Movies About Girls

The Graves (2010)

Moviesaboutgirls@gmail.com (Moviesaboutgirls@gmail.com) — Wed, 10 Mar 2010 17:25:17 PST

Directed by Brian Pulido
Starring Jillian Murray, Claire Grant, Tony Todd, Bill Moseley
Rated R
USA

"I'll try to make this painless."

The thing about trying too hard is that everybody knows you're trying too hard. And there's nothing nerdier than trying too hard. Within the first fifteen minutes of The Graves, we are treated to: faux-goth fashions (on decidedly non-goth actresses), a comic book store scene (with gratuitous Lady Death reference - the director wrote a 2004 animated LD film), a live Calabrese performance (because, you know, what's edgier than a Misfits rip-off?), a Hot Topic reference, a visit to a retro-styled diner, a Tony Todd appearance, and a detour to "Skull City". Oh boy. It's the cinematic equivalent of some kid with braces and bifocals trying to talk his way into a seat at the cool kid's table.

Luckily, all that goofy jazz ends abruptly once the story proper starts.

Part of the last After Dark Horrorfest - an increasingly obscure annual horror-flick theatrical gang-bang that haunts a few empty theaters around the country for a week in January before the 8 selected "Films to die for" get dumped on DVD - The Graves is a desert-bound bloodletter about two suburban hipster sisters, Abby (American High School's Jillian Murray) and Megan (Clare Grant, the future Mrs. Seth Green) Graves, who ditch their hometown of Scottsdale, Arizona, for one last roadtrip before Megan flies away to New York or LA or somesuch place to make something of herself.

Megan wants to see the world's largest thermometer, which is out in the desert somewhere, so off they go. However, after a chat with a frazzled waitress at the aforementioned retro diner - the same diner where Tony Todd appears as a sinister minister - the two black-clad girlies decide to check out Skull City, an abandoned mine/town in the proverbial middle of nowhere.

Three minutes into their self-guided tour through the ghost town, some fat cowboy with a hammer shows up and starts bashing people's brains in. Megan manages to rip his testicles off with a crowbar, killing him. But no sooner do the girls escape the dead fat cowboy when they run into his brother - Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2's Bill Moseley. He wears a pig nose. And he loves hunting girls.

The usual cat and mouse survival-horror clichés ensue, with a bonus, Children of the Corn-y religious hysteria twist.

And that's pretty much it. Except for the seven-minute (!) end-credits.

Both of the lead actresses are exceptionally pretty, and like the director, they are clearly trying as hard as they can to make this thing work. However, it's all been done so many times before that it feels more like a very banal case of Deja-vu than any kind of productive movie-watching experience. With a more defined vision, The Graves could have worked as 70's style downer-horror - the stellar poster implies as much - but the story, pacing, and production design are all too pedestrian for their own good. An hour in, I started to wish the girls would just go back to the comic book shop. At least I could do some window-shopping during those scenes.

In summation: Highly skippable. Although the sequel is already in the works, so maybe it's just me. Your call.

- Ken McIntyre

Sorority House Vampires From Hell (1998)

Moviesaboutgirls@gmail.com (Moviesaboutgirls@gmail.com) — Tue, 09 Mar 2010 20:11:08 PST

Directed by Geoffrey de Valois
Starring Kathy Presgrave, Yvette Davis, Eugenie Bondurant
Unrated
USA

"I had more fun at my last drive-by."
"HAHAHAHA!"

The movie opens with a ten-minute credit sequence featuring a hot chick with big boobs dancing around in a front of a TV while ear-gouging industrial rock plays on the soundtrack. Of course, you could always hit the mute button to escape the garbage-y music, but it won't even do you any good, because the video image is so saturated (on purpose) and blurry (maybe not on purpose), that you can't even pop a decent boner. Originally, Sorority House Vampires from Hell was released in 3D, so I think that's what's up there. If that's the case, than this sequence - and the others like it - are completely useless, since 90% of the available copies of this fucking mess are in blotchy 2D.

Oh, and also, I think there was a shot of flame-haired porn starlet Annie Body sucking on a metal phallus of some kind in there, too. Dunno. Anyway, fast-forward through that part.

When you get to the story, you will first be alarmed/panicked by just how cheap the fuzzy camcorder image looks. It is much worse than the home movies your dad took on the family's first video camera in 1987. It's also, at least briefly, in washed-out black and white. Impossible to say if this is on purpose. A girl walks through a cardboard graveyard and runs into another girl, this one in a cape and cowl. Then a third girl springs up from her grave and tries to bite the other two girls. And then they haul ass out of there.

Turns out the first two are sorority pledges, and the sorority house is in the middle of the woods, the very same woods where an anorexic vampire hangs out. A couple end up fucking in the dirt near the vamp's grave; she manages to chomp them, and begins to gradually return to her former form - a too-skinny, wisecracking clothes horse. She quickly acquires a biker chick Renfield and the two traipse around the immediate area, snacking on coeds and trying on lingerie.
Meanwhile, inside the sorority house...well, it's actually impossible to tell what's going on. There is a shower scene, but it's shot too ineptly to do you much good. There's some lesbians and a little S&M, but not enough. There's also a subplot with a bungling Dracula who makes Wall Street jokes. Etc.
Eventually, the skinny-bitch vampirella recruits half the sorority and most of the local yokels into her zombie army, and they take over the world.

Or they don't. I mean, this thing is impossible to sit all the way through, so anything could have happened.
The opening and closing sequences - with the naked girls, flashing lights, and headache-making racket - are quite redolent of legendary psychedelic schlockmeister Jess Franco's work. I'll give Mr Valois that much. But all the ponderous spookshow antics and anti-comedy in-between are just too painful to endure. The only reason I ended up buying(!) a copy of Sorority House Vampires From Hell in the first place is because it's supposed to feature the lovely JJ Rodgers, star of Amazon Warrior, but she is nowhere to be found. Apparently, she's in some other cut.

So that sorta sucked.

All in all, a pretty miserable experience.

- Ken McIntyre

Chai Lai Angels: Dangerous Flowers

Moviesaboutgirls@gmail.com (Moviesaboutgirls@gmail.com) — Mon, 08 Mar 2010 20:56:20 PST

Directed by Poj Arnon
Starring Jintara Poonlarp, Bongkarj Khongmalai, Supakson Chaimongkol, Bunyawan Pongsuwan
Rated R
Thailand

"How dare you kick my face!"

There's this pearl, see. It's at the bottom of the ocean. It keeps all the fish in line. This one stone-faced karate dude is sworn to keep it safe. But then this other guy - one of those blandly handsome, vaguely evil types - kidnaps the karate dude's kid and uses her for leverage to find out where the pearl is. That bad guy also has a seriously annoying transvestite henchman. The best one always do, don't they?

At first, this turns out to be a bad idea. The kid is actually a karate master, just like her dad, so she kills a lot of dudes first. But they finally get the best of her.

So...I am not sure who works for whom or how anybody gets involved in all of this, but somebody calls the Chai Lai Angels - five female Asian mercenaries/secret agents, ranging in attractiveness from sorta-cute to drop-dead gorgeous. Just like in the landmark 70's television series Charlie's Angels - the clear inspiration here - they girls change into different outfits all the time, and they report to an eccentric Bosley-type boss named, conveniently enough, Boss. That's the set-up. A lot of fighting and clowning and camaraderie ensues.

A very low-budget affair that tries its best to get by on sheer exuberance, Chai Lai Angels features some of the shoddiest wirework this side of a 70's Turkish Superman rip-off. Of particular note is a spectacularly unconvincing fight scene between the Angels - wrapped only in bath towels - VS a gang of black-suited thugs on a mall escalator. In the hands of a competent director, the scene would have been jaw-dropping. Here, it's just eye-rolling. Still, pretty girls! In towels! Doing high kicks!

Despite the almost constant hand to hand combat, the girls do occasionally find time for romance. Rose (Khongmalai)- the bustiest of the Angels - gets engaged to a handsome young banker, and when she gets home, she does a very gratifying underwear dance. So that was pretty awesome.

Unfortunately, he's kidnapped and beaten by a gay black pirate minutes later.

The cross-dresser henchman hires a bunch of comic-booky assassins to kill the Angels once and for all. A rain-soaked battle royale ensues outside of what looks like a mini-golf castle. One oddball inconsistency with this film is that sometimes the girls are bunglers and sometimes - as in this scene - they are possessing of supernatural powers, including Hulk-like strength, and the power of flight.

Despite this surge of superheroine-ism, the girls still end up trapped in a flimsy white cage. Luckily, the fifth angel shows up in a tank.

Etc.

The bad guys - of which there seems to be an endless supply - finally locate the sacred pearl-of-whatever on some deserted island. And they would have gotten away with it, too (whatever it is they were planning on getting away with; I am not sure that was ever explained fully), but then the Chai Lai Angels pop up out of nowhere to engage in the oft hoped for but rarely witness Epic Bikini Battle.

And then, for whatever reason, Rose performs a disco number inside a giant plastic ball.

A bunch of stuff happens after that, too. Most of it involves chicks and guns.

While it is never great, and while it occasionally lapses into full-retard mode, Chai Lai Angels: Dangerous Flowers is consistently entertaining, and maintains a goofy, ragged charm.

Despite the frequent bouts of graphic violence, the tone, for the most part, is light and fluffy; the action dips into ice-cold Tarantino territory for part of the climax - a guns blazing, kill-everybody free-for-all - but then the cross-eyed double-agent shows up again, and who can stay mad when there's a cross eyed double agent shooting up the joint? A bit of nudity and a less insane dubbing job would have been nice, but still, a fun, frothy movie.

PS: the film ends with a five-minute fire-fight that's supposed to be footage from the planned sequel, Chai Lai Angels Go to Battle. Sadly, said sequel has yet to emerge.

- Ken McIntyre

Movies About Girls Podcast Episode 57

Moviesaboutgirls@gmail.com (Moviesaboutgirls@gmail.com) — Sat, 06 Mar 2010 22:52:55 PST

Happy weekend, everybody! Time for another round of podcasticle excellence!

Two 70's grindhouse messterpieces for you this week:

1979's mean girl gone bad epic, Malibu High, starring this old bastard and Jill Lansing's homicidal bloomers!
Also on deck: 1971's Satanic sex mind-fryer, Terror at Orgy Castle!

But that's not all. No way, Jose!

We've also got Hits from Hell, our continuing search for the worst song of all time!
Plus: the Top 5 and Bottom 5 DVD releases of the week - including the top 5 Adult DVD releases - another round of Let's Fuck up the Podcast, our fair and balanced podcast review segment, weird news, Comics About Girls By a Girl, Streakin' Weekly, Tom's phone call from Istanbul, a message from Dr. Narcoleptigon, Songs about girls, shocking confessions, bitter defeats, and lots more!

So, join Ken, Stacey, Jim Ether, Cherrybomb, Gore Gore Girl, Holly, Tom, Atari Stacey, Mike Fischer, Dr Narcoleptigon, and Jeff Crazy for another glandular adventure!

Subscribe on I-Tunes!
Download HERE!
Or stream on Podcast Alley here!

PS: Love us? Hate us? Love us but also hate us? Leave us a voice mail at 206-426-6504!

PPS: If you like the show and want to support us, vote for us on Podcast Alley or leave us a review on I-Tunes!

PPPS: Bands played on tonight's show:
The Foundations
John Mayall and the Bluesbreakers
The Scenery (featuring Ian Hunter)
Brijitte West and the Desperate Hopefuls
The Ghost
David Gates
The Pogues

Thanks for listening!

- Ken McIntyre

Cool It Carol! (1970)

Moviesaboutgirls@gmail.com (Moviesaboutgirls@gmail.com) — Wed, 03 Mar 2010 16:39:47 PST

AKA The Dirtiest Girl I Ever Met
Directed by Pete Walker
Starring Janet Lynn, Robin Askwith
Rated X
UK

"C'mon, Carol...just what kind of party did you think this was?"

Director Pete Walker is best known for his pitch-black, gut-bucket, 70's sex/horror flicks: Die Screaming Marianne (1971), The Flesh and Blood Show (1972), House of Whipcord (1974), and Frightmare (1974). All four films are raw, mean-spirited stabs of unhappiness, color-soaked nightmares of beautiful people doing ugly things and ugly people doing...well, even uglier things. Peter Walker was/is a pisser, that's for sure.

Significantly, Walker also made his share of sexploitation flicks, including the 3D Four Dimensions of Greta and spy spoof Tiffany Jones (both 1973), but even those were surprisingly mirthless. Cool It Carol! is also, theoretically, a softcore film, possibly even a sex comedy. It does, after all, contain all the necessary elements - kicky dollybird, fumbling boyfriend, greasy pervs with weird mustaches - but much like the horror flicks Walker would soon direct, Cool It Carol! is glum, gray, and depressive. You won't know whether to pop a boner or gulp down some hemlock.

Things start out cheery enough, at least. Carol (heartbreaking Janet Lynn, one of the most adorable 70's Brit actors you'll ever lay eyes on) and her slacker sometimes-boyfriend Joe (Robin Askwith, the chimp-faced denim-demon from the Confessions of... series) leave their tiny Midlands town to try and make something of themselves in swinging London. Carol wants to be a model; Joe just doesn't want to work very hard. On the train ride into the city, the two old friends have sex together for the first time. Carol's not thrilled with Joe's performance, but realizes she may have an exhibitionist streak.

This comes in handy when she gets to town and starts auditioning for modeling gigs. Since she has no photographs to give away, she merely strips down in front of agents.

When this fails to snag her any work, she does a nude shoot with a pin-up photographer. He promises to try and sell the pictures to Playboy. In the meantime, Carol and Joe are starving, and Joe' s attempts to find work have come up empty. Joe contemplates robbing a bank; to keep her idiot friend out of jail, Carol offers to try our prostitution instead.

This goes surprisingly smooth, at first. Carol racks up some regulars, and Joe acts as her ineffectual but loyal pimp. One night, in desperation, Carol and Joe agree to shoot a porn flick together, while a bunch of sweaty old weirdos in bowler hats watch.

That scene is meant to be funny, by the way, but it's mostly just depressing.

Anyway, once the film gets around, Carol becomes an in-demand nude model, porn star, and big-ticket escort.

So, a happy ending, then?

Sort of. Not really. Nobody's ever really happy in a Pete Walker movie.

Slow and deliberate - a Walker trademark - but still compulsively watchable, Cool It Carol! turns the way-out 60's London mod scene squarely on its perfectly coiffed head. Leave it to mean ol' Pete to turn the grooviest era of the world's grooviest city into a drab and heartless hive of casual villainy.

PS: Sadly, besides a couple of blink-and-you'll-miss-her cameos in the incredible Twins of Evil and not quite as incredible Satan's Playthings (both 1971), this is Janet Lynn's only substantial role. A shame, because not only was she a convincing actress, she was an absolute doll.

- Ken McIntyre

Eerie Midnight Horror Show (1972)

Moviesaboutgirls@gmail.com (Moviesaboutgirls@gmail.com) — Tue, 02 Mar 2010 22:52:11 PST

AKA The Sexorcist/The Tormented
Directed by Mario Gariazzo
Starring Stefania Carnacina, Lucretia Love, Ivan Rassimov, Gabriele Tinti
Rated R
Italy

"Stick around, baby. I'll supply what he won't-and maybe a length or two more."

As I mentioned to Ken, The Eerie Midnight Horror Show is a cheap, stupid and incomprehensible Italian sex-horror rip-off of The Exorcist, and therefore is required viewing. Here's my question, though: how did the producers of this film watch The Exorcist, with its trucker-mouthed, monster-faced little girl and then say, "Hmm...is there a way we can sex this up? What if she was possessed-but naked? That'll get 'em hot!"

Well, apparently that was the case, because instead of moon-faced Linda Blair, we've got molto foxy Stefania Carnacina as our girl in need of some exorcisin', which is a step in the right direction, but it's hard to get worked up over her when she's stuffing fistfuls of hair in her mouth. I won't pretend to speak for all Movies About Girls readers, though. Your thoughts, Ken?

First of all, just how many dumb Italian movies am I gonna have to endure in this lifetime that feature a scene where the folksy doctor makes a housecall, looks at the hysterical bitch with the crusty lips, and says, "I've never seen anything like it!" ? This has to be at least the 666th time. I want to meet the doctor that has seen this kinda shit before. That guy I'd trust to diagnose my crazy ass kid.

Oh yeah, the chick is superfoxy. Reminds me of anal queen Jenna Haze a little. Ok, so I gotta stop watching so much porn, but seriously - I have seen Haze with fistfuls of hair in her mouth- and spewing up foul liquids- and it did nothing to diminish her foxiness, really. Same thing here.

So the story is about Danila (Carnacina), a smart young art history student who gets involved with the purchase and restoration of a statue of one of the two thieves who were crucified with Christ from a deconsecrated church. There's a lot of mumbling about how the congregation held orgies in the church and how the statue's face shows such a depth of expression (it looked like a mannequin covered in fudge to me, but hey, I'm not an art critic), so we know right away that this statue is Bad News. Before Danila digs into the restoration, she drops in on a party thrown by her parents, who are quite a pair: Dad (Chris Avram) is a stone-faced dolt who watches his wife (Lucretia Love) get pawed by an oily goon in pimp clothes (the late Gabriele Tinti, a.k.a Mr. Laura Gemser). Danila decides that her cue to leave is after she sees Pimpy beat her naked mom silly with rose stems, so she heads back to the statue. And wouldn't you know? It's like all 15th century artwork-Danila turns her back on it for one second and it comes to life as creepy, devil-faced Ivan Rassimov (the poor man's Jim Jones in Umberto Lenzi's Eaten Alive). He pulls off her dress in one yank, takes her to the floor and gets to rammin' Human Tornado style, with wind effects, flames, the whole nine yards. Danila comes to and immediately calls her boyfriend Carlo (who sports alarmingly plucked eyebrows), explaining that she can't remember what's just happened to her. I get that way after sex too, sometimes.

They ripped off that rose bit from Psychopathia Sexualis, which, for some idiotic reason, was required reading in my circle of buffoons and neo-hipsters in high school. Otherwise, I kinda blew through this whole part, because this movie only has two modes- talky and screamy. And the talky parts just go on forever. I remember the guy covered in mud, because he was in that Man from Deep River movie, where he spouted that immortal line, "I'm a man, not a fish!" The rest of it's kind of a blur.

Well, what's happened is that Danila is now under the sway of the Satanic statue, as we discover in a long, long scene in which she climbs the endless, Moebius-strip staircase to her apartment (it's here where we get to see just how terrible an actress Carnacina is-she registers fear as if she's having a stroke). Once inside, she's overcome by a spectacular conniption fit, which opens with her rubbing her snatch, licking her shoulders and whipping her head side-to-side like she's trapped by centrifugal force (all at the same time) and builds to a door-licking, bed-bouncing, five-alarm wailing session that's so over the top and completely un-sexy that even Teri Weigel would tell her to take it down a notch.

Danila's parents are clearly concerned by this display (and even more so when Danila puts the make on dear old Dad), so the family heads off on a doctor-sanctioned day trip to the country. While Dad and Carlo fix a flat tire, Danila wanders off and into a nearby Etruscan tomb, where she takes what can only be described as a right turn at Albuquerque and wanders into a Technicolor Satanic ritual presided over by a cackling Rassimov on a crucifix. Rassimov hops down and, as his naked, green-faced acolytes restrain her, nails Danila to his cross with plenty of blood-spurting close-ups. King Diamond would have killed for this set piece.

I thought there was gonna be a daddy-daughter kink scene in there, but they pussied out. They made up for it in the Satanic ritual bit, however, by nailing the hot girl to a cross in one of the squirmiest torture scenes since The Devils. Why was the other chick dressed up like a Smurf, tho?

Danila's fits get worse after that-there's one eye-popping bit when, after the family priest drops by for a look-see, she bangs her head repeatedly against her bedroom wall until he leaves (had I tried this as a kid, I would have gotten myself excused from the entire fourth grade)-and an exorcism is recommended. Danila is literally dragged to a monastery where grumpy-ass loner priest Luigi Pistilli (who's in just about every Italian movie between '65-'77) is to handle the ceremony (when we first see Pistilli, he's cutting a huge wedge from a wheel of cheese, which pleased my eight-year-old self to no end).

After giving a battery of soulful, world-weary looks to everyone in his line of vision, Pistilli takes on Danila, who by now has gone completely apeshit, gobbling down handfuls of her own hair, the bedsheets and just about anything else she can get her hands on. The two meet for a spaghetti Western style showdown, and a great deal of fake vomit and cherry-red blood is spilled before a winner can be declared in the battle of sour-faced Good versus Scary/Horny Evil.

Cheese I like. Cheesy Exorcist rip-offs, not so much.

"Let's go back to my house. I've got your kind of whiskey, your kind of music...your kind of roses..."

Extra points for: Danila's attempted escape from the monastery, which culminates in her running willy-nilly through a small Italian village literally soaked in blood; director Gariazzo's decision to hold the audience's attention hostage for a long, long, long scene of a nun serving coffee to four people; and for his novel idea for a conclusion-Danila puking over and over and over again in blurry close-up. Yummy. No points subtracted.

Generally speaking, hot Italian chicks, blood, Satan, and puking are all great fun. Generally. The Eerie Midnight Horror show possesses (ahem!) all of these elements, but somehow, it still managed to put me to sleep. Sure, the pills had something to do with that, but the movie didn't help. I dunno, if you like getting talked to death, here's your murder weapon.

-Paul Gaita
-Ken McIntyre

Super Xuxa Versus Satan (1988)

Moviesaboutgirls@gmail.com (Moviesaboutgirls@gmail.com) — Mon, 01 Mar 2010 21:08:24 PST

Directed by Anna Penido
Starring Xuxa Meneghel, Xuxo the dog, and Xixo the caterpillar-penis
Unrated
Brazil

"Which road should I choose? Darkness or Sclerosis?"

Xuxa Meneghal was a fledgling model/B-actress who lucked into a kid's TV hosting gig in the mid 1980's and became one of Brazil's many national obsessions, hovering somewhere between soccer and transsexual porn. Naturally, her TV-bound kiddie fame would eventually cross over into motion pictures, and thusly we arrive at 1988's Super Xuxa Versus Satan, a preachy, environmentally conscious message movie disguised as highly hallucinogenic, semi-retarded children's fare. Which, in turn, is a disguise for what it really is: a boner movie.

I don't know where this is supposed to take place. I mean, somewhere in Brazil, clearly, but some neon-colored cartoon Brazil-ish burg made up primarily of cardboard and spraypaint. The devil's "Down Mood" has permeated this accursed city, turning citizens against each other in violent struggles. Shitty City, I guess we could call it.

Into this ugly brown-town rides bouncy blonde enchantress Xuxa on her gleaming white bicycle. With her puppet dog Xuxo slobbering happily away on the back of the bike, the hotpants-sporting TV host tosses paintbrushes to the local children, and they immediately get to work paining the entire town in bright, sunshiny splashes of color, elevating moods and messing up the devil's work pretty good.

Seeing as this is 1988 - pre Google - news doesn't travel as fast as we're used to.The devil, at this point, is still pretty happy with himself. Watching the nightly news down in the bowels of Hades with his two toady sidekicks (including one deadringer for goblin-nosed darkwave nerd Mortiis), El Beezelbub chortles away as the news anchor reports on all the rampant death and destruction happening topside. But then they cut to Xuxa and her mural project, and all the fuckin' peace and happiness that's spreading over the populace as a result. And he does not like what he sees.

Surely you must know, Xuxa, that this means war.

Beat from her day of frolic and merriment, Xuxa returns home to her sparkling white apartment. While she prepares her dog's dinner, the devil shows up and snatches the pup, dragging him down to Hell with him, where he tortures the mutt with a cookie on a string.

Xuxa is perplexed about her missing dog, but figures a nap is in order before she makes any sudden moves. She has a bed with big foamy arms that come to life and wrap around her when she climbs into it. And then it sings her to sleep. It's super creepy, especially when it starts gently rocking her back and forth and Xuxa coos in sweet, pseudo-erotic slumber. Good thing that bed doesn't have fingers. Who knows where they'd end up.

The devil finds the meanest kid in the world - Rafa - and brings him down to hell to be his apprentice. The kid is covered in filth and slime and forced into manual labor. Dunno why. Meanwhile, a gang of punk rock motorcycle maniacs drive through a fast food restaurant, terrifying the patrons and destroying the joint. Also dunno why.

Xuxa jumps through the TV screen and ends up in hell, so she decides to go find her dog. She runs into a caterpillar who tells her that "Size doesn't matter" (that's a relief!) and then vomits a rainbow on her fingernail. For protection, I think. And then they do a dance where Xuxa lifts her leg over her head.

While she's cavorting with the animated phallus, the devil's henchman are asking the boss if they can torture the dog a little.
"You've already poisoned the milk of the starving children?" He asks.
They have. He tells them they can give the dog fleas.

This is some fucked-up kid's movie.

Xuxa, meanwhile, ends up tromping through the desert, which makes her very hot and sweaty. So she takes off some clothes.

Later on, she makes it to the beach, where she runs into a pink dolphin that's been caught in a net. He's worried about getting his eyes plucked out. Xuxa frees him, and then she rides the big pink dolphin to safety.

Did you get that? She rides a BIG PINK DOLPHIN.

So, anyway. Xuxa and her hotpants have many exciting adventures - and she sings many ear-gouging songs - until finally she faces off against evil. At first, the devil bests our plucky heroine, and turns her into an evil, Courtney Love-esque hag!

"A bad person like you has only one exit", he tells her. That sounds dirty to me.

But then she shoots a rainbow at him. The devil hates rainbows.

And then everybody "comes" with Xuxa. The end.

I am assuming she got her dog back, too. I was pretty woozy by the end.

As a musical, Super Xuxa VS. Satan is awful. The songs are tuneless and clang-y, and everybody looks miserable during the dance numbers. As a kid's movie...well, that one's hard to say. I guess it depends on how much Ritalin said kid is gobbling everyday. I imagine most children would stare quizzically at it for five minutes and then wander off to find something more sensible to do. But as a bug-fuck crazy, 3AM mind-fryer? Well, in that case, it's a masterpiece. The goofy subtitles are senseless, making a bizarre story even weirder, the political and environmental concerns seem wildly out of place - as does Xuxa's skimpy outfit - and the sexual innuendos are so rampant that they can't possibly be accidental. Maybe there's just a serious cultural disconnect here, but this does not look like the work of sane individuals. More Pervirella than Sesame Street, Super Xuxa is cheap, senseless, and potentially brain-damaging.

Highly recommended, obviously.

PS: Xuxa is still going strong. And yes, search around, and you can find naked pictures of her.

Clip: the entire film is available on Youtube. Here's a high-kicking taste of the delights that await you.

- Ken McIntyre

Movies About Girls Podcast Episode 56

Moviesaboutgirls@gmail.com (Moviesaboutgirls@gmail.com) — Sat, 27 Feb 2010 21:35:10 PST

Welcome, everyone, to another splendorous show!
This week, we taken on groovy '72 Japanese biker-chick epic Girl Boss Guerilla, starring the enchanting Miki Sugimoto!

Plus, 1968's head-spinning lesbian kidnapping girl-gang crime caper, She Mob, starring the unforgettable Monique Duvall as Sweety East!

Oh, but that's not all. Heaven's no! We have much more in store for you, including:
Hits from Hell: our continuing search for the Worst Song of All Time!
Let's Fuck up the Podcast: Our weekly podcast reviews!
The Top 5 and Bottom 5 DVD releases of the Week, including the Top 5 Adult DVD releases!
Weird News!
Streakin' Weekly!
Tom's phone call from Istanbul!
Songs about Girls!
And lots more!
So join Ken, Stacey, Seth, Cherrybomb, Mike Demonik, Gore Gore Girl, Holly, and Tom for another glandular adventure!

Subscribe on I-Tunes!
Download HERE
Or Stream on Podcast Alley!
PS: Love us? Hate us? Love us but also hate us? Leave us a voicemail at 206-426-6504!

PPS: If you like the show and want to support us, please vote for us on Podcast Alley or write a review on I-Tunes!

PPPS: Bands played on this week's episode:
B-Back
Moving Sidewalks
Winston G and the Wicked
The Prototypes
Girlschool
The Satellites
The Mylestones
Rod St. James

Thanks for listening!
-Ken McIntyre

Zombie Bikini Squad (2009)

Moviesaboutgirls@gmail.com (Moviesaboutgirls@gmail.com) — Wed, 24 Feb 2010 22:53:29 PST

Directed by Yohei Fukuda
Starring Eri Otoguru, Chise Nakamura, Manami Hashimoto
Unrated
Japan

"Well...this seems promising."

From the man who brought you Tokyo Gore School - to say nothing of Schoolboy Crush, AKA Gay Love 2 - comes the impossible-to-ignore Zombie Bikini Squad, AKA Oneechanbara. A sort of live-action splatter-toon shot and edited with teenage speed freaks in mind, Oneechanbara is based on a video game (which, in turn, is based on a Manga) that I have never played, and know nothing about. Luckily, 95% of the movie is just a hot chick in a bikini killing zombies, so a working knowledge of the back story is not really necessary.

There is a plot, of sorts: Aya (adorable Eri Otoguro), her plump sidekick Katsuji (Tomohiro Waki) and a sad-sack, leather-clad female assassin, Reiko (Manami Hashimoto) team up to find Aya's long-lost sister, Saki (Chise Nakamura).

Unbeknownst to our heroes, schoolgirl Saki has joined forces with mad scientist Dr. Sugita (Taro Suwa), the man responsible for the devastating zombie invasion that has decimated the planet. At least that's what I think was going on. This movie is very distracting. Did I mention it stars a Japanese cowgirl in a skimpy bikini?

Anyway, that's basically it. A wisp of a plot, non-stop violence, and hot Asian chicks in fetish-y outfits. The perfect prescription for an adolescent-baiting video game, but does it work as a movie? To be honest, I wasn't always sure it was a movie. Many of the jump-cutting, dimestore CGI-laden action scenes - and they pour one on every 45 seconds - look as though they were lifted directly from the X-Box console. In that respect, Oneechanbara: Zombie Bikini Squad often seems like the world's laziest video game, like some new innovation wherein you don't even have to play the thing anymore, where it just plays itself until you fall asleep on the couch, having exhausted yourself from an 80 minute-bout of two-fisted, hot Japanese chick-inspired masturbation. I can see something like that working.

Unfortunately, 'looking just like a video game' is not one of my favorite film attributes. The problem with Oneechanbara is that it never elevates itself beyond its game adaptation roots. That's a shame, because with just a bit more attention to character and dialogue - and with a few gratuitous nude scenes - we'd really have something special on our hands. It does look pretty awesome, but there's nothing but a bunch of sputtering wires and circuits under that fur-lined bikini. It ain't got no heart.

Umm, game over, man. Game over!

- Ken McIntyre

Dr. Christina of Sweden (1970)

Moviesaboutgirls@gmail.com (Moviesaboutgirls@gmail.com) — Wed, 24 Feb 2010 02:23:08 PST

Starring Ushi Digard, Lynn Harris
Directed by Nick Philips
Rated X
USA

Nihilist-punk grindhouse director Nick Philips is the sleazedealer behind loony fat-sploitation slasher Criminally Insane, to say nothing of the self-explanatory Fraulein Leather, or the depressive psyche-horror Satan's Black Wedding. Philips' films are so grubby and heartless that they're almost anti-fun, a black hole of sexless despair that suck the joy right out of your eyeballs. This one almost manages to claw its way out pf the black pit of Philipsylvania, mostly due to the inclusion of one Uschi Digard, the buxotic Swedish jawdropper known mostly for her turn as the pneumatic barnyard baller in Supervixens. I don't know about you, but I'm willing to watch just about any piece of sewer trash if her magnificent udders and marble-mouthed accent are involved. Uschi shows up halfway through in a brief lesbian scene, making sweet, furry, freaky 70's love with some chick on a ratty couch. And that's the best part of the movie.

The rest involves a Swedish magazine columnist who writes under the name Dr. Christina wandering around Paris, jotting stuff in her notebook, taking a train, sightseeing, and every 20 minutes or so, stumbling into a spliced-in lesbian scene. I should note that there is no dialogue in this film, just the monotone narration of the good Doc gamely combating the squawking jazz score. Does that sound like fun to you?

Fuckin' Nick Philips, man. He's done it to me again.

But hey, at least there's a bonus featurette on the DVD called Sex Nurse that has some blowjobs!

- Ken McIntyre

I Am Virgin (2010)

Moviesaboutgirls@gmail.com (Moviesaboutgirls@gmail.com) — Tue, 23 Feb 2010 00:23:03 PST

Directed by Sean Skelding
Starring Adam Elliot Davis and all the naked girls in Portland, Oregon.
Unrated
USA

"...just a buncha junk..."

If, like myself, you sat there in the theater watching Will Smith in I Am Legend and thought to yourself, "What this movie needs is more ass", than you are in luck. First-time director Skelding's low-budget one-man show is actually pretty faithful to Smith's $50 million dollar time-waster, only instead of CGI man-beasties, Skeldings post-apoc Portland, Oregon is overrun with naked, vampiric Suicide Girls. Oh, and instead of a German Shepard, this dude has a Bassett Hound. Otherwise, same deal.

The story takes place three years after some Romero-esque plague has decimated the world's population. Anyone still walking is either a sex-vampire or Ron Jeremy. Adam Elliot Davis stars as Robby, the neatly-dressed, Topher Grace-esque spawn of religious fanatics. Robby's parents managed to brainwash their offspring into waiting-until-marriage before dipping his wick into any of the local talent. Unfortunately, the world ended before he found the right girl, and now he's not only the last man - well, the last non-infected man on Earth- he's also the world's last virgin.

Robby spends his days like most last-men-on-Earth do - grocery store raids, a visit to the cinema (All Convoy, all the time), then back home before dark to play Chess with a blow-up alien fuck doll, Vlog to no one, and then quietly masturbate himself to sleep.

Somewhere in that busy day he also creeps around town in his SUV, looking for survivors. All he finds, however, are undead, sex-mad, tattooed she-wolves who paw away at each other like extras in a Misty Mundae movie until they notice Robby ogling them in the shadows. Then they make chase, offering/demanding to suck and fuck him into manhood. Luckily for Robby, he's wily enough to escape their clutches and remain human...at least for now. For the first 1,000 or so days that this bullshit has gone on, the vampire-sluts have remained in the dark; lately they've been sneaking ever closer to his hideout and using "tools" (AKA dildos-on-a-stick). What will happen to our hapless virgin when Satan's sluts figure out how to use sunblock? And really, what's the harm in fucking a vampire anyway?

These questions - and a few others, including 'What the fuck is Ron Jeremy doing here?', are all summarily explained as I Am Virgin unspools to its dramatic stripclub-bound umm...climax.

Here's the important thing to know about this film: I Am Virgin is not what you think it is. It is not a splattery scuzzball horror-com, although that may have been Skelding's intention. Instead, it's something more along the lines of a latter period Jim Wynorski or Fred Olen Ray faux-fuck flick, or even a heavily cut Joanna Angel tattooed alt-babe bang-a-thon. There are half a dozen softcore sex scenes liberally sprinkled throughout the film, and while they are shot with a decent amount of gonzo punk-porn vigor, they don't actually serve the plot at all. In fact, Robbie is just a tangential observer for most of them, and doesn't really interact with the girls until the final reel. Certainly, there's lesbian-centric softcore has its legions (ahem) of fans, and if you're among 'em, I Am Virgin will scratch your particular itch. But if you're looking for something along the lines of Zombie Strippers - which is the way this film has been marketed - you'll most likely be disappointed.

That being said, I Am Virgin is technically impressive. Skelding's production design - the empty streets, burned-out cars, abandoned buildings and mummified corpses - is a fully realized vision, and a great example of just how much you can do with just the barest of essentials. Half of Skelding's doomsday is achieved with balled-up newspapers, and it's as effective as many similar productions with a hundred times the budget. There's also an assload of naked girls to soak in - albeit all of 'em of inked n' pierced neo-punkettes - and Davis's acting is much stronger than you might expect.

All in all, above par for a softcore spoof. It's just a shame it's not much more than that.

- Ken McIntyre

She Mob (1968)

Moviesaboutgirls@gmail.com (Moviesaboutgirls@gmail.com) — Mon, 22 Feb 2010 12:28:28 PST

Directed by Unknown
Starring Marni Castle, Monique Duval, Twig, Eve Laurie
Unrated
USA

"Do snakes come out at night?"
"You better believe it."

A Texan production loaded with whacked-out local talent and a ten-gallon hat's worth of crazy, She Mob is one of exploitation cinema's greatest mysteries. There is no director listed anywhere in the credits, which means it could be anyone's doing: Russ Meyer? Doris Wishman? Harry Novak? Orson Welles? Any one of them seems like a reasonable guess. What we do know is that She Mob is a stellar slice of late 60's roughie cinema, a riot of bad hair, revealing lingerie, clumsy ultra-violence, even clumsier sex, shameless overacting, and buckets of ass. It's a gritty melodrama, a goofy spy spoof, grungy sexploitation and a hard-hitting crime flick all rolled into one glorious 82 minute ball of jaw-dropping wonder.

Big Shim (Marnie Castle) is a sweaty, belligerent, bull-dyke prone to wearing leather cone-bras and thigh-high boots. She and her small-but-enthusiastic girl-gang - including a pneumatic, pug-faced pixie named Twig (essayed, naturally, by an actress named Twig) and a beehived blonde with swollen, scarred Frankenboobs named Baby (Eve Laurie, in an awesomely druggy performance) - have just broken out of jail and are laying low in a safe house somewhere on the outskirts of town.

Shim is content with balling Baby on a nightly basis, but the other girls are craving man-meat - they have, after all, been locked up for the past five years - so they whine and complain until Shim breaks down and calls her connection for a rent-a-stud.

Said connection is a superfly man-mountain who refers her to Tony, a high-rent gigolo currently servicing local rich bitch Brenda McClain (also, oddly enough, played by Marnie Castle!). Tony knows Shim from way-back. He agrees to take care of her man-hungry stable for his usual fee.

No sooner has the blouse-wearing Tony entered the She Mob's lair when Shim lays the bad news on him: not only will he be fucking her friends for free, but she's also holding him for ransom. If Brenda does not pay her $100,000 by midnight, Shim promises to turn her man-slut into a "choirboy", which I am assuming is some sort of castration threat.

So that's what's happening there.

Brenda comes home to her swank pad - two TVs! - and looks around for Tony.
"Tony, tony!" She cries. "Did you get your vitamins? I'm ready!"
Alas, Tony is nowhere to be found. Brenda checks her mail and finds Shim's ransom note. Initially she dials up 911, but thinks better of it and hangs up on the cops. And then she calls girl detective Sweety East (the amazing Monique Duval, spoofing then-popular female TV sleuth Honey West) to ask for help.

Sweety East - who may just be my favorite movie character of all time - shows up in a too-small, ass-crack flaunting silver space-girl suit. She also happens to be cradling some sort of jungle cat. A lynx? Ocelot? Something like that. Sweetie seems sort of irritated by Brenda and her dumb problem, but she agrees to take on the case. And then she picks up her bobcat or whatever it is and splits.

Back at Shim's place, the girls all take turns tussling with Tony. But when a suddenly bi-curious Baby joins in for an impromptu three-way, the Boss-Dyke goes bananas, slapping Tony in the face so hard he squirts blood. And then she grinds her cigarette in his crotch. Ouch!

Sweety returns to Brenda's, sans exotic pet. She makes a phonecall to her gadget guy - she needs a shoebox with a homing device in it, which seems like something she could cobble together herself - and then suits up in one of Brenda's ugly rich broad dresses to make the drop-off. For whatever reason, it takes her 7 minutes to put on the dress, and the camera gazes lazily at her naked ass the entire time.

Meanwhile, under the cover of darkness, Baby and Tony try to escape from Shim's clutches. They manage to sneak out of the house, but Tony's car gets stuck in a ditch, so they take off running. Shim and the She Mob chase after them, guns blazing. Disgusted by her lack of loyalty, heartless Shim shoots Baby in the face with her shotgun. Goodnight, Baby.

Tony manages to get back into his car and hauls ass down the highway, but the dope flips his wheels and it blows up, nearly burning down the surrounding woods. Shim drags the battered stud out of the burning vehicle and takes him home.

Then she heads out to the bridge for the pick-up. She smacks the in-disguise Sweetie in the head with her gun and takes the dough. When she gets home, she says, "Well, we're rich. Let's have a party."
And then, for whatever reason, the girls dress the unconscious, half-dead Tony up in women's lingerie.

By the way, once again, a plot device makes for a great excuse to show several minutes' worth of up-close booty. This may very well be the greatest ass-crack movie of all time.

After dressing him up in the undies, the girls string Tony up and whip him. And then Shim stabs him in the guts with her tits. And then she decides to hack his penis off.

And that's just what she does.

Not really. Then Sweety East shows up, and an epic battle between the asscrack detective and the greasy lesbo-beast ensues. And it's as good or as awful as you imagine it is.

Alright, so it's clearly not arthouse material. But for trash-film fans, She Mob is pure bliss. Mr. or Mrs. director, whoever you are, thank you for this loony, wonderful mess. This would be a much darker world without Sweety East.

She Mob is available from Something Weird.

- Ken McIntyre

Movies About Girls Podcast Episode 55

Moviesaboutgirls@gmail.com (Moviesaboutgirls@gmail.com) — Sun, 21 Feb 2010 09:06:08 PST

Ooga booga, Motherf*#ker!
That's right, it's fur bikini week on the Movies about Girls podcast!

Two sexy prehistoric romps on deck this week:

1997's puppet-dinos vs half-nekkid cavegirls epic Dinosaur Valley Girls...

...and 1997's post-apocalyptic amazons vs. marauders saga Amazon Warrior!

We also interview Amazon Warrior's star, JJ Rodgers!

But that's not all...heaven's, no!

There's also Let's Fuck Up the Podcast, Hits from Hell (our continuing search to find the worst song of all time), Weird news, the Top 5 and Bottom 5 DVD releases of the week, including the Top 5 Adult DVDs, Streakin' Weekly, Tom's phonecall from Instanbul, Songs about Girls, and much, much more!

So join Ken, Stacey, Jim Ether, Cherrybomb, Gore Gore Girl and Tom for another glandular adventure!

Subscribe on I-Tunes!
Click HERE to download!
Or Stream It here!

PS: Love us? Hate us? Love us but also hate us? Leave us a voicemail at 206-426-6504!

PPS: If you want to support the show, please VOTE FOR US on Podcast Alley, or leave a review on I-Tunes!

PPPS: Bands played on this episode
United Enemies
Chicago Loop
Sumpin' Else
Tony Jackson Group
The Avengers (60's version)
The Micragirls
The Platforms
Brent Amaker and his Rodeo

Thanks for listening!
For more info, please check out the Movies About Girls message board!

- Ken McIntyre

Girl Boss Guerilla (1972)

Moviesaboutgirls@gmail.com (Moviesaboutgirls@gmail.com) — Wed, 17 Feb 2010 16:05:04 PST

Directed by Norifumi Suzuki
Starring Miki Sugimoto, Reiko Ike
Unrated
Japan

"I'm better than Jesus, right?"

Starting in the 60's and charging ahead full-tilt until the 80's - when fuzzy-genital hardcore started showing up in vending machines - "Pink film" was the dominant form of Japanese erotic cinema. Pink films were softcore, at least in sexual content, but balls-out in every other respect. Comedy, drama, action, horror, all of it was slathered with bonus tits and ass and covered in bright splashes of Pink. Around the dawn of the 70's, the "Pinky Violence" wave hit Japan's shores. Like their predecessors, these films relied heavily on heaving bosoms and naked girl-ass, but in-between the fumbling sexual trysts, Pinky Violence films were packed with bloodshed, explosions, and mayhem. Women were often the protagonists in this cycle, which provided double the thrills for your movie-going buck. Topless swordfights? That's sex and violence at the same time, Jack!

Perhaps the most memorable films in the Pinky Violence cycle were the "Girl Boss" flicks that flourished in the early 1970's. These similar but unrelated exploitation sagas followed various girl-gangs as they drank, fought, and fucked their way through the Tokyo underground, often matching wits and fists with the Yakuza when they weren't embroiled in internal power-struggles or turf wars. Scenes of brutal gang violence were juxtaposed with scenes of (sometimes equally brutal) sex, and slapstick humor was liberally sprinkled in-between. The films happened to be produced during a particularly groovy period in Japanese pop culture, so the fashions and music were respectively eye-popping and swinging, as well.

Norifumi Suzuki directed the first four films in the cycle; a grindhouse master, Suzuki is also responsible for jaw-dropping nunsploitation (Convent of the Sacred Beast, 1974), proto-torture porn (Star of David: Hunting for Beautiful Girls, 1979), and Sonny Chiba ninja-fu (Death of a Ninja, 1984), among many others. Many of the Girl Boss films, including this one, starred Toei Studio's biggest sex stars, Miki Sugimoto and Reiko Ike. Ike was an especially apt choice for these juvenile delinquent roles, since the young starlet was a real-life bad girl who was arrested several times on drugs and gambling charges as her fame grew.

Like any successful cinematic subgenre, the Girl Boss films got more outrageous and gimmicky as they went along. Girl Boss Guerilla was the third in the series, so it's not as bloody and weird as some of the films that came after (1974's Zero Woman: Red Handcuffs is particularly bananas), but since the entire run was churned out between 1970 and 1974, they all share stylistic similarities.

Girl Boss Guerilla tells the story of the Red Helmet Gang. Led by mirror-shaded bad-ass Sachiko (Miki Sugimoto) these leather-clad Tokyo she-demons invade Kyoto looking for rich dudes and cheap thrills. Naturally they end up tangling with the local gangs, and Sachiko has a bloody standoff with the leader of the Kyoto clan. She summarily thrashes the girl, but the Kyoto Kids decide to ignore proper protocol and just stab Sachiko to death.

They are stopped at the last moment by Nami (Reiko Ike), the former leader of the Kyoto gang, who dropped by to see the old neighborhood. Nami and Sachiko become unlikely allies as the rest of the girls head out to town to hustle rubes with various schemes, at least one of which involves spreading VD to a bunch of sweaty old hornballs.

Sachiko ends up getting hassled by some Yakuza dicks for encroaching on their territory. She is helped out by a handsome young boxer, Ichiro (Michitaro Mizushima). They dig each other, so they retreat to a motel room where they act out mutual rape fantasies.

Then they make sweet late 70's Japanese love on the rocks. Ouch!

And then...well, you can guess what happens next, right? The Yakuza puts the squeeze on Ichiro for meddling in their affairs. They also kidnap Sachiko. And then all hell breaks loose.

The red Helmet gang - including a just-visiting Nami - hop on their bikes and chase down the Yakuza kidnappers. By the way, the gender of the male stunt drivers employed for this scene is screamingly obvious. Perhaps they refused to pad their bras.

The rescue attempt goes wrong, and the girls end up getting beaten with sticks. And then they cut off Shikuri's arm with a bandsaw. And then she bleeds to death. The end.

No, just kidding. Ichi saves her at the last minute. And then stab him in the guts, and he bleeds to death. For real, this time.
Naturally, this means war. The girls get on their bikes and head out, looking for some Yakuza heads to chop. They run into some of their girl-gang rivals, beat them with sticks, and then drag them from the backs of their bikes. This effect is achieved, as you might expect, by tying a dummy to the back of the motorcycle.

Shikiru is captured, chained, tortured and whipped. They even set her vagina on fire!

Can anybody save the leader of the pack?

Yep. Well, maybe. It's complicated.

Filled with iconic, pop-art imagery, way-out fashions, bludgeoning violence, copious nudity, and the most adorable all-girl biker gang imaginable, Girl Boss Guerilla succeeds on nearly every level. The sudden leaps from ass-grabbing sex comedy to slow-burning melodrama are jarring, and some of the effects - the bike drag, some very clumsily staged slap-fights - are decidedly dodgy, but those are very minor quibbles, given all the payoffs. One the penultimate examples of the 70's pinky violence films, Girl Boss Guerilla is everything you could possibly want in an exploitation flick - gratuitous everything, delivered in heaping fistfuls.

Highly recommended.

- Ken McIntyre

Amazon Warrior (1997)

Moviesaboutgirls@gmail.com (Moviesaboutgirls@gmail.com) — Tue, 16 Feb 2010 14:53:59 PST

Directed by Dennis Devine
Starring JJ Rodgers, Jimmy Jerman, Chris Lydon, Al Spencer
Unrated
USA

"I don't know what they're doing in there. It sounds like it hurts."
"Well...maybe the first time."

Two blondes in loincloths and fur bras are on guard duty together. "We have to make sure nobody gets through", blonde #1 says. "Oh, like someone's going to crash through the amazon camp, here at the part of the forest that's the thickest and most impassable", the other one snorts. Meanwhile, they happen to be standing in the middle of a sunny, two-lane road. Such is the hyper-logic of Amazon Warrior, an amazing end of the world saga, filmed on a shoe-string in the California desert.

The blondes fail miserably at their task, and a gang of thugs in tunics and camouflage pants invade the amazon camp, killing everyone but the title character, who is still a child, and her mom, who are busy down at the lake, bathing topless and fighting off what looks like a tire iron covered in seaweed, but is actually some kind of post-apoc monster.

Flash forward to the present. Future present, I mean. Tara (Rodgers- kind of a metal-chick version of Linda Blair), the Amazon warrior, now the last of her kind (how stupid could those thugs be, to kill off all the fuckin' women?), is all grown-up. Or, as all-grown up as 22 will get you.

Some dirty little kid finds her dozing under a makeshift canopy, and tells her that King Barelli (of the pasta kingdom?) wants to pay her ten pounds in gold to take his daughters across the river. She's a mercenary these days, you see. She takes on the task, dragging the two pouty debutantes through the desert, but not before she tears off their cotton sundresses ("These are the finest silk dresses in the kingdom!" they protest) and makes them wear animal skin bikinis.

Along the way, they fight off some marauders, part of the self-same gang of punk-asses that killed Tara's tribe. They look like rejects from a Scorpions video, and one of them carries a giant, razor bristled toothbrush. The marauders were dragging a prisoner back to their camp, a musclebound cat with slicked back hair (Jerman) who decides to tag along with Tara and the girls. When they stop to camp, he bangs the two daughters, as Tara looks on quizzically. Never been kissed, this amazon warrior.

Then, some unspeakable acts of treachery and deceit happen. To be honest, I didn't even see them coming. At any rate, they all end up back at the marauder camp, where Tara finally comes face to face with Steiner (Raymond Storti), king of the bad guys. He's the one that killed Tara's mama 20 years ago, even though he can't be more than 6 months older than her. A good 20 or so minutes of fight scenes ensue.

Everything turns out OK. Touch and go for a few moments, but it all works out. Tara even learns how to cook and clean.
Amazon Warrior may or may not have been filmed entirely at a Renaissance faire, over a weekend. Either way, it's brilliant. Fans of Deathstalker and Beastmaster will know what to expect- tongue-in-cheek violent fantasy with a kitchen sink plot that's so involved that the characters all need to keep up a constant stream of chatter, even when they're beating the shit out of each other, just to explain it. The budget allowed for scant few monsters or effects, so all you'll find of end-of-the-world beasties is the aforementioned tire iron, a giant skunk in the bushes, and a couple of 20 dollar yeti masks on sticks. You won't miss them though, as the almost constant fight scenes are remarkably well choreographed- Rodgers, in particular, looks like she really can kick ass- and they keep the pace brisk, propelling the story along to it's suitably implausible conclusion.
Amazon Warrior is everything you'd expect from a film with such a title. Of course, none of it makes an ounce of sense, but this kind of late-night bad fun rarely does.

Clip: Behold! The trailer!

- Ken McIntyre

Dinosaur Valley Girls (1996)

Moviesaboutgirls@gmail.com (Moviesaboutgirls@gmail.com) — Mon, 15 Feb 2010 15:51:43 PST

Directed by Donald F GlutStarring Jeff Rector, Denise Ames, Karen Black

Unrated

USA

"Tukka-Tukka?"
"Tukka-Tukka!"

Don Glut was one the original "monster kids", that noble breed of American youth who grew up during the country's golden age of pop culture in the 1950's and 1960's, when rock n' roll, UFOs, drive-ins and monster-mashes held sway over the nation's collective imagination, and you could survive an atomic bomb blast by simply hiding under your desk. Glut began his film-making career in his own backyard, making super 8 monster movies with his friends and a handful of rubber masks. He also played in a garage rock band, wrote comic books and fanzines and children's television shows, helped create the Masters of the Universe toyline, wrote the novelization for Empire Strikes Back, and the list goes on. Suffice to say, Donald F Glut is a very accomplished gentleman.

It was inevitable that Glut would eventually graduate from home-movies to fully-fledged film productions, and after dipping his toes into directing with a couple documentaries - including, fittingly enough, one on dinosaur movies - he wrote and directed Dinosaur Valley Girls, a light-hearted, lightweight homage to fur bikini romps like One Million Years BC (1966) and Eegah (1962).

The awesomely named Jeff Rector (Doctor Hackenstein) stars as the Bruce Campbell-esque B-movie hero Tony Markham. Markham has it all -fame, money, women - but he is haunted nightly by visions of a rampaging dinosaur and the prehistoric beauty said dino plans on chomping.

One day, halfway through an interview with a cynical local reporter, Markham visits a paleontological museum on a hunch. A frail-lookling William "Blacula" Marshall (RIP) runs the joint.

He shows Markham some cave drawings, and after some mumbo jumbo, Markham ends up time-travelling to Dinosaur Vallley,where he meets the girl in his dreams, Hea-Thor (pretty Denise Ames) and her fur-bikini clad tribe.

Karen Black, of all people, pops up as Ro-Kell, the matriarch of the girl-tribe. Although it's a tad alarming to see this legendary actress hamming it up with plastic bones and spouting cave-people gibberish, her then 57-year old gams and heaving bosoms still looked delightfully tasty. So that was something.

Anyway, there's a warring male tribe and a (puppet) dinosaur to battle. There's also a sex scene and a music video and some decent gratuitous cave-boob. Mostly, however, there's people shouting "Ooga Booga" or whatever and thrusting plastic-tipped spears at one another on rickety backyard sets. And that's pretty much it.

There's not enough monstery bullshit for this to qualify as a creature feature. Nor is there enough skin to lump it with some of Glut's latter day eroti-horror romps. And it would be way too generous to call it a comedy. So what is Dinosaur Valley Girls, really? Well, it's a headache, mostly. But it does have a couple of ace tunes - by Glut himself - two wonderfully weird celebrity cameos, and half a dozen pairs of bouncy cavegirl boobs.

Is that enough for the 94 minute investment?

Sure. If you're planning on living forever. Otherwise, I'd stick with Glut's recent Mummy/Dracula/hot chicks mashups. Like Countess Dracula's Orgy of Blood, for example.

And a "Tukka, tukka" to y'all.

Availability: Glut's own label, Frontline, has recently released a two-disc, extras-packed edition of Dinosaur Valley Girls. If you're going to get it, that's the one to get.

Dinosaur Valley Girls (1996) (trailer)

-Ken McIntyre

Movies About Girls Podcast Episode 54

Moviesaboutgirls@gmail.com (Moviesaboutgirls@gmail.com) — Sun, 14 Feb 2010 10:06:47 PST

Happy Valentine's Day, everybody!
You'll be feeling the love tonight! It's wayward babysitters week on the Movies about Girls show!

Join Ken, Seth, Stacey, Cherrybomb, Mike Demonik, Brijitte West, Zac, and (for a couple minutes, anyway) Mike Fischer, for another epic broadcast. Two features tonight: 2007's lurid teen melodrama The Babysitters...

...and 1970's ridiculous but awesome Weekend with the Babysitter!

Plus!
We continue our search for the Worst Song of All Time!
We check out the competition in Let's Fuck up the Podcast!
And...Weird News!
The Top 5 and Bottom 5 DVD releases of the week!
Streakin' Weekly!
Tom's phonecall from Istanbul!
Songs about Girls!
and a Rock Fight!

All this and more await you on this week's award winning broadcast!

Subscribe on I-Tunes!
Download HERE!
Or Listen below!

PS: Love us? Hate us? Love us but also hate us? Call our voicemail line at 206-236-6504!

PPS: If you like our show and want to support us, vote for us on Podcast Alley or write a review on I-Tunes!

PPPS: Bands played on today's show:
Lemon Dips
Baby Woodrose
Les Terribles
Nervous Norvus
Smash Fashion
Dirtbombs
Brutal Knights
Jigsaw

Thanks for listening!

- Ken McIntyre

Flesh Eating Mothers (1988)

Moviesaboutgirls@gmail.com (Moviesaboutgirls@gmail.com) — Fri, 12 Feb 2010 10:11:00 PST

Directed by James Aviles Martin
Starring Robert Lee Oliver, Donatella Hecht, Neal Rosen
Rated R
USA

"Why weren't you at the Women's Coalition meeting this afternoon?"
"Frankie didn't want me to go. Said it was for dykes."

It's easy to write off Flesh Eating Mothers as yet another Troma-style crapfest, and on several levels, you'd be right to do so. It's a low-budget, Tri-State-area-lensed splatterflick, packed to the gills with non-professional actors playing the sort of ugly, mean-spirited, and deeply retarded characters that populate most Troma films. And the premise itself - a venereal disease spread by a suburban lothario turns several housewives into insatiable cannibals - smacks of Troma's self-parodying, "horror movies are stupid, aren't they?" vibe, and is rife with their brand of dopey jokes (lots and lots of "What's eating you?" type gags). But unlike Uncle Lloyd's pictures, Flesh Eating Mothers doesn't exhaust the viewer's patience, due mostly to the fact that director/co-writer James Aviles Martin keeps things moving at a brisk pace, has a few decent actors in his cast (especially Neal Rosen as local "rotten kid" Rinaldi), and pours on the gore, including not one but two scenes of moms eating their pre-teen children. That he was able to pull off all this with a budget probably equal to or less than most Troma titles says something - either that Flesh Eating Mothers is a surprisingly enjoyable no-budget splatterfest, or my standards have dropped to an all time low. I'm gonna go with the former.

- Paul Gaita

The Babysitters (2007)

Moviesaboutgirls@gmail.com (Moviesaboutgirls@gmail.com) — Thu, 11 Feb 2010 15:28:42 PST

Directed by David Ross
Starring Katherine Waterston, John Leguizamo, Lauren Birkell, Louisa Krause
Rated R
USA

"We're going to hell, aren't we?"
"Yep."

First of all, as someone who grew up in the inner city, I suspect that these sort of hijinks are going on in the suburbs on a near-constant basis. I mean, why else would you move to the 'burbs? Anyway, like the equally factual Weekend with the Babysitter, this story begins with a seductive teenage sitter. Unlike that one, however - which ends with a gangfight between greasy mustachioed drug dealers and chubby motorcross hippies - The Babysitters goes in a much crazier direction.

Shirley (Katherine Waterston) is an obsessive-compulsive high school junior. Too mature for boys her own age and too bored to deal with her goofy friends, Shirley spends her free time babysitting for neighbors - and occasionally scrubbing their floors and rearranging their furniture while she's at it.

One evening she gets a ride home from Michael Beltran (John Leguizamo, in one of his less over-the-top performances), the father of one of the brats she sits for. They stop for an innocent burger on the way home, which naturally leads to making out in an abandoned train car a few minutes later. His wife doesn't pay attention to him (Cynthia Nixon - that might be the problem!), she's lonely and virginal, you know the drill.

Mike and Shirley develop a discreet sexual relationship. To mask his guilt, Mike pays her handsomely for every tryst. Eventually, she spills the beans to her excitable and possibly pathological best friend Melissa (Lauren Birkell), who wants in on the action.

Mike brokers a 'babysitting gig' with one of his buddies, Shirley takes a cut, and the downward spiral into debauchery begins.

Things start to go awry - imagine that - when Shirley recruits her baby-faced spazzoid friend Brenda (Louisa Krause). At first, Brenda doesn't even know sex is involved. But she gets up to speed pretty quickly. Then she goes rogue and recruits her younger sister Nadine (Halley Wegryn Gross), who start up a competing babysitter-prostitute ring.

Worse still - at least to Mike - Shirley starts 'babysitting' for other clients. He thought they were, you know, exclusive.

Shirley finds out what Nadine's up to and trashes the entire high school as a warning. Everybody gets the fuckin' picture. Then she devises a weekend getaway where all the dads in the neighborhood take off to some cabin in the woods to guzzle booze, smoke weed, snort coke, and fuck teenage babysitters. Who does Shirley think she is, Caligula?

By the way, finally, one hour in, Shirley takes her shirt off. Of course at this point, she's so poisonous, it's almost not worth it. Almost.

When Jerry (Andy Comeau) - the mustachioed asshole who owns the cabin - tries to doggystyle Brenda while she's puking in a sink - well, that's pretty much it for her. She quits, and Nadine starts her side-business bullshit again.

Shirley and Melissa head out to kill the bitch, but before they toss her off the side of the parking garage, The Babysitters lurches into its shocking - but entirely logical - twist ending.

I'll leave it for you to discover, but suffice to say, there's a lot of crying and puking involved.

One of the oddest mainstream releases in recent memory, The Babysitters is, at it's core, 70's style gutbucket sexploitation, a tawdry youth-gone-mad tale tailor-made for seen-it-all sleaze beasts. Strangely though, it never fesses up to what it is: the scuzzy, goo-covered underbelly of contemporary teen flicks like the Bring It On and American Pie series. Instead, it plays itself out deathly straight, like a particularly berserk Lifetime movie. Even Leguizamo, a notorious scenery-chewer, keeps a tight lid on his smirks and tics here, and the actresses - all relative unknowns confined mostly to TV dramas - never tip over into full-on camp, even though the script fairly screams for it. You start to wonder if perhaps you're supposed to learn some sort of lesson here, even if none of the characters in the film do.

Writer/director Ross previously wrote Lucky McKee's equally weird The Woods (2006), another film about teenage girls in peril - albeit a supernatural, witchy sort of peril - so this is well-worn material for him, and indeed, the characters in The Babysitters are all fully-fleshed out people. They just make some seriously ridiculous choices. The idea of four teenage girls from upper middle-class families willing to form a fucking babysitter hooker ring is so far-out that this almost has to be a satire. That is, unless all my suspicions about the suburbs are true.

Either way, this is a great film, jaw-dropping, queasy-funny, and in it's own quiet way, as outrageous and subversive as any modern-day sex n' splatter shockfest.

- Ken McIntyre

Weekend with the Babysitter (1970)

Moviesaboutgirls@gmail.com (Moviesaboutgirls@gmail.com) — Wed, 10 Feb 2010 14:26:00 PST

Directed by Don Henderson
Starring Susan Romen, George Carey, Luanne Roberts, Annik Borel
Rated R
USA

"I've been reborn. Look, my apricot fag shoes!"

Tom "Billy Jack" Laughlin, under the nom de plume Don Henderson, directed three films in rapid succession from 1969-1970. Two of them were about teenage babysitters who seduce a rich, wrinkly codger. Although the girls were different in the two movies, the codger was not: George Carey, who coincidentally wrote and produced both films, handled the love-making duties. The first, The Babysitter (1969), was shot in black and white and starred Patricia Wymer as "Candy Wilson". Weekend With the Babysitter, on the other hand, was in color, and starred Susan Romen as "Candy Wilson". Who was this mysterious Candy Wilson? Was she a real-life teen temptress that vexed both Carey and Laughlin enough that they were forced to exorcise their inner demons on film? Or did they both just enjoy the same masturbatory fantasy? And why make the same film twice?

I don't know what any of this means, and perhaps I never will. So let's just roll the film and see what happens.

It's a tale of ordinary suburban madness. Jim Carlton (George Carey, RIP) is a frustrated film director with a neglectful, pill-popping wife named Mona (Luanne Roberts, The Psycho Lover, Female Fever), who he can no longer connect with. One night their foxy go-to babysitter Candy (Susan Romen) shows up on the wrong night. Jim tries use this opportunity to take his wife out to dinner, but she insists on going to visit her mother and splits with the kid. Jim plans on paying Candy for her trouble and sending her off, but then she starts reading one of his scripts - a film about turned-on teens - and goofs on the lame dialogue. She offers to show him what the 'kids today' are really like, and after popping a couple martinis, they head out the local bar to hang out with Candy's groovy friends.

Meanwhile, Mona drops the kid off at mom's and heads over to her dealer, an ascot-wearing putz named Rich (former cowboy star James Almanzar, RIP). She hands him $10,000 - which probably would have bought all the heroin in California in 1970 - and waits patiently for her fix.

He splits for a couple hours and makes her sweat it out, and then tells her she's not getting the stuff unless she gives him Jim's boat. What a dick this Rich is.

As the weekend rolls on, Mona gets mired in a Mexican drug smuggling ring while her husband falls head over heels for the teenage babysitter. He smokes weed for the first time, she takes him out to some moto-cross races, and they make sweet 70's love by a crackling fire. He even flies her in his private plane to his cabin in the snowy mountains.

While Jim and Candy drink milk in bed and wrestle, Mona finds herself slipping into a far darker sort of lost weekend. After scoring a big pile of heroin from some shifty Mexican dealers, she shoots up to take the edge off.

Rich comes by lookin' for action, but when she attempts to rebuff him, he forces her into a girl-girl tryst with his girlfriend Doris (French beauty Annik Borel, Blood Orgy of the She Devils).

Doris snorts coke while receiving oral favors from Mona. Good times!

After showering off their love juices and flying back to reality, Jim and Candy say their goodbyes. No big deal, daddy-o. "Hey man, we swung," shrugs Candy. At least they vow to stay friends.

Jim goes to work and finds Smitty, the guy from the marina, waiting for him. Smitty tells Jim the coast guard was sniffing around his yacht - and that his wife is still out there on it, somewhere. Jim and Smitty pile back into Jim's plane and buzz around looking for the missing boat.

Meanwhile, a bloody mutiny sparks up in the yacht. Mona is forced to commander the craft and drive the smugglers to the pier. They scramble to get away, but Jim's called in Candy's motocross gang to head them off at the pass. It all ends in a Hawaii 5-0-esgue dust-up between the clean-living bikers and the dirty drug dealers while an acid-fried brass-rock band wails away relentlessly on the soundtrack.

And what about Jim? Does he choose his nubile hippy babysitter, or his beat-up, money-grubbing junkie wife?

Which would you choose? Well, Jim goes the other way.

Although Weekend With the Babysitter is surprisingly sedate, given it's sleazeball predecessor, it still hits all the right 70's b-flick notes: wonky acting, misguided 'drug abuse' scenes, phony psychedelic tunes, casual racism, a skinny heroine with teacup boobs, a few splashes of blood, and a last-minute stab at redemption. Don Henderson apparently worked out his seductive babysitter fetish with this one, because he followed it up with the Satanic horror-romp The Touch of Satan.

Susan Romen, whose frequent line-flubs and faraway eyes were perfect for this drowsy role, disappeared immediately after. It's a shame, because she could have carved out an amazing career as a go-to heavy-lidded, frequently topless hippy goddess. Which she might actually have done, just not in the movies.

Drop us a line, Miss Romen. Let us know what's, you know, up.

- Ken McIntyre

Strip Nude for Your Killer (1975)

Moviesaboutgirls@gmail.com (Moviesaboutgirls@gmail.com) — Tue, 09 Feb 2010 11:55:25 PST

Directed by Andrea Bianchi
Starring Edwige Fenech, Nino Castelnuovo, Femi Benussi
Rated R
Italy

"You look like you've got a telephone pole up your ass!"

If you give a movie a title like Strip Nude for Your Killer, you'd better start making with the sesso and violenza right away - like, within two seconds of your main titles. And that's exactly what director Andrea Bianchi does with this Italian slasher-thriller - no sooner has Berto Pisano's snarling porno-mondo title theme come to a halt than we're in the middle of a gynecological exam, and a Bad One, at that. You can tell it's bad because the whole scene is tinted blue, and any shrink will tell you that blue doesn't mean happy or fun - it means cold and dead, and that's pretty much the outcome for the naked gal in the stirrups. The doctor makes a half-hearted attempt to revive her, then dials up a pal and gets him to help dump the (still naked) body in a tub full of running water. She had a heart attack, says the doc - no one will ever know that I'm responsible for this. A few minutes later, the doc is getting the business end of a switchblade rammed into his sternum by a heavy-breathing figure tricked out in a leather jump suit and motorcycle helmet. That seems how a movie called Strip Nude for Your Killer should begin, right?

Well, that's also how the rest of the picture plays out - people do terrible things to each other, don't give much of a shit about it, and then pay the price courtesy of the Guy in the Helmet. It helps that most of the people doing the terrible things and paying the price are spectacularly hot - no only do you get Italo-sploitation queen Edwige Fenec h doing what she does best (taking off her clothes and screaming), but you also get Euro sexies like Femi Benussi and Solvi Stubing in various states of distress and undress.

And it also helps that the price-paying part of the bargain is incredibly violent and mean-spirited and a little bit weird: one victim bleeds to death after having both ears lopped off, while a boyfriend-girlfriend combo winds up not only stabbed repeatedly, but lose a penis and breast (respectively, natch) in the process. Oh, and then there's the morbidly obese guy (Franco Diogene) who, after pleading his co-worker to have sex with him, fails miserably after 90 seconds, and decides to work off his depression with a blow-up doll before the killer pounces on him too. I did say it was a weird one, right? Make that more than a little bit.
Story? You want a story? Well, Andrea Bianchi (who consistently delivered the cheapest, crassest films imaginable throughout his career, including the stupefying zombiethon Burial Ground) really didn't, though there's the skeleton of a plotline on display - each of the victims is an employee of a decadent fashion studio, and photographers Castelnuovo and Fenech try to figure out whodunit - but it really doesn't matter.
If you're a hardcore giallo fan, you're probably going to be a little disappointed by Strip Nude - it's crudely made, not particularly stylish, and relies on the score to deliver its suspense - but all other goo goo mucks will dig this all-you-can-eat Italian buffet of bad manners and ugly violence with both hands.

- Paul Gaita

Triangle (2009)

Moviesaboutgirls@gmail.com (Moviesaboutgirls@gmail.com) — Mon, 08 Feb 2010 19:36:05 PST

Directed by Christopher Smith
Starring Melissa George, Rachael Carpani, Emma Lung
Rated R
UK

"You will come back...won't you?"

Usually I would just dismiss something this headache-making and undercooked, but Triangle has approximately 3.5 things going for it, so it probably deserves at least a glance. For one, it's ostensibly about the Bermuda Triangle, an easily dismissed legend about a mythical dead zone in the Caribbean that supposedly swallowed up dozens of ships and airplanes without a trace. Despite the overwhelming evidence that nothing out of the ordinary ever happened there, Bermuda Triangle Mania took over the US in the mid-70's, sparking endless debate and a flurry of cash-in books, documentaries, TV movies, and shoddy exploitation films, including the infamous lost/imagined/maybe-real Ilsa Meets Bruce Lee in the Devil's Triangle.

Since humans are a tiny bit more sensible now, the Bermuda/Devil's Triangle chatter has died down significantly, so it warmed my 70's nostalgia cockles to see a modern film take on this decidedly creaky premise.

Also, Triangle is directed by Christopher Smith, who scored big with cult-flick fans for his 2006 woods-bound slasher Severance which featured, among other tasty treats, shirtless Chechnyan prostitutes shooting machine guns. His previous film, Creep, was a pretty swell hot-chick-VS-subway monster nail-biter, as well. So, you know, high hopes.

It's also got an amazing poster. And in the good old days of exploitation, that was really all you needed.

Perhaps most importantly, Triangle also stars volcano-hot Melissa George wearing short-shorts and a cleavage-hugging wife-beater. For the entire film.

So, how can you go wrong, really? Well, you could cobble together an incomprehensible script that no one, including the film's cast, could possibly understand. George is Jess, a beleaguered single mom with an autistic son. She works as a waitress in a diner near a marina, and makes friends with one of her frequent customers, a sailboat skipper named Greg (Michael Dorman, Daybreakers).

Greg invites her out for a sail one sunny afternoon. Along for the ride is his young charge Victor (Liam Hensworth) and a trio of his old friends. They hit the open sea and are suddenly beset by a freak storm that destroys the ship and leaves them stranded, floating helplessly on the hull of their shattered boat.

Out of the fog arrives a mysterious, ghostly cruise ship. They jump on board to find it abandoned. Or is it? Jess finds her own house keys and other artifacts from her life on the ship, and before they can figure out exactly where they are and why they're there, a sniper with a very familiar-looking pair of shoes starts picking them off, one by one, with a rifle. From there, the story begins to peel away, like an onion, wavering queasily between the supernatural and the delusional. Is it really happening? Is it all a dream? Are they all dead?

Listen, if I knew, I'd tell you. While the film bears more than a passing resemblance to the far superior Time Crimes (2007), that film's logical narrative kept you tethered to reality during even its loopiest moments. Triangle, on the other hand, has no idea what it's talking about. By the eye-rolling anti-climax, you are no closer to an answer than you were 90 minutes ago. It's like asking a schizophrenic for travel directions - you get plenty fanciful mumbo-jumbo, but after it's over, you're still lost.

A UK/Australian co-production shot in New Zealand, Triangle looks great, and there's a couple of inspired moments of horror buried in the mix. In one hair-raising scene, a character crawls into a corner to rest and nurse her wounds, only to find a hundred dead doppelgangers who also had the same idea. The design work on the ghost-ship - a sort of 1930's art/death deco - is suitably unnerving, and the cast, as clearly befuddled as they are, do a fine job with what they've been given. It's just fucking annoying to invest so much time in a film that offers nothing in return.

Melissa George appears to relish these heroine-in-distress roles - see also Amityville Horror (2005), Derailed (2005), Turistas (2006), and 30 Days of Night (2007) - but this is clearly the least of her ongoing 'violent thrillers' cycle.

But still. Hot girl with an axe!

Men are such suckers.

- Ken McIntyre

Movies About Girls Podcast Episode 53

Moviesaboutgirls@gmail.com (Moviesaboutgirls@gmail.com) — Sun, 07 Feb 2010 01:13:30 PST

It's the first show of our second season!

This evening's star-studded line-up includes all your faves: Ken, Stacey, Jim Ether, Cherrybomb, Holly, Gore Gore Girl, Brijitte West, Clay N Ferno, and Greg D. That's a lot of personality for one show!

On deck: Two 80's junkfilm classics! 1983's Angel of Heat, starring Marilyn Chambers....

...and 1987's Star Slammer, starring Dawn Wildsmith and the monster from Deadly Spawn!

Also tonight: we begin our search for the Worst Song of All Time! Plus: Weird News, The Top 5 and Bottom 5 DVD releases of the week - including the Top 5 Adult DVDs , Streakin' Weekly, Tom's Phonecall from Istanbul, an impromptu quiz to find out who the smartest one in the room is (hint: he's writing this), Songs about Girls, a Rock Fight, awkward sexual confessions, and much more!

Subscribe on I-Tunes!
Download HERE!
Or Listen Below!

PS: Like Us? Hate us? Like us but also hate us? Leave us a voicemail! 206-426-6504!

PPS: If you like the show, please vote for us on Podcast Alley or review us on I-Tunes!

PPPS: Bands played on tonight's show:

Erotic Biljian and his Heretics
The Replacements

Shocking Blue
The Standells
Kim Fowley
Wayne Gibson and the Dynamic Sounds

PPPPS: Pick up a copy of Brijitte's new album at her website!

Thanks for listening!

- Ken McIntyre

Angel of Heat (1983)

Moviesaboutgirls@gmail.com (Moviesaboutgirls@gmail.com) — Fri, 05 Feb 2010 07:41:05 PST

Directed by Myrl A Schreibman

Starring Marilyn Chambers, Mary Woronov, Remy O'Neil

Rated R
USA

Myrl A. Shreibman has one of the greatest names in the business. How could a guy named Myrl A. Shreibman make a bad movie? Couldn't happen. Myrl is a cinematic journeyman who has spent the past few decades teaching and writing how-to film-books, but he's done it all in his time, and although his producing/directing resume is relatively slim, it packs quite a wallop. Highlights include producing Fred Williamson's notorious blaxploitation-western mash-up Boss Nigger (1975), writing and producing the exceedingly weird low budget sci-fi cult-flick Parts: The Clonus Horror (1979), and producing bloody/cheeseball Rambo rip-off Hunter's Blood (1986). This, however, was clearly his finest moment. Relentlessly silly and hilariously out of touch, Angel of Heat is exactly what happens when your goofy Uncle Myrl attempts to make an edgy spy satire, but loses all control of the project on the first day and just lets the crazy roll on until the film runs out.

Along with Deep Throat's Linda Lovelace, Georgina Spelvin (The Devil In Miss Jones) and Bambi Woods (Debbie Does Dallas), Marilyn Chambers was one of the 70's biggest sex stars. Chambers famously got her start in show business as the baby on the box of Ivory Snow laundry detergent*, but the world knew her best for her energetic sexual performances in films like Behind the Green Door (1972) Resurrection of Eve (1973), and Insatiable (1980). Her winning combination of girl-next-door looks, athletic body, and aerobic sex maneuvers made her a worldwide star, and she soon graduated to mainstream roles. Although Traci Lords is usually cited as the first porn starlet to crossover into mainstream film, it was Chambers who first took that leap. She appeared in a very memorable role as the Patient Zero in 1977's Rabid, a horror film about a sexually transmitted virus that spirals wildly out of control by Canadian creep king David Cronenberg. While that was probably her highest profile mainstream role, she continued to act, both in porn and non-sex B-movies, throughout the 80's. Angel of Heat was her second major mainstream role, and it was a fuckin' doozy.

The credit sequence features Marilyn Chambers doing naked Karate movies while the worst disco ballad imaginable (by international non-star Denise McCain) blares tunelessly away on the soundtrack. It is the perfectly awful/awesome introduction for the mayhem that follows.

In a rickety plot piled sky-high with mumbo-jumbo, a frequently nude Mary Woronov, a bunch of squares with combovers, and former skin-star Chambers are all super-spies in two warring, top-secret government agencies. Miss Chambers - looking impossibly buff - is Angel Harmony, the number-one agent in "The Protectors". She is outfitted with a booby-trapped apartment that can make her magically disappear during moments of trouble and be instantly replaced by a hologram of either a fat lady or a stuffed lion. So that’s pretty cool, right?

She needn’t worry though, because the hooded interloper that busts into her pad in the opening scene is merely her on-again off again lover, Mean Wong (porn stud Randy West), a Japanese double-agent. This is somewhat confusing since he’s as white as a glass of milk and his jivey accent sploshes back and forth between vaguely Asian and sorta Dutch. They try and make up for this deficit by providing vaguely Asian-looking subtitles on the screen whenever he shows up.

So anyway, they fuck so hard, Angel’s house nearly collapses.

Meanwhile Samantha (cult-movie goddess Woronov) and the two nerds zip down a tree-lined highway as one of then blabs away about micro-chips and the Russians. Somebody stole something. That’s the plot. They visit a scientist who tells them that his son, Albert, was the chief engineer on their new micro-computer technology, but he recently got into dropping acid, and now he’s preoccupied with building supersonic guitar amplifiers or something. The guy’s entire speech sounds like something from 1967.

"Your son is one of your key designers?"
"Yes. He could have been one of the best. The fact is, he’s an irresponsible ass. MIT degree in physics – Sigma Cum Laude – was just finishing his PHD degree in micro-circuit technology at Berkeley. All of a sudden, he begins dropping LSD, ‘man’, walking to the beat of a different drummer, ‘dad’. His grand acid insight was that his mission in life was to provide high technology equipment for rock n’ roll…as if anything could help that sound."

Haha, what are you talking about, grandpa?

In exchange for giving up drugs, dad set his snotty kid up with his own lab in a castle on an island in the Bay. So that’s what’s up.

Meanwhile, Angel goes to Karate class with Wong. Everybody in the class is wearing novelty t-shirts. One guy wears an eye patch and a shirt that says "Sodomy and Taxes". I’m not sure if that’s a joke or not. The Karate master – a Japanese guy with a German accent – shows Angel a new move to try out on her boyfriend. It kills him instantly. Her teacher applauds her.

After class, she gathers all the students and tells them they’ve been assigned a new mission – to go to the kid’s castle and fuck up his invention before anybody else gets their hands on it. Then she asks the Karate master to show her the secret move that makes people retarded when you hit them.

Albert (Dan Jesse) turns out to be whiny, Howard Stern-looking jerk who favors punk rock and bosses his hot wife Andrea (Remy O-Neill, Hollywood Hot Tubs) around a lot. Samantha and the nerd pay them a visit and then drag Andrea with them to a disco to watch a mud wrestling match.

Two weird things happen at the disco. Angel shows up dressed like a hooker and gets upstairs to see the owner, Mr. Big. Naturally, he’s a dwarf. She auditions for a singing gig and then has sex with him on the floor. Midway through, she puts the half-retard Karate move on him to get some info. Then she splits.

Also, Andrea and Samantha join in on the mud-wrestling action. They both end up topless and almost start making out before a four-girl brawl erupts.

Several more things happen, but the crux of it all is that Albert has made a bunch of sex androids and programmed them to kill Angel and the glasses guy with their instatiable robotic love-making. Luckily, Angel manages to out-fuck the fuck-bots.

By the way, one of the more curious aspects of this film is that nearly every shot has a wind-up robot, novelty phone, rubber duck, or some other toy in it.

Coupled with the sex-robot/punk rock laser-gun weapons and the bushy-mustachioed nutbag villain (did I mention that he wears a purple cape?) who wants to take over the world with what amounts to a really loud box, this whole operation looks much more like a Sid and Marty Krofft Saturday morning kid’s show than an R-rated softcore spy spoof.

Anyway, the climax is too amazing to spoil here, but I will say that you learn a very important lesson about love before it's through. And that lesson is this: Don't fall in love with lesbian robots. They'll just end up exploding on you in the middle of a batttle between laser-weilding punk-droids and fat Kung Fu dudes.

I am sure if you asked him, Mr. Myrl A Schreibman would have a sensible answer for what this goofy mish-mash was really all about, but I believe this particular nectar is all the sweeter because of it's sheer inscrutability. The acting is loosey-goosey, the effects are jaw-droppingly shoddy, and the script is incomprehensible. Not only does Angel of Heat not make a lick of sense, it's also hilariously dated - nothing about it, save for the heady concepts about computer chips and "Micro-circuits", would suggest that it was made in the 1980's. I mean, a disco soundtrack? References to punk rock? Kung Fu fighting and a porn star in the lead? It's also so gloriously 1977.

As of today (i.e. 2010), Myrl's latest project is a kid's show called All Aboard for the Magical Music Voyage. That makes complete sense. After all, that's what Angel of Heat is, basically: a demented live action kid-vid, only with bonus boobs and bush shots. Therefore, the kid in you will love it. And so will your grown-up parts. So everybody wins.

PS: Marilyn Chambers RIP.

PPS: FYI: this is your go-to movie for Mary Woronov nudity.

PPPS: Can someone remaster this, already? The "official" DVD looks like garbage.

- Ken McIntyre

* Or, as some have claimed, the girl holding the baby on the box.

Star Slammer (1987)

Moviesaboutgirls@gmail.com (Moviesaboutgirls@gmail.com) — Wed, 03 Feb 2010 14:53:17 PST

Directed by Fred Olen Ray

Starring Sandy Brooke, Dawn Wildsmith, Bobbie Bressee, Aldo Ray
Rated R
USA

"My name's Taura, and you can all kiss my ass."

You've got admire a film so willing to hedge its bets that it's got three titles, one plastered on top of the other, in the opening credits. Depending on who you're selling it to, you can safely refer to this one as Prison Ship, Star Slammer, or Adventures of Taura. All three are equally accurate, which is to say that they represent some aspect of the film. But following that logic, you could also call it Space Wedgie or Cardboard War Tank. The release date is pretty slippery, as well. The offiicial release date is '87, but it didn't hit video rental shelves until 1988, and it was reportedly shot in 1984. It was definitely somewhere in the 80's, that's for sure. An early effort from the man who would soon grace the world with Hollywood Chainsaw Hookers, Evil Toons and Bikini Drive In, this was clearly Fred Olen Ray's homage to the crusty old serials of the 40's and the 50's. Of course, it's all filtered through Ray's cheese-chomping, dayglow 80's trashfiend aesthetic, but there's a little King of the Rocket Men in there somewhere.

Taura (Sandy Brooke, Nightmare Sisters) is just your average post-apocalyptic amazon warrior, a bleach-blonde cavegirl with a lion-skin thong who hangs out in a desolate dustbowl on some far-out, low-rent planet with a bunch of midgets wrapped in garbage bags.

One day a creaky old space wizard named Zaal shows up (Sleazemania curator Johnny Legend) to eat dog food with his bony fingers and to complain about Space Tax.

Just then Bantor the Space Tax man (60's biker flick vet Ross Hagen) arrives - with a pink zoot-suited Dukey Flyswatter in tow - to steal the midgets' precious Space Crystals. When Zaal gives them some guff, they use their laser guns to blow him into space dust. And then they do the same thing to the midgets. Taura uses her plastic axe to fight 'em off pretty good - she even mmages to cop off Bator's hand - but they eventually overpower her.

And then John Carradine shows up via videotape to tell Taura she's been sentenced to seven years on the Prison Ship. Or the Star Slammer. Whichever works better for you.

Long-gone scream queen Marya Gant (Cannibal Hookers) is the leather-bound warden, who warns Taura that escape attempts usually end up in a horrible death. And then she meets her jail-mates. They punch her and slap her around a little. That's how you say Hello in the Star Slammer, baby!

And then Muffin (Dawn Wildsmith) saunters in. She's the She Boss of the prisoners. Muffin tosses a couple rags at Taura and tells her to get into her new prison threads. This affords us a decent peek at Taura's swollen rack. Thanks, Muffin!

By the way, whatever happened to Dawn Wildsmith? She acted almost exclusively for Fred Olen Ray, and appeared in nearly two dozen of his films between 1985 and 1995. And then she vanished. Wildsmith was one of the most memorable B-queens of the era, largely because she could chew scenery like nobody's business. It did not matter how small Wildsmith's role in any given film was; if she was in the scene, it was her movie. She pretty much just always acted like she wanted to eat your face. Dawn Wildsmith was a bad-ass.

Dear Miss Wildsmith, please come back and eat our faces again. We miss you.

Anyway, then everyone has lunch. It ends in a food fight. This is followed by some S&M tinged spanking. Then the prisoners have to fight the monster from The Deadly Spawn while Muffin and the Warden watch. And then Taura gets attacked by Muppety rats in her cell. And ten they all get drunk on booze made of engine coolant. Space antics!

Bantor - now sporting a robot hand, since Taura hacked his off - shows up on the ship with his gang. Everyone proceeds to fuck, get whipped/maced/spanked, experiment with strange new drugs and bio-weapons, and hallucinate.

Also, there's a transmission from the Queen of Outer Space (Bobbie Bressee, Evil Spawn), but I'm pretty sure that was just to pad the time. There's also a cameo from 50's sci-fi champ Aldo Ray that amounts to little more than a still photo and a couple mumbled lines. Eh, it's a living.
So anyway. Mike (Susan Stokely, Phantom Empire) squares off with Muffin, and ends up chopping her hand off and stabbing her to death. With the wicked witch dead, the girls mutiny and bond together to try and escape the wretched Prison Ship.

Along the way, Sandy Brooke changes her shirt again. Most gratuitous wardrobe change ever!

There's also a hot Asian chick wearing half a leotard. She doesn't last long, though.

So, how does it all end? Pretty much exactly like Star Wars. Only with more cleavage.

There's also the threat of a sequel, Chain Gang Planet. Sadly, it has yet to surface.

Although it sorely lacks the wall to wall nudity of latter-day Fred Olen Ray movies, Star Slammer gets by on pure gusto. There is something ridiculous happening in nearly every frame of this film, and just when you think you've reached the sub-cellar of absurdity, a trap door opens and something even more ludicrous occurs. The continuity errors are headache-making - the interior of the ship is never the same twice, Sandy Brooke's haircut changes radically from one scene to the next, and characters undergo dramatic personality changes from one line to the next - but it's not like a linear plot or a coherent presentation was ever a top priority anyway. No, this is pure 80's junkfilm, a fizzy, sugar-sweetened, VHS valentine to space operas, women in prison flicks, and teenage losers with nothing better to do than wade through 90 minutes of muck for two brief titty-flashes.

Mandatory viewing, in other words.

- Ken McIntyre