House of Self-Indulgence

Lurking in the shadows, patiently waiting for the right moment to strike, you might not know it yet but evil incarnate has moved in upstairs. And get this, they desperately want to feel the warmness of your flesh rubbing against their body. Now, most of you will probably think the "evil incarnate" I'm describing in relation to this film is a demon with a leather fetish and a pin cushion for a head. However, a select number of you out there know exactly who I'm talking about. No, not the guy without skin or that bloodstained monstrosity with the chattering teeth. Let me give you a hint. She has a propensity for satin blouses, she loves to loiter about in a bewitching manner (especially in darkened stairwells) and she never goes anywhere without black stockings firmly attached to her shapely English legs. You know who I'm talking about now, don't you? Well, if you haven't seen Clive Barker's Hellraiser, you probably still have no idea. But those who have, seen the film, that is, know I'm talking about Julia Cotton, one of the greatest horror characters in movie history. What's that? You think Jason Voorhees, Michael Myers and Freddy Krueger are the greatest horror characters of all-time? Well, first of all, none of them wear stockings. And secondly, they're asexual bores. In other words, they do nothing for my genitals. On the other hand, the sexual energy Julia Cotton was repeatedly flinging to and fro from her pulsating pores throughout this movie set my junk on fire. (Hmm, I don't know, is that a good thing? I mean, what you're describing sounds like it might sting a bit. What am I saying, of course it's a good thing; it's a bloody good thing, and not even close to being a waste of good suffering.)

Don't tell anyone this, but it's been a longstanding my dream of mine (and by "longstanding," I mean I've had it since about five days ago) to be zapped with a shrink-ray so that I may live out the rest of my days inside one of Julia Cotton's pumps. (Aren't you worried about being squished by her English feet?) No, no, just tuck me down the side. I'm sure I'll be fine.

(You are aware that by writing this down, you are in a way telling everyone this?) Oh, yeah, I guess I am. Well, nonetheless, let's keep this between you and me, shall we? I don't want the whole world to know that I have this somewhat sane desire to take up residence inside one of Julia Cotton's sensible pumps. (But you just told... never mind.)

Given the reputation this film had when I was a creeper-wearing teen, I'm surprised I never got around to watching it sooner (at the time, I had heard the film was a must-see for fans of sample-heavy industrial dance music). I think the reason I avoided it was because I saw Hellraiser III: Hell on Earth in theatres, and the experience left a bad taste in my mouth, Hellraiser-wise. (Hold on, you saw Hellraiser III before seeing the first two?) That's right. (What's wrong with you?) I don't know. Oh, wait, I actually do know. I was going through my Clive Barker phase when part three came out. And it just so happens that it came out right as I was starting to go to the movies on a semi-regular basis.

(This is all fascinating, but could you get back to lavishing praise on Julia Cotton?) Sure. I just thought I'd give you a quick refresher course on my history with the Hellraiser franchise. (And congratulations, you just did that, now let's get back to Julia Cotton, as we're all dying to know where else it is you would like to dwell on Julia Cotton's anatomy.)

As things get underway, we see a man sitting crossed-legged on the floor surrounded by lit candles. It should go without saying, but whenever you see a white man sitting cross-legged without a shirt, you know some weird shit is about to go down. At any rate, holding an ornate puzzle box in his hands, the man pushes at certain pressure points on the box. Suddenly, part of the box opens up, and hooks tear into his flesh. The sound of chains rattling and the sight of body parts hanging from said chains are what greet us next. We see these odd-looking, some might say, grotesque figures standing about in the darkness. And then the box closes, and everything, the chains, the body parts, the cross-legged man, the grotesque figures, disappear in an instant.

This sequence was just a sneak preview of the ghastliness to come. In the meantime, an American named Larry Cotton (Andrew Robinson, Garek from Star Trek: Deep Space Nine) and his British wife Julia Cotton (Clare Higgins) arrive at their new home somewhere in London, England; even though the film takes place in the U.K., the film lacks an overt national identity. Judging by Larry's enthusiasm, it would seem that he used to live in this house (I think it might even be he's childhood home). However, it's obvious to anyone with eyes that Julia does not share her husband's enthusiasm, as she looks unamused by the home's maggot-laden charms.

Wearing a grey blazer, a long dark skirt (don't be alarmed by its excessive length, Julia's innate sex appeal is no match for any garment), black stockings and a pair of black heels, Julia pokes around upstairs. Coming across what looks like a makeshift bed in one of the rooms, Larry informs Julia that his brother Frank (Sean Chapman) was probably crashing here. And by looking at the state of the place, it seems as though he hasn't been here for quite some time. (Am I crazy, or does Frank look like the guy who opened the ornate puzzle box in the opening scene?) You're not crazy, they're one in the same. (Oh, boy, this does not bode well for anyone.)

Getting back to Julia, as Larry answers the phone, it's his daughter Kirsty (Ashley Laurence), she snoops around Frank's sleeping area. The camera angle used in this scene, by the way, proves I'm right about Julia's innate sex appeal, as the low angle really brings out the bumpy sheen of her stocking-ensnared ankles. Coming across a box filled with homemade erotica, Julia seems excited by the pictures. (Does Julia have a thing for Frank?) Um, as we'll soon find out, Julia has more than just a thing for him.

In fact, if you call the psycho-sexual mind-fuck that is, or, I should say, was, the relationship between Julia and Frank in this movie a "thing" again, I'm going to tear your soul apart!

As Julia reminisces about the non-thing (careful, don't make me tear your soul apart as well) that was their relationship, Kirsty comes over to act all bubbly and junk. Not wanting to be disturbed (her memories are quite titillating), Julia employs her aforementioned talent for lurking in stairwells. Though, I think Kirsty does hear her lurking up there. Nonetheless, the sight of Julia looking over the banister ever so slightly as her cheerful stepdaughter calls out to her in vain was worthy of one "yeah, baby" (lurk the shit of out of that creepy ass stairwell, you saucy minx) and one mild celebratory, LPGA-approved fist pump.

Remember how I said the fact that Frank is the same guy who is seen opening the ornate puzzle box in the opening scene does not bode well for anyone? Well, the best way to avert disaster is to not spill any blood in the attic. Sounds simple enough, right? Wrong! Larry cuts his hand on a nail while moving a bed. And guess who he goes running to? (Julia.) Right, and guess where she's lurking? (The attic?) Bingo. The next thing you know, Frank's arms are crashing through the floor and his spinal column is connecting itself with his brain. If what I'm describing sounds disgusting. It is, and beautifully so.

When Julia stumbles across Frank in the attic, he's basically a skeleton covered in goo. In order to put more flesh on Frank's bones, Julia must spill more blood.

You know what that means? That's right, it's time for Julia to bust out her orange blouse. (Um, I don't get it.) You see, Englishmen can't resist a woman in an orange blouse. And since Julia Cotton is a blouse-wearing machine (meaning, no one rocks a blouse quite like Julia Cotton), the Englishmen have no choice but to come with her. Of course, they have no idea she's going to hit him in the face with a hammer so that her skinless lover can absorb their blood in order for him to become whole again.

(How many Englishmen is it going to take to make Frank--gooey Frank is played by Oliver Smith--whole again?) I have no idea. But the sight of Julia standing over her first victim (his face reduced to a bloody mess), the seams on her black stockings tearing up the backs of her legs like black laser beams, is wonderfully lurid.

Even more so is the glass clasping, blouse-flaunting swagger Julia displays after killing the second victim, as she looks like she could do this all day. You'll notice her blouse is blood-free after dispatching the second victim, whereas the orange blouse was covered in blood. That means that Julia has learned the proper way to hit Englishmen in the face with a hammer without creating a torrent of unnecessary splatter.

Proving that we all have things to learn, Julia botches her attempt to kill the third victim. The hammering went fine, it's just that she didn't take in account that Kirsty might drop by.

Holy shit! I just found out that Clive Barker had originally asked Coil to do the film's score (released as The Unreleased Themes of Hellraiser). Anyway, Christopher Young is the actual composer, and I must say, the chime sound that occurs when the Cenobites appear in Kirsty's hospital room is off the bleeding charts in terms awesomeness.

One of my least favourite expressions of the modern area is when people refer to throwing someone under the bus. Well, get ready, as I'm about to use it myself. As the Cenobites (the grotesque figures I mentioned earlier) show up in Kirsty's hospital room, including the "Lead Cenobite" (Doug Bradley) and "Female Cenobite" (Grace Kirby), Kirsty totally throws Frank under the bus. I don't blame her, as the "Chattering Cenobite" (Nicholas Vince) had her in a headlock and the Lead Cenobite was threatening to tear her soul apart.

Speaking of tearing souls apart, every line uttered by Doug Bradley is perfectly delivered. Imbued with just the right amount of authoritative menace, Doug Bradley's performance is the reason the Cenobites are the horror icons they are today. Even though I have no intention of watching all seven(!) Hellraiser movies, I'm sure Doug Bradley is the best thing about all of them.

Well, to be perfectly honest, he's second best thing about the first film, as Clare Higgins is the film's real monster. Whether bashing in heads with a hammer or lurking in stairwells, Clare Higgins is sexy and dangerous. (Don't you mean, dangerously sexy?) Whatever. She has decided to make her lover whole again and will stop at nothing to make it happen. And, I have to admit, I admire her dedication. Oh, and she better be in the sequel.

Unlike any horror movie I have ever seen, the influence of Hellraiser can be seen everywhere. (Really?) Yeah, baby. You can see it in movies, comic books, video games, music (the industrial music scene had a field day sampling this movie), and even fashion (any time you see someone with a pierced forehead in line at a coffee shop, you can thank Hellraiser). In other words, the reach of this film seems to have no limits.

Custodian. Janitor. Custodian. Janitor. Never has the discrepancy between what a particular group calls themselves and what others choose to call said particular group been so vast. It goes something like this: Custodians call each other "custodians." Taking a, "will you drink my jizz, so that the feds won't pin a grisly hooker homicide on me," approach to friendship, custodians look out for one another. Non-custodians, however, bristle whenever they hear the word "custodian." And after they have finished bristling, they inevitably get around to contradicting you by calling you a "janitor." This, what I like to call, custodial-janitorial linguistic showdown, has been going on for decades, if not centuries, and it's thoroughly examined in a highly intelligent manner in the cartoonishly gory The Janitor; the reason, by the way, the film, directed by TJ Nordaker and Andy Signore, wasn't called "The Custodian" probably had something to do with the fact that there are more non-custodians than custodians in this film. And, don't forget, while the film's target audience is mostly made up of card-carrying members the custodian community, the bulk of the people who will no doubt go out of their way to seek this film out probably don't know what a custodian does exactly. So, it makes sense, from a marketing point-of-view, to call the film "The Janitor," as it simplifies things for the mouth-breathing segment of the population.

The inherent conflict between custodians and non-custodians is the central crux of this film's thesis. Saddled with the task of fleshing out this thesis are: A psychotic, lovesick custodian who dreams of svelte redheads with pale knees and a life devoid of mopping up improperly expelled piss; a gorgeous, non-custodian sorority girl with jet black hair and a huge mouth who must decide which cock she wants her exalted pussy to repeatedly holster for the next five to ten minutes; and a janitor who lives in a cramped supply closet who desperately wants things to remain the same.

In my mind, it's these three characters that drive The Janitor towards its unavoidable conclusion (the fact that this film has to end eventually pained me greatly), yet the film has so much more to offer in terms of eliciting pathos and crass humour, I fear my words won't be able to do the film justice.

Isn't it ironic that a film that is filled with so much bloodshed would turn out to be so life affirming? (How the fuck should I know? I'm just waiting for you to start gushing over the startling uniqueness that is Stephanie Christine Medina, a woman who is without a doubt the personification of alluring.) Don't worry, I'll get to her in a second.

Sometimes, improperly expelled piss doesn't need to be moped off the floor. That's because the piss is being expelled on you. While cleaning the floor in one of the rest rooms at the Generico Corporation in Encino, California with a toothbrush, Lionel (Andy Signore) is accidentally peed on by an office drone. Accident or not, Lionel decides to teach the sloppy urinator a lesson. Doing what anyone would do if they were covered with pee at a time when they didn't want to be covered with pee, Lionel takes sloppy urinator outside, ties him to a chair and sets him on fire.

Establishing early on that he is someone you not only don't want to pee on, but someone you clearly don't want to fuck with, we also learn that Lionel is a bit of a dreamer. Telling his fellow custodian, Cornelius Hornsby Growbo (Bruce Cronander), in their cramped cleaning closet/home that he wants more out of life, Lionel, despite his habit ripping people's limbs off at the slightest provocation (Troma's Lloyd Kaufman loses both arms in this fashion), is just like you and me. Only problem being, Mr. Growbo is so into being a custodian, that he dismisses Lionel's dreams as wishful thinking.

Part of Lionel's campaign to get more out of life involves wooing a pale-kneed goddess named Hillary (Fiona McIntyre), a redheaded office drone he has a crush on. While I doubt the reason she was cast had nothing to do with the exquisite paleness of her knees, Fiona McIntyre gives the closest thing to a real performance in this movie. Or maybe it seemed "real" because she's the only one who seemed genuinely concerned that a serial killer is targeting her co-workers. Who knows. All I know is I liked the way she moved her head when she recited dialogue and thought the little clips she wore in her hair that prevented loose strands from flopping across her face were adorable.

As you would expect, Hillary has no idea Lionel exists. Of course, Hillary's more outgoing co-worker/reliably brunette friend Mary (the lovely Crystal LeBard), causes trouble by telling Lionel that Hillary will meet her in the park after work. Not realizing that this is all a joke at his expense, Lionel waits in the park for what seems like hours. A frustrated Lionel takes out his anger on a couple of punks spray painting a nearby wall (Lionel covers over their graffiti using the blood from one of the punk's severed arms) and a lanky prostitute (he ejaculates sperm in her mouth as he cuts her head off - it's not as gross as it sounds, oh, wait, yes it is).

Close to being caught--an F.B.I. agent, Agent Page (Skip Pipo), is sending his semen sample to be analyzed at the lab as speak--Lionel finds an ally in Mr. Grobow, who decides to help the bearded custodian during his time of need. (Don't tell me, Mr. Growbo manages to somehow prevent the semen sample - "we have got to stop that semen!" - from making it to the lab?) Let's just say the mouth of the dead prostitute isn't only oral cavity to experience the salty bouquet that is Lionel's unjust jizz on this day. (Um, eww? How are they going to explain the missing spunk?) Don't worry, Lionel is way ahead of you. By the way, when Lionel spits on his hand to make it easier for him to jerk off the unconscious F.B.I. agent they stole the semen sample from, I think I might have let out a girlish giggle.

It's weird, being janitors and all, you would think Lionel and Mr. Growbo would have the custodial fortitude to realize that they're might still be some traces of Lionel's jizz in the vial after Mr. Grobow drank from it. Well, anyway, the old sperm switcheroo trick should buy Lionel some time. Actually, mixing sperm together would taint results, leaving Lionel in the clear. So, as they might say in Australia, no worries, mate.

The alliance between Lionel and Mr. Growbo is short-lived, as Lionel decides to apply for a job at the TNA sorority house. You know what that means, right? (This decision jeopardizes Lionel and Mr. Growbo's friendship?) No. Well, actually, yeah, it does. But it also introduces us to Glory. Who is Glory, you ask? Why, she's only the funniest character in The Janitor universe.

For some strange reason, Glory's funniest moment was deleted from the movie. However, you can find it in the "deleted scenes" on the DVD. When, I think it was, TNA member Bree (Kelly S. King), says, when describing Lionel: "He's kinda creepy."Stephanie Christine Medina replies without missing a beat, "Kinda? He's way creepy." You can't teach comic timing like this, it's innate. And Miss Medina is a natural comedian. In addition to being funny, she's bumpy in all the right places.

Thanks to circumstances beyond his control, Lionel doesn't get the job at TNA. Meaning, he's going to miss out on the sorority pillow fights. Yikes, I can see why TNA would need a janitor, the place must get covered with feathers on a daily basis.

Forget about cleaning up feathers, he's not going to be able to savour the sight of Stephanie Christine Medina dodging pillows in nothing but a red bra and panties.

If Lionel's not going to savour this, who is? I'd rather not spoil the surprise. But let's just say Lionel feels betrayed. Don't feel too bad for Lionel, there's still plenty of office drones to butcher back at Generico. (Like who?) Remember Hillary's reliably brunette friend? (Mary?) Yeah, her. You could totally kill her. And she's always hanging out with that clown Robbie (Logan Christopher), the office "mail boy," so, you could off him, too. Of course, if you need help killing all these people, you could always ask Willis (John Carreon, who also acts as the film's director of photography), the office's newest janitor, to help out; I have learned over the years that guys who masturbate onto dying squirrels are always willing to lend a hand in a pinch, and Willis is no different in that regard (he even gets an '80s-style training montage to signify the progress he makes as Lionel's protege).

Now, you would think that a film with such a low budget wouldn't be able to afford the amount of fake blood necessary given how many people are slaughtered in this movie. Wrong. Blood is cheap. In other words, let the fire-hose quality arterial spray fly. The so-called "sorority house massacre" scene is an orgy of violence; it's also an orgy of orgy in a way, as Glory takes two cocks in her vagina at once (you go, girl! - and by "go," I mean stuff that juicy hole of yours with an extra helping of cock, you wide-mouthed angel, you). Like most people, I first heard the word "custodian" in The Breakfast Club. (Your point being?) No point. I'm just stating a fact. Anyway, if you like over the top gore, semen humour, films that feature cameos by Lloyd Kaufman and Judah Friedlander, svelte redheads with pale knees, lippy brunettes with large breasts and equally large comedic chops, kung-fu fights that involve plungers, then you need see this movie, and you need to get your head examined. I mean, seriously, consult a brain doctor immediately.

Yeah, baby! Rock 'n' Roll!!!! (Um, excuse me. I think you meant to say, "Yeah, baby! Jet Rock 'n' Roll!!!") Whatever, man. You're annoying habit of contradicting me isn't going to get me down from the high that comes with watching Wild Zero, the only trans-positive Japanese zombie/alien invasion movie to be based on the real life adventures of the Jet Rock 'n' Roll band Guitar Wolf. You remember them, right? They had a small part in that totally awesome flick, The Sore Losers; their leader shot red lasers from his eyes. Anyway, do you recall how badass they were in that film? Yeah, well, they're even more badass in this one. And, no, not just because they kill zombies so nonchalantly. They have a message and that message is clear, and it's perfectly summed by their leader when he tells a young fan while they're in the throes of having a sexual identity crisis: "Love has no borders, nationalities, or genders. Do it!" Sure, they promote a lifestyle I don't even agree with, but they do so with such an unabashed glee, that I can't help but... (Lifestyle? I thought you were pro-LGBT?) Not that lifestyle, you big dummy. I'm talking about the rock 'n' roll lifestyle. (What kind of person doesn't like rock 'n' roll?) Are you serious? Have you ever sat down and actually listened to a guitar? It produces one of the most irritating sounds on the planet. But then again, I don't really see anyone lining up to see a trans-positive Japanese zombie/alien invasion movie based around the music of Johnny Hates Jazz or The Blow Monkeys. I'm sorry to shatter your dreams like that, but that's just not a scene anyone in their right mind digs.

It should be noted that Wild Zero doesn't promote the bland, middle of the road corporate rock that has been infecting our airwaves for the past twenty or so years, the music of Guitar Wolf has tons of spunk. What I mean is, it's not polished and neat; it's crunchy, it's grimy, and it's loud. Worshiping at the alter of Joey Ramone and Joan Jett, Guitar Wolf bring a bare-bones approach to rock 'n' roll, one that is severely lacking in today's twaddle-based musical landscape.

Do I think they would be a better band if they added some synthesizers to the sound? Of course I do. But you can't just go around adding instruments to every band you come across. (Why not?)

If it's okay with you, I'm moving on to the subject of legs and the iconic Burberry pattern, as there's no getting through to you. And by "you" I mean me. Seriously, only I could watch a trans-positive Japanese zombie/alien invasion movie and then complain that the band the film is centered around doesn't have a synth player, or, in this case, a "Synth Wolf (the members of Guitar Wolf are identified by the instrument they play - for example, the bass player is called "Bass Wolf").

Get used to the sight of Ace (Masashi Endô) combing his hair, 'cause he totally combs it a lot in this movie. Boy, that didn't really lead to anything insightful, now did it?. Anyway, Ace is the biggest Guitar Wolf fan there is. Dreaming of rock 'n' roll stardom himself, Ace heads backstage to show his stuff to "The Captain (Makoto Inamiya), the manager of the club. After he's finished properly motivating himself in the mensroom, and, not to mention, combing his hair, Ace goes to meet The Captain.

Overhearing someone diss rock 'n' roll in The Captain's office (something about it being tired and lame), Ace bursts in only to find The Captain and Guitar Wolf pointing guns at one another. Using Ace's abrupt entrance to his advantage, Guitar Wolf blows two of The Captain's fingers off and obliterates some random dude's head. Knocked to the ground by the force of the blood splatter from the obliterated head, Ace lies semi-conscious as his guitar hero stands over him. Cutting Ace's hand with a knife, Guitar Wolf then cuts his own hand and then presses the x-shaped wound against Ace's regular-shaped wound. (Did they just become blood brothers?) I'm not sure, but I do know that Guitar Wolf gives Ace a whistle, and tells him to use it whenever he's in trouble.

In a futile attempt to stay relevant, The Captain, who, it should be noted, is never seen without his super-tight booty shorts, fires about six or seven shotgun blasts (ala Alfred Molina in Boogie Nights) in Guitar Wolf's general direction as they drive off. Rock 'n' Roll!!!!

The leader of Guitar Wolf, by the way, drives a motorcycle, one that shoots flames from its tailpipe, and Drum Wolf and Bass Wolf ride together in a car. Though, I'm not sure if their car shoots flames out the tailpipe or not. However, since almost everything in this film shoots flames, I'm going to go ahead and assume that their car does in fact shoot flames.

Meanwhile, out on the road near Asahi, Tobio (Kwancharu Shitichai) is dumped out of a car they were traveling in. The reason they're dumped isn't quite clear, but the driver does call them, I think, a weirdo or a freak at one point. Interesting. Walking to an abandoned Esso station, Tobio goes inside to rest. Also out on the road near Asahi is the chatty/skinny Toshi (Yoshiyuki Morishita), the quiet/deranged Masao (Masao), and the tubby/alluring Hanako (Tanako), three "friends" riding in a van together (I put the word friends in quotes because they don't really seem to get along, especially Toshi and Hanako, who I think are supposed to be a couple).

Oh, and a Yakuza gangster named Kondo (Shirô Namiki) is out on the road near Asahi as well. The plan involves meeting Yamazaki (Haruka Nakajo), a female arms dealer who is waiting by the side of the road, to buy a shitload of guns.

Let me quickly look over what I just wrote. Yep, I think that pretty much covers everyone. I mean, other than the hordes of zombies that appear later on in the film, that's it as far as characters go. (Don't forget the female pop singer wannabe who auditions for The Captain in his office.) Yeah, but she doesn't really participate in the zombie apocalypse. Either way, I'm glad you mentioned her. Rock 'n' Roll!!!!

Remember that abandoned Esso station? Well, everyone except the Yakuza and the drably dressed female arms dealer wind up there. If you must know, the Yakuza currently have their hands full... (Please say "with zombies," please say, "with zombies.") ..with zombies (Yes!) The drably dressed female arms dealer, on the other hand, gets tired of waiting and hops in her high mobility multipurpose wheeled vehicle.

Reluctantly leaving Tobio at the gas station, Ace hits the road on his motorcycle (which definitely doesn't shoot flames), presumably to attend the next Guitar Wolf show. Noticing a van by the side of the road, Ace stops to take a look. To his horror, zombies are eating the occupants. Hopping back on his bike, Ace is about to take off, when suddenly, Guitar Wolf appears in the middle of the road, and tells him to go help Tobio, who's all alone at the gas station.

I think that's enough as far as plot-based details go, as everything that is set up during the first thirty minutes is about to pay off big time. Rock 'n' Roll!!!!

First things first, the drably dressed arms dealer is about to get a much needed makeover. While taking a shower in an abandoned house, zombies rip up her clothes. You know what that means? That's right, it's time to find something else to wear. And boy, does she ever find something else. Are you sitting down? She puts on, after dispatching the zombies that destroyed her drab duds, a Burberry print leotard with matching heels. (Wait, the heels were Burberry print as well?) That's a big 10-4 good buddy. (Dayum!)

And get this, her personality remains the same. In other words, she's still a gun-toting psycho-hosebeast. Except, now she's a gun-toting psycho-hosebeast in a Burberry print leotard with matching pumps.

After coming to terms with his lack of coolness, Ace learns the truth about Tobio. Let's just say it involves gender. It's true, he does lose it when the truth is revealed, but as Guitar Wolf wisely states: "Love has no borders, nationalities, or genders!" This plot line is the heart and soul of the film, as Ace must put aside his pesky prejudices and fight to save Tobio from an army alien-induced zombies.

The relationship between Ace and Tobio may be the "heart and soul" of the film, but the one between Toshi and Hanako is the most rewarding. Spending most of the film bickering with one another, Toshi and Hanako find solace with one another in a most unusual way. Call me crazy, but the part where Toshi and Hanako find each other after being apart was way more satisfying than the inevitable Ace and Tobio reunion. Don't tell anyone this, but I felt a slight swelling sensation in and around my eye area when Toshi and Hanako are reunited.

Since the film features Guitar Wolf and some of the same music, Wild Zero reminded me a lot of John Michael McCarthy's aforementioned The Sore Losers (I wouldn't hesitate to put them on a double-bill together). However, the film also has a lot in common with the zombie films of George A. Romero (the characters even discuss Night of the Living Dead at one point) and the deadpan comedy style of many Jim Jarmusch and Aki Kaurismäki films. But make no mistake, this film is pure, uncut insanity from start to finish. Excessive hair combing, exploding zombie heads, Bikini Kill!, laser eyes, short shorts, and flames everywhere, it's got it all. Oh, and I almost forgot, guitar picks are used as weapons. 'Nuff said. Rock 'n' Roll!!!!

Hollywood cop?!? Yeah, right. Hollywood opportunist is more like it. Swooping in like a hungry vulture who has just spotted a wounded wildebeest, Det. Turquoise (David Goss, who, you might remember, was a production assistant on last season's The Bachelorette), "Turkey" to his friends, might look like he wants to help a struggling single mother get her son back from a gang of ruthless gangsters, but he's got an ulterior motive. Don't let his sort of strapping good looks or his fondness for denim fool you, he's got six million dollars on his mind. I know, how is a "struggling single mother" gonna scrounge together six million dollars to pay the gangsters who are holding her son for ransom? She isn't, but if she wants to see her son alive again, she better find out where her ex-husband is hiding, as the gangsters expect him to pay the hefty ransom. You see, her ex-husband stole six million from the gangsters, and when the gangsters discover his ex-wife living on a communal ranch outside of town, the gangsters attack it with the sole purpose of snatching their son. As expected, the regular cops drag their feet when it comes to investigating the possible whereabouts of her missing child. Oh, sure, they fill out all the necessary paperwork, but finding little Stevie (Brandon Angle) isn't exactly their top priority.

(Are you sure that when Det. Turkey, and his partner, Jaguar (Lincoln Kilpatrick), approached a sobbing Rebecca (Julie Schoenhofer) on the street outside police headquarters in Hollywood, California that he had money on his mind? I mean, it looked like he was genuinely concerned about her welfare.) In the early going, yes, he was "genuinely concerned." But the moment he found out there was six million dollars at stake, his whole demenour seemed to change.

(You're crazy.) Am I? Things are never what they seem in the shadowy world of writer-director Amir Shervan (Samurai Cop), and the hard-boiled Hollywood Cop is no different in that regard.

(I agree, you should always be on guard when dealing with an artist on the level of Amir Shervan, but I think your innate cynicism is clouding your judgment.

It's true, he probably had poontang on his mind when he decided to help out a wayward soul, one who just happens to be an attractive blonde. But I assure you, money wasn't a factor in his decision.)

Let me get this straight, you mean to tell me that Turkey risked his life to assist some woman he barely knows, and he's doing it strictly out of the goodness of his heart? Is that what you're telling me?

Moving on, a sort of sneak preview of the sheer awesomeness we're going to experience in the not-so distant future with Samurai Cop, you could view Hollywood Cop as a dress rehearsal for what's to come. Lacking the incompetent sheen that made Samurai Cop so great, Hollywood Cop has all the right ingredients: The prerequisite white cop-black cop partnership; a ponytail-sporting policewomen in lady police pants (unlike Peggy in Samurai Cop, who will fuck anything with a pulse, the lady police pants worn by the policewoman in Hollywood Cop, as Turkey finds out, aren't so easy to get into); sofas covered in leggy floozies; a gruff, Tums-popping police captain (hey, it's Cameron Mitchell); tons of bumbling henchmen; a synthy music score; and overlong car and foot chases.

I'm sure most Amir Shervan connoisseurs will agree that this film is missing a certain something, or, I sould say, a certain someone. You know what it's missing? Robert Z'Dar! Every five or so minutes, I would think to myself: This film could use a little Robert Z'Dar right about now. Oh, who am I kidding? This film could use a lot of Robert Z'Dar. But you know what? He's not in this film, so stop being such a big baby.

As horny henchmen are fighting over the right to feel up a leggy babe in a short black skirt by the pool, their boss, Feliciano (James Mitchum), shows up demanding to know how the plans for the upcoming raid of a communal ranch are coming along. According to one of the more sensible henchmen, the one not named "Animal," the raid is ready to go.

Get this, as the raid is about to get underway, Rebecca tells Stevie to stop washing his pet goat. And even though she tells him to stop washing his pet goat in the nicest way possible, it would be a shame if that was the last thing Rebecca ever said to little Stevie.

I'm curious, when Rebecca went to the police to report that her son had been kidnapped by gangsters, did she mention the fact that the gangsters shot and killed dozens of ranch people during their elaborately planned raid? 'Cause I'm sure they would take her case more seriously if they knew a massacre had occurred just up the street. Just kidding, I'm not curious about that. No, what I really want to know is, did Stevie's pet goat survive the raid?

Anyway, I think it's time we met some leggy floozies, don't you? Assembled for the benefit of Feliciano, the leggy floozies hope to work at one of his clubs.

A total of eight leggy floozies are hoping to work for Feliciano: #1 - A floozy in a shiny bluish red top with spaghetti straps and dark trousers. (Hey, how come you didn't call her a "leggy floozy"?) Um, she wore trousers, and therefore she lost the right to be called "leggy." #2 - She doesn't sit with her legs crossed (a must for leggy floozies), but she is wearing a modest white dress with what looks like a pair of tan stockings.

Leggy floozy #3 definitely knows how to get noticed. Poured into a little black dress, leggy floozy #3 will no doubt drive her potential boss wild with her unorthodox sitting style. While not as forthright as leggy floozy #3, leggy floozy #4, who is wearing a dark dress with short sleeves, counters #3's forthrightness with a sitting technique that practically screamed haughty chic.

Someone get leggy floozy #5 a handbook on how sit like a leggy floozy, as her sedentary method was all over the map when it came to reclining in a manner becoming of leggy floozies.

The only one smart enough to employ the majestic splendour that only black stockings can provide, leggy floozy #6 destroys the competition with her leg-tastic display whilst in the seated position. Wearing a blue sequined top, a black skirt, and, of course, black stockings, leggy floozy #6 also earns points for being the only leggy floozy to sport a hairstyle that had any pizazz.

What's this, it would appear that leggy floozy #7 is attempting to use the arm rest of the couch to enhance her legginess. At first, I was somewhat annoyed by this bit of couch-based chicanery. But then it dawned me, she's just doing whatever it takes to get a leg up in the cutthroat world of leggy floozies. And at the end of the day, you've got to admire that kind of ingenuity.

I would have liked to have included leggy floozy #8 in this unnecessarily detailed examination of the leggy floozies that appear in a two minute scene in Hollywood Cop, but she never sits down. How can I judge your worth as a leggy floozy if you don't sit down? It's impossible.

After a Hollywood-centric montage set to a song that featured lyrics like, "desperation... nowhere to run!" we meet Turkey as he's about to bust up a rape and robbery. Instead of waiting for Lt. Maxwell (Troy Donahue) to show up, Turk decides to take care of it himself. I know, how can he take care of it when he just ordered a hot dog? (Don't worry, the hot dog cart lady said she'll keep it warm for him while he kills him some rapists.) Yeah, but, when he's done doing that, he doesn't pick up the hot dog. (Yeah, he does. I heard him specifically tell the hot dog cart lady to put some ketchup and mustard on it.) I heard that, too. But trust me, he never eats it. (You mean to tell me that he made the hot dog cart lady jump through multiple hoops to keep his hot dog warm and never bothered to eat it?) That's right. (What an ass.)

Getting a tip from a guy who runs a bar that specializes in mud and oil wrestling, Turkey and Jaguar manage to track down Rebecca's ex-husband.

His name is Joe Fresno, and I dig his style.

(Isn't Rebecca's ex-husband supposed to be worth six million dollars?) Yeah, so?

(Well, the size of his backyard does not reflect his so-called wealth.)

His backyard? You're looking at his backyard? Some people. At any rate, I have no idea who plays Joe Fresno, but... (Yeah, yeah, you dig his style.) You're goddamned right I do.

(Does Rebecca get her son back?) What son? (You remember, the little blonde kid who can communicate with mean-looking guard dogs.) Oh yeah, him. (Well, does she get the kid back or what?) I don't know, who gives a shit. I've got less important things to think about.

It should go without saying, but Hollywood Cop sort of sucks, but it also sort of rules as well. In other words, when a film like this calls you collect, you should definitely accept the charges, 'cause your ass is about to be entertained.

Is there such a thing as too much crazy? The opening chapter in the series gave us the gourmet batshit we desire in small, economic doses. Teasing us with some hooked flesh here, some splattered guts there, Hellraiser was rather crafty when it came to bringing brainsick to the masses. As is the nature with most sequels, especially the one's that immediately follow where the first film left off, Hellbound: Hellraiser II is nothing but wall-to-wall insanity; in fact, there's little time to breathe, as we're inundated with one wonky aberration after another. (You sound like you're not a fan of the direction part two decided to take.) I do? Well, it's not that I didn't like the film, I just found it a little overwhelming at times. I mean, there's so much... (Yeah, yeah, we know, it's so crazy! What did you expect, it takes place mostly in Hell, a place where everything either bleeds or is covered in cockroaches, and creepy blonde girls who like they just walked off the set of The Dark Crystal wander the halls looking for ornate puzzle boxes to solve.) Hell is a crazy place. And I should know, I've been there. No, I'm not talking about Etobicoke. I'm talking about... wait a second, I am talking about Etobicoke. As most people know, Hell isn't an actual place, it's more of a state of mind. Some of us can drift aimlessly through life and not experience Hell once. Others, like myself, on the other hand, experience Hell on a daily basis. Damn, that's probably one of the bleakest things I've ever said.

Remember when I stated that I would throw one of my world famous hissy fits if Julia Cotton wasn't in the sequel? Well, she's in the sequel, all right. While can I understand why Clare Higgins doesn't play Julia Cotton without skin (the make-up for "the skinless look" must take hours), I was genuinely relieved when she finally appears onscreen. Playing the role of the wicked stepmother in the first film, Julia Cotton has since graduated to the post of the evil queen.

You could call her The Queen of Hell. But don't let "Pinhead" (Doug Bradley) hear you say that, as he pretty much rules Hell with an iron fist. Or does he?

In the film's opening scene, after a brief refresher course reminding us what happened in the previous chapter (previously on Hellraiser: some people opened an ornate puzzle box, and, as a result of this action, some people were torn apart by hooks attached to chains), we get a motherfucking Pinhead origin story! Wow, I didn't expect that. I always figured that the Pinhead character would remain a bit of a mystery, a ghastly creature who is forever doomed to exist solely within the confines of our nightmares. While I kind of like the idea of not knowing too much about his past, it was good to know that he's not just some boring boogeyman with no humanity or personality (like most movie modern monsters).

We actually see the pins, or, I should say, nails, enter Pinhead's head for the very first time. It turns out that Pinhead wasn't always Pinhead. It would seem he was just another white person with a thing for playing with shiny, ornate puzzle boxes. Here's some free advice that bears repeating: If you ever see white person sitting cross-legged on the floor, run immediately in the opposite direction, some freaky shit is about to go down. And, yes, this includes white people who do yoga and meditate on a regular basis.

Taking a much needed rest after a long night of fighting Cenobites, Kirsty (Ashley Laurence) eventually wakes up. Unfortunately, she wakes up in the Channard Institute for the Mentally Deranged; it's not actually called that, but it's a pretty accurate description (stay away from the so-called "maintenance" level, if you know what's good for you). When a police detective is finished interviewing her, Dr. Channard (Kenneth Cranham) and his assistant Dr. Kyle (William Hope, a.k.a. the guy from Aliens) take over. As the detective is leaving, Kirsty says, "You have got to destroy that mattress!"

If you remember, the mattress has Julia's blood on it. And you know what that means? (Hey, isn't this the same mattress that Kirsty's father cut his hand while trying to move it upstairs?) Yep. You could say the entire Hellraiser series owes a debt of gratitude to that grungy mattress.

(Not so fast, Kirsty clearly told the detective to destroy the mattress. In other words, no mattress, no Julia.) Oh, you're so naive. The detective has no intention of destroying the mattress. Besides, he thinks she's nuts. It doesn't matter because Dr. Channard has already arranged that the mattress be delivered to his house. (What does he want with a bloodstained mattress?) Excellent question. When Dr. Kyle overhears Dr. Channard talking about securing the mattress, the very same mattress Kirsty insisted they destroy, he decides to do a little sleuthing.

Meanwhile, as Dr. Kyle is going into Nancy Drew mode, Kirsty is visited by a skinless man who writes, "I am in Hell. Help me," in blood on the wall of her room. Assuming the skinless man was her father, Kirsty seems more determined than ever to get out of this place; if only she had an ornate puzzle box.

Breaking into Dr. Channard's house via the back door, Dr. Kyle discovers that his study is basically a makeshift museum dedicated to the ornate puzzle box; in fact, he's got three boxes on display. I didn't care for way Dr. Kyle talked to himself as he poked through Dr. Channard's collection of oddities, as people talking to themselves in movies while snooping is a pet peeve of mine. Anyway, he better keep his mouth shut, as Dr. Channard is home. Hiding behind some curtains, Dr. Kyle watches, or, I should say, listens, as Dr. Channard sits one of his patients (a guy from the maintenance level) down on the bloodstained mattress, hands him a straight-razor, proceeds to allow him to cut himself repeatedly (the patient thinks maggots are crawling all over his skin). Charming.

As the mattress becomes soaked with the patient's blood (the patient, by the way, is played by Oliver Smith), a skinless woman emerges. Wrapping her legs and arms around the blood-drenched patient, the skinless woman absorbs his essence, much the same way Skinless Frank (Oliver Smith) did the first film. Since it's Julia's blood that was originally on the mattress, we can assume the skinless woman currently lapping up blood is Julia. However, Skinless Julia is played by Deborah Joel, who, I must say, looks amazing. The skinless make-up is stunning. I mean, the way it glistens in the light is so wonderfully ghastly; I want to look away, but I just can't, it's so, ugh.

Skinless Julia isn't enamored with her appearance, as she thinks she looks "strange,""surreal," and "nightmarish." In order to rectify this, Dr, Channard wraps Skinless Julia in bandages.

(How is Dr. Channard going to lure people to his home like Julia did in the first film? He doesn't have shapely gams, and he doesn't wear satin blouses.) Don't forget, the maintenance level of his institute is filled with people. (He's not going to feed his patients to Skinless Julia, is he?) Yep. And get this, he has a special room where Skinless Julia can absorb them in private. Judging by the number of shriveled corpses hanging from the ceiling, I'd say it took about seven patients to make Julia whole again. And you know what that means? Enter Clare Higgins.

After seeing what he ~~saw~~ heard at Dr. Channard's house, it's safe to say that Dr. Kyle is firmly on Team Kirsty. Sadly, his time on Team Kirsty is rather short-lived (no one can resist the charms of Julia...when she has hair and skin).

On the bright side, Team Kirsty will soon discover that they have an unexpected fan in Pinhead. Now, I'm not implying that Kirsty and Pinhead will be going on picnics together any time soon. But the odd rapport the two display with one another whenever they're onscreen together is one of the film's strongest elements.

If you're wondering why Dr. Channard is so eager to make Julia whole again, it's quite simple, he needs her to help guide him through Hell. (Kind of like Jack Baker helped Lois Ayres in The Devil in Miss Jones 3 and 4?) Yeah, I guess. At any rate, to get to Hell, Dr. Channard employs the puzzle-solving skills of a patient named Tiffany (Imogen Boorman). Solving the puzzle box with relative ease, Tiffany opens the gates of Hell, allowing Dr. Channard and Julia to begin their journey of self-discovery. Of course, Tiffany and Kirsty enter Hell as well; the former still has this cockamamie idea in her head that she's going to rescue her father.

Favourite Doug Bradley line readings in Hellbound: Hellraiser II: "But please, feel free, explore. We have eternity to know your flesh" and "Go on... but trick us again child, and your suffering will be legendary even in Hell!" I love the way Doug says the words "flesh" and "suffering."

The scenes in Hell, an ashy labyrinth of hallways where the sound of babies screaming is played on a loop, are pretty effective in terms of creepiness (I really need to get myself some of those drawers that contain writhing women that open and close every now and then). However, I thought the so-called "New Cenobite" was a tad lame. Maybe I'm not familiar with the story or how things work down there, but I don't see how the New Cennobite could be stronger than the old Cenobites. Plus, the New Cennobites appearance was nowhere near as cool as Pinhead (the most eloquent movie monster of all-time), or the "Female Cennobite" (Barbie Wilde). Nonetheless, my feelings toward the New Cennobite are summed up perfectly by Tiffany when she first sees the New Cennobite and says, "shit" (her first words). Other than that, this movie is pretty fucking awesome.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Enjoy her large, broad hips and her thick thighs while you can, fellas, because she's totally about to give each and everyone of you a serious case of rabies. Presenting one of her inner thighs like it were prize-winning piece of meat, Sylvie (Iris Brooks), the leggiest hippie Satanist/drug abuser with full blown rabies in the entire state, stands pantless before an unwashed gaggle of horny construction workers. You could call them a walking, talking kerfuffle symposium just waiting to happen. But I don't really feel like doing that at this juncture (maybe later). After taking turns redecorating the gluey walls of her stout vagina with wad after wad of their unsentimental seminal fluid, the now less horny construction workers await their fate. Little do they know, but they're about to become a highly organized gang of machete-wielding psychopaths. Just in case you haven't figured it out yet, I'm laying the groundwork for yet another nonsensical movie review. (Hey, don't be so hard on yourself, you can be very sensical when you want to be. However, judging by the way you have started your review for I Drink Your Blood, it would seem that this is not going to be one of those occasions.) At any rate, the second point I'd like to make (the first, as you know, had to do with pointing out the fact that Iris Brooks has great gams) has to do with the difference between hippies with rabies and construction workers with rabies. Did anyone else notice the difference? All right, I'm sensing that some people picked up on this. Hippies with rabies are literally all over the place. Attacking everyone they see, a hippie with rabies is a loner who views even their fellow rabid hippies as something that needs tearing apart asap. Whereas, the construction workers with rabies work together to achieve their goals. Sure, that goal still involves killing everything in sight, but at least there's a semblance of teamwork to their rabies-fueled madness.

I guess the next question has to be, why the disparity? Is it because the construction workers were already a tight-knit unit before becoming rabid? And therefore were predisposed to work as a team? Possibly. While, on the other hand, the hippies were a fractured group when they were infected with rabies. Hence, the first to feel the brunt of their rabid-brand of violence were themselves.

Actually, the first to feel the brunt of their hippie-based hydrophobia was a non-infected hippie named Shelley. Oh, and don't let the feminine name fool you, Shelley is all man. In fact, he's played by Alex Mann.

As I watched a rabid Rollo (George Patterson), the group's resident black drama queen, repeatedly stab Shelley with a dagger, it slowly dawned on me that Alex Mann is the same Alex Mann who played Tony, Kim Bentley's pimp in Malibu High, and the same Alex Mann who played the doctor in Satan Was a Lady. I'm no math whiz, but it looks like I've seen and reviewed three Alex Mann movies (someone should give me a prize if I see and review a fourth Alex Mann movie).

Did I finish making my point? (What point?) The point about the difference between rabid hippies and rabid construction workers. (Let me see... Well, not quite. You laid a pretty good foundation, but your theory didn't really go anywhere.)

Says you! I think most of you will agree that I clearly pointed out the differences between the two groups infected with rabies. The rabid construction workers represent the hive mentality (i.e. communism) and the rabid hippies represent individualism (i.e. free market capitalism).

(What about those who are neither hippies or construction workers?) You mean the old man, the little kid and the owner of Mildred's Bakery? They're fascists, pure and simple.

Now that that's been taken care of, let's shift our attention to the otherworldly beauty that is Lynn Lowry (Score, Cat People), shall we?

In a minute, the Sons and Daughters of Satan, or SADOS, are about to perform a nude campfire ritual. Holy crap! Look at Sylvie's hips! They're so freakin' wide. Dang! Get me a heterosexual penis, stat! I want to put a baby in there.

Anyway, flaunting his pubic hair like it was a purified patch of pure resplendence, Horace Bones (Bhaskar) leads his small congregation of Satanists in an ancient ritual. Declaring Satan to be an acid head, Horace says, "pass the acid," and the group begin to chant. After they sacrifice a chicken, which bleeds onto Sue-Lin (Jadin Wong), the group's cheongsam-sporting spiritual leader, Horace notices someone is watching them from the woods.

Oh, don't worry, that's just Sylvia Banner (Arlene Farber), a local gal. If Horace heard me say that, he would slap me silly. But since he didn't hear me, he slaps Andy (Tyde Kierney), the group's resident Stellan Skarsgård lookalike, instead. After all, it was Andy who allowed her watch in the first place. However, since Horace has a strict no outsiders policy, this Sylvia chick must be taught a lesson.

Just to let you know, Sylvia, the local gal played Arlene Farber, and Sylvie, the acid head played by Iris Brooks, are both listed as "Sylvia" in the credits. To prevent there from being any confusion, I've changed Iris Brooks' Sylvia to Sylvie. Actually, maybe I should change it to Mitzi or Blanche, 'cause I'm still confused.

Even though we don't exactly see what happens to her, it's obvious judging by her bruises, that the members of SADOS were a tad rough with Sylvia. Staggering home, a badly beaten Sylvia is helped by Mildred Nash (Elizabeth Marner-Brooks) and her younger brother Peter Banner (Riley Mills) who come across her while making a delivery (Mildred is the owner of, you guessed it, Mildred's Bakery). What's cool about this scene is the fact that Sylvia and Mildred are both wearing mini-dresses.

Actually, I misspoke. What's cool about this scene is that it features a rare occurrence. And that is, we see a leggy woman help another leggy woman. (I'm sorry, maybe I'm a tad naive, but don't leggy women help each other out all the time?) No, I'm afraid they do not. Instances that boast the leggy helping the leggy are, unfortunately, not something you see that often. Chalk it up to jealously or just plain vindictiveness, but being leggy comes with a price. And one of the biggest prices is the inability to assist your leggy brethren in times of leggy need.

Meanwhile, the hippie Satanists are having car trouble, or, I should, they're having hippie van trouble. Displaying his playful side for a change, Horace coaxes the others to push the hippie van over a cliff. (I don't get it, what's so playful about that?) What's playful is that Shelley was sleeping inside the hippie van when they pushed it off the cliff. (You know what? You're right, that is playful.) Oh, and don't feel too bad for Shelley, he wasn't hurt.

I am somewhat surprised that Horace didn't ask Sylvie to help push the hippie van off the cliff, as her strong, lusty thighs would have made pushing that hippie van seem like a walk in the park. I guess writer-director David E. Durston thought it would be more humourous if the extremely pregnant Molly (Rhonda Fultz) helped push the hippie van off the cliff instead; pregnant women aren't usually asked to perform manual labour.

In one of the weirdest coincidences I've experienced in recent memory, just as I was starting to think that the timber of Elizabeth Marner-Brooks' voice had a distinct Tantala Ray quality about it, the industrial noise coming from the nearby construction site, where Mildred's boyfriend Roger (John Damon) is the foreman, is becoming audible. (I don't get it.) Don't you see, the industrial noise sounded exactly like the industrial noise that is heard throughout Café Flesh. Which stars... Tantala Ray!

Speaking of things that sound industrial, the film's synth-friendly music score, by Clay Pitts, is a wonderful cacophony of eerie electronic noise.

Without wheels, the hippies find themselves stuck in Valley Hills, population: 40. Well, the population is now 48, as the hippies set up shop in an abandoned, rat-infested hotel. After taking care of the rats, the hippies cut the bottom of Shelley's feet, and perform a blood ritual in the attic (they swing him from the rafters). When word gets out that the hippies were the one's that roughed up Sylvia, her grandpa (Richard Bowler) heads over there to confront them. Even though he was wielding a double-barrel shotgun, Horace is not intimidated one bit.

As he lay on the floor as a result of a punch to the gut, Sylvie (a.k.a. Mitzi and/or Blanche), crouches down, utilizing her sturdy thighs for leverage, licks grandpa's face ("He's pretty yummy for a dirty old man") and gives him a tab of acid.

Annoyed that the hippies beat up and gave his grandpa LSD, his grandson Pete is planning to get back at them. And, to sort of quote Peggy Gravel from Desperate Living, Congratulations, hippies. You're about to be infected with rabies.

This just dawned on me, I think the reason the hippies reacted differently to having rabies than the construction workers is because the hippies were on acid as well. In other words, the combination of the acid and the rabies made them even more insane. At any rate, when the hippies figure out that something was put in the meat pies they ate, it's too late for them to plan their counter-attack, as they quickly turn on one another. Scattering in every direction, the hippies flee into the night, as an axe-wielding Rollo is the first to fully embrace the rabid hippie lifestyle.

Employing her mouth-watering lower half to great effect, Sylvie manages to bum a ride from a group of construction workers. Telling her to get her "pretty little ass" in the back their truck, the construction workers... Wait a second. C'mon fellas, let's get real. Her ass may be pretty, but there ain't nothing little about it. Taking her and her junk-laden ass back to their barracks, the construction workers clearly dig Sylvie's construction (one of them grabs a chunk of her thigh in triumph after she presents it to him with much fanfare), and declare her ready to be riveted (their words, not mine). Giving at least twenty guys rabies, Sylvie's impromptu gangbang antics intensifies the situation to outbreak status.

Nearby, the gorgeous Lynn Lowry, who plays a deaf-mute Satanic hippie acid head, is cutting off the hand of a housewife with an electric carving knife. Up until this point, Lynn Lowry might not have done all that much in terms of being an obnoxious hippie Satanist on acid. But I think most people will agree that just her presence alone manages to elevate the proceedings whenever she's onscreen, as she has a quality about her that transcends talking and doing stuff.

Should I end there? Yeah? Okay. Let me just add that with its racially diverse cast, its dedication to leggy chicks in mini-dresses, and its abundance of frothy-mouthed psychopaths carrying severed heads, I Drink Your Blood is sleazy, violent, fast-paced fun for the entire family. Yeah, if your family is the Manson Family. Zing!

You've heard the expression: Don't judge a book by its cover, right? Well, in the case of Click: The Calendar Girl Killer, it's more like: Don't judge a movie by its screencaps. If you were, you would no doubt conclude that Click was the greatest film ever made. Let me tell you right off the bat, it's definitely not the greatest film ever made. In fact, it's barely a film. Oh, sure, it's got images that move and human actors can be heard reciting scripted dialogue every now and then. But make no mistake, it repeatedly teeters on the brink of non-existence. I know, you're thinking to yourself: How can a movie that has six different writers and two directors not exist? It's quite simple, really. You can't have so many disparate ideas floating around at one time and somehow expect the results to be coherent. I mean, six writers?!? It's a nonstarter. In a shocking twist, however, this film is the place to go to see what is hands down the best performance of Dona Speir's career. Yep, the same actress who stunk up the joint in so many Andy Sidaris films gives a rich and nuanced performance as a fashion model named Nancy Johnson. And get this, she looks better than ever. If you remember correctly, I thought Dona looked tired and slightly mannish in the Andy Sidaris films. Not here, though. In this film, directed by actor Ross Hagen and stuntman John Stewart, she looks fresh, feminine and fabulous.

I'll admit, though, I was, to not put it mildly, horrified when I found out Dona Speir was in this film. Appearing in the opening credits sequence, one that features bikini-clad models wielding various weapons for a photo shoot, Dona can be seen aiming a bow and arrow in a yellow bikini. When I saw her I was like: Noooo! Anyone but her. But, as the film progressed, I slowly began to realize that it was her character in the Andy Sidaris films that I disliked so much, not Dona Speir.

The Dona Speir who appears in this film, even though she's only in a handful of scenes, is quite different than the humour-challenged Special Agent Donna Hamilton from, let's say, Savage Beach. No, this Dona Speir sits like a lady, gets pushed into hot tubs, sports more than one facial expression, is spurned by her boyfriend (played by Andy Sidaris regular Michael J. Shane), drinks booze straight from the bottle and participates in two fashion photo shoots. In other words, things Donna Hamilton would never do.

It's true, I could sit here and gush about the new and improved Dona Speir all day long. But that doesn't change the fact that this movie still sucks some serious ass.

Did you know that you will have to wait an entire hour for someone to get killed? Yeah, bet you didn't know that. And this has nothing to do with some misguided bloodlust on my part. The fact that no one is killed for so long actually dragged the story to a complete halt. What I mean is, with no real threat, there's no real tension, and with no real tension, you haven't got yourself much of a thriller.

What did you expect? It was obvious right from the get-go that Ross Hagen and John Stewart have no idea how to make a horror movie.

When the so-called "calendar girl killer" does finally show up, I was so disinterested, that I actually nearly dozed off at one point. Which is rare for me, as I hardly ever fall asleep while watching movies. In fact, I don't think I have ever fallen asleep during a movie. So, kudos, Click: The Calendar Girl Killer, you caused me to nearly break my no sleeping during movies streak.

In fairness, after the bikini chicks wielding guns and knives photo shoot is over, we do get a quick origin story pertaining to why the little kid sitting on the floor in a flashback sequence became the calendar girl killer. Which is something. However, to have to wait a whole hour for someone to die is unacceptable. In fairness again, after the flashback origin story is over we do see a faceless man, one wearing lipstick and a nurse's uniform, stab a mirror in anger. Which, I have to say, is also something.

(Hold on, it sounds like you're starting to like this film.) No, I'm just pointing some of the things that didn't annoy me. (Nah, I know you, you're trying to somehow spin this into a positive review.) So what if I am? Is it a crime to like this movie? I mean, the photo shoots are pretty fucking amazing. (Pretty fucking amazing, eh? Can you hear yourself? You sound like a dumbass.) I don't care, this movie is staring to grow on me.

Does anyone know the name of the goth-metal all-girl band who play the patio party? I didn't think so. Anyway, Dona Speir's Nancy Johnson, who's dressed in all-white, and her date arrive at said patio party. Introduced to Alan (Troy Donahue), the assistant to a big shot photographer, it doesn't take long for Nancy to piss him off. Like I said, this version of Dona Speir doesn't take crap from anyone, as she puts this "assistant" in his place in record time.

Sitting alone by the hot tub, Nancy notices that her date is flirting with another woman. Due to faulty heels, the woman he's flirting with slips out of her shoes and knocks Nancy into the hot tub. In a strange twist, Dona's character seems angry that she was pushed into a hot tub. How is that strange, you ask? Well, in the Andy Sidaris films, Dona spends most of her time happily submerged in hot tubs. So, to see her upset to be in a hot tub was somewhat atypical.

Humiliated by the hot tub incident, Nancy allows Alan to comfort her. This leads to Nancy getting a private photo shoot with Jack Akerman (Ross Hagen), one of the most sought after photographers in the business. Starting off in a fur coat, the shoot gradually leads to Nancy taking off all her clothes to saxophone music. My favourite points of the shoot was when Dona Speir is wearing nothing but a gold lamé top and when Jack tells her to "burn my camera."

In the next scene, we see Jack cruising Chinatown for models. I guess he needed one more, cause the woman he picked in Chinatown can be seen in participating in an elaborate photo shoot involving guns.

If this is all beginning to sound a little like Eyes of Laura Mars, you're absolutely right, it is. Interviewing a model named Cindy (Keely Sims), Jack tells her his latest project is a calendar called "Deadly Weapons," and that he wants her to be a part of it. "Is there any nudity," she asks him reluctantly. To which he responds, "Only your legs." I dig this guy's style.

The plan is to make a calendar the world will never forget. And who wouldn't want to be a part of that? Shit! Here comes Johnny (Gregory Scott Cummins) right on time. (Who's Johnny?) Oh, you know, he's the boyfriend who disapproves that is his girlfriend is a model. (Ewww, he's one of those?) Yeah, and get this, he rides a motorbike. In other words, there's no way he'll understand Jack's work, which he basically dismisses as trashy pornography.

I don't think Johnny deserves a girlfriend like Cindy, especially one who wears an orange skirt with a white belt and a baggy jean jacket. I'm just saying.

The three minute long scene where Cindy poses for Jack wielding a chainsaw is actually better than the entirety of Hollywood Chainsaw Hookers. (Okay, now you're talking crazy.) You're right, that was crazy-talk. But still, the sight of Keely Sims with a chainsaw is quite the show-stopper.

Does anyone know what happened to Dona Speir's character? She disappears after the fur coat/gold lamé top photo shoot. Was she killed? Did she quit modeling? Land a role on All My Children? Where is she?

At any rate, Johnny follows Jack and Cindy to a super-secret photo shoot out in the sticks. This, of course, causes some friction between Johnny and Cindy, and not the fun kind. Actually, that's not entirely true; Johnny and Cindy do engage in some angry, split-second make up sex at one point. Friction or not, Johnny seems determined to ruin Cindy's modeling career. Realizing this, Jack decides to use Johnny's expertise when it comes to motorcycles to his advantage by asking to participate in the photo shoots. Yawn.

As Jack doing a private shoot with Cindy (one that includes a heavy metal wig and a shotgun), fellow models Rhonda (an uncredited Juliette Cummins) and Lisa (Susan Jennifer Sullivan) are fighting over Johnny by the pool. If the names of the actresses who play the other models sound familiar, that's because Juliette's in Slumber Party Massacre II and Susan's in Friday the 13th Part VII: The New Blood. In an out of left field plot development, Lisa pussyblocks Rhonda big time. That's right, just as Rhonda, utilizing her amazing legs, was about to seal the deal with Johnny, Lisa swoops in and bungles her chances. In other words, no cock for Rhonda.

Instead, Rhonda will have to contend with being mock raped by a couple of cavemen. (Huh?) The photo shoot Jack has planned for the day involves all sorts of violent acts. And one of them features Rhonda dressed as a cavegirl being violated by a couple of cavemen. Other motifs include: Big haired blonde with a pistol, Asian model with a sword, Lisa in a zebra-print leotard, a flamenco dancer, and a pirate.

The next day's photo shoot is even wilder, as it takes place outdoors and involves wrecked cars and large machine guns.

If you look carefully, you'll see Juliette Cummins sitting by the pool drinking a can of Coors beer at one point. So, you say? Well, the expression on her face during this particular sequence, one that involves a jealous boyfriend getting in a fight with a male model, pretty much sums up my attitude toward this film. Don't get me wrong, I'm totally down with the premise, it's just that the execution leaves little to be desired.

Warning: When the killing finally gets underway, there's a murder sequence that takes place in a bedroom that employs a strobe light for an extended period of time. You might want to shield your eyes or fast-forward past this scene as it could cause unwanted seizures,

While I haven't forgotten the leggy legacy that is Andree Maranda in the original The Toxic Avenger, it's impossible to deny the amount of girlish spunk, forthright sticktoitiveness and pure, unadulterated awesomeness that Phoebe Legere brings to the role of Claire, the extremely leggy blind girlfriend of Melvin Junko, a.k.a. The Toxie Avenger, or just plain, Toxie, in The Toxic Avenger Part III: The Last Temptation of Toxie, the third chapter in the epic saga about the hideously deformed creature of superhuman size and strength from New Jersey. It's hard to believe there was an actually moment in time when I thought Phoebe Legere couldn't fill Andree Maranda's red pumps. In fact, I may have even looked at Phoebe Legere with a scornful glare when she first appeared onscreen in The Toxic Avenger Part II. Nowadays, however, I look at Phoebe Legere with nothing but a childlike sense of wonder. If you can believe this, I was worried that Phoebe Legere's penchant for jerky head movements and frenzied eye-darting would be curtailed by a peskier than usual plot point. While I won't divulge what this pesky plot point entails exactly–at least not at this particular juncture–but let's just say I thought Phoebe Legere's innate creativity was going to be severely stymied by the events that this so-called pesky plot point could potentially set in motion. Let me assure you, not only does it not dampen the appeal of Phoebe Legere's outre performance, it actually enhances it. Enhances it how, you ask?

I thought you would never ask. What's that, you never did ask? Well, either way, I'm answering anyway. Even though Claire goes through serious changes in this film, it doesn't alter the fact that Pheobe Legere will bring the fullness of her unique brand of insanity to the toxic table.

You don't merely watch Phoebe Legere in The Toxic Avenger Part III: The Last Temptation of Toxie, you experience it. Have you ever heard the expression, "on the edge of your seat," used to denote something that is either thrilling or exciting? If you have, the act of sitting on edge-like surfaces is a great way to describe Phoebe Legare's performance, as you constantly feel like you're about to fall face first into her cotton-covered crotch every time she appears onscreen.

Seemingly teetering on the brink of madness from the moment she wakes up in the morning to the moment she goes to bed at night, the sheer volume of uncut brainsick Phoebe Legere is putting out there caused this viewer to pause the film on several occasions. That's right, I was so overwhelmed by the unending deluge of crazy being hurled in my not-so general direction, that I felt the need to take a breather every now and then.

Oh, and by the way, don't think for a minute that Phoebe Legere's unsoundness of mind is diminished just because she's asleep. Uh-uh, the insanity continues long after her pretty head hits the pillow. Are you ready? She sleeps in white stockings with her legs wide apart. If that doesn't sound unsound enough for you, she sleeps with an accordion between her legs. And don't forget, she lives in a shipping container in a toxic waste dump with her equally toxic boyfriend.

Welcome to Tromaville. After a brief recap of the events from the previous films, part three gets underway at Tromaville Video, where bikini-clad ladies are browsing the latest videotapes available to rent. When all of a sudden, the serenity of their tape browsing is interrupted by a gang of tattooed thugs wielding automatic weapons. Since Toxie's tromatons are still in working order, Melvin Junko: The Toxic Avenger (Ron Fazio/John Altamura) should be dropping by at any moment now. Oh, and in case you don't remember, tromatons are what Toxie uses to detect evil. Entering the video store, Toxie makes short work of the gang of tattooed thugs. Using the intestines of one unlucky tattooed thug to jump rope with and severing the hand of another with a VCR, it's obvious that Toxie hasn't lost his touch when it comes to dismembering criminals.

(Wait, I thought Toxie had ridden Tromaville of criminals?) He did. This is merely a flash-forward to the middle of the story. After the video store scene, we pick up where the last film ended. Peace and quiet has finally come to Tromaville. But what's a hideously deformed creature of superhuman size and strength supposed to do with no criminals destroy, no corruption to stamp out, and no toxic waste to clean up? (Hey, this sounds like the plot of part two?) You're right, it is similar. But get this, Toxie becomes a yuppie! I know, pretty gross, eh?

What we need to see right about now is a shot of Claire (Phoebe Legere), Toxie's non-seeing girlfriend, strutting her stuff down the center of Tromaville. And wouldn't you know it, the Troma gods have clearly been listening to my prayers, as we get a shot of Claire, who seems even more leggy than she does in part two (which is technically impossible since part two and three were filmed at the same time), walking down the street in the shortest skirt ever.

It should be noted that Phoebe Legere designed all the outfits she wears in both part two and part three. So, whenever you see Phoebe wearing nothing but white stockings and oven mitts, it was probably her idea.

When Toxie learns there's this new eye surgery available that can cure Claire's blindness, he seems genuinely excited. Unfortunately, it costs around 537,000 dollars. Since there's no money to made in crime-fighting, and even if there was, there's no crime to fight in Tromaville, Toxie gets a job at the IRS. When that doesn't work out, he works at the video store. And when that doesn't... well, you get the idea.

Unable to pay for Claire's surgery, Toxie goes into an even bigger funk; he even contemplates suicide at one point.

Meanwhile, across the river in New York, Apocalypse Inc., the unabashedly evil corporation, are having a very stimulating board meeting. A plan is hatched that involves convincing Toxie to work for them. (Hold on, why would Toxie sell out and work for Apocalypse Inc.?) Um, he can't afford to pay for Claire's surgery. And on top of that, it's 1989. Meaning, it was cool back then to jettison your principles. In other words, you can't blame Toxie for choosing to work for an evil corporation, he's just doing what society has told him and countless other to do, and that is, make as much money as you can no matter how it effects the world or those around you.

Clouded by his desire to make money, Toxie seems oblivious to the fact that he is about to become a cog in the wheel that is preparing to run over the soul of Tromaville.

Hmm, from the sounds it, you could say The Toxic Avenger Part III: The Last Temptation of Toxie is more than just a film about a hideously deformed creature of superhuman size and strength killing bad guys with a mop. Personally, I prefer to view the film as the best opportunity to bask in the not even close to being undue length of Phoebe Legere's long ass gams in a cinematic setting currently available. However, you could approach the film as a satire on the yuppification of modern society.

(Can't you view/approach the film as both?) What? (As a satire on the scourge that is yuppie scum and as a showcase for Phoebe Legere's mouth-watering stems?) I suppose you could do that. Even though it does sound like a lot of work.

Anyway, ignoring Claire's advice to put on a fresh tutu, Toxie starts his new job as a spokesmen for Apocalypse Inc.

You gotta hand it to Phoebe Legere, only she could make lying in a hospital bed seem sexy.

With his leggy girlfriend's eye operation a success (the scene where Claire sees Toxie for the very first time is very moving) and a new job that pays well, things are looking up for Toxie. Yeah, they're going great for Toxie, but what about Tromaville? The place is turning into a fascist hellhole.

Are things really all that great for Toxie? Sure, the money's nice, but the residents of Tromaville, even Phoebe, all hate this new Toxie (one who plays tennis and carries a briefcase). What will it take for Toxie to realize he's helping destroy his beloved Tromaville? He needs to see the Chairman of Apocalypse Inc. for what he really is. Now, I don't want to say who exactly the Chairman really is. But let's say he has horns and is tad on the slimy side.

A classic battle between good and evil ensues that uses the video game format (Toxie must pass five levels to attain victory). Some time around level five, Phoebe Legere wields a shotgun.

Speaking of wielding shotguns, Lisa Gaye, who plays Malfaire, an Apocalypse Inc. employee, does exactly that, wields a shotgun. But she's not as prominent as she was in part two. Which was mildly disappointing. She's got this Gina Gershon/Marica Karr/Fran Drescher vibe about her that is quite appealing.

Despite the lack of Lisa Gaye and the fact the film isn't all that gory (other than the video store scene, the film is surprisingly tame, gore-wise), The Toxic Avenger Part III is a passable chunk of filmed entertainment. Oh, and make sure to keep an eye on Phoebe Legere during Toxie's battle with the Chairman of Apocalypse Inc. as the amount of effort she puts into reacting to the events unfolding before her is off the charts as far as outré enthusiasm goes.

Talking turds, racially diverse cosmic cheerleaders, jizz-laden vaginal slip 'n' slides, ape piss swept aside by starship windshield wipers, black stockings, big hair, giant transsexual cocks who walk and talk, well-shaped waitresses in white stockings, penis basketball (a.k.a. codball), thongs, dog men, octopi designed specifically for cunnilingual torture, grown men dressed like babies, and galaxy-wide impotence. Hey, Flesh Gordon Meets the Cosmic Cheerleaders. What the fuck are you trying to doing, man? Don't play dumb, Flesh Gordon Meets the Cosmic Cheerleaders. You nearly killed me. How, it says? Can you believe this movie? How? Very cute, Flesh Gordon Meets the Cosmic Cheerleaders. It's not every day that you come across a movie that contains enough awesomeness to end your life. But I think it's safe to say, Flesh Gordon Meets the Cosmic Cheerleaders is definitely one of those movies. Now, let me make myself clear, a movie that has the power to kill is a good thing. Normally, to enjoy a film like this, the awesome needs to be administered using short, controlled bursts. However, this film, directed Howard Ziehm, does no such thing, as it repeatedly throws everything I cherish and hold dear in my face. (Ha, ha! You "cherish" and "hold dear" having talking turds and giant transsexual cocks with legs thrown in your face.) What's your point? (Damn it! I forgot who was I dealing with. I mean, for a minute there, I thought you were someone with a normal level of self-respect.) No, no, I'm afraid I'm the kind of sick twist who enjoys riding down vaginal slides pre-moistened with transsexual cock slime, taking leisurely walks through dark and spooky rectal passageways, and listening to the craptastic sounds of Smokey Pile and the Constipations during enema season.

You know what was most impressive about Flesh Gordon Meets the Cosmic Cheerleaders? (The poo costumes?) Nope. (The sheer amount of imagination on display at any given moment?) Uh-uh. (The fact that all Earth women wear black stockings with seams?) Negative. What was most impressive was that they didn't employ a Uranus joke until around the eight minute mark. That's right, the makers of this movie waited a full eight minutes to spring a "your anus" gag on us. (Wow, talk about self control.)

If I was in charge of writing this movie, I would have unleashed all my top shelf Uranus material within the first ten seconds. But, no, they waited. And, I have to say, I respect that.

What they didn't wait around for was the implementation of their first penis joke, as we get one right away when we see Flesh Gordon's penis-shaped spaceship in the opening scene. But then again, aren't all spaceships technically penis-shaped? (Yeah, but, this particular spaceship actually looks like a penis.) But then again, don't all spaceships actually look like penises? (Yeah, but, this spaceship has a shaft and a head just like a real penis.) But then again... Okay, let's stop this before things get out of hand. (Like a penis?) Yes, like a penis.

It turns out the penis-shaped spaceship we see in the opening sequence isn't really a spaceship, but a prop for the movie being made about the adventures of Flesh Gordon, a character loosely based on Flash Gordon. Played by the adequately dim Vince Murdocco, Flesh Gordon is playing himself in this movie.

Let's give it up for the fine thespians who portray the female crew members aboard Flesh's cock-shaped rocket-ship: Angelica Gordon as Rocket Girl 1, Liz Atkinson as Rocket Girl 2, and Theresa Galbraith as Rocket Girl 3.

While leaving the film studio, Flesh Gordon is accidentally run over by his leggy girlfriend Dale Ardor (Robyn Kelly) in her old-timey automobile; the cool thing about Earth in this movie is that everyone dresses like it's the 1940s, and Dale is wearing a blue 1940s-style dress.

(Excuse me. Yeah, before you continue, I have to ask: Did you really need to tell us that Flesh's girlfriend is "leggy"? I mean, Flesh Gordon wouldn't be caught dead with someone who wasn't leggy, now would he?) While you're absolutely right, Flesh wouldn't date a non-leggy woman. But still, I feel I owe it to my audience to point out legginess whenever I come across it. To not do so would cause panic in the streets. Of course, these so-called "streets" exist solely within the mucus-stained confines of my mind, so don't worry.

Just as Dale is about to come to Flesh's aide, an ambulance filled with cosmic cheerleaders arrives at the scene. Jumping out of the ambulance with the kind of gusto you would expect from a group of cosmic cheerleaders, Babs (Stevie-Lyn Ray), a blonde white chick in a pink thong, Candy Love (Sharon Rowley), a black-haired black chick in a teal thong, and Sushi (Blaire Kashino), a black-haired Asian chick in a white thong, proceed to put Flesh on a stretcher and place a strange-looking helmet on him.

Realizing that something irregular is afoot, Dale tries to intervene, but gets a cosmic kick in the face for her troubles.

I don't know what I liked better, the sight of the cosmic cheerleaders constantly bending over or those oh-so brief moments when we could see the tops of Dale's black stockings. (Mmmm, Dale Ardor's black stocking tops.)

Ushering Flesh Gordon aboard their spaceship, the cosmic cheerleaders blast off into space. When a deeply concerned Dale arrives at the front door of Dr. Flexi Jerkoff (Tony Travis), he asks her, utilizing his mediocre Scottish accent: "What in Uranus are you doing here"? And just like that we have our first Uranus joke. Anyway, when Dale tells Dr. Jerkoff about the strange-looking helmet the cosmic cheerleaders put on Flesh, he immediately informs her that it's a mindfucker helmet.

As Dale and Dr. Jerkoff are taking off in his titty-shaped spaceship, one that is powered exclusively by copulating chickens, you'll no doubt notice the film's excellent use of miniatures.

"We don't want your money, we want your virility." And with that, we learn why the cosmic cheerleaders kidnapped Flesh Gordon. You see, their leggy leader, Robunda Hooters (Morgan Fox), wants to have sex with him. (Aren't they're any men on her planet to have sex with?) No, they're all impotent. It all started during a codball (penis basketball) game between Cosmic High and the team from the Frigid Kingdom. The players from Cosmic High were dominating the game, as their cods were fully erect and filled with enough vigor to fell a small tree. When all of a sudden, a man in a black cloak fires a laser at the Cosmic High players that causes their cods to become flaccid and useless. And ever since that day, impotence has reigned supreme at Cosmic High.

(What's so special about Flesh Gordon's junk?) It's simply, really. He has the virile force. In other words, his sexual organs are immune to impotence radiation.

On top of being leggy, Dale is an expert when it comes to plugging buttholes. Um, I think I should explain myself. Entering an assteroid belt, Dale and Dr. Jerkoff are inundated with the noxious gas emanating from the assteroid buttholes. When it becomes obvious that Dr. Jerkoff's aim when it comes to firing corks into the schwarzen assholes of unruly assteroids is just as awful as his Scottish accent, Dale takes over and manages to plug every butthole with relative ease. And it's a good thing, too, as all it would take would be a small spark to ignite the noxious butthole gas to destroy the assteroid belt and everything inside it, including Dr. Jerkoff and Dale.

Thanks to Dale's marksmanship, or, I should say, corksmenship... What's that? I shouldn't say that? Whatever. Either way, Dale manages to buy them enough time so that Dr. Jerkoff can send his titty-shaped ship into hyperspace, or, I should say, hyperchicken. What's that? I should say, "hyperchicken"? Well, ain't that a motherfuckin' relief.

Meanwhile, on the Frigid Planet, the Evil Presence (William Dennis Hunt) and his shock-haired mad scientist sidekick Master Bator (Bruce Scott) are planning to export impotence throughout the galaxy.

Since Dr. Jerkoff's titty-shaped spaceship runs on copulating chickens, the craft loses powers once they enter the atmosphere over Cosmic High. Using the ship's bra-shaped parachute to land, Dr. Jerkoff and Dale infiltrate Cosmic High and begin their search for Flesh Gordon, who is unwittingly participating in a cosmic orgy with three cosmic cheerleaders.

The film's cutting edge costume design really comes to the forefront when we enter the halls of Cosmic High. Designed by Lindsay Dow (The X-Files), the outfits are colourful and feature sharp, futuristic lines. The outfits worn by the two female students in the bathroom and the scrunchies that sit atop the heads of the cosmic cheerleaders themselves exemplify this outre temperament the best.

Whereas, on the Frigid Planet, the looks have a more sadomasochistic feel to them. The leggy female henchmen who work for the Evil Presence sport skimpy garments that have strategically-placed leather and PVC straps and cone-shaped skirts with a decidedly industrial vibe, while the men are basically leather-clad dogs.

I don't know 'bout you, but I think now is the perfect time to implement an impromptu mini-tribute to the women in charge of keeping the realm of the Evil Presence (a.k.a. Dick Cheese) free of outside agitators.

Sure, they're not very good at their jobs. But I think most people will agree, they do look fabulous.

I'm not sure which one is which (or even if they're right actresses), but Tanjah Iser and J.J. Benjamin, both credited as "Girl in Bathroom," get my vote for being the most fabulous.

Given that Flesh Gordon's cock in the only functioning cock in the universe, Dr. Jerkoff asks him to fuck one of the chickens in his spaceship's engine/incubator room. So, it would seem that Dale and Dr. Jerkoff manged to rescue Flesh Gordon from the clutches of those sex-starved cheerleaders Yeah, they rescued him. But Dale was kidnapped by the Evil Presence in the process. Damn.

You know what that means? (It's time to enjoy the sight of Dale chained to the wall of the Master Bator's lab in white lingerie?) True, it is time for that. In fact, as long as there's a breath in my body, there will always be time for that. But I was thinking it's time to launch yet another rescue mission. Standing in their way is the giant walking and talking cock who lives in the mammary mountain and has adopted a, let's just say, "alternative lifestyle," the milky jugs of the ladies in the G-Spot Cafe (check out the thighs on the waitress played Karen Palmer, hubba hubba)... (Only you would point out someone's thighs in a room full of women with huge tits dressed as slutty nurses.) ...and the shit-stained hospitality of the turd people.

While the film might seem perfect on paper, it does have one flaw. In a scene that takes place at the G-Spot Cafe, Flesh tells Robunda to keep her panties on. To which Robunda responds, "I don't wear panties." Yet, while walking through the rectum on their way to the home of the turd people moments later, Robunda instructs Dr. Jerkoff to keep his hands out of her panties while he's attempting to look for a flashlight (the rectum is dark). So, which is it? Is Robunda Hooters wearing panties or not? I would like to know. While this pantie anachronism left a bitter taste in my mouth, it didn't manage to ruin what was a pretty enjoyable experience overall. Pretty enjoyable?!? Fuck that noise, this movie rules!

As I was wading through the first hour of Gwendoline, I would often think to myself: This is not what I signed up for. I mean, ugh. In case you're wondering what the first hour of Just Jaeckin's adaptation of John Willie's The Adventures of Sweet Gwendolyn entails, I can't, unfortunately, describe it to you. Why not, you ask? It's simple, really. I'm not in the habit of watching films that play out like the first hour of this film does. The closest example I can think of is Six Days, Seven Nights, as it too features a man and a woman who meet under extraordinary circumstances. It goes something like this: At first they [the man and the woman] share a profound dislike one another. But they gradually grow to like one another as the film progresses. However, whereas the only worthwhile thing about Six Days Seven Days was the innate sexiness of Anne Heche (who, if memory serves correctly, and it usually does in this regard, puts on a leggy clinic in the film), Gwendoline promises to have dozens of female extras prancing around in skimpy black armor carrying spears. How do I know this? Um, hello? Take a look at the film's promotional material. (Like the photo spread in Lui Magazine?) Exactly. And according to promo pictures I've seen, the film looks like a femdom lovers dream. (Yeah, but, what about the first hour?) You can't expect the entire film to be wall-to-wall chicks in skimpy black armor, can you? (Uh, yes I can.) What am I saying? Of course you can. No, I was referring to normal people--you know, the more mentally well-balanced amongst us. (Oh.)

(Do you have any tips to give to all the perverts out there on how to get through the film's first hour?) Tips?!? You mean other than skipping the first hour completely? (Yeah.) Wow, that's a tough one.

Well, first things first, this film will deliver on its promise. Never forget that. In fact, keep reminding yourself every now and then as you sit through the first hour that the screen will be filled with scantily clad warrior women in the not-so distant future. Trust me, the sets, the costumes, the makeup, the music, the chariots powered by athletic women, and the general awesomeness of it all will be well worth the wait.

The second piece of advice I can give you involves adjusting your perversion meter. (Huh?) Stay with me. Okay, let's say, for example, the sight of Tawny Kitaen tied to a chair with a gag in her mouth doesn't do for you. If that's case, make it do something for you. What I'm mean is, temporarily adopt fetishes that you wouldn't normally subscribe to.

You know the scene where Tawny Kitaen and Zabou Breitman crawl underneath a roulette table? Well, I've adopted that as my new kink. Call me crazy, but there's something about all those faceless legs combined with the image of two women crawling on all fours that is inherently sexy.

Of course, you could just sit back enjoy the first hour without doing any of the things I just said. But let's not do anything rash, shall we?

Thieves in Macao stumble upon a shipping crate that contains a freshly scrubbed white woman named Gwendoline (Tawny Kitaen). Tying her to a chair, the thieves present their latest acquisition to their boss, an unscrupulous slave trader. Purely by chance, Willard (Brent Huff), a hunky adventurer type whose actions are always motivated by money, bursts into the room and inadvertently rescues Gwendoline by employing martial arts and good old fashion brawling techniques.

Reunited with her adorable gal pal Beth (Zabou Breitman), Gwendoline decides that Willard is the man to help her on her mission. Her mission is to what? Find a rare butterfly?!? Oh, brother. Luckily for Gwendoline, she looks like Tawny Kitaen circa 1984, or else Willard would have sent her packing immediately. Actually, he does try to get rid of her on several occasions. In fact, I think he throws Gwen and Beth off his ship not once, but twice. So, it doesn't seem to matter that Gwendoline looks like Tawny Kitaen circa 1984, or that the frightfully precise nature of Beth's bob hairstyle is a miracle of follicle engineering.

Managing to scrape some cash together, Gwen is able to convince Willard to help her find this butterfly, the very same one that her father tried to locate not so long ago, but went missing in the process. You could say, Gwen is doing this to honour her father. Which, when you put it that way, doesn't make her mission sound so frivolous.

Wearing khaki-coloured clothing and armed with butterfly nets, Gwen, Beth and Willard set out into the wild frontier to find that butterfly.

Taking a break from bickering with one another, Willard decides to "make love" to Gwen while locked a jail that belongs to a tribe of cannibals. (Huh?) Assuming they're about to be killed, Gwen agrees that she should experience loving making at least once before she dies, and Willard volunteers to lease out his penis to her. Free of charge, of course. Willard may be greedy, but he ain't no prostitute.

(Wait, how is he going to mount her with any hump-related confidence if they're both tied up?) Simple, really, he's going caress her chin with a piece of straw by holding it in his mouth. (A piece of straw?!?) I don't want to alarm you, but there's more to making love than humping, you insensitive bastard.

Able to escape the clutches of the cannibals, and, not to mention, able to weather a nasty sandstorm, Gwen, Beth and Willard spot the butterfly they want flying at the bottom of a canyon.

(Does this mean it's time?) Yep, you can stop pretending to care about Gwen, Beth and Willard's wacky, pitfall laden butterfly adventure, the nitty-gritty of the film is about to get underway. To put it another way, you're a sweaty, pelvically distressed Sting and a reasonably satisfied Trudie Styler just gave you the go ahead to unfurl your precious wad all over her tits and stomach. (I'm curious, how exactly does Trudie give Sting the wad-based go ahead?) Word on the street is, she winks at him three times in quick succession.

Thigh-high boots, spiky helmets, topless chicks, perspiration, industrial scrunchies, bondage, and black thongs for as far as the eye can see, now this is what I'm talking about.

After Beth is captured, Gwen and Willard must infiltrate the steamy subterranean kingdom of the Yik-Yak to rescue her. (The Yik-what?) The Yik-Yak, a society of fierce warrior women. Anyway, Gwen and Willard don the traditional garb of the Yik-Yak warriors: a black thong, black thigh-boots, various elbow pads, gloves, and shoulder pads, and a spiky helmet. And attempt to... Am I wrong? Or does but Brent Huff look good enough to eat in that Yik-Yak get-up? I don't why it took me this long to notice this, but Brent Huff is one handsome motherfucker.

Since the Queen of the Yik-Yak, oh, let's call her, The Queen (Bernadette Lafont), doesn't like the idea of obtuse outsiders roaming around her womanly realm, or, as she likes to call it, "her little community," she tries her best to stop them. When she discovers that one of the obtuse outsiders is a man, The Queen plans to use his genitals to make more Yik-Yak warrior women.

Four women are chosen (not at random but via a pit filled with horny warrior women) to mate with Willard. How will Gwendoline react when she finds out her man is going to used as a turkey baster? Why don't you ask her? Oh, wait, you can't, as she has just hopped aboard a human chariot (a sort of sadomasochistic rickshaw). However, judging by the fact that she just rescued Willard (characters rescuing one another is the film's main reoccurring theme), I'd say Gwendoline doesn't want to see her man's junk exploited in such a dehumanizing manner. Speaking of dehumanizing, the human chariot chase is, to quote D'Arcy (Jean Rougerie), The Queen's male lackey, "superb, superb, superb!"

Did anyone else think The Queen's guards sounded exactly like The Android Sisters? No? Just me, eh? Well ain't that a kick in the taint.

I haven't seen The Hunger Games, but there's no doubt in my mind that The Queen's overdressed gargoyle look in Gwendoline was the inspiration for Effie Trinket.

While lacking the charisma of her peers, Tawny Kitaen manages to get by on looks alone. That being said, if you need to see more movies with people named Tawny in them, then I recommend checking out the cinematic output of Tawny Fere, she's in Angel III: The Final Chapter and Rockula. In terms of acting, I would say Zabou Breitman and Bernadette Lafont were the only one's who possess anything close to resembling talent. It's another story all-together when it comes to costume design, production design, music and even direction, as the film is a pleasure to look at and to listen to. Now, if only someone would have shortened the pre-Yik-Yak portion of the film, as one whole hour is an awfully long time to wait to be fully immersed in French asses affixed with jet black thongs.

It's been roughly ten years since we last heard from Melvin Junko, a.k.a. The Toxic Avenger, "Toxie" to his friends, the hideously deformed creature of superhuman size and strength from Tromaville, New Jersey. Or has it? You see, while most people had to wait roughly ten years to get their next Toxie fix, I merely had to wait ten hours. The only downside of this sudden deluge of toxic-related cinema is that my mind has slowly started to erode. To put it another way, Lloyd Kaufman has begun appearing in my dreams. Do I wish the bespectacled Debbie Rochon or the adorably retarded Sweetie Honey were appearing in my dreams instead? Sure I do. That blue-haired lesbian art student with the plump titties can invade my dreams as well if she wants. In fact, all Tromettes are welcome to wallow in my subconscious (try to keep your fetid vaginal juices off my designer throw pillows, I just had them professionally cleaned at my go-to throw pillow cleaning place, "Those Aren't Pillows! Oh, wait, yes they are... Professional Pillow Cleaners Inc."). Don't worry, Lloyd doesn't do anything lewd or lascivious in my dreams. Every time I start to dream, a hyperactive Lloyd Kaufman jumps into frame and begins to introduce what I should expect in the dream I'm about to dream. Of course, everything his says doesn't come to fruition, but his enthusiasm is quite infectious. And another thing, I've noticed that whenever I'm watching a non-Troma film, that I start to get antsy after about ten seconds. At first I thought a bloodthirsty flea had crawled into my girdle. But then I realized, that's no flea, I'm antsy because no one in this non-Troma film is getting their arm forcibly removed or their head bashed in by a hideously deformed creature of superhuman size and strength.

You see what you've done, Lloyd Kaufman, my craving for wanton gore and excessive violence has gotten out of control. And not only that, if I don't see a character vomit, spew, hurl, or puke green slime every four or five minutes, or an old lady run over by the evil doppelgänger of Sgt. Kabukiman N.Y.P.D. every now and then, I get a super-serious case of restless leg syndrome. And you know the only way to cure a super-serious case of restless leg syndrome is to stab yourself repeatedly in the neck with a rusty speculum.

Now that I've sufficiently established that my brain has basically been ruined, or, liberated, depending on your point of view, by Troma, I can calmly go about addressing that stupid ass elephant that is currently taking up so much space in this particular room. (What elephant?) Don't play dumb. You know which elephant. Her name is Sarah/Claire. She's sometimes blind.She's always leggy. And she digs radioactive cock.

In the first film, The Toxic Avenger, Toxie's girlfriend, Sarah, is played by the beguiling Andree Maranda. And in The Toxic Avenger Part II and The Toxic Avenger Part III: The Last Temptation of Toxie, Toxie's girlfriend, Claire, is played by the wonderfully insane Phoebe Legere.

Saddled with the unenviable task of following in the footsteps of a pair of actresses who give, what I consider to be, two of the greatest performances in film history, Heidi Sjursen has her work cut out for her.

Actually, before I give my verdict regarding Heidi Sjursen's performance as Sarah/Claire, I would like talk about the exhaustively awesome opening scene that takes place at the Tromaville School For The Very Special on "Take a Mexican to Lunch Day." I liken this particular scene to a filmed wince. (A filmed what?) You know, a wince. A slight grimace caused by pain or distress. Well, this what a wince would look like if you were to say film it using cameras.

The luminous Debbie Rochon is teaching a class filled with tards... (Okay, I'm going to have to stop you right there. "Tards"?!? You know better than that.) Fine. It's taco day at the Tromaville School For The Very Special, and the very pregnant Ms. Weiner (the still luminous Debbie Rochon) is teaching the students all about tacos. When, all of a sudden... (Don't tell me, a gang calling themselves "The Diaper Mafia" burst into the classroom wielding automatic weapons.) How did you know that was going to happen? (Um, this is my fourth Toxic Avenger movie in as many days, so, I kinda know what to expect.)

Anyway, whether squirting baby milk into Sweetie Honey's face or beating her over the head with their massive breasts, certain members of The Diaper Mafia seem to enjoy picking on Sweetie Honey. And I have to say, this has got to stop. In fact, the next diaper-wearing reprobate who even looks at Sweetie Honey (Lisa Terezakis) in a manner I deem objectionable is going to feel the brunt of a tartar-causing knuckle sandwich. Am I making myself clear? What's that? It's only a movie, eh? Well, we'll see about that.

Movie or not, no one shoots milk from a baby bottle, especially while holding the baby bottle crotch level as if to convey that the baby bottle is your erect penis, in Sweet Honey's face and lives to tell about it. At least not on my watch.

When I first saw Tito (Michael Budinger) masturbating right in the middle of class to Over 50 Magazine, I had no idea this stuttering half a tard would become such an iconic character. The self-proclaimed "Rebel Retard," Tito plays by his own rules. So much so that when The Diaper Mafia burst into the class, he says, "Fuck this, I'm out of here," and leaves the classroom.

In no mood to take part in a hostage situation, Tito resigns to the maintenance closet to shoot heroin. Speaking of maintenance closets, you know what they keep in maintenance closets? (I don't know, cleaning products.) That's right, cleaning products. And what's the best device to use to deploy said cleaning prod... (Cut the shit, when does David Mattey's Toxie show up?) Toxie? He should be here in a few minutes to kill some diapered assholes. (Good, that's all I needed to know.)

In terms of evaluating Diaper Mafia hotness, the woman in the pinkish pantyhose is... Oh, wait. They're all wearing pinkish pantyhose, even the men. Hmm. I got it. Do you see the taut blonde straddling that lucky tard at the back of the class? Yeah, well, she has got it going on. And what makes what she's got going on go on even further is the fact that she looses her diaper midway through the scene. Meaning, the only thing standing between us and her supple as creamed corn undercarriage is a thin layer of pinkish nylon. Yum.

When Toxie finally does arrive to save the day, he disembowels, asphyxiates (with freshly defecated excrement), stabs (with pencil-sharpened fingers), and generally fucks up a shitload of those pesky infantile troublemakers for daring to mess with Tromaville's most precious resource: it's tards. (What about Joe Fleishaker, Toxie's morbidly obese sidekick, doesn't he fuck anyone up?) You mean, Lardass? (yeah, him.) Hmm, not really. He does spread peanut butter all over a bomb, then eats it. Oh, and when the bomb blows up inside Lardass's stomach, it causes a rift to form in the spacetime continuum. (Huh?)

I'll let James Gunn explain. Oh, crap! (What?!?) Look at that. James Gunn, who plays the wheelchair bound and slightly retarded Doctor Flem Hocking, is surrounded by Troma babes. (So?) Don't you see, I can't focus on plot-centric exposition of a scientific nature with, count 'em, four Troma babes, or "Tromettes," as they're some times called, standing in the frame at once. I mean, look at them. They're amazing. One of them even has a lazy-eye! Double yum.

Which reminds me. Even though I've watched four Toxic Avenger movies in as many days, I wouldn't exactly call myself a Troma expert. But there is one thing I do know, and that is, Troma's talent for casting attractive women, whether they be leading ladies or background people, is first-rate. The next time you find yourself watching a Troma movie, make sure to take the time to appreciate the effort that must have been made to cast interesting-looking women.

Why is Toxie ripping off the arms of the chief of police and throwing that twelve-year old girl against a brick wall? (Oh, man, you really weren't listening to James Gunn, were you?) What can I say, I'm sucker for chicks with lazy-eyes. (At any rate, that's not Toxie, that's Noxie, The Noxious Offender, the evil Toxie who lives in Amortville. And, well, after the explosion, the evil Toxie is transported to Tromaville.) Okay, I get it now. (It's good to have you on board.)

And since Noxie is in Amortville, that would mean the good Toxie, along with Tito and Sweetie Honey, is currently in Amortville. (Exactly.) This applies to all the residents of Tromaville. For example, the Sgt. Kabukiman NYPD (Paul Kyrmse) in Tromaville is a lovable drunk with low-esteem, while the Sgt. Kabukiman NYPD in Amortville is an evil sadist who enjoys running over old ladies.

While the evil Toxie teams up with Sgt. Kazinski (Dan Snow), a psychotic cop, to turn Tromaville into a fascist dictatorship (Mayor Ron Jeremy didn't stand a chance, nor did Dolphin Man), the good Toxie must survive on the means streets of Amortville long enough to find a way home. Joining forces with a severed head named Pompey (Barry Brisco), good Toxie, the crack-addicted Tito, and the too cute for words Sweetie Honey take the fight to the unruly residents of Amortville, who are basically a bunch of cock-chugging masochists. Hell, even Chester, Lardass's Amortville persona, is a shameless whore.

Speaking of whores, Claire (Heidi Sjursen), the woman who looks like Toxie's Sarah in the Amortville universe, manages to somehow retain her sex appeal. Playing a dentally challenged angel in the black stockings covered in runs, Heidi Sjursen basically steals the movie as the hearing impaired Claire, a woman who expects the good Toxie to fill her chocolate starfish with chunky, chunky dick snot. It would seem that the evil Toxie mistreats Claire in this realm. Meaning, that Sarah, Toxie's blind wife from Tromaville, who is pregnant with the good Toxie's baby, is going to be mistreated when the evil Toxie finds her.

Oh, he's going to do more than "mistreat her," he's going to force her to make out with a blue-haired lesbian at one point. (Wait, that doesn't sound so bad.) Actually, I don't want to describe what the evil Toxie does to Sarah, as his penis scares me.

At any rate, I didn't think it was humanly possible but Heidi Sjursen can hold her head up high, as her performance as Sarah/Claire is just as compelling as the one's given by Andree Maranda and Phoebe Legere, who are legends as far as I'm concerned. I know, that's high praise. And, at first I was like, who does this chick think she is? But slowly but surely, she began to win me over.

Bringing the bubbly retarded bent that is the cornerstone of the Sarah character, Heidi amps up the clueless head movements and adds a bit of breathy confusion to the role. Oh, and the fact that she spends the majority of the third act pregnant and covered in blood is to be commended.

In the alternate universe, things are completely different. (How so?) I'll tell you how so. Constantly waving her arms about in an attempt to perform sign language, Heidi Sjursen's Claire is even more demented than Sarah. The teeth, the torn stockings, the PVC mini-skirt, the arm flailing, the slutty demenour, the bruises, everything about Claire is awesome. In the film's best scene, Claire allows Chester to lick her feet while consuming a block of cheese at the same time.

Rectal hemorrhaging abortion doctors, Corey Feldman, blue-haired lesbians, dwarf Gods, Matrix-style fight scenes involving upright cows, the bloodiest hospital hallway fight sequence in film history (the arterial spray was like a freaking fire hose), Julie Strain, a womb-based battle where mop-wielding foetuses fight to the death, a gay porno set, Lisa Gaye, sign language, and lazy eyes. As you can clearly see, this film has it all. I think Tito should get his own movie, as I think the self-proclaimed "Retarded Rebel" has more to give to the world of cinema. Don't groan too loudly, but I think I need to go into detox. Get it. "Detox." I just watched all The Toxic Avenger movies, and now I need to... (We get it. Now, go outside. You're clearly toxic, and clearly on the cusp of slipping under.) Oh, and if I ask you what your favourite Britney Spears' song is, and you don't immediately say, "Toxic," you're clearly retarded. ;)

Oh, man! Oh God! Oh, man! It's time to stop beating around the bush and sit down, or lounge seductively with your shapely legs crossed in a manner specifically designed to drive all the men in the room wild with heterosexual desire, and watch Tough Guys Don't Dance, the Cape Cod set film noir from writer-director Norman Mailer, with the fullness of our attention. (It is?) Of course it is. It's got forthright women, the kind you meet in the back of Screw Magazine (the '80's version of Christian Mingle); femme fatales who used to have bright gold pussy hair back in high school; bland Italian women; southern dandies who use the word "imbroglio" unabashedly; blonde women in white gloves; and, for some sane reason, there's a woman who answers the door in nothing but a red thong. (Wow, this film sounds like a real winner.) You got that right. And get this, cocaine is ingested and heads are severed. In fact, some of the heads that are severed in this film were probably under the influence of cocaine when they were severed. (Looking over the list of things you cited as examples why this film needs to be watched, I couldn't help but notice a couple of odd choices. While there's nothing odd about savouring women in white gloves or forthright women with bright gold pussy hair, citing "bland Italian women" seemed a little strange. I mean, the words "bland" and "Italian women" don't really go together.) That's right, they don't. But Isabella Rossellini is surprisingly bland as an Italian woman who gets mixed up with a couple of losers. Or maybe she was just bland compared to the one woman saucy minx symposium Debra Sandlund was conducting in this movie as Patty Lareine, the southern belle who will shoot you in the mouth if you as much as look at her funny. Yeah, that was probably it. You would be a fool to try to compete with the uncut brand of southern-fried sexy/crazy Debra Sandlund (a.k.a. Debra Stipe) puts out there on a semi-consistent basis throughout this film; a fool, I tell you.

(Hmm, it would seem, judging by the words you have typed so far, that you were quite taken with the performance given by Debra Sandlund as Patty Lareine, is this an accurate statement?) Yes and no. Yes, I was quite taken with her performance; one minute, she's uncouth and vulgar, and the next she's the poster girl for elegance and sophistication. And, no. Wait a second, no? Forget I said no. There's no need for no. In other words, your statement is the very definition of accurate.

What I should have said was: Yes, it's true, I was quite taken with Debra Sandlund's performance as Patty Lareine, shameless gold digger/irresistible cutie pie. But the alluring and hella leggy Frances Fisher does give her a run for her money as Jessica Pond, a professional floozy/cocaine enthusiast with a glare so enticing, you will think you have died and gone to heaven the moment you dip your pinky toe in her azure whirlpool-esque eyeballs.

Welcome to Provincetown, Massachusetts, a small town located on the very tip of Cape Cod. Get comfy, we ain't going anywhere else. Seriously, we're not. Following the wacky misadventures of Tim Madden (Ryan O'Neil), a writer of some kind, the film, amongst other things, tries to explain why there's a severed blonde head in a bag tucked away in the place he likes to stash his drugs.

Starting somewhere near the end of the story, Tim limps downstairs one morning to find his father Dougy (Lawrence Tierney) in his kitchen. From there, Tim tells his father how he got himself in this sticky predicament, one that involves sultry blondes, cocaine parties, suave chauffeurs and Wings Hauser.

We're given a taste of three of those things almost immediately when we're ushered to a cocaine party at Tim's house being hosted by his sultry blonde girlfriend, Patty Lareine (Debra Sandlund). (Hold on, that's only two things.) Don't worry, Wings Hauser is about to make his presence felt. Knocking at the door, acting police chief Capt. Alvin Luther Regency (Wings Hauser) is greeted by a topless woman wearing a skimpy red thong. (I say, don't you think calling a thong skimpy is a tad redundant?) I guess, but there was hardly anything to this thong. I mean, it was barely there. (Fair enough.)

Falling in love with Patty Lareine the moment I laid eyes on her at the cocaine party, it's clear that Debra Sandlund is going to be my ticket to making it through this film unscathed. (Is it that grim?) No, it's not that. I just like to latch onto something, whether it be a sultry blonde, a leggy blonde, or a blonde who is both sultry and leggy, in the early going as insurance. And I think I might need some, some insurance, that is, for this film, as I don't know how much more I can take of Ryan O'Neil's mopey-looking mug.

A quick show of hands: Who wanted Wings Hauser's bug-eyed cop to punch Ryan O'Neil in the face? Interesting, that's more than I expected. What's even more interesting is that I bet most of you haven't even seen this movie. Meaning, his face is the very definition of punchable.

Wearing a yellow dress at the cocaine party, Patty Lareine, or I should say, Debra Sandlund, utters a chunk of dialogue that will cause your jaw to hit the floor.

My favourite chunk being Patty's response to when Tim informs her that she isn't a real blonde. All I'll say is two words: Bright gold!

After a séance, Patty, who is now wearing a white dress with white gloves and a white hat, leaves Tim for Lolo (Clarence Williams III), her chauffeur.

In order to keep track of how many days Patty's been gone, Tim writes the number in shaving cream on the bathroom mirror (the first number we see him write is 24). It's sad, but rather touching. It's also apt, as I would be crawling walls too if I had a woman like Patty Lareine in my life and then suddenly didn't thanks to some smooth-talking chauffeur.

Don't feel too bad for Tim, as he's about to meet the leggiest sultry blonde to hit Provincetown since, well... since Patty up and left. Drinking his problems away at the Widow's Walk, Tim spots a blonde named Jessica Pond (Frances Fisher) sitting cross-legged in a white dress at the other side of the pub. Hey, she's leggy and she's sultry, just like Patty. Yeah, and get this, she's wearing white gloves.

His face may be punchable, but his crotch knows first-rate legginess when he sees it, and wisely excepts her offer to join them. (Wait, join "them"?) Yeah, Jessica is with some guy named Lonnie (Stephen Morrow). But don't worry, he's a queer as a three dollar bill. And by "queer," I mean he's sexually attracted to men.

If he's so gay, why is he molesting Jessica's knee like that? Since when can't gay men molest Frances Fisher's knees? I don't want to live in a world where gay men can't feel up their gal pal's shapely knees in public.

Anyway, if you look closely, you'll notice that Frances Fisher is wearing white gloves when she enters the pub, yet they're conspicuously missing as the scene progresses. (Um, that's because she took them off.) Yeah, but, where did she put them? (That's a good question.) What are you talking about, that's a horrible question. The fact that I'm wasting everyone's time talking about Frances Fisher's gloves in Tough Guys Don't Dance is a bloody outrage.

When they finish their drink, Tim takes Jessica and Lonnie back to his place to enjoy some cocaine. And you know what that means? (Cocaine sex?) Exactly.

The next morning, a hungover Tim wakes up to find a tattoo on his arm, bloody clothes in his jeep and a severed head in a bag in the hole out in the woods where he keeps his stash. Now, I don't want to say what the tattoo said or whose severed head it was in the hole, but let's just say Tim's life is about to get complicated.

According to my research, "tallywacker" is slang for penis, so, when Patty tells Tim he's got a tongue like a tallywacker, she means his tongue boasts the same attributes that of a penis.

(Aren't you going to mention Isabella Rossellini?) Why would I do that? She's not blonde (he pussy hair was probably never bright gold), she's not sultry (she wears frumpy sweaters), she doesn't do cocaine (it's 1987, honey, do some cocaine), and she's not leggy (she wears pants in every scene). Ipso facto, you're not going to get any praise thrown your way. If, say, you looked and acted the way you did in Wild at Heart, that would be a different story all-together.

The majority of people who stumble across this film nowadays are probably not interested in Debra Sandlund, Frances Fisher, or even John Bedford Lloyd (he rocks as a southern dandy named Wardley Meeks III). No, I would say most folks are aware of this film's existence thanks to the infamous clip of Ryan O'Neil saying, "Oh, man! Oh God! Oh, man!" While that's as good as any reason to watch this film. However, I think the film definitely has more to offer than awkward Ryan O'Neil line readings. If you want to see an off-kilter film noir that takes place in a one of a kind location and is stuffed with sultry blondes of the leggy variety, make sure to make a date with Tough Guys Don't Dance.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Who would have thought that a meticulously planned full-scale invasion of the United States of America would ultimately be thwarted by a woman wearing yellow flats? Sure, there were others sporting more conventional combat footwear who helped her out. But make no mistake, as far as I'm concerned, it was a practical pair of yellow flats that saved the U.S. from utter annihilation. (Whoa, be careful, man. You're using a lot of words that are considered "red flags" to some.) You mean, flats?!? (No, silly. Words like, "invasion," the "United States of America," and "annihilation," to name a few.) Jeez, you're right. Well, just to let all you paranoid reactionaries out there know, I'm writing about Troma's War, a bloated anti-war satire that envisions a hypothetical scenario that pits a small group of Tromaville residents against a gang of heavily-armed revolutionaries. (Wait, a "gang"? Judging by the sheer volume of heavily-armed revolutionaries killed in this movie, I would say they're a bit bigger than a gang. No, I would say they're an army, pure and simple.) Anyway, why I'm bothering to write about a film that pretty much looks like a nonstarter as far as fashion and titillation goes? Well, you know what they say, looks can be deceiving. Meaning, Lloyd Kaufman and co. have plenty of surprises in store for those of us who are not here to relish in what has to be the largest movie body count of all-time. And I'm not talking about thousands of people being killed off screen in some sort of natural disaster or alien attack, the producers of this film make sure every death is shown in lurid squib-popping detail. Actually, now that I think about it, this flick must feature more squibs than any other film in history.

After thinking about it even more, it's safe to say that Troma's War looks exactly like the kind of movie I would have made...when I was ten years old, as the film is basically a non-stop cavalcade of gun-based violence.

I don't know where to squeeze this thought in, and I definitely don't want to forget, so, I'll just squeeze it in here. My favourite death in Troma's War, and believe me, there are plenty to choose from, has to be the guy who buys it while wearing nothing but a nondescript pair of tighty whities. The way he went flying into that puddle after being shot sent my inner ten year-old into a giddy tailspin. As a person who used to take pride in the manner in which he died, I give this particular death a ten out of ten.

Oh, and what I mean when I say that took pride in dying has to do with the fact dying was my favourite part of playing war in the school yard. What can I say? Some people enjoy killing, I prefer dying.

A Tromaville Airlines flight crashes on the beach of tropical island in the Caribbean. Amidst the rubble and the bodies of the dead, a small group of survivors gather together to assess the situation.

Not to sound cruel, but I hope someone shoots Shelly Somers (Nora Hummel) real soon, 'cause I don't know how much more of her shrill voice I can take.

I'm no good at counting and junk, but I'd say there are at least twenty survivors. If that's so, how the hell am I supposed to keep track of all these people? (Just focus on the characters that interest you. Take, for instance, the metal band.) You mean the two blonde chicks in tight pants, the black chick in the lacy pink pantyhose, and the guy in the leather vest? (Yeah, them.) Excellent idea.

The black chick, Nancy, is played by the leggy Aleida Harris, and she gets her teeth knocked out, stuffs a grenade in a bad guy's mouth, and chops pair of conjoined twins in half with a machete (don't worry, they were totally evil).

I'm not sure which blonde is which, but I do know they were played by Mary Yorio and Susan Bachli. The one in the black tights gets AIDS and kills a guy with a crossbow, while the one in the chartreuse tights gets shot in the ass by some fat fuck. (Hold on, "some fat fuck"? Show some respect, that's Joe Fleishaker, you ingrate. Anyway, what about the guy in the leather vest?) Oh, he's Sean (Alex Cserhart), he kills the director of Redneck Zombies with a guitar string. (Nice.)

Who else is there? (How 'bout the guys responsible for the nearly three hundred or so deaths that occur in this film?) Fuck yeah, I loved those guys. There's Parker (Rick Washburn), a Vietnam vet (Airbourne!) turned used car salesmen, Taylor (Sean Bowen), a no-nonsense kind of guy who digs chicks who wear flats, and Kirkland (Patrick Weathers), a not-so mild-mannered Englishmen who has a blow gun taped to his leg (it's never explained why he has a blow gun taped to his leg, but he turns out to be quite the asset to the Tromaville team).

I didn't think Jessica Dublin could ever top her milf-tastic performance in Island of Death (she gets peed on and decapitated by a bulldozer in that film), but here she is, as Dottie, wielding an M-60 like she was Rambo.

Anyone else turned on by the sight of Jessica Dublin stretching during that pre-battle training montage? Anyone?

It's not a Troma film unless there's a hot blind woman. And Troma's War does not disappoint in that regard. Blinded as a result of the plane crash, Jennifer (Lisa Petruno) might not be able to see, but she can still fire a Tubbs-style shotgun in anger and fill out a pair of white shorts like nobody's business. (Wait, they give her gun?) As she says in the movie, just point her in the right direction.

In a surprise twist, Jennifer falls for Cooney (Ara Romanoff), a tubby coward turned bona fide hero. Speaking of cowards, the less said about Wall St. weasel Hardwick (Charles Kay-Hune), the better; he's such a dick.

Am I forgetting anyone? Oh, yeah, the woman with the baby (Brenda Brock) and the old guy (Steven Crossley) with the artificial arm. Yeah, yeah, there's them. But I think I'm forgetting someone more important. The Latino chick (Lorayn Lane Deluca) in the torn red dress? Loved her attitude, but no.

I know, the tough blonde gal in the yellow flats. Yeah, Sweet Cheeks, a.k.a. Lydia (Carolyn Beauchamp), the woman with the film's highest kill count. You gotta love a woman who can operate a machine gun while wearing flats.

It's also not a Troma film unless we get a shot of some quirky-looking extras, and this criteria is met when we meet the group who are in charge with spreading AIDS across America.

As far as villains without AIDS go, I have to say, I've got a bit of a soft spot Alexis Grey as Maj. Ramirez. Sure, they never show her firing a gun, but in terms of being sexy, Alexis had it going on. Sporting a gigantic mane of teased blonde hair, black leather gloves that went all the way to her elbows, high heel leather knee-high boots, a long charcoal trench coat, and a demented grin/sneer, Alexis chews up as much scenery as Lloyd Kaufman will allow her.

Oh, and you might have noticed that I failed to mention what Alexis was wearing on her thighs (i.e. the area just north of her high heel leather knee-high boots). The reason for this has to do with the fact there are no clear shots of Alexis' body in the early going.

(In the "early going"? Does this mean there are some full body shots in the late going?) You're way ahead of me, my perverted friend. As the revolutionaries are preparing to send a group of "regular-looking" folks to the U.S. (infiltrate American society and cause chaos within), we see Maj. Ramirez organizing this event. Carrying an uzi and barking orders to her subordinates, Maj. Ramirez parades back and forth with an air of authority.

And since parading involves walking, her trench coat opens briefly with every step, giving us an unstructured view of her thighs, which were being strangled by a pair of black, lacy pantyhose.

Essentially, there are three main action scenes in Troma's War. The first being the one where Parker takes on an entire platoon by himself. The second involves Parker, Taylor, Kirkland (wielding a Steyr AUG), Lydia, and Maria rescuing the members of their group after they were captured. And the third is the survivor's valiant attempt to prevent the baddies from launching their invasion of the U.S.A. If I was forced, at gun point, of course, to choose a favourite action sequence, it would have to be the second one, as it features most of my favourite kills. And not to mention, my favourite death. Yo, guy in the tighty whities who back flips into a puddle after being shot, this review of Troma's War is dedicated to you. Airborne!!!!

Is it possible for someone to do everything wrong, yet still manage to succeed in life? What am I saying? Of course it's possible. In fact, I'd say more half the world's population fits neatly into this category. And Showgirls is the ultimate tale of failing your way to success. Now, I don't know if the film's protagonist does everything wrong. I mean, they can sort of walk from one place to another without falling flat on their stupid face. But everything else they do is rife with failure. Turning off the radio station channel that was playing Garth Brooks and switching it to a station that was playing "Vision Thing" by The Sisters of Mercy was the only thing Nomi Malone does right in this movie. Though, changing channels with the pointy end of your switchblade wasn't all that smart. Think about it, she could have missed the buttons, and by doing so, she could have electrocuted herself. (Boy, this Nomi chick sounds like a real dolt.) You can say that again. I know I don't need to sight another example, as you already seem on board the Nomi Malone is a moron express, but I just thought of a doozy. In a scene that appears near the end of the film, Zack Carey, Nomi's slick, floppy-haired Svengali, compliments Nomi's thrusting capacity. Now, most people, when you tell them they fuck good, will throw you a sheepish smile and usually say thank you. But not Nomi. No, she spits in your face. I know, crazy, huh? Her brain does not work like yours and mine. Seriously, there's definitely something off about the way she processes information, and I plan on... (Don't tell me, you plan on examining the mind of Nomi Malone?) You got that right. As I watched this film's toilet seat-esque sheen flicker in front of me, I discovered two things: One, no matter what Nomi said, I would disagree with it. And, two, every time Zack Carey would remove his hair from his eyes, I got a mild yeast infection.

The only character I identified with in Showgirls universe was Melanie Van Betten's Versace Saleswoman. Yes, I realize that's a bit of an odd choice, but hear me out.

After getting a sizable tip for a lap dance she gave to Kyle MacLachlan's Zack Carey at Cheetahs, the Las Vegas strip club she "dances" at (her spastic gyrating causes him to cream his designer chinos), Nomi Malone (Elizabeth Berkley) and her gal pal Molly (Gina Ravera) go to the mall to celebrate. Passing the Versace store, Nomi decides that she wants that little black dress on display in the window. Being that she is a seamstress, Molly offers to make the dress for her, but Nomi refuses and goes hurdling into the shop with a gangly aplomb.

An excited Nomi comes barreling out of the dressing room and starts posing up a storm in the store's mirror. Giggling loudly and spouting a flurry of girlish nonsense, Nomi is wrapped up in the sight of her long, shapeless legs jutting out from the bottom of the skimpy garment. As this is happening, the Versace Saleswoman tries to approach her. Using her shapely legs, which are sheathed in black nylons, the Versace Saleswoman walks toward her in a stealthy, "I'm about to collect me some motherfucking commission," manner.

Realizing almost immediately that nothing positive can come from her interacting with this non-leggy human female, the Versace Saleswoman lets out a sigh, turns around and walks away from Nomi. Well, when I saw the Versace Saleswoman let out that sigh and begin to walk away, I started jumping up and down on the couch. I was all like, "Yeah! You don't need this shit, Versace Saleswoman. You're leggy and you're stylish. So, fuck her and her switchblade-wielding, gross hamburger eating, Versace-mispronouncing ass.

If only the other characters that populate this ingrown armpit hair of a movie had followed the Versace Saleswoman's lead and walked away. Think about how much better this film would have been.

Wait a minute, that didn't come out right. If everyone walked away from Nomi Malone, there wouldn't be a movie. Excuse me? Did I just hear you mutter the word "exactly" under your breath? Bite your tongue, young man. I don't want to live in a world where Showgirls doesn't exist.

(I don't understand, you sound like you hate Nomi Malone.) First of all, I never use the word "hate" (my momma didn't raise no hater). And secondly, there's more to Showgirls than just Nomi Malone. (More?) I got two words for you... (What? Versace Saleswoman?) No, the two words are Gina and Gershon. (Huh?) If you put them together, what do you get? That's right, Gina Gershon! (Oh, okay, that makes sense.)

However, before Gina Gershon, and, I suppose, the Versace Saleswoman, can appear onscreen, Nomi has to get her blandly-shaped ass to Las Vegas. Hitching a ride from Jeff (Dewey Weber), Nomi, who is wearing a black leather jacket covered in frays, is on her way to Las Vegas. To show her appreciation for giving her ride, Nomi pulls a switchblade on Jeff. I know, that's a pretty funny way to show your appreciation to someone, but, like I said, Nomi can't seem to do anything right.

After Jeff steals Nomi's suitcase when they get to Las Vegas, she runs into the parking lot and starts smashing one of the cars. It just so happens that the car she's smashing belongs to Molly. Unamused by this display, Molly tries to stop her from wrecking her car. This causes Nomi lose her bearings and she runs into oncoming traffic. Just as a car is about to run her over, Molly pulls her to safety. For some inexplicable reason, Molly offers to buy Nomi something to eat at a fast food joint. (Oh, you thought that was inexplicable, eh? Don't look now, but Molly is offering to let Nomi stay at her place.) I don't get this, she smashes your car, doesn't thank you for saving their life, and has a fully-body conniption fit when you ask her a simple question. Are you sure you want this waxy, barely lifelike creature living under the same roof as you?

Flash-forward six weeks and Nomi and Molly are best buds. Living in a trailer park on the outskirts of town--or maybe the trailer park was on the inskirts of town, what do I know?--Molly is a seamstress at the Stardust Casino and Nomi has since got a job as a stripper at the Cheetah Club. Told to wear her pink dress with the fringe, Molly takes Nomi to see where she works. Backstage at a show called "Goddess," Molly is busy fixing g-strings before the show is about to begin. Watching from a balcony, Nomi gets a birds eye view of the homosexual nightmare that is this stage show. Now, whereas most people would dismiss Goddess as lurid trash--even I thought it was garish and vulgar--Nomi dreams of being a part of it.

Of course, she blows her first opportunity to do so when she tells the show's star, Crystal Conners (Gina Gershon), that she doesn't know shit after Miss Conners dares to question whether or not she's a dancer (she's of the mind that strippers aren't dancers). And not only that, she nearly cost Molly her job in the process. After all, it was Molly who introduced this mentally unstable jizz jar to the star of the show.

Speaking of getting people fired, Nomi gets James Smith (Glenn Plummer) fired from his job as a bouncer at a nightclub. It's true, James put his job jeopardy when he decided to dance with Nomi (bouncers are supposed to bounce the customers, not dance with them). But when Nomi knees James in the groin, this causes a fight to break out. And get this, the reason she knees him in the groin is because he offered to give her dancing lessons. First of all, why are all these black people bending over backwards to help this unattractive sociopath? And secondly, no, forget secondly, why are they doing this? It's driving me insane.

Anyway, it's not just black people who seem to want to help her, white people want to help as well. Case in point, Crystal Conners and Zack Carey (Kyle MacLachlan), the entertainment director for the Stardust, show up at the Cheetah, and give Nomi 500 dollars to grind all over all Zack's lap.

Oh, and before the lap dance scene, we see Nomi strip/dance for the first time, and I must say, her performance was the complete opposite of sexy. Employing these fast, jerky, aggressive dance moves, Nomi, whose body is an amorphous slab of sweaty skin, proceeds to hurl herself across the stage like a deranged lunatic. As I sat there, unmoved by Nomi's routine, I thought to myself, maybe I am gay? Then it dawned me. The reason I wasn't moved by her routine had nothing to do with sexual orientation, but the simple fact that she just doesn't do it for me. Everything, from the way she thrusts her pelvis, to way she eats a hamburger, was off-putting.

Taking the money she earned from the Kyle MacLachlan lap dance, Nomi buys a skimpy black dress at the local Versace store. You know what that means, right? Yep, it's time for the Versace Saleswoman (Melanie Van Betten) to make her brief yet profound appearance. Approaching Nomi as she's trying the dress on, the Versace Saleswoman says, "It looks quite good on you." To which Nomi responds, "It doesn't suck" (a phrase Nomi uses at least three times over the course of the film). Upon hearing this, the Versace Saleswoman turns around, rolls her eyes, lets out an exasperated sigh and proceeds to walk away. Congratulation, Versace Saleswoman. You're the only character in this movie to see Nomi for what she really is: A selfish, entitled, spoiled brat.

While the Versace Saleswoman is the smartest character in the film, in a strange twist, Al Torres (Robert Davi), Nomi's boss at the Cheetah Club, is the film's most sympathetic. It's true, while on the surface, he might come off as a real scumbag. But the scene where he visits Nomi, who has since landed a spot in the Goddess cast, is just teeming with pathos. I'm not kidding, I nearly broke down in tears when Al tells Nomi, "It must be weird, not having anybody cum on you."

In terms of acting, I would have to say that Gina Gershon gives the film's strongest performance, as she is the only one in the cast who seems to know what camp is (she says, "I used to love Doggy Chow" while sipping a glass of champagne). As far as sexiness goes, this film is limp and unmanageable (the sex scene between Nomi and Zack in his pool is so awful that it actually caused my junk to unattach itself from my torso and leave the room in a huff). That being said, Rena Riffel is smoking hot as the perpetually confused Hope/Penny, a stripper/dancer who's new to the whoring racket. Miss Riffel has a natural allure, and she doesn't make me physically sick when I look at her. And in the world of Showgirls, that's the nicest thing you can say about a person.

Even though there are a total of three writers credited with penning the script for Friday the 13th: A New Beginning, don't expect much as far as character development goes. Realizing this halfway through the filming of the movie, actress Tiffany Helm decided that if the screenwriters of this piece of crap weren't go to give her any dialogue to flesh out her character, she was going to have to take matters into her own hands. However, since the writers, including director Danny Steinmann (Savage Streets), weren't going to let her improvise her dialogue, she would have to express herself through the power of dance, or, to be more accurate, new wave dance. Meaning, everything you need to know about Tiffany Helm's Violet, the resident new wave goddess/fashion icon at Pinehurst (a retreat for wayward teens and social misfits), can be found in the scene where she dances in her poster-adorned bedroom to "His Eyes" by Pseudo Echo. And when I say, "new wave dance," I'm not talking about Molly Ringwald in The Breakfast Club-style dancing. No, the moves Tiffany busts in this movie are the epitome of new wave. Moving her hands to the music in a jerky, robotic manner, Violet manages to convey more about her personality than any trite, lazily-written dialogue ever could. And it's a good thing she stepped up to plate when she did, as I was just about to give up on this chapter in the stalk and slash horror franchise. Oh, sure, the alluring Juliette Cummins (Slumber Party Massacre II) and the smokin' hot Rebecca Wood step up to the plate as well. But I owe a debt of gratitude to Tiffany Helm for, well, just being there for me during my hour and a half of need.

Some of you might be thinking to yourself: Hey, I thought you were done with the Friday the 13th franchise after the debacle that was Friday the 13th Part VIII: Jason Takes Manhattan? Well, like I said, you can thank Tiffany Helm for saving this chapter from being a complete disaster, but you can also blame her, too, as she's the reason I decided to give this flick a look-see in the first place.

You see, every once and awhile, while surfing the interweb, I would come across a picture (one that was obviously taken from a movie) that featured a young woman with crimped blonde hair (with black, Teri Nunn circa "Take My Breath Away" highlights) wearing goth-friendly eye makeup. Since the picture was never labeled and I couldn't ever be bothered to ask what the name of the movie was, the source remained a mystery to me. One day, all that changed, when someone labeled the pic simply, "a new beginning." And just like that, I was back in the watching Friday the 13th movies game.

That's right, just when I thought I was out (of the Friday the 13th racket), they, or, more specifically, Tiffany Helm, pulled me back in.

(Wow, what a fascinating story.) Don't mock, if you saw Tiffany's adorable mug staring at you, you, too would want to seek it out and then lavish it with an excessively large amount of praise. Okay, maybe the latter only applies to me, but the rest of you so-called normal people would definitely want to know more about Tiffany Helm in Friday the 13th: A New Beginning, which is actually the fifth chapter in the series (I think I failed to mention this tidbit earlier), after seeing her picture.

(Weren't you upset that Tiffany Helm didn't show her boobs?) Oh my God. I can't believe you just asked me that. Do I look like I'm 12 years-old? No, I wasn't upset. In fact, I'm glad Tiffany kept her clothes on, as there's nothing sexier than fully-dressed punky new wave chicks who wear greyish shirts that are always buttoned to the top and are rarely ever seen without their trusty Walkman.

Seriously. Setting the breakfast table: It's Walkman time, baby. Doing the laundry: Duh, I've got my Walkman on.

(Is it worth mentioning that Corey Fledman briefly appears in the opening scene?) Not really. (Whew! That's a relief.) All you need to know about Corey Fledman is that he grows up to be a troubled teen. His name is Tommy Jarvis (John Shepherd), and he apparently killed Jason Voorhees in an earlier film. Traumatized by the experience, Tommy is sent to Pinehurst, a, like I said, sort of halfway house for adolescent nutjobs (there has to be a more delicate way of putting that).

Greeted by Pam (Melanie Kinnaman), the assistant director of Pinehurst (look at you, paying attention and junk), the quiet and reserved Tommy is shown his room. There he meets the non-insane Reggie (Shavar Ross), the gregarious grandson of the one of the joint's employees.

We get our first glimpse of Tiffany Helm's Violet during an incident involving two of the home's residents, Tina (Debi Sue Voorhees) and Eddie (John Robert Dixon), who get in trouble for trespassing on the property belonging to Ethel (Carol Locatell), a loud-mouthed yokel who says "fuck" a lot. Crowding around to watch, Violet, who is standing next to Jake (Jerry Pavlon), looks unamused by all the commotion; listening to the latest new wave bands on her Walkman is all she cares about.

Later that day, or maybe it was the next day... You know what? Who gives a shit. This film certainly doesn't. How 'bout this: Soon afterward, Violet can be seen doing laundry with her slightly less new wave gal pal Robin (Juliette Cummins). As their putting clothes and linen on the line to dry, they're approached by Joey (Dominick Brascia), a tubby dolt with chocolate all over his face (and by "all over his face" I mean the corners of his mouth). Insisting on helping them, Joey eventually causes them to lose patience with him; Violet even tells Joey to "piss off" at one point.

Not getting anywhere with the girls, Joey decides to harass Vic (Mark Venturini), who's chopping wood nearby. Now, it's one thing to bug a couple of new wave chicks armed only with clothes pegs, it's another thing all-together to pester an axe-wielding troubled teen. While getting axed to death did seem a tad on the harsh side, I thought the ends totally justified the means. I know, that's a terrible thing to say, but you should have seen Joey, he was so fucking annoying.

It's after Joey is axed to death and Vic is carted off to jail that people start getting killed. Two leather-clad Jewish-Italian greaser types experiencing car trouble, one played by Corey Parker (Flying Blind), are the first to go. Then it's Billy (Bob DeSimmone), a cocaine enthusiast, and Lana (Rebecca Wood), a leggy waitress and probably one of the most attractive women to ever appear in one of these movies, who are the next to buy it. You might be thinking to yourself, what do these people have to do with Pinehurst? And the answer is simply, nothing. In order to increase the film's body count, random characters are added to the mix to inflate the kill count.

You know what the film needs? (More new wave chicks?) Well, duh. No, what it needs is water. (Wait, water?) Yeah, water. You can't have a Friday the 13th movie without water. And this one has no water whatsoever. Sure, it rains in the opening scene. But I'm talking about a body of water--you know, a lake, a river, something along those lines.

(Does the toilet in the cast iron shithouse Demon (Miguel A. Núñez Jr.) attempts to take a dump in count as a "body of water"?) Nah. I don't think the toilets in cast iron shithouses contain water. (Then where does the fecal matter go?) I think it just goes into a box of some kind. (Eww, gross.) Yeah, it would seem that Demon agrees with you. By the way, Demon is not some random character introduced solely to be murdered, he's Reggie's hip and happening brother.

You know what else this film needs? (Even more new wave chicks?) Well, duh squared. No, what it needs is Jason Voorhees. (Does Debi Sue Voorhees count?) She doesn't. But fans of large, natural breasts will love Debi Sue in this movie, as she, well, you know, shows her boobs. Anyway, the lack of Jason Voorhees in this flick is really troubling.

(If Jason isn't the one killing people, then who is?) Again, who gives a shit. No, what we need is more close ups of Violet and less of everything else. Actually, I could have used more shots of Juliette Cummins walking around in her blue robe. But, hey, that's just me.

(Is it time for Violet to dance to Pseudo Echo yet? 'Cause, to be honest, nothing else is working for me in this film.) Yep, she should be dancing up a storm any minute now. (Quick question: Are you sure Violet isn't a punk?) Um, I'm sure. How do I know? Well, would a punk have a A Flock of Seagulls poster on her wall? (A punk with an open mind might.) That's true. But trust me, Violet's aura oozes pure, unadulterated new wave. (Unadulterated, eh?) Unadulterated.

Woo-hoo! Look at Violet dance. Dance, Violet, dance! Dance your new wave ass off. Okay, I'm officially done with this movie.

Hellraiser (Clive Barker, 1987)

The Janitor (TJ Nordaker and Andy Signore, 2003)

Wild Zero (Tetsuro Takeuchi, 1999)

Hollywood Cop (Amir Shervan, 1987)

Hellbound: Hellraiser II (Tony Randel, 1988)

The Toxic Avenger (1984)

Driller (Joyce James, 1984)

Entrails of a Virgin (Kazuo Komizu, 1986)

The Toxic Avenger Part II (1989)

I Drink Your Blood (David Durston, 1970)

Click: The Calendar Girl Killer (1990)

The Toxic Avenger Part III: The Last Temptation of Toxie (1989)

Flesh Gordon Meets the Cosmic Cheerleaders (Howard Ziehm, 1990)

Gwendoline (Just Jaeckin, 1984)

Citizen Toxie: The Toxic Avenger IV (2000)

Tough Guys Don't Dance (Norman Mailer, 1987)

Flesh Gordon (Howard Ziehm, 1974)

Troma's War (1988)

Showgirls (Paul Verhoeven, 1995)

Friday the 13th: A New Beginning (Danny Steinmann, 1985)