a pretty profound message. (And that is?) Oh, it's to live life to the fullest and always take the time to appreciate sexy nurses in black nylons.

It's a good thing Tsu can't get an erection, as the sight of Amy Yip prancing around his flat in a red bunny suit would no doubt cause his penis to tear a hole in his blue jeans. (Um, how is that a "good thing"?) Oh, yeah, that's not a good thing at all.

Nevertheless, Pauline Wong Siu-Fung's best friend, the alluring Amy Wu Mei-Yee, tells her to hire Death-rays (Amy Yip) to placate what she sees as the wandering nature of Tsu's increasingly bi-curious penis; she thinks Tsu is having an affair with Power Steering.

(Was it common for pregnant women to hire bunny suit-wearing prostitutes to service their sex-starved husbands?) I have no idea, but according Amy Wu Mei-Yee, it totally was. But then again, the only reason she gave for this being an acceptable course of action was that it was "the nineties." I don't know how many people remember this, but shouting the name of the current decade was quite the effective tool when it came time to convince those around you who were reluctant to engage in certain activities.

Since it is the 1990s, the sight of Amy Yip's Death-rays straddling Tsu in a red bunny suit (her black pantyhose making mincemeat out of luscious thighs and mouth-watering hips) while Pauline Wong Siu-Fung and Amy Wu Mei-Yee listened outside was completely okay as far as social norms go.

Unfortunately, Tsu's undead penis is as useless as an escalator to nowhere, and he is unable to take advantage of his pregnant wife's bosomy gift.

As the truth about his condition slowly gets out, Tsu must act fast if he wants to achieve his two goals: #1: Make sure he's alive when his son born. #2: Bring the bank robbers who killed him to justice. Well, he's going to get the chance to complete both goals simultaneously when the bank robbers kidnap his wife and Gucci. Culminating with a warehouse shootout, The Blue Jean Monster mixes absurd humour with John Woo-esque action scenes to create a bizarre mishmash that will appeal to almost everyone in the audience; those who have an aversion to shapely Chinese chicks who dress up like bunny rabbits might want to skip this one.

She can sing, she can dance, she's funny, and, of course, she's got killer legs, yet time and time again, the gorgeous Cynthia Brimhall is relegated to the sidelines. I've been wanting to say this for a long time and now is a good as time as any: If I have to watch another Andy Sidaris film that treats Cynthia Brimhall like a second class citizen, I'm going to throw the hissy fit to end all hissy fits. (Um, I hate to be the one to break it to you, but Fit to Kill was the last Andy Sidaris film to ever feature the luminous Cynthia Brimhall.) You're joking, right? (I'm afraid not.) Nooooooooooo!!!!!!!!! What? Too many o's? Not enough o's? Either way, this review will have to serve as my humble tribute to Cynthia Brimhall. You appeared in a total of six Andy Sidaris films. And while you might not have been the star of any of them, in my mind, you were easily the best thing about all six. If I had to pick, I'd say Guns was your crowning achievement in terms delivering the awesome. On the bright side, this particular film, the one I'm currently writing about, would turn out to the last Andy Sidaris film for Dona Speir and Roberta Vasquez as well. Woo-hoo! If you have been closely following my epic journey into the jiggle-friendly realm of Andy Sidaris, you'll know that I can't stand Dona Speir in these movies, haven't since the moment I laid eyes on her in Hard Ticket to Hawaii. I have nothing against her personally, it's just that it angers me that Andy Sidaris allowed someone so woefully untalented to star in seven of his films. If she had, say, appeared in two or three of his movies, I might have forgiven him. But seven?!? That doesn't make any sense. I mean, Cynthia Brimhall is clearly more talented than her. I guess I'm old fashioned. In that, I believe you should hire people based solely on talent.

As for Roberta Vasquez, I liked her in Picasso Trigger (if you remember correctly, I had a bit of a thing for her ample booty encased in leopard print tights), but have have slowly grown to dislike her; for one thing, her ample booty seemed to get less ample with every successive movie. I know, pretty outrageous. Nonetheless, so long, Roberta. Don't let the door hit you in your not quite as ample as it once was ass.

(I'm curious, with Cynthia Brimhall, Dona Speir, and Roberta Vasquez hanging up their g-strings for good, who's going to carry the Andy Sidaris flag into the mid-to-late '90s?) Oh, boy. Have I got a treat for you. (Don't tell me, it's Naida Albright, who plays "female commando"?) Nah, not her. Though, I will admit, she is one of the sexiest women to ever appear in an Andy Sidaris film. (Really?) Yeah, but more on her later. No, carrying the babes and bullets mantle into the future is 6' 1"Julie Strain, who basically acts as a gigantic breath of fresh air for the Andy Sidaris universe.

Injecting the franchise with the same villainous glee Teri Weigel and Devin DeVasquez brought to the table as brunette troublemakers who like metallic lingerie, yet Julie Strain seems to be more aware of her surroundings than her dark-haired sisters of villainy. (Huh?) What I mean is, she totally gets that these films are ridiculous. And the fact that she is aware of this, brings an extra level of camp to the proceedings.

Of course, before we can meet the saviour of the house that fake boobs built, we have to endure the sight of special agents Donna Hamilton (Dona Speir) and Nicole Justin (Roberta Vasquez) bathing underneath a waterfall (yawn). When they're done doing that, Donna and Nicole put on the stupidest sunglasses they can find, grab their Uzis, and start to hunt a couple of masked men carrying automatic rifles. It turns out this is just an exercise; the masked men were fellow special agents Bruce Christian (Bruce Penhall) and Shane Abilene (Michael J. Shane). But Lucas (Tony Peck), their boss, has a nasty surprise for them when sicks a toy helicopter equipped with missiles on them (he scolds them for letting their guard down).

If you remember the Andy Sidaris film, Malibu Express, which came out in 1985, you'll recall that there's a reoccurring gag involving the fact that Cody Abilene is a lousy shot. Well, this is the eighth Andy Sidaris film in a row to feature the whole male members of the Abilene family can't shoot straight schtick. And since this probably the last time we'll see this bit in action, I just want to take the time to say, good riddance to one of the hokiest/lamest reoccurring gags in film history.

Meanwhile, at the KSXY studios, Ava (Ava Cadell), "your moonlight mistress," is steaming up the airwaves. (Hey, where's Becky Mullen?) Becky who? (You know, the attractive woman who periodically got out of a hot tub to get Ava coffee in Hard Hunted.) It would seem that she's been replaced with some chick named Sandy (Sandy Wild). Which, of course, makes no sense, as Becky Mullen is way hotter than this Sandy person.

After doing some early morning tai chi, we're finally introduced to Julie Strain. Playing Blu Steel, the world's premiere assassin, Julie is about to take out self-described super-villain Kane (Geoffrey Moore) in Las Vegas, when the tables are turned on her. Maybe she wouldn't have been so easily detected had she not decided to wear a black cat suit with metallic flourishes all over it In fairness to her metallic flourishes, it seemed like Kane knew she was coming; his lead henchmen Burke (Brett Baxter Clark) and sexy sidekick Silk (Carolyn Liu) were waiting for her with their guns drawn. Anyway, instead of killing Blu Steel, Kane proposes that she come work for him; she was working for Po (Craig Ryan Ng), a rival super-villain who no likey Kane.

Assembling a meeting at the KSXY studios to discuss an upcoming mission, Lucas is about to start giving the agents their orders, when he notices that one of the chairs is empty. The lovely Edy Stark (Cynthia Brimhall) is apparently a bit late. Stumbling into the meeting with an adorable thud, Edy struggles to get to her seat. I'm not 100% sure, but I could have sworn I saw Donna and Nicole roll their eyes in response to Edy's clumsiness. The reason I'm not 100% sure is because for them to roll their eyes would require them to act. And, as everyone knows, Dona Speir and Roberta Vasquez couldn't act their way out of a poorly constructed bean-bag chair.

Whether they rolled their eyes or not, the looks on their unjustifiably smug faces as Edy awkwardly tried to compose herself made me angry. (You, angry? You never get angry.) Yeah, well, the sight of Donna and Nicole being indifferent to Edy's plight in Fit to Kill made me angry.

On the other hand, it caused me to admire Cynthia Brimhall even more. Think about it, it takes guts to for someone so aggressively attractive to allow themselves to appear foolish like that. I mean, you would never see Dona Speir or Roberta Vasquez leave themselves open to ridicule. Again, for them to do that would require a modicum of acting ability. Either way, here's to you, Cynthia Brimhall, and your unexpected comedic chops.

It just dawned on me: Am I still writing about this movie?

Okay, here's what I'm going to do. After doing a quick synopsis of the film's plot, I'm going to make a few profound observations, and then wrap things up.

Let's see, what's this film about? The Russian ambassador (Rodrigo Obregón), or, I should say, the ambassador of The Commonwealth of Independent States (remember when that was something that actually existed?), is in Hawaii to be presented a large diamond by a local businessman named Chang (Aki Aleong), who acquired the diamond from a German World War II officer. And thanks to a surprisingly well put together flashback sequence, we learn that the diamond was stolen from a museum during the siege of Leningrad, and that German officer who took it gave it to Chang on his death bed (with instructions to give it back to the Russians). Anyway, as you might expect, Kane wants the diamond for himself. If you're thinking Kane simply wants the get his grubby hands on the diamond for greed-related purposes, think again.

In a shocking twist, we find out there's more to Kane than meets the eye. In fact, he somehow manages to weasel his way into becoming the most interesting character to ever appear in an Andy Sidaris film. And to think, all it took was two scenes that involved reciting some mild exposition. I wonder if Dona Speir, Roberta Vasquez, and the rest of these braindead chuckleheads realized that the son of Roger Moore was stealing their movie right from under their surgically-altered noses? Nah.

In Edy Stark news: She gets to sing a song at Chang's party (complete with a gown with a massive slit down the side and black nylons) and partakes in an impromptu photo shoot wearing a white lingerie, white heels and a white hat. Oh, and the less said about those tight gold pants, the better. Yeesh.

According to the trivia section of her IMDb page: Cynthia Brimhall is good friends with actress-singer Apollonia Kotero and considers one of her few vices to be a deep love of expensive lingerie.

As in Hard Hunted, Edy Stark and Lucas are targeted by bumbling assassins played by Richard Cansino and Chu Chu Malave, whose code names are "Evel" and "Kenevil" this time around.

There's moment in Fit to Kill that literally floored me. (The sight of the black suspenders attached Julie Strain's equally black garter-belt tearing across her intimidating backside?) No, it was the sight of Naida Albright, the lone female member in Po's elite squad of Red Chinese commandos. (Yeah, the part where she gets the jump on Donna Hamilton and kills that guy with a ninja star was pretty cool.) Yeah, those things were pretty cool. But I was actually referring to the fact that Naida Albright looked like a normal woman. What I mean is, she didn't have that "I'm a vapid Playboy model who has no business acting in movies" look about them. And because of this, I was naturally drawn to her. Of course, she's killed in a manner that was degrading (think of the scene from Raiders of the Lost Ark when Indy kills that black turban guy wielding the sword), but I found her presence a refreshing reminder that not all women mindless are bimbos.

During the day, her legs are not sheathed in anything. But when night falls, look out, honey, her legs are sheathed in the finest stockings money can buy. (Oh, brother, I should have known you were going to open your review of Robert Englund's 976-EVIL with a line about Lezlie Deane's first-rate gams being lovingly poured into a pair of black fully-fashioned stockings.) You got a problem with that? (No, it's just I thought you might have done the whole bait and switch routine.) Huh? (You know, pretend to talk about how this film shows the evolution of the telephone as not only the world's most important communication device but as an object of menace, and then, blamo, hit them in the face with some perverted knowledge about Lezlie Deane's toothsome legs being strangled to death by black nylon perfection.) If you want, I could start over. (Don't bother, you have already come too far.) You're right. Besides, it's too hot to start over (please note: it might be "too cold" by the time I get around to submitting this piece to my editor). I've just got to stay focused on Lezlie Deane and her black stockings, as they're the key to unlocking the appeal of this movie. Sure, the amazing Stephen Geoffreys (the original Evil Ed from Fright Night) yet again plays a nerdy dweeb who gets in touch with his inner demon (this time thanks to a malevolent psychic hotline), and Roxanne Rogers gives good snark as the perpetually unimpressed waitress at Dante's Diner. But make no mistake, Lezlie Deane and her black stockings are the key. (Um, I think you already said that.) Really? Well, I'm saying it again. In fact, I might end up saying it five or six times when all is said and done. (Wow, that many, eh? They must be important.) You got that right.

(Don't forget to perform a demented soliloquy about Lezlie Deane's jet black panties.) Do you even know what a soliloquy is? (No, not really. But I do know what demented means, and I guarantee the demented soliloquy about Lezlie Deane's jet black panties you're about to unleash is going to be the best demented soliloquy about jet black panties anyone will hear this year.) What do you mean, "this year"? (You're absolutely right, it's going to be the best demented soliloquy about jet black panties anyone will hear during this or any year.)

I'm sorry to disrupt the thought of the jet black panties and the jet black stockings clinging to the lower half of Lezlie Deane's dainty frame, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to lay down some perfunctory exposition. (Aw, man, do you have to?) I know, you would rather hear me talk about Lezlie Deane and her top-notch wardrobe, but the rules and regulations that dictate film criticism clearly state that you must describe the film's plot to some degree. (I don't know who came up with these "rules and regulations," but that sounds like crock of shit.)

"Out of the darkness and into the light comes your horrorscope on this dark and stormy night." That's the first thing you hear when you dial "976-EVIL," the psychic hotline...from Hell! After that, the operator prompts you to push 666 and you'll quickly be welcomed to the caverns of the unknown by your psychic fiend. See what I did there? (Where?) Instead of writing, "psychic friend," I wrote, "psychic fiend." (Awesome.)

Whisked into the projection booth of the El Diablo Theatre, we're about to witness motorcycle enthusiast Spike (Patrick O'Bryan) loose his shirt playing poker with a bunch of dirtbags. Lead by Marcus (J.J. Cohen), the dirtbags, which include Darren E. Burrows, seem to relish in taking his money. Unfortunately for Spike, he owes the dirtbags more money than he actually has on him. This means he's in danger of losing his precious Harely-Davidson, which he put up as collateral.

While at home, Spike comes across a flyer for something called "976-EVIL Horrorscope" (the second 'o' in horrorscope is shaped like a pentagram). Calling it, Spike is told that there's money nearby that is technically his and that he should go claim it. Figuring that the money the 976-EVIL guy was talking about is over at his Aunt Lucy's house, he heads over there (she lives next-door) to "claim it." This, of course, doesn't sit too well with Aunt Lucy (Sandy Dennis), a Bible-obsessed cat lady who lives with Hoax (Stephen Geoffreys), her dorky teenage son. (Hey, wouldn't that make Spike and Hoax cousins?) Boy, you're on fire today. You're absolutely right, they're cousins.

When word gets out that it rained fish in Aunt Lucy's backyard, Marty Palmer (Jim Metzler) from Modern Miracles Magazine comes a knocking on her door. (Wait, why did it rain fish?) How the fuck should I know? I'm just watching the movie, I didn't write it.

After paying Marcus the money he owes, Spike stops his friends from dunking Hoax's head in the toilet in the boy's washroom at school. (How does he stop them?) How else? With physical violence. Don't be fooled by the ponytail, Spike is one tough cookie. Though, I'm surprised the 976-EVIL hotline guy didn't advise Spike to 86 the ponytail, as it made him look like a West German porno actor; don't ask me why looking like West German porno actor is necessarily a bad thing, it just is.

(Is Lezlie Deane going to appear onscreen soon? I'm getting a little tired of wadding through all this nonsense.) It's funny you should mention Lezlie Deane, as she's just about to make her debut any minute now. And...Boom! There she is. (How come she isn't wearing stockings?) Didn't you read the opening line? Suzie (Lezlie Deane) doesn't wear stockings during the day. (Oh, I see.)

Anyway, check out Suzie's jean jacket, she totally cut it in half.

To remind us that there are deadly consequences to dialing "976-EVIL," we're shown a woman in pants, red high heels and a white blazer tormented by ringing telephones (car phones, payphones, you name it, they torment her) before being killed by the glass from, you guessed it, a telephone store. What's cool about this scene, besides the woman's perm, is that a red high heel shoe phone rests near her head as she expires.

Waiting to be picked up at the spot they had agreed in the previous scene, Suzie, who has since put on a pair of black stockings (which are kept aloft with the aide of suspenders attached to a garter belt), hops on the back of Spike's bike.

You'll notice that the act of sitting on the back of Spike's exacerbates the sexiness of Suzie's stocking-covered legs. You know who else notices this? That's right, Spike does. Who takes a quick gander at Suzie's legs as she desperately tries to plant her black heels onto the bike's rear foot-pegs.

Instead of going out, Spike and Suzie head straight to his place for some chair-based sexual intercourse. Straddling Spike with the breadth of her moist undercarriage, Suzie repeatedly hurls her vagina towards his cock with an unusual amount of vigor. While vagina hurling with a side order of vigor is not an uncommon sight in the annals of heterosexual copulation, it is something you rarely see in a on the cusp of being mainstream horror flick; seriously, Suzie humps the living fuck out of Spike's dick, and, presumably, a smattering of his not even close to being woebegone teenage ball sack.

As Suzie enjoys a post-coital cigarette break, she starts to smooth out the creases on her stockings, which, no doubt, lost some of their sheer appeal during sex. After she's finished feeling up her own legs, Suzie tosses her jet black panties at Spike. Like car keys attached to a key chain, jet black panties are easy to catch. And Spike has no problem catching them. Putting her jet black panties, like any sane person would, in his mouth almost immediately after catching them, Spike must being thinking: What will Suzie wear for the rest of the evening? Already two steps of him, Suzie grabs a pair of boxer shorts from the laundry basket and slides them on without hesitation.

Women who wear men's underwear are hot. Women who wear men's underwear with black stockings, fishnet fingerless gloves, Madonna-friendly crucifix bracelets (Suzie used to go to Catholic school), cut-off jean jackets, plaid skirts are mega-hot.

Heading out to catch a movie at the El Diablo, Hoax, who was watching Spike and Suzie through a telescope this entire time, pops over to Spike's place after they leave. Picking up Suzie's jet black panties, Hoax savours them for a moment (mmm, jet black pantie savouring), then decides to call "976-EVIL" (the flyer was on the floor, probably next to Suzie's jet black panties).

The "976-EVIL" guy tells Hoax that he will meet the girl of his dreams tonight. And before you know it, Hoax having a late night snack with Suzie at a local pizza joint. (What the... How did he manage to pull that off? I mean, Spike must have blown it big time.) Well, I wouldn't say, "big time," but he does blow it (he would rather play poker in the projection booth than watch a movie with Suzie). At the right place at the right time, Hoax and Suzie seem to be having a pleasant evening, when a daddy long legs ruins everything. Actually, Marcus and his dirtbag friends are the one's who ruin things. But the daddy long legs is the catalyst.

On the bright side, the daddy long legs does cause Suzie to cower in a manner that managed to aggravate her legginess. (So, what you're saying is, the daddy long legs made Suzie's legs appear longer?) That's exactly what I'm saying. Didn't anyone else find it strange that Suzie seemed was offended when she found out that Hoax was carrying around her jet black panties in his back pocket? I sure did, as it seemed out of character. In reality, it was merely a ploy by the filmmakers (including screenwriter Brian Helgeland) to accelerate the demonization process of Hoax, who is becoming increasingly dependent on "976-EVIL" (while most callers eventually tire of the Satanic hotline, Hoax fully embraces it).

This, of course, means trouble for Suzie. Who is the first to feel the wrath of Hoax. (Don't tell me...) I'm afraid so. Well, at least she goes out with her stockings on straight.

(Does anything of interest happen after Hoax sicks a bunch of spiders on Suzie?) Let's see... Hoax rips out a couple hearts ("Would it be...possible...to open with a pair of hearts?"), removes a hand, and throws Maria Rubell down a flight of stairs. Oh, and Cynthia Szigeti (Hunk) briefly appears as a phone sex operator and Robert Picardo plays Mark Dark, the man behind "976-EVIL."

Did someone say, zombies wielding Uzis? What's that, no one said that? Oh, really? Well, someone should say that, and they should say it a lot. Here's a crude theory that just popped into my head. You want to know why the movies from the 1980s rule so hard and why the movies made today...don't rule as much? Uzis. (Uzis?) That's right, Uzis. Movies nowadays seem to be severely lacking when it comes to Uzi usage. I don't know why Uzis stop appearing in movies, but I think most sane people will agree: Uzis make everything better. Movies, TV shows, books, you name it. (Graphic novels?) They would fall under "books," but, yeah, sure, graphic novels. (Are you just going ape shit over Uzis because this particular motion picture was woefully deficient when it came to providing the sleaze?) I'm afraid not. I love Uzis. Always have, always will. And Dead Heat, a, get this, film that stars Joe Piscopo (crazy, I know), has no shortage of Uzis. I won't lie, the simple act of spraying a hail of inaccurate, small caliber bullets in a haphazard fashion never fails to put a smug smirk and/or sly grin on my face. And I like the fact that the person firing an Uzi in a movie rarely ever comes out on top. Every now and then, the so-called hero of the piece will pick up an Uzi from a dead henchmen or bank robber and use it with some degree of success. But for the most part, anyone armed with an Uzi is usually an incompetent boob with one foot already in the grave. There's a brief moment at the end of Scarface where the character of Chi Chi seems to be doing all right, Uzi-wise. However, his Uzi ultimately lets him down in the end. And that's just merely one of the thousands of instances I could sight where an Uzi comes up short during a shootout.

I think the main reason its track record is so uninspired is because most people use them incorrectly. You see, it's meant to be used as a close-quarter weapon (in my non-expert opinion, hallways are the best place to deploy them). But in movies, they're mainly used in wide open spaces. (And that's no good?) No good? You try protecting the expansive compound belonging to, oh, let's say, a brutal drug kingpin, from a musclebound Austrian wielding an M-60 with a bunch of Uzi-toting sycophants with wonky bladders. His 7.62 mm bullets will penetrate the guards like a rusty spike through marmalade, while their puny Uzi-fired bullets will simply bounce off him like weakly foisted flatulence.

I'm putting my Uzi essay on hold. Why? I just remembered a sleazy moment that occurs in this film. (Does it involve Joe Piscopo holding aloft a pair of women's panties?) Actually, it doesn't. But now that I think about, that sounds pretty sleazy. No, the scene I'm referring to occurs when Det. Roger Mortis (Treat Williams) and Det. Doug Bigelow (Joe Piscopo) head over to a pharmaceutical company to investigate a drug that was found in a couple of a dead thieves who were killed during a Melrose Ave. jewelry store robbery. (I don't know, that doesn't sound very sleazy.) I haven't got to the sleazy part yet. (Oops.)

Approaching the detectives with a womanly ease, Randi James (Lindsay Frost), the drug companies attractive P.R. consultant, is introduced via an upward camera pan that starts at her feet and slowly makes its way to her head.

What we see along the way during this camera pan upward will illuminate and titillate in equal measure.

Her feet have been lovingly poured into a pair of sensible black shoes; perfect for giving tours to nosy detectives.

Black no-nonsense hosiery adorn her shapely legs in a manner that will lift one's spirit; amongst other things.

An unpretentious grey pencil shirt prevents things from getting out of hand, spirit lifting-wise, as it helps cover her crotch, buttocks and upper thighs.

She wears a gold bracelet on her left wrist, which let's everyone know she's not afraid of a little flair.

You'll notice she's wearing a blue name tag with white trim. This allows people to know what her name is at all times. And, as I've already established, it's Randi with an 'i.'

And a sharp grey blazer (buttoned, of course) over top a black t-shirt of some kind completes the ensemble.

(You mentioned something about a couple of dead jewelry store robbers?) Oh, yeah, the crazy thing about them is that Dr. Rebecca Smythers (Clare Kirkconnell) already did an autopsy on them. (So, what you're saying is, they died twice?) Exactly. And Treat Williams and Joe Piscopo, who were responsible for killing the Uzi-wielding jewelry store robbers the second time, are at the pharmaceutical company to find out how a couple of clinical dead guys were able to get up and rob a jewelry store.

I don't know where to squeeze this in, so I'll just slip it in here. And that is, I spotted Martha Quinn as a newscaster during the scene at police headquarters. I'm not sure if everyone is aware of this, but keeping an eye out for Martha Quinn in movies is kind of my thing.

Anyway, the scene where dozens of cops are killed during the shootout with the zombie jewelry store robbers reminded me of Ninja III: The Domination. In that, the ranks of the police force have just been decimated, yet all everyone seems to care about is that Treat Williams and Joe Piscopo broke a few rules and a shitload of regulations. First of all, if they hadn't broke any of your precious "rules and regulations," even more cops would have probably lost their lives. And secondly, relax, man, it's only a movie. Besides, you kind of expect the cops in a buddy cop movie to be chewed out by their superiors, or better yet, a black police captain near retirement, over trivial nonsense. Quirky fun-fact: Dead Heat was written by Terry Black, brother of Shane Black, who wrote Lethal Weapon, the granddaddy of buddy cop movies.

Who's responsible for reanimating the corpses of dead criminals? I wouldn't put it past Darren McGavin, he looks a tad shady. (He looks shady?!? What about Vincent Price? He looks as shady as all get out. Plus, his character's name is "Arthur P. Loudermilk." It practically screams shadiness.)

What Roger really wants to know is, which of these shady fucks pushed the "on switch" while he was trapped inside a decompression chamber while his partner Doug wrestled with a two-faced zombie. It doesn't happen often, but Roger gets to investigate his own murder. With the help of a machine that reanimates dead people, Roger is brought back to life. The catch being, he only has 12 hours to find out who killed him first, as he will eventually melt into a pile of goo. Wait, I think the term they used was "organic stew."

Even though he feels fine, Roger is slowly rotting. (Aren't we all?) Yeah, but Roger knows exactly when he's going to expire, so time of the essence. (If that's the case, why is Roger going to the drugstore?) Um, he's picking up some mulberry wine lipstick. Duh. As you would expect, the lipstick scene leads to some situations of a comedic nature.

Since it's been awhile since we've had any Uzis onscreen, a couple of zombies burst into Randi's house firing Uzis with an inaccurate abandon just as Doug was admiring the cut of Randi's "extra panties" (it never hurts to have extra panties on hand). Out of all the one-liners Joe Piscopo hurls in this movie, my favourite has to be: "Remember the good old days when guns killed people." To which Treat Williams responds: "You're just jealous." (Treat's character is now impervious to bullets).

If you thought fighting Uzi-wielding zombies was hard work, you should try taking on a headless cow carcass, a broiled pig, and an army of duck heads. Of course, Joe Piscopo's advice to Treat Williams as he's about to confront the reanimated cow carcass is to drown it in A-1. Which reminds me, if the A-1 line makes you cringe at all, I don't think you should watch Dead Heat, as the film is peppered with gems like this.

If, however, you dig cheesy one-liners and have a soft spot for Uzi shootouts (the final one is an Uzi lovers dream - even Keye Luke wields one at one point), then you should definitely seek this film out.

Dare I fetishize thigh-high hip waders? (What are you talking about? You better fetishize thigh-high hip waders. I mean, I didn't click on your review of Paul Schrader's for you not to fetishize thigh-high hip waders.) Fine. I'll fetishize thigh-high hip waders. If the reason the name "Paul Schrader" sounds familiar, it's because he wrote Taxi Driver. (Hey, what do you think you're doing?) Um, hello? I'm writing about Cat People. (I can see that, but what about the thigh-high hip waders? I'm no brain doctor, but the thigh skin that periodically pokes out from the top of Nastassja Kinski's thigh-high hip waders while fishing for some crawfish from a Louisina river ain't going to describe itself.) But I read somewhere that it's mandatory to mention the fact that Paul Schrader wrote Taxi Driver when doing a review of Cat People, or any other non-Taxi Driver-related Paul Schrader film for that matter. (Since when do you do what's mandatory? You're going to stand out from the crowd if you blather endlessly about the brief scene where the too luminous for words Nastassja Kinski wears thigh-high hip waders.) But won't I come off as perverted and weird if I do that? (Yeah, but you want to come off as perverted and weird.) I do? (You know it.) Okay, if you say so. All right, let me think, how does one craft a movie review that centres around thigh-high hip waders? (Well, first of all, you should stop calling them "thigh-high hip waders." Think about it, how can they be thigh-high and go up to your hip at the same time?) You mean I should call them thigh-high fishing boots instead? (Or better yet, just drop the "hip.")

You would think Paul Schrader was channeling Jess Franco by the way his camera focuses on Nastassja Kinski as she struggles to deposit some recently caught crawfish into a bucket. (Are you implying that Paul's decision to show Nastassja bending over with her back to the camera was gratuitous? 'Cause if you are, you would be dead wrong. The reason he does this is to show that the curator of the New Orleans Zoological Park is developing amorous feelings towards Miss Kinski.) Don't you think it's obvious that he's developing amorous feelings towards her? He did, after all, land her a sweet job at the zoo's gift shop. (That's true, but nothing sends prudish American men over the titillation edge more than the sight of an ambiguously European woman bending over in thigh-high fishing boots. It's science! Okay, maybe it's not an exact science; more like a loose collection of half-baked theories and asinine brain anomalies. But can you think of anything else that's sexier than the sight of Nastassja Kinski in thigh-high fishing boots?)

Oh, I don't know, how about the sight of Lynn Lowry (Score) in black stockings? (Holy crap, that is sexier.) Told you. And get this, I've always thought Lynn Lowry had a bit of a feline vibe about her. (But she doesn't play a cat person in Cat People.) I know, but she plays a prostitute who attracts a cat person. (I think I get it. She's not a cat person.) Right. (But cat people find her attractive.) Keep going. (Hence, she has a feline vibe about her.) Bingo! (I can't believe I'm about to say this, but that makes perfect sense.)

Cat people might find her attractive, but that doesn't mean they're not going to try to tear her apart. You see, cat people can only have sex with other cat people. No matter how appealing they may look in black lingerie, the desire to rip the flesh from their bones is unstoppable.

Now, someone, like, say, a cynical prostitute with a flat stomach, might have no trouble whatsoever deciding that it's probably a bad idea to get romantically involved with a cat person. But what if you're a mild-mannered curator of an old-timey zoo (one that stills uses cages with bars) who falls in love like it were bodily function, what advice would give them?

Step softly and always have enough rope on hand, as you never know when you might have to tie your cat girlfriend to a bed. (Yikes, that sounds kinky.) Yeah, I guess it sort of does. But then again, I was mildly turned on by the scene where Ruby Dee explains the origin of character's name, so, maybe I'm not the best person to decide what is kinky and what is not kinky.

(Don't worry, you're not in danger of losing your kink cred. The scene where a human male ties up his human/black leopard hybrid girlfriend so he can have sexual intercourse with her without having to worry about being torn apart during the post-coital aftermath is definitely kinky.) That's a relief, for a minute there I thought I was being a fuddy-duddy.

Just curious, am I the only one who thought Ruby Dee was smoking hot in this movie? Interesting, none of you have your hands raised, but I'm noticing some slight nodding here and there. Meaning, I wasn't the only one. Sure, her basement is filled with the half-eaten corpses of hookers and teenage runaways, but her accent is sexy and her bone structure is sublime.

Speaking of bone structure, Nastassja Kinski! Oh my god! Talk about sublime. I can't believe this is my first Nastassja Kinski film. (Are you sure about that? Maybe you should skim through her film credits.) Nah, I don't feel like doing that. Besides, this is definitely the first Nastassja Kinski film I've seen in the past ten years. Either way, I would have loved to have seen this film in theatre when it came out in the early '80s, as I would have loved to have heard the loud gasps coming from the audience the moment when Nastassja Kinski first appears onscreen. She is simply stunning.

Meeting her long lost brother Paul (Malcolm McDowell) at the airport in New Orleans, Irena (Nastassja Kinski) seems excited to start her new life in The Big Easy. Taking her to his fancy house on Weird French Name Street in the Gumbo District (Go Saints, Go!), Malcolm, I mean, Paul, introduces Irena to Ruby Dee's Female (pronounced "fee-molly"), a Renfield-esque woman who takes care of Paul's affairs when he's out busy doing cat stuff.

After some awkward brother-sister closeness (I totally thought they were going to kiss at one point), Irena goes to sleep. But does Paul go to sleep? I don't think so. Donning a black tank-top, Paul, after doing some awkward brother-sister lurking in Irena's bedroom, heads out for the evening.

Even though we don't see Malcolm McDowell for quite some time, I'll go ahead and assume that he has transformed into the black leopard that is currently resting underneath a bed in a cheap hotel. Sitting on said bed is Ruthie (Lynn Lowry), a sexy prostitute who is dressed exactly the way a prostitute is supposed to dress.

Let's give her hooker ensemble a quick once over, shall we? Black bra? Check. Black stockings held up with black suspenders? Check. Black garter belt? Check. Black heels? Check. You see, she's perfect.

(Wait, you forgot to ask if she has a nasty gash on her right ankle.) Why would I ask that? Hold on, the black leopard resting underneath the bed she is currently sitting on is starting to get grumpy. You know what that means? Nasty gash on her right ankle? Check.

Here's a fun-fact: It turns out the gooey residue cat people leave behind when they transform from humans to leopards is edible. Gooey residue, it's what's for dinner...after you have just torn apart the bubbly blonde chick who gives sage advice to not-so bubbly brunettes from The Beach Girls; I'm talking about Tessa Richarde, by the way, she plays Billie, a ditzy gal who comes face-to-face with Paul's inability to get hard when he's with women who are not his sister.

Also struggling to come to terms with the fact she can't have sex with humans without getting the urge to tear them apart afterwards is Irena, who takes a liking to Oliver (John Heard from C.H.U.D.), an easy-going zookeeper. Someone should tell Irena to look somewhere else, but Alice (Annette O'Toole), a fellow zookeeper, is going out with Oliver. Oh, and before you say: Who wouldn't dump someone in order to go on a sexual bender with Nastassja Kinski? Please remember, Alice is played by Annette O'Toole. Who's she, you ask? Um, she's a redhead. And no no bra-wearing piece of Euro-trash can tarnish the intrinsic allure of a well-moisturized redhead.

This "intrinsic allure" could be real, but Oliver is totally making a play for Irena (he got her a job at the zoo's gift shop). I wonder if he knows that she's the descendent of an ancient tribe of leopard people? I don't think it matters, these cat folks have a way about them that causes non-cat folks to lose their kitty litter.

I know someone else who might have a problem with this cross-species relationship, and his name is Paul. Oh, yeah, I forgot about him. Torn between the human world and the animal kingdom, Irena must decide which realm is for her. Actually, the choice is actually between BDSM and incest, if you think about it.

With help of Italians Ferdinando Scarfiotti ("visual consultant") and legendary electronic music producer Giorgo Moroder, Paul Schrader has made one of the sexiest American horror movies of all-time. (So, what you're saying is, if it wasn't for the two Italian men you just mentioned, the film wouldn't have been sexy?) Yeah, that's exactly what I'm saying. I mean, would someone who wasn't under the influence of Italians have Annette O'Toole wear mismatched bra and panties? I don't think so. Featuring vibrant colours and a great location, Cat People is a rarity: A glossy Hollywood movie with a wonderfully perverted European sensibility.

Using my unique power to look at stuff and combining it with my not-so unique ability to remember the stuff I just looked at with some degree of accuracy, I would say roughly around thirty henchmen are killed in Samurai Cop, the movie so awesome, it's comes with its own body bag. Wait, I don't like that. Let me try that again. ...in Samurai Cop, the movie so awesome, it watches you. Neither of them make any sense, but I prefer the latter. I like the idea of a movie that watches you, and believe me, this is one movie you don't want watching you, or maybe you do. Again, I don't know what that means exactly. Either way, who is going to pay for all those funerals? That's what I'd like to know. What funerals, you ask? The henchmen. Haven't you heard? Los Angeles is replete with dead henchmen. And to add insult to dead henchmen, their deaths were primarily the handy work of some long-haired no dick from San Diego. Why this Fabio wannabe in the jet black banana hammock felt the need to drive all the way up to L.A. to destroy the city's most precious resource is anyone's guess. But don't think for a San Diego minute the more jawed than usual residents of this fair city are going to sit idly by and let some namby-pamby Japonophile ruin everyone lives. You wanna know why? 'Cause they won't...sit idly by, that is. (First of all, since when has L.A.'s most precious resource been henchmen? I always thought it was spineless sycophants. And secondly, "more jawed than usual"? What the fuck does that mean?)

Oh, you're so naive. There's only one person on this earth that fits that jowl-centric description, and that is, the one, the only, Robert Z'Dar. Taking henching to a whole nother level, Robert Z'Dar is the ultimate henchman as Yamashita, the loyal warrior who carries out his orders using the samurai code.

Whether instructing lesser henchmen to attack his foes, riddling said lesser henchmen's bodies with bullets fired from an Uzi after they fail to attack said foes with the necessary fortitude, or engaging in sexual intercourse with female henchmen with red hair, Yamashita does everything with an exuberant brand of gusto.

(I'm curious, does it take Robert Z'Dar longer to shave than everybody else?) Don't be stupid, he clearly has a beard in this movie. (Okay, let me rephrase that. Does it take longer for Robert Z'Dar longer to trim his beard than everybody else?) While not as bad as your first question, it's still somewhat stupid. Therefore, I refuse to answer it.

Just to let you know, there are four sex scenes in this movie. Okay, before you start giving each other frat boy-style high fives, I feel I should warn you that I could have sworn I saw a hint of anus in at least three of them. (Boy anus or girl anus?) Girl anus. Don't look so relieved, you know you wanna see some or all of the Samurai Cop's smouldering butthole.

Now, you could say this was a direct result of lackluster filmmaking on the part of director Amir Shervan, but there's no way I'm saying that. A hint of anus is a part of everyday life. Take it away and what are you left with? (Less anus?!?) Exactly. And who wants to live in a world with less anus? (Not me?!?) You know it.

Here's a bold statement: Samurai Cop is better than every Andy Sidaris film combined. The women are hotter (strong, forthright feminists without an ounce of silicon), the action is more exciting, the music is synthier (the score reminded me of A Split Second, the Belgian band, not the Rutger Hauer movie), and the dialogue is definitely more crisp. (Wait, more crisp? Are you sure you're not talking about a head of lettuce?) No, I'm talking about dialogue.

They might not be an established gang yet, but Fujiyama, the leader of Katana (which means "Japanese sword"), plans to change all that when he sends his favourite henchmen, Yamashita (Robert Z'Dar), to meet with the leader of a rival Chinese gang in Chinatown. And by "meet with," I mean, he straight-up kills his ass.

If the scene that introduces us to Katana, a gang that also includes karate expert Okamura (Gerald Okamura) and the sultry yet dangerous Cameron (Krista Lane), seems to fly by at a sprinter's pace, the scene that introduces us to their primary adversaries seems like an epic slog by comparison. Two cops, who could be on the edge (the status of where they're standing edge-wise is not known to us when the film gets underway), named Joe Marshall (Matt Hannon) and Frank Washington (Mark Frazer), are in pursuit of a van that is purportedly transporting a shitload of cocaine.

Utilizing the help of Peggy Lee Thomas (Melissa Moore), a sexually aggressive police helicopter pilot (if you're about to chop off a big black cock, make sure to send it her way before you do so, as she doesn't like to see big black cocks go to waste), Joe and Frank chase down the cocaine van (in a scene that is reminiscent of the classic car chase in To Live and Die in L.A.), dispatching a couple of henchmen along the way.

After capturing the driver of the van (who was badly burned at the end of the chase), Joe points up at Peggy, as if to say, I'll see your pretty little anus later. And since their encounter is filmed, we get to see her pretty little anus as well.

I think the main reason we see so much anus in this film is because people often overestimate the capacity of the thong to keep your anus covered at all times. While it might provide the coverage our anus shy society requires whilst the thong-ensnared individual is standing in the upright position. However, once the person starts moving around in a manner the engineers at the thong laboratories had not foreseen, that's when things could get a tad rectal, if you know what I mean.

Exposed anus or not, I couldn't help but cheer Peggy on as she rode Joe's cock to Pleasuretown, Population: Her orgasm. I think I might have even yelled, "Ride that Samurai Cop, you horny bint!" at one point.

(Hold on, Joe's the "Samurai Cop" in Samurai Cop? Am I crazy, or does he not look Japanese?) Ah, you see, according to Yamashita, who is also not Japanese, Joe, while technically not Japanese, was trained by a martial arts master in Japan, is fluent in Japanese, and was sent to L.A. from San Diego to fight Katana.

Oh, he's from San Diego all right, but there's no fucking way he's fluent in Japanese. I mean, he can barely speak English. Anyway, after Yamashita is finished telling his boss all about this Joe fella, Fujiyama, his thick Japanese mullet fluttering with mullet-fueled rage, demands that the van driver's head be placed on his piano, so that all can see what happens to the Katana members who get captured (Katana have a strict "don't get captured or else" policy).

And guess who's in charge of retrieving his head, that's right, Yamashita. But how is Yamashita going to get past the security at the hospital? Don't worry, Cameron is going to pretend to be a nurse and wheel Yamashita in a cart covered with a white sheet. Keep on an eye of Krista Lane's legs as she and Z'Dar are leaving the hospital with the van driver's head in tow, her white stockings turn to taupe stockings in an instant.

Speaking of keeping an eye on things, make sure to take special note of Mark Frazer's acting as a sexy nurse mocks Joe's lack of cock when it comes to the size of his cock. His style of acting, if you can call it "acting," reminded me of Dean Learner from Garth Marenghi's Darkplace, in that he's not putting on an act, he's telling truth.

After one set back after another, Captain Roma (Dale Cummings) finally tells Frank that he's had enough of this "moron from San Diego." (Did he just call the "Samurai Cop" a "moron" right in front of the "Samurai Cop"?) He sure did. (Damn, I like this guy's style. But why is he so grumpy?) Well, for starters, he's got this club up his ass, and he's having the darndest time trying to figure a way to get it out. Nonetheless, Frank manages to sweet talk the captain, giving them some more time to achieve the desired result. And that is, take down the Katana gang.

You wouldn't think it was possible given the garments dire reputation in the fashion world, but Melissa Moore is somehow able to make lady police pants look good.

Getting a tip that Fujiyama likes to hang out at The Blue Lagoon restaurant, Joe and Frank stop by to annoy him–you know, let him know where they stand. And it's during this stand knowing session that Joe gets his first look at Jennifer (Jannis Farley), the actual owner of The Blue Lagoon. It's clear by the way they smile at one another that Joe is going to woo the living crap out of her.

It should go without saying, but I'm going to to say it anyway, the sight of Robert Z'Dar reloading his Uzi is a beautiful thing. Oh, and the reason he needs to reload his Uzi is because he needs to spray The Blue Lagoon parking lot with copious amounts of hot lead. The flunkies he instructed to kick Joe's ass failed to do just that, so, he had no choice but to kill them.

The fact that the giant lion head on the wall in Jennifer's office does not come up once during Joe and Jennifer's conversation ("Hey, what's with the lion head?" or "Nice lion head.") is one of the reasons this film rules so hard.

As Joe, Frank and Peggy lay siege to Gerald Okamura's house, you'll notice two things: 1) We get another glimpse of a woman's anus; and 2) A bored Peggy asks a fellow officer he wants to "fuck." I can sort of understand the slight anus, as accidental anus is par for the course in this film, but why would Peggy ask a fellow officer to "fuck" right as they're about to take out an important henchmen's home? That's simple really, she likes sexual intercourse.

Out of all the funerals that are going to be held over the coming weeks for the dozens of henchmen and flunkies killed throughout this film, the one I would like to attend would have to be one for the "Go Watch the Other Door" henchman. What can I say, I really dug his style. The other cool thing about not only the "Go Watch the Other Door" henchman, but the other henchmen as well, was how each henchman died (i.e. fell to the ground after being shot) in a manner that was entirely unique.

The biggest mystery surrounding Samurai Cop was not the excessive amount of anal generosity, or the identity of the actress who plays "Sally," the leggy wife of a cop Z'Dar and the boys terrorize to learn the location of the "Samuari Cop," but the bandage on Melissa Moore's leg. Was the bandage part of her character's arc (a sex-related injury, perhaps?), or did Melissa Moore really cut her leg? If anyone runs into Melissa Moore, please tell her I'm concerned about her leg. Being that's it's not the 1980s anymore, I'm sure the cut has healed by now. But still, it makes you think.

Did I mention that Samurai Cop is better than every Andy Sidaris film combined? Oh, I did, eh? Well then, that's all you really need know. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to pretend that I'm about to attend a henchmen's funeral.

I know the place is big and all, but how do you not notice the dead house painter hanging outside by your son's bedroom window? Actually, I assumed the police were removing the dead house painter's body when they came over to take away the skeletal remains of the two people that had been languishing up in the attic for the last hundred years. In other words, the police were like: We'll gladly remove these badly decomposed bodies for you; it's what we get paid for. Oh, and, by the way, we couldn't help but notice, as we were approaching the house, that there's a dead house painter hanging outside your son's bedroom window. Do you want us to get him down for you? It's no trouble. We got plenty of body bags. [End scene] But it turns out the police didn't notice the dead house painter either. (Did it ever occur to you that maybe the dead house painter's body was obscured a large tree branch?) Excellent point. (Anyway, do you think the house painter committed suicide, or do you think there's something sinister is afoot?) Well, with a title like, Scared Stiff (a.k.a. The Masterson Curse), I'd put my money on the latter. Truth be told, if I were to inform you what really caused the house painter, Wally (Tony Shepherd), to accidentally hang himself, you wouldn't believe me. (Try me.) Nah, I don't want to ruin the surprise (coo, coo). Besides, I've wasted enough time talking about dangling, unnoticed corpses. (You got that right. The new wave elegance that is Mary Page Keller in this movie needs to be thoroughly examined. And I elect you to be the one to perform the examination.)

Great, you make it sound like homework. (You of all people should know that writing about the bold fashion choices Mary Page Kelly's character repeatedly makes over the course of this movie is not even close to being homework.)

Outfit #1, the most important outfit Mary Page Keller, or, I should say, pop singer Kate Christopher, wears in this movie is the one she sports in the opening scene. Well, technically, the opening scene takes place in the made-up-sounding Charlesburg in the year 1857 (a slave owner, George Masterson, shoots a slave while his wife, Elizabeth, holds up some sort of protection stone). Anyway, after the prologue firmly establishes that George Masterson is not a nice guy, we're introduced to Kate Christopher, who is wearing a yellow dress with a black belt, black nylons, and a pair of black heels in 1987.

Preparing to move into a spacious old house with her doctor boyfriend, Dr. David Young (Andrew Stevens from 10 to Midnight), Kate gives us a good look at her yellow and black outfit, as she stands around in a feminine manner while waiting for Dave to get some wine. As she's waiting, most people will no doubt start to wonder what's going on underneath that yellow dress of hers. (Are you sure most people will start to wonder that?) Okay, a small handful of people will start to wonder that.

In the middle of shooting a music video for her big comeback single, "Beat Of The Heart," Kate is debuts Outfit #2, a silky white slip with a lacy top. Judging by the set, it looks like the director is going for a heavenly theme, as Kate is surrounded by white columns and fake clouds. Fans of Outfit #2 should take note, as it makes a second appearance later on in the film. However, the circumstances are much different, as Kate is now a frazzled mess who thinks she's being stalked by the ghost of a dead slave owner.

As Kate is seeing her son Jason (Josh Segal) off to school, she wows us with Outfit #3, a red blazer (with the sleeves rolled up) and a white and black music note shirt. If you're wondering if Dr. Dave is Josh's father, he's not. And according to the scene that follows the bus stop scene, Dr. Dave works at a psychiatric hospital, and can be seen talking with another doctor about Kate's "condition." Yeah, it turns out Kate used to be Dr. Dave's patient. It's a good thing there was no TMZ in 1987, as this would probably be the big story of the day. Headline: Mentally Unstable Pop Singer Seen Canoodling With Her Doctor!

I'm going to skip over Kate's next outfit, as I'm not a big fan of the one she wears when she moves in with Dr. Dave. Though, it will give me the opportunity to bemoan the fact that Kate, a hip and stylish, Pat Benetar-esque pop singer, is dating such a colossal square. Even he thinks she can do better (he actually says so at one point).

Going back to the yellow and black combo that served her so well in the early going, Kate can be seen wearing Outfit #4, a yellow and black striped top, in the next couple of scenes.

Am I crazy, or does Scared Stiff have the same basic plot as The Shining? Think about it. A super-stylish mom and her mildly creepy son are forced to fight for their lives when an ancient curse threatens to engulf their relatively cushy existence. Only problem is, director Richard Friedman is no Stanley Kubrick. And Andrew Stevens is no Jack Nicholson. The little kid in this movie is, like I said, is creepy (he likes to carry around a lamp that is supposed to look like Cochise). But he's nowhere near as creepy as the kid from The Shining ("Danny's isn't here, Mrs. Torrance" *shudders*).

While I won't say Mary Page Keller, who some of you might know from the show Duet, while others, like me, know her from Zoe, Duncan, Jack and Jane, is as compelling as Shelley Duvall (no one can top the devotion Duvall displays toward her son during the harrowing finale). She does, thanks to costume designer, Beverly Safier, have a better wardrobe.

I mean, check out Outfit #5. It's a red shirt covered in black dots.

It would seem that Kate likes to mix the colours red with black and yellow with black, as she appears in both multiple times over the course of the film.

Remember the opening scene in Garth Marenghi's Darkplace when Dr. Liz Asher first enters Darkplace? Well, if you don't, that's okay, 'cause I do. She can be seen walking down the empty halls in a pink sweater-dress. Well, in Scared Stiff, Kate Christopher wanders the halls of a psych ward in a red sweater-dress. Actually, Outfit #6 is more of a shirt-dress. Either way, their hall wandering technique is eerily similar.

I would have to say Outfit #7 is my second favourite new wave outfit Mary Page Keller wears in this movie (Outfit #1 is my favourite). Rocking the red and black combo that has served her so well in the past, Kate wears a long black jacket (with the sleeves rolled up, natch) with red tights and heels. You could say she's employing colour blocking with this look. (Yeah, but, if I were you, I wouldn't say that.) Why not? (Heterosexual men don't say, "colour blocking.") They don't? (No, they drink wine coolers and watch shows about bidding on storage lockers.) Oh, really? Well, I'm changing all that (I drink green tea and watch Girls).

At any rate, I dig the way she looks in these two colours. In addition, the diamond-shaped pendant she wears on her jacket lapel really ties the outfit together.

In case anyone is wondering, the reason I'm not delving into the film's plot like I usually do is because it didn't interest me. No, it turns out, I was more interested in Kate's new wave outfits. That being said, the final ten minutes are pretty crazy, as the film goes into overdrive, inundating the audience with surreal and gory imagery. In fact, as I watched the nuttiness unfolding, I got this sudden hankering to watch the original Hellraiser, which I've never seen(!). So, that's something to look forward to.

What do you think the first thing an anatomically correct puppet is going to do after they have been possessed by the spirit of a recently executed black radical/serial rapist/serial killer? (Scrounge up some white chicks with big booties and go to town on their pallid pussies with their big black puppet cocks?) Um, hello? Could you be more racist? (Okay, I'll give it a shot. Will he order up a tasty bucket of Oakland Fried Chicken?) All right, when I said, "could you be more racist," I didn't mean... Never mind. Greetings, I'm about to type words about Black Devil Doll. It's a movie about a mildly demonic black puppet who likes to fuck chubby white women. If the premise of this cinematic non-abomination offends you, what the hell is wrong with you? As the film's tagline says, "It's only a puppet, it's only a puppet, it's only a..." well, you get the idea. Seriously, though, it helps to have an affinity for tasteless and juvenile humour to watch this movie with any level of comfort. (Excuse me. Yeah, hi. I couldn't help but notice that you forgot to mention, when listing their many character traits, that the amorous puppet at the centre of this wonderfully sordid hunk of putrid trash was a homosexual necrophiliac.) Oh, yeah, how could I forget that, as the fact the puppet mounts dead men as well dead women was the moment I started to squirm less in my seat. (Uh, don't you mean, squirm more?) Not at all, my rambunctious young rabbinical student. Sure, writer-director Jonathan Louis Lewis tries to make the scene where a mildly demonic black puppet pounds a wannabe white rapper in the ass with his mildly demonic big black puppet cock a little less gay by editing it together with scenes of a racially ambiguous woman with fake tits taking a shower, but the fact he allowed any gay content to seep into his film is a reason to celebrate.

(Quick question: You called this a "wonderfully sordid hunk of putrid trash.") I don't think I said that. But even if I did, so what? (Well, don't you think that's a bit of an exaggeration?) An exaggeration, eh? You leave me no choice. There's a scene in Black Devil Doll where Mubia Abul-Jama, the horny/murderous puppet in the black power t-shirt, is trying to kill/have kinky sex with the aforementioned racially ambiguous woman with the fake tits. Only problem is, a locked door stands between the puppet and his fake-tittied racially ambiguous prize. To combat this problem, Mubia fires a molten stream of toxic fecal matter from his splinter-causing butt-hole at the door. Melting the obstruction the only way explosive diarrhea can, fast and messy, Mubia enters the hole his weaponized anus created with the type of swagger you would expect from someone who just ruined a perfectly good door with their own shit.

So, does that answer your question? (You're right, I'm wrong. This movie is a wonderfully sordid hunk of putrid trash. Though, you keep calling Natasha Talonz "a racially ambiguous woman with fake tits.") Again, so? (Well, she's clearly white.) To you she's white, but to me she's racially ambiguous. In fact, I thought she looked Laotian from certain angles. (But she's not Laotian...from any angle.) You don't know that. [I hate to interrupt this stimulating exchange, but I don't think you guys should be talking about this.]

You're right, let's instead go a mini-tangent about how you could watch the gorgeous, racially unambiguous, and shapely as all get out Heather Murphy eat burgers and fries next to USA Today box all day long. (Yeah, that's a good idea.)

Check this out, in order to shield the star of the movie from the murder and mayhem occurring at the film's primary location, the director decides to have her go to McDonald's. And to keep us informed as to what she's doing, we're periodically shown her eating. (Is she talking to friends?) No, her friends are busy being murdered/raped at the film's primary location by a horny puppet, she's just eating quietly by herself. (Oh. I have to say, that doesn't sound very interesting.)

Now, normally the sight of a women eating by herself wouldn't be all that interesting. But then again, Heather Murphy is no ordinary woman. The list of mundane activities I could watch her partake in is endless.

(Would you watch her change a flat tire?) Hell yes I would; Heather Murphy needs a jack, stat! (Give birth standing up to a human-puppet hybrid?) I guess I would watch that. (How 'bout watching her go to the mall to buy a Patrick Dempsey poster?) Sure, why not. Is this going anywhere? (Not really. I was just curious to know if you were serious.) Serious about what? (Serious about the amount of mundane activities you would watch her do.) Oh, I see. I'm surprised you think giving birth standing up and buying Patrick Dempsey posters are mundane activities.

Speaking of mundane activities, I could watch Heather Murphy watch television all day long.

(It's funny you should mention that you could do that, as we're about to watch Heather Murphy, who plays Heather, watch television right this minute.)

However, before we watch Heather Murphy watch television, Black Devil Doll unleashes the most evil-sounding, most skanky ass synth flourish to hit me in the fucking face in donkey's years. (A synth flourish?!? Shit, honky, that was no limp-wristed pansy ass synth flourish, that was a synth explosion. In fact, I'm still experiencing aftershocks in and around the furrowed gallows of my taint area. Who's responsible for these taint disrupting synth explosions?) It says here they were created by Giallos Flame. (Giallos Flame, eh? Say what you will about the validity of films that feature black militant puppets anally penetrating dead white rappers with their puppet dicks, the soundtrack to this film is smoking hot.)

Leggily watching television in a manner that was surprisingly leggy from someone who possesses such big ass titties, Heather, curvaceous to the point of Leroy-based erectorial madness, is bored with what the 500 channel universe has to offer. After learning a black power revolutionary from the 1960s is going to be executed in the electric chair for murdering a bunch of white women, Heather turns off the television and starts messing around with a ouija board. Conjuring the spirit of the recently deceased African-American, his spirit is zapped into the body of some Howdy-Doody-lookin' motherfucker sitting on Heather's couch.

Reborn as a motherfuckin' puppet, Mubia Abul-Jama is ready to begin his courtship of Heather. Oh, wait a minute. It would seem that Mubia's cock is already in Heather's mouth. Man, that was fast. You know what they say, chicks dig puppets. (They don't say that.) Okay, they don't. But you try to explain the rapid nature of Mubia's freakishly fast courtship of Heather, 'cause I barely had time to blink.

(Won't Martin Boone's White T, Heather's rapper boyfriend, be pissed that his shapely girlfriend is giving impromptu blow jobs to mildly demonic black puppets?) Probably. But then again, fuck that lame ass cracker; he's way out of Heather's league, yo.

(Are Mubia and Heather boyfriend and girlfriend?) Why do you ask? (Well, from where I was sitting, it seemed like the majority of the activities they were engaging in during the so-called "romantic montage" were things a mother and son would do together. You know, getting ice cream, riding on the swings, sliding down the slide, etc.) Look closer, do you fuck your mom doggiestyle? (Oh, yeah, there are sex scenes mixed together with the parts where they frolic in the park. Whoops. Oh, and to answer your question: No, I don't fuck my mom...doggiestyle.)

As everyone knows, dating a puppet can be fraught with unforeseen complications. On the other hand, dating sexual active puppets who are black power revolutionaries is not only fraught with unforeseen complications, it's rife with them. Rife!!! Telling Heather during a heart-to-heart chat that he needs get some "stank on the side," Mubia somehow manages to convince her that banging her friends is in both their best interests. He may be a puppet, but he's one smooth operator.

Judging by the fact he sprays her window with five dollops worth of puppet jizz before they even make it inside the door, Mubia clearly approves of the structural makeup of Heather's friends. I, however, had some issues with the way they were dressed. Skankily sheathed in non-existent skirts and booty shorts, Heather's friends had a sun-baked porno sheen about them was unappealing. Things improved somewhat when we actually meet them, as I liked the southern-fried Candy (Christine Svendsen) and her obsession with taking a dump; and the part where a pigtail-wearing Bamby (Precious Cox) calls Heather's boobs soft like pillows.

After the ladies are finished playing twister, Mubia gives Heather the signal to vacate the premises (he has yet reveal himself as a sentient puppet to Heather's friends). With Heather away, Candy takes a bath, Bamby goes out back to work on her tan, Buffy (Erika Branich), a muscular chick who shills for Rotten Cotton, takes a nap, and Natasha (Natasha Talonz) and her giant fake breasts hop in the shower. This is when Mubia jumps to his feet and begins his campaign of terror. (Campaign of what? I thought you said he just wanted to make sweet love to them.) He does, but he's a mildly demonic puppet. In other words, he simply can't go up to them and say: Excuse me, miss. Could I put my puppet dick in your non-puppet vagina? The world doesn't work that way. No, what he has to do is, he has to kill them first.

(Won't Heather be upset when she finds out that Mubia has murdered all her friends?) Most definitely. In fact, here she comes right now. Let's watch her reaction. Yep, you were right, she's one unhappy white chick. You would be too, if you came home to find that your black power revolutionary puppet boyfriend bludgeoned, slashed, stabbed, and electrocuted all your friends and left them in a pile on the living room floor for you to clean up.

Sure, she doesn't know how to hold a gun properly, and she can't aim for shit, but the sight of Heather firing a gun (her beautiful stomach fat oozing out from her jean skirt waistband like a fleshy waterfall) in the general direction of a psychotic puppet is the stuff erotic dreams are made of. (Didn't you think the scene went a little too long.) Hell no. I could watch spent shell casings hit the kitchen floor around her meaty calves in slow-motion for hours on end.

Offensive, sick, severely warped, politically incorrect, on the cusp of being amusing in places, and in desperate need of competent costume designer (would it have killed them to have put one of Heather's friends, or, better yet, Heather herself, in a pair of black hold-up stockings?), Black Devil Dolls is not for the squeamish, or the overly sensitive, or those who with high moral standards.

When I saw the shirtless guy (and by "shirtless," I mean he wasn't wearing a shirt) with a penis monster for a cock approach the kiddie pool where one of the titular characters from Tromeo and Juliet was wading, I thought to myself: Hey, that guy sort of looks like a brunette version of Fabio. Except, instead promoting housewife baffling margarine and being hit the face by seabirds while riding on roller-coasters–you know, like regular Fabio–this Fabio was intimidating a leggy blonde with the slimy, seemingly sentient cock with jagged teeth and a nastier than usual disposition. (Did you say the slimy, seemingly sentient cock's disposition was "nastier than usual"?) Yeah, well, you see, most slimy, seemingly sentient cocks are merely disagreeable, this slimy, seemingly sentient cock, however, was downright belligerent. I hope that clears things up. Oh, hello. In case you haven't figured it out yet, I'm currently wallowing in my cinematic element. And I must say, it feels pretty good. Tired of combing through the countless movies I watch on a regular basis desperately looking for the sleaze I crave, it was refreshing to come across a film that not only provided me with the images I require to survive in this cockamamie world, but did with so the proper amount of deranged gusto. What is "the proper amount," you ask? I'm no expert when it comes to weights and measures, but every scene in this film, co-written by James Gunn, directed by writer-director Lloyd Kaufman, and based on Shakespeare, is filled with the stuff I like.

(You mean to say you like scenes where women give birth to popcorn and rats, toes are sucks, heads are bashed in, arms are severed, green hairy cocks are revealed, nipples are pierced, people are peed on, and CD-Rom's are used to help foster the expulsion of seminal fluid?) That's exactly what I mean to say. And get this, that's just a mere pittance of the insanity that takes place in this movie.

(Don't forget daddy-daughter bondage scenes and heroic pedophile priests.) Oh, man. I genuinely forgot about those two things. (So, you didn't like them?) I don't know, I'm not what sure what I think of them.

The movie, after showing a dead squirrel hanging from a noose with a note attached to it that read: "Monty Q Sucks," we're introduced to some of the film's main characters. I like the idea of introducing the cast this way (each family member's name is listed along with their relation to either Tromeo or Juliet), as made it easier for me to keep track of who's who.

I'm not sure how big their roles are going to be, but I tell already that I'm going to be rooting for Ingrid Capulet (Wendy Adams), mother to Juliet, and Sammy Capulet (Sean Gunn), cousin to Juliet, as I dig their respective looks.

Narrated by Lemmy from Motörhead, though, his line readings are rendered incomprehensible by his wonky diction, the film starts with Act I: We enter a nightclub, where a throng of youthful bodies covered in tattoos and sheathed in fishnets stockings (I love it when you can see their leg tattoos through the mesh-like material) are grinding ever so slowly to the hip sounds of alternative rock. This scene brilliantly establishes that... Actually, what does this scene establish again? Besides the fact that it somehow manages to make the mid-90s seem more awesome than I remember them.

Of course, now I remember, it establishes that Sammy Capulet is my new role model. I only wish I had the guts to carry myself with such a nutty aplomb on a regular basis. Seriously, I was in awe of Sean Gunn in this movie. I mean, the way he managed to feel up her sister, Georgie Capulet (Tamara Craig Thomas), and asked her if she wanted to go smoke the crystal meth he had stuffed in his shorts at the same time was truly inspirational.

Oh, and don't get me started on his hair. It's a work of art. As is his entire look. Think Marcus Adams of Meat Beat Manifesto circa Storm the Studio combined with a malnourished raver, and you'll get a pretty good idea of Sammy's sense of style.

As Georgie is repeatedly punching Sammy in the face and stomach on the dancefloor (she doesn't like being felt up by her brother, nor does she want to smoke crystal meth with him in the club's basement), Tromeo Que (Will Keenan), son to Monty Que (Earl McKoy), Murray Martini (Valentine Miele), friend to Tromeo, and Benny Que (Stephen Blackhart), cousin to Tromeo, are hanging out at Axis Body Piercing. In the film's first "ahhhhh" moment, we see Benny pierce the right nipple of a short-haired, and, as we'll discover in a later scene, leggy, brunette.

Even though he's not a Que, Murray fights for their cause like his was one. And what cause might this be? Bringing pain and suffering down on the heads of Capulet's whenever possible. And looks like one of these possibilities is about to come up when Sammy confronts Murray in the very nightclub he was just feeling up his sister in.

Getting in a fight, Murray eventually overpowers Sammy, drags him into a back room, and cuts two of his fingers off using one of those gruesome-looking paper trimming doohickeys.

Unlike Sammy, it doesn't look like Wendy Adams' role as Ingrid Capulet is going to be as meaty. Then again, she does a wicked back flip (Cappy beats her up), looks foxy with grey hair, wears eye-searing pink tights around the house and shows off her scrumptious gams in a pair of black shorts at point one. So, it wasn't a total loss.

Those so-called "scrumptious gams," by the way, play an important role in explaining the animosity that develops between Cappy Capulet and Monty Que.

Anyway, we finally meet Juliet Capulet (Jane Jensen)--who has clearly inherited her mother's legs--just as she is about to be seduced in her bedroom by Ness (Debbie Rochon), the Capulet's heavily pierced/tattooed lesbian cook. While Juliet and Ness are getting it on, Tromeo is masturbating to an erotic CD-Rom.

If you thought Sammy and his sister's relationship was creepy, wait until you see the way Cappy interacts with his daughter Juliet, a.k.a. Daddy's Little Crenshaw Melon, it's beyond creepy. What's beyond creepy, you ask? Well, tying up Juliet and putting her in a glass box (located in the so-called "time out room") when she misbehaves is one of the ways one can get on the fast track to beyond creepy.

What kind of behaviour does one have to engage in to be put in the "time out room"? Having erotic dreams about brunette Fabio lookalike's with mutant genitalia is definitely one way.

Remember kids: Sidewalk safe, street dangerous.

Act II involves a lavish costume party at the Capulet's house, that, of course, Tromeo (who is dressed like a cow) and Murray crash. And quickly learn that Rosy (the sexy Jacqueline Tavarez), Tromeo's girlfriend, is cheating on him with some weirdo with a stocking fetish. However, Tromeo's heartbreak doesn't last long, as he spots Juliet for the very first time. Casting aside London Arbuckle (Steve Gibbons), Juliet's fiance with relative ease, Tromeo asks her to dance.

All you need to have is a passing knowledge of pop culture to know where this is going. As expected, the pairing of Tromeo and Juliet causes much friction to occur between the two families. Well, actually, the Que's don't seem to mind. It's Juliet's father Cappy, who is sort of dating his daughter in a way, that takes the most umbrage with their burgeoning relationship.

My favourite scene occurs at the beginning of Act III when Tromeo enters Juliet's bedroom via her window and proceeds to put one of her toes in his mouth. Working his way up her legs, Tromeo stops at her stomach, rips it open, and is pleasantly surprised to find it's filled with popcorn and rats.

It turns out that Juliet's stomach is not actually filled with popcorn and rats, she was having yet another erotic dream. And you what that means? That's right, Cappy puts Daddy's Little Crenshaw Melon in the time out room. Don't worry, though, you'll need more than a thin layer of plexiglass to stop Tromeo and Juliet from seeing each other.

Queue the romantic, Valley Girl-esque montage! His and her tattoos! Leggy make out sessions! Ain't love grand?

Culminating with cancelled trips to Swansea, Wales; helpful pedophile priests; magic potions that turn leggy blondes into leggy bovine blondes with giant, hairy sea green cocks (you can get anything in Chinatown); decapitation; severed arms; gouged eyeballs; a fifteen year-old Tiffany Shepis doing jiu jitsu; and a demented rendition of "Shall We Gather at the River,"Tromeo and Juliet is as delightfully insane as Class of Nuke 'Em High; and that's high praise, as I love that flick. Almost faithful to source material, the film is an excellent showcase for the talents of James and Sean Gunn, who bring a childlike sense of wonder to the works of the Bard of Avon; who literally gets the last laugh in this film.

When there's no more room in hell, the dead shall do aerobics in leopard print leotards. Oh, yeah. "Im a walkin', I'm a talkin', I'm a stalkin'. Coming into your room tonight! Bud the Chud, Bud the Chud, Bud the Chud." Ahh! I can't get the theme from C.H.U.D. II: Bud the Chud out of my head. Damn. Why must you torture me so, theme from CHUD II: Bud the Chud, the inexplicably awesome sequel to C.H.U.D.? In most zombie movies, I feel sorry for the people being chased by the mindless corpses. However, in this movie, I actually envied them. Why, you ask? It's simple, really, I want to march down the street with Gerrit Graham and Jo Ann Dearing chanting, "Eat 'em up! Eat 'em up! Yum! Yum! Yum!" every so often. (Aren't you worried about getting your throat torn out?) That's the thing, the Chuds in this movie don't tear out throats. (Don't tear out throats?!? What kind of zombie movie is this?) It's wacky. It's goofy. It's stupid. It's C.H.U.D. II: Bud the Chud. In the other words, this is one zombie movie that doesn't play by the rules. Even though I have a sneaking suspicion the reason there's no throat tearing or throat ripping (there's a difference) in this film was to save money on special effects, I liked the fact there wasn't much gore. Besides, Gerrit Graham and Jo Ann Dearing look way hotter without rotting flesh dangling off their lips. (Um, I think you made a mistake.) Where? (You accidentally included Gerrit Graham when you sanely stated that the super-sexy Jo Ann Dearing would look way hotter without rotting flesh dangling off their lips.)

Oh, that was no accident. (You mean to say?) That's exactly what I mean to say. Since everyone who has seen this film will probably agree, let's all say it together, shall we? Are you ready? On the count of three. 1, 2, 3: Gerrit Graham is freakin' hot as Bud, the world's most adorable lovesick chud zombie. That's right, he's a walkin', he's a talkin', he's a stalkin', and hopefully (finger crossed) he'll be coming into my room tonight; if you know what I mean.

Looking like the lead singer of The Damned, Gerrit Graham is Bud the Chud, a C.H.U.D. who is being kept alive by the military for nefarious purposes. (I'm no C.H.U.D. expert, but Bud looks nothing like the Chuds who appeared in the first movie.)

Okay, this was bound to come up. I won't lie, I was kind of hoping that this was going to the first review of C.H.U.D. II: Bud the Chud in the long, storied history of C.H.U.D. II: Bud the Chud reviews to not mention the fact that it's nothing like C.H.U.D., but I'm afraid I can't hold out much longer.

This is the last time I'm going to say this, as I would much rather be waxing in the most perverted manner possible about creaminess of Tricia Leigh Fisher's alabaster thighs, the only thing C.H.U.D. II: Bud the Chud and C.H.U.D. have in common are the letters C-H-U-D.

Great, now that I got that out of the way, let's type a bunch of words about C.H.U.D. II: Bud the Chud, shall we? Where should we start? Well, I should state right off the bat that this film sort of sucks. However, I'm not going to let a little thing like that get in the way of what I hope will be a mildly entertaining review.

It's a good thing Nicolas Pike's industrial/ambient-sounding score is getting its chance to stretch its musical wings in early going, 'cause the opening five minutes of this film are pretty dull.

Depressed that the C.H.U.D. research program has been cancelled, it would seem that Colonel Masters' dream of building an army of C.H.U.D. soldiers is as good as dead. Wait a minute, word has just come in that the last C.H.U.D., a Mr. Oliver, a.k.a. Bud the Chud (Gerrit Graham), has escaped from the lab. When Colonel Masters deploys a sly smirk upon hearing this news, I was beside myself with joy when I realized that is was Robert Vaughn who was deploying said sly smirk. Come to think of it, Robert Vaughn deploys a well-oiled sly smirk in Black Moon Rising as well. (Really? If that's the case, you could call Robert Vaughn the king of the sly smirk.)

The reason for the sly smirk is because he knows the C.H.U.D program isn't quite dead yet. And with some help from his primary lackey, Graves (Larry Cedar), Colonel Masters manages to re-capture the wayward C.H.U.D. (they freeze it) and send it off to the Centre for Disease Control in Winterhaven.

Meanwhile, in another part of Winterhaven, Steve Williams (Brian Robbins), and his Richard Marx haircut, are about to wow their fellow students at the local high school with a biology experiment that involves zapping a frog with electricity. As expected, given his goofy demenour, the experiment fails (he nearly sets the school on fire). And because of this, Steve and his less goofy but still nerdy friend Kevin (Bill Calvert), are forced to clean up the biology supply room.

Stumbling across a human cadaver their teacher was planning on using in a future class, Steve and Kevin for some strange decide to roll it out onto the street. Actually, they didn't "decide" to lose their teacher's cadaver, it just sort of happened by accident. Either way, Steve and Kevin need to find a replacement body or else they're in big trouble.

Can you see where this is going? Stealing Bud's body from the CDC, with the help of their lovely brunette gal pal, Katie (Tricia Leigh Fisher), Steve and Kevin take the body home to... Now, they're was a bit of an argument over whose house the body should stay at. But it's ultimately decided that they should store Gerrit Graham's corpse at Steve's house.

I'm glad they chose Steve's house because I doubt Kevin or Katie's moms are as alluring as Steve's mom. I mean, damn, that is one sexy mama. The way Melissa Williams (the sultry Sandra Kerns) sat with her legs crossed as she watched a nature documentary about Alaska (one that erroneously featured penguins) with her husband Wade (Jack Riley) practically screamed, "I'm a leggy milf in heat, put your tongue on my clit now." Of course, does Wade notice this? No. I know, this is not a softcore porno, it's C.H.U.D. II: Bud the Chud, but a cursory glance in the general direction of her expertly crossed stems would have been nice.

After what is essentially an extended Weekend at Bernie's parody (Steve and Kevin struggle to get the lifeless corpse into the house without Melissa and Wade knowing), the film finally gets down to business. And what business is that, you might ask? Well, firstly, the film unleashes the comedic genius that is Gerrit Graham. Since no one wants to watch a movie about a couple of dorks carrying around a dead guy (fans of Weekend at Bernies, notwithstanding), the awaking of Gerrit Graham's Bud was much appreciated.

And secondly, the slow role out of "Bud the Chud," music by Nicholas Pike, lyrics by Cynthia Garris, and performed by Kipp Lennon begins in earnest. We get our first taste of "Bud the Chud" some time between the part where Bud chudifies Jasper, Steve's pet poodle, and the moment when Bud peers into the window of Susan (Jo Ann Dearing) as she's doing aerobics in a leopard print leotard and gold legwarmers.

Let's all take a moment and bask in the awesomeness that Jo Ann Dearing's succulent thighs encased in a leopard print leotard. Oh, and while you're basking in that, make sure to bask a little in her reading of the line: "You little Neo-Nazi anorexic leotard slut" (she yells that the aerobics instructor on the teevee).

At first I was worried that this was it as far as Jo Ann Dearing in C.H.U.D. II: Bud the Chud went. But, as you will see, she plays a vital role in Bud's ever growing Chud army.

Discovering Katie's picture in Steve's room, Bud has two goals in life: #1 - Increase the ranks of his Chud army. #2 - Woo Katie. Does Katie know that the hottest Chud in town has a major crush on her? Not yet. But when she does, I don't think she's going to be too receptive to his advances. (Why not?) Are you serious? He's a Chud. (So?) They bite people!

Recruiting the town barber, the mailman, a local farmer, Norman Fell, a chick in overall shorts, a fry cook, Jasper the poodle, and, of course, a major babe in a leopard print leotard, Bud's Chud army decide to crash the Halloween Dance at Steve's high school.

However, before you can say, "This Chud's for you," Katie has a trick up her sleeve. (Huh?) While Bud and the rest of the Chuds are trying to figure out a way to bite a bunch of teens who are dancing wildly to "Brave New Dance" by Wall of Voodoo, Katie volunteers her creamy thighs to help destroy the Chuds once and for all. (Again, huh?)

Okay, Steve and Kevin figure a way to kill all the Chuds at once. It involves luring them into the school's swimming pool, freezing them, then zapping them with electricity. While that sounds simple enough, how do you get them into the pool? Exactly, you use Katie's alabaster thighs as bait.

And what's the best way to display Katie's thighs? You got it, have her slip into a skimpy black bathing suit, one that accentuates her thighs and hips. Done and done.

I can't stress this enough, C.H.U.D. II: Bud the Chud is stupid. But I found lot's, as you can clearly see, to like about it. The theme song, which, like I said, is slowly unveiled as the film progressed, is catchy beyond belief, Robert Vaughn seemed to be channeling George C. Scott from Dr. Strangelove, Rich Hall is mildly hilarious as a barber customer and Gerrit Graham and Jo Ann Dearing both have terrific comic timing. The only real sore spot would have to be Brian Robbins as Steve, his delivery when it came to spouting one-liners was awful. That being said, and I can't believe I'm about to say this, I highly recommend C.H.U.D. II: Bud the Chud; it's Chud-tastic. Eat 'em up! Eat 'em up! Yum! Yum! Yum!

Okay, let's say there is something out there. What would be one of the first questions you'd ask relating to what's out there? And remember, "there" is not a real place, it's a realm that exists purely within the rarely stimulated confines of your probably deluded mind. (Well, first off, I'd want to know what's out there. Secondly, I'd want to know where it came from. And thirdly, I'd want to know what it wants.) While those are important questions to be sure, don't you think avoiding what's out there should be your number one priority? (You mean don't antagonize what's out there?) Exactly. (But how can spending the summer at a four bedroom house adjacent to a pond be classified as "antagonizing"? I mean, using your logic, anything we do, whether it involves camping in the woods or skinny dipping in a pond adjacent to a four bedroom house, is going to antagonize whatever is out there.) Believe me, just your presence alone is enough to antagonize what's out there. However, according to the characters that populate Rolfe Kanefsky's brilliant horror spoof There's Nothing Out There! there's nothing out there. (Nothing?) That's right, absolutely nothing. Actually, that's not entirely true. Not the part about this film being a brilliant horror spoof, that part is very true, but the part where I implied that all the characters think there's nothing out there.

His name is Mike (Craig Peck), and not only does he know for a fact that there's something out there, he's the only one who knows how to avoid what's out there. I know, he just agreed to spend the summer at a secluded house in the woods with a group of friends, but he knows their summer is going to be fraught with danger. Why is that, you ask? It's simply, really. He has a video store membership and he knows how to use it. Or, more specifically, he's watched a lot of horror movies. In other words, the scenario he and his friends have just set motion is very familiar to him.

(I'm confused, haven't Mike's friends seen all the same horror movies he has?) That's true, they most likely have. However, whereas his friends saw the films as merely frivolous entertainment, Mike sees them quite differently. Using them as a sort of survival guide, Mike manages to anticipate the gruesome, "out there" events that inevitably befall his circle of friends.

(It's a good thing he's there to warn his friends about the plethora of dangers that are no doubt lurking out there.) Nah, you see, that's where you're wrong. They dismiss Mike's warnings as paranoid nonsense. And it's no wonder, as Mike is predicting doom and gloom before they even reach the house in the woods. In fact, I think he might have envisioned trouble before they even left. I guess he figured seven teens spending the summer at an isolated house in the woods was a surefire recipe for disaster.

Can you blame him, though? More than half the horror movies sitting on the shelf at his local video store revolve around teens in peril making bad decisions.

Armed only with his encyclopedic knowledge of horror movies and about a half dozen cans of shaving cream, Mike in There's Nothing Out There! is hands down one of the coolest, most self-aware horror movie characters in film history. (Wow, that's high praise.) Yeah, and get this, I found him to be kind of annoying in the early going. Yet, slowly but surely, he started to win me over. I think he began to do so when he notices something rustling in the bushes when he and his friends arrive at the final destination. The way he stops himself from investigating the strange noises was oddly endearing. He's knows there's something out there, he just doesn't want to be the first to find out what's out there, and therefore, be the first to die a horrible death.

(Wow, to see you go so long without mentioning the fantastic Bonnie Bowers or her striped bikini was impressive, indeed.) Oh, I was going to mention the gorgeous Bonnie Bowers and her first-rate bikini work in this movie. (Yeah, I know you were. But watching you refrain from going on a bikini-fueled tangent for such an extended period of time nearly brought a tear to my eye.)

Anyway, the film actually begins in a video store. A cute blonde clerk in a pink top and matching pink shorts named Sally (Lisa Grant) is behind the counter reading the latest issue of some horror magazine, when all of a sudden, a man in black grabs her arm. As she struggles to get away, we're shown quick flashes of iconic VHS covers of some classic and not-so classic horror movies.

Waking up in her car, Sally seems relieved that it was only a dream ("I'm awake, I'm alive"). Unfortunately, she was driving when she woke up and crashes her car into the woods. (According to the Division of Sleep Medicine at Harvard Medical School, 250,000 Americans fall asleep at the wheel everyday.) Of course, being stalked by a faceless killer in your dreams (in the horror aisle of a video store, no less) and crashing into the woods is the least of her problems, when a strange creature with tentacles attacks her. Even though we don't exactly see what happens to her, it couldn't have been good.

I guess now is as good a time as any to mention how much I liked the music heard throughout There's Nothing Out There! A catchy mix of techno rock (the music heard over the trippy opening credits sequence actually reminded me of Front Line Assembly), new wave and power pop, the quality of the soundtrack kinda took me by surprise. What I mean is, it was the complete opposite of what I expected. In other words, it wasn't lame. I'm not familiar with any the artists on the soundtrack, but the name "Fabulous Mascarenes" comes up three times, so I'll give them a quick shout out.

The last day of school is punctuated by frisbees flying through the air and excited talk coming from seven seniors about the prospect of spending the summer at the house in the woods that belongs to one of the student's parents. Judging by the way he combs his hair, it's no surprise when we learn that Nick (John Carhart III) is the one whose parents own a four bedroom house in the woods located next to a pond.

(Hey, don't you be dissing Nick's hair, as it was my fourth favourite thing about this movie.) I wasn't dissing his hair. (Yes you were. You were implying that Nick's hair had an air of snobbery about it. When, in fact, it oozed a steady stream of new wave cool.) Okay, fine. Oh, by the way, what were the things that beat out Nick's hair? (I'll get to them in a minute. I just want to reiterate that Nick's new wave hairstyle–actually, I'd go as far as calling his hairstyle "new romantic," as I'm having no trouble whatsoever picturing the members of Spandau Ballet, circa, of course, "To Cut A Long Story Short," fuck that "True" shit, wearing their hair in the Nick from There's Nothing Out There! style–was freakin' awesome.)

As Nick, the new wave style icon, the aforementioned Mike, the group's resident smart ass, David (Jeff Dachis), the nerd ("nerd" he may be, but he has a Brazilian girlfriend), Janet (Claudia Flores), the foreign exchange student (from Brazil), Jim (Mark Collver), the obnoxious jock, and Doreen (Wendy Bedarz), the blonde bimbo, make their way to the house by the pond, they notice a car has crashed into the woods (don't worry, police and E.M.S. are on the scene).

(Um, hello? You forgot Stacey? You know, the leggy brunette played by the lovely Bonnie Bowers?) Actually, I left her out on purpose, as she deserves to be mentioned in her own separate paragraph. And, it looks like I did just that.

According to Mike, the accident scene is a warning that danger lies ahead. Of course, do the others listen to Mike? Nope. And they continue on their way.

While they're getting settled in, a bunch of punks show up in a van and immediately jump in the pond. Perplexed by the sight of nine or ten punks frolicking half naked in his parent's pond (some still wearing their torn black nylons), Nick politely asks them what they're doing here. Mistaking Nick's parents' house by the pond for the camp by the lake, the lead punk (Cyrus Voris) apologizes, and corrals his fellow punks out of the pond and back into the van. The fact that Nick, while slightly annoyed, didn't lash out at the skinny dipping punks like some asshole yuppie made me like him even more.

Of course, Mike views the punks appearance as foreshadowing, and begins to grow increasingly paranoid as the evening progresses. Getting in a heated argument with the others during dinner, Mike is clearly alone when it comes to worrying about what's out there. Though, he does manage to scare Doreen, who thinks the forest is crawling with bears (he fear of bears is played up nicely over the course of the following scenes). Despite Mike's concerns, Jim and Doreen go for a late night dip in the pond, David and Janet go for a late night stroll in the woods, and Nick and Stacey go for a late night roll in the hay.

Barricading himself in his room, Mike grimly waits for the horror movie trope that's been selected for his movie to strike. Now, I wouldn't have guessed that it was going to be a mutant frog/alligator/crab hybrid that shoots green laser beams from its eyes. But I wasn't surprised, and neither was Mike, when it starts picking off the old-looking teens one by one.

It's almost the 52 minute mark, and you know what that means? Oh, right. You probably don't know what that means. Anyway, it's time for Bonnie Bowers to don her bikini.

Now, I've heard rumblings here and there that Bonnie Bowers is not pleased with being forever known as "That Chick in the Bikini from There's Nothing Out There!" And while I understand how they might not be thrilled by this distinction, I'm not going to let that dampen my enthusiasm when it comes to praising Bonnie's bikini-centic performance.

If you think about it, what's more impressive than shielding your eyes from green laser beams (the mutant frog/alligator/crab hybrid controls its female victims by shooting green lasers into their eyes), dodging baseball bat-wielding friends who are not so good at shielding their eyes from green laser beams, and standing on a table throwing light bulbs while wearing a bikini? In fact, I can't think of anything more impressive than that, can you? I didn't think so.

There's a moment when Mike does the gentlemen thing and gives Stacey his red jacket (it's chilly in the basement) that concerned me deeply. However, Mike asks for jacket back when they make their final stand against the mutant frog/alligator/crab hybrid (who seems to hate shaving cream), and just like that, all was right with the universe once again.

You see, Bonnie Bowers without her trademark bikini is not a world I want to live in. So, yeah.

If you were having any doubts whether this was a horror comedy up until this point, they're pretty much smashed when Nick manages to avoid the slimy clutches of the mutant frog/alligator/crab hybrid by using the boom microphone to help facilitate his escape.

Making fun of horror films while embracing them at the same time is a tricky balance to strike. Yet, I thought There's Nothing Out There! did an excellent job mixing horror and comedy. (Oh, and the order of my favourite things in this movie goes something like this: #1 - Bonnie Bowers in a bikini - duh; #2 - Craig Peck as Mike; #3 - The film's atypical soundtrack; and, of course, #4 - Nick's new romantic hairstyle.)

Looker (Michael Crichton, 1981)

Love and a .45 (C.M. Talkington, 1994)

Black Moon Rising (Harley Cokeliss, 1986)

Godmonster of Indian Flats (Fredric Hobbs, 1973)

Times Square Comes Alive (Vince Benedetti, 1985)

The Spirit of '76 (Lucas Reiner, 1990)

Beastmaster 2: Through the Portal of Time (Sylvio Tabet, 1991)

Hard Hunted (Andy Sidaris, 1992)

Fatty Girl Goes to New York (Umberto Lenzi, 1982)

The Blue Jean Monster (Kai-Ming Lai, 1991)

Fit to Kill (Andy Sidaris, 1993)

976-EVIL (Robert Englund, 1988)

Dead Heat (Mark Goldblatt, 1988)

Cat People (Paul Scrader, 1982)

Samurai Cop (Amir Shervan, 1989)

Scared Stiff (Richard Friedman, 1987)

Black Devil Doll (Jonathan Louis Lewis, 2007)

Tromeo and Juliet (Lloyd Kaufman, 1996)

C.H.U.D. II: Bud the Chud (David Irving, 1989)

There's Nothing Out There! (Rolfe Kanefsky, 1991)