Directed by John Niflheim Starring Tyrone L. Roosevelt, Jackie Stevens, Mia Copia Unrated USA
"I'm reliable, experimental, and very accommodating when I have to be. All for business, of course."
I'm just gonna come out and say it; I didn't really like this movie. Now with that out of the way, let me try and explain why I didn't like it while also trying to not come off like a jerk. I suppose being a movie reviewer, critic, or just some dumb guy on a laptop (take your pick) inherently puts one in a position to tell people that you think the thing they've worked so hard on and laid everything on the line for sucks, but I still don't feel very good about doing it.
Anyway, such is the case with this little confusion of a film called The Sex Merchants. Firstly, the title doesn't even make sense. Sure it's got sex and there's a guy who buys photos, so I guess he could be called a merchant, but there's only one of him and he's not even in the movie for more than 5 minutes! Small complaint, yes; but I've only just begun.
The Sex Merchants, not being about sex merchants at all, is actually about a young fellow goes by the name of Pete. Young Pete is photographer - an erotic photographer. Pete operates out of his apartment by inviting ladies over to model. Said modeling is mainly based on fetishes: Foot worship, ball gags, bondage, and even some whip action - which Pete handles all by himself.
Besides leaving you wondering how he's getting any decent shots without a camera, the scenes, although amply supplying more flesh than bargained for (did any one say buttholes and vulva?) ultimately become tedious and far less edgy than I think they wanted it to seem. Again, small complaint, but in combination with everything else here (or perhaps lack thereof), it doesn't help any. Well, maybe still a little bit.
"So, this Pete guy takes photos", you say.
Well yes, this is true.
"So, what else is going on here", you ask.
Well, he sells them to an old dude who works at some silly magazine that dares call itself Esoteric, and...ooh! He masturbates obsessively to a recurrent memory and/or fantasy of an unidentified woman rubbin' all up on herself. That's something, right?
As you may have guessed, the lack of a head means we don't know who it is, but we should want to. Oh, and we find out. Now, I can't say it was completely expected, but it also wasn'tunexpected, if you know what I'm saying; which you probably don't, but will if you watch this (which I can't say you should - although I also wouldn't say you shouldn't).
Even though Pete spends the majority of his time thinking about, looking at, surrounded by, and inside (like, sexually) women, he thinks very little of them, believing that all women secretly want to be abused and mistreated. Most of this animosity towards women stems from his controlling and verbally abusive mother (played by Jackie Stevens), with whom he also shares a weird psychosexual relationship with (hint, hint).
Okay, Pete's a misogynistic erotic photographer (check) who likes to abuse women (check), masturbates obsessively (check) and has a bitchy mom (check). What else could make him a complete cliche of a man on the verge of a breakdown (at least in that Afterschool Special meets Cinemax softcore flick way)? A drug problem (ring-a-ding-ding-ding)!
So where I'm going with this is that this dude Pete's got all this drama. Now, this drama could go a few ways. One that I can think of is to make said drama as extreme as possible. Another is to water the content down and make it all preachy and unrealistic. Well, The Sex Merchants did a little bit of both.
You see, my problem here is not the lethargic pacing, the flat acting, or the odd angled 90's indie feel (complete with quirky jazzy score), but instead how painfully serious the film takes itself even with all the opportunities it gives itself to play up the ridiculous situations. Pete's supposed to be an egotistic douche bag whose deep into extreme porn and hard drugs, but it never feels like it ever gets there. Most of the time Pete is just sighing or lackadaisically pontificating about pretentious art philosophy bullshit while every once in awhile making a laughably affected sexist comment in a dismissive manner. Come to think of it, I don't even think they show him doing any drugs at any point in the movie, but somehow we're supposed to think he's totally fucked up on them and desperate for the next hit. His mom is supposed to be a soul sucking wretch, but comes off as no more than a Valium intoxicated Housewife of New Jersey. And don't even get me started on the teddy bear of a drug dealer who asks the forehead grabbing and frantically pacing Peter relatively nicely to at least pay for half of the drugs he brought for him (see,even though Pete is supposed to be this rich ass photographer, he gots no money).
Shit, that's about all I can say about The Sex Merchants. It could have at least been entertaining, but unfortunately that didn't happen. I suppose if you want to give a shot to a movie that feels a little like an unfunny The Room that got really sleepy (and hopefully feel differently than I did about it), you can visit Alternative Cinema, MVD, or whatever place still sells DVDs and pick up a copy.
Vixens of Virtue Vixens of Vice: Season 1 Special Edition (2011)
Directed by Rob Longo
Starring Sarah Burns, Ella Jane New, Natalie LaSpina, Tara Lee Unrated USA
"When you wake up you will feel very different in the morning."
Being akin to the MAG YouTube favorite, Bikini Crime Fighter (of whose videos have been tragically removed from the internet) and countless other micro-budget productions created and produced by lonely dudes who have no shame about coercing innocent women to get their Cosplay on and pretend to act in front of what often looks like a camera phone video or VHS camcorder for what seems to be no other purpose than to give the creator a chance to get close to women who otherwise would intentionally avoid them and as a bonus get to play and replay the evidence of said interactions for their entire awkward existences.
Don't get me wrong, I am not attempting to discourage or berate the creators of these videos, but you do have to admit that its a bit creepy. Sure, it sounds like a great idea in your head, but I can only imagine what the ladies think when they show up for work in an alley or abandoned warehouse, are told to throw on a colored wig, grab a cardboard tube and pretend to fight with each other. At least porn is honest about its intent.
Fortunately, this world has no shortage of those brave enough to be creepy, and the web seriesVixens of Virtue, Vixens of Vice helps support this idea, albeit with a slightly lesser percentage of creep than other such offerings. If fact, besides the ample use of cleavage, there is nothing in this series that would discourage watches from lovers of campy fun of all ages.
The series concerns itself with the sibling rivalry of the superpower enabled Sweet Sisters(blue-haired Sweet Burden, who can control gravity, Sweet Burn, who can burn things, andSweet Frost, who can freeze stuff) and their ingenious villain kin, the Bitter Sisters (Bitter Evil, the mad scientist/inventor of the bunch, Bitter Pain, the ninja master, and Bitter Pill, the chemist of the crew).
While the Sweet Sisters are content enough in just being goodie-goodies and trying to find their parents, the Bitter Sisters are all about getting rid of their sisters altogether and while their at it, take over the world.
Not only do they have an ever expanding supply of "Bitter Bots" to help in their evil plots, but they also have recently created a fem-bot style cyborg named Bitter Metal. Strong enough to resist blades and bullets, Bitter Metal is the Bitter Sisters finest hope yet to destroy their sisters.
With 10 episodes coming in a less than an hour total, Season 1 of VOV/VOV does a good job at holding your attention, even if it is only to look at boobs. The plot is pretty clumsy and disjointed, the acting varies from terrible to vicariously enjoyable, and I having a sneaking suspicious that the actors aren't always the same from episode to episode, but as time wasting trash-candy, this is well worth a watch.
Get the DVD at MVD or directly from the official website. Until then, check out the sneak peek below.
Directed by Robert Hiltzik
Starring Felissa Rose, Jonathan Teirsten, Karen Fields Rated R USA "She's a real carpenter's dream: flat as a board and easy to screw!"
Summer camp is horrible. Six weeks of barely controlled chaos lorded over by teenage “counselors” that are barely older than the brats they’re sheparding, and as about as mature. The food is awful, the weather is miserable, there’s bugs, you’re homesick, and even if you do get laid, it’s probably in an outhouse or in a filthy sleeping bag surrounded by whiny 13 year olds. And yet, this bizarre (and if movies have taught us anything, lethal) practice still goes on, summer after summer, all over America. And, amazingly enough, Hollywood continues to exploit this barbaric ritual for laffs and/or chills. There’s been a long history of genre movies that utilize summer camps as a backdrop. Generally, they fall into two distinct categories: sex comedies and slasher flicks. Sleepaway Camp, however, offers both at once. And also a bonus (?)homo-erotic subtext. Does it deliver? Well, let’s find out.
The film opens with a confusing speedboat accident where everybody has weird Brooklyn accents.
Cut to: eight years later. Angela (Felissa Rose) and her cousin Ricky (Jonathan Teirsten) are getting ready for summer camp. Ricky's crazy mom (Desiree Gold) sees them off. First, though, she gives them copies of their physical exams, which she apparently conducted, because she's “a doctor”. The whole thing is very fishy. By the way, it is impossible to tell if auntie is a boy or a girl, and Gold’s acting is like something out of a 50’s melodrama. It’s one of the most memorable cameos I’ve ever seen. It's amazing.
So, camp begins. From the beginning, the place looks like trouble. The kitchen staff is a hive of pervy scum.
Also, after a year of “maturing”, Ricky's old camp-girlfriend Judy (Karen Fields) no longer wants anything to do with him. Bummer.
Angela ends up in the same cabin with Judy and stares, unblinking, at her while she unpacks.
Judy's unnerved, as is everyone who comes across Angela. She won't speak to anyone, and after three days at the camp, she still hasn't eaten. Concerned, camp counselor Meg asks Ronnie – who I'm assuming is some kind of activities director, and who wears inappropriately tight shorts – to try and coax her out of this blank-eyed stupor.
He takes her into the kitchen and asks head-chef Artie to fix her something she'll really like. Here's the problem, though: Artie's a pedo! He's gonna fix her something, alright, but she's not gonna like it.
Luckily, Ricky finds out what's going on and swoops in to save her before Marty deflowers her in the pantry.
Not long after, Marty is involved in a nasty corn-on-the-cob accident in the kitchen, where he is nearly boiled alive. Some unseen assailant pulls a chair leg out from under him, and he tumbles headfirst into the pot. According to the doctor who bandages him up, Marty's pretty fucked. Says there isn't a medicine strong enough to dull his pain. Who knew boiling corn could be so dangerous?
Mel (Mike Kellin, who died a few months after Sleepaway Camp wrapped), the camp director, promotes the rest of the kitchen staff and tells them not to mention anything about the par-boiled chef. And thusly life goes on at summer camp.
There's boyish pranks, baseball games, dudes in half-shirts and tiny cut-off shorts (!) and, of course, bullying. Angela takes a lot of abuse from the guys, but luckily, cousin Ricky always shows up to defend her.
At one point, he takes on a kid in a Blue Oyster Cult t-shirt who accused Angela of only playing with “Half a deck”, and it turns into a pigpile of feathered hair and designer jeans. Seriously, this movie is looks like a gay porn set-up for most of its running time.
And then, suddenly, a breakthrough! Ricky's best-bud Paul talks to Angela like a human, for once, and she actually speaks. She says “Goodnight”! Young, weird love begins to bloom.
Meanwhile, the guys try to convince the girls to go skinny-dipping. They refuse, so the guys all stand around half-naked, I guess waiting for something to happen?
Who knows. Blue Oyster Cult guy takes Leslie out on a canoe, and then purposely tips it over, to be funny. Guys are dicks. She swims back to shore and he's stuck under the canoe.
Suddenly somebody's head pops up under there, too. Who is it? Who knows? All we know for sure is that he's dead. One of the counselors discovers him with snakes crawling over his water-logged corpse. Instead of a bus, Blue Oyster Cult guy goes home in a body-bag.
This would be a good time to close the camp down, but Mel won't hear of it. He declares the death an accident, and the summahtime frolicking resumes. Paul evens makes a date with Angela to the movies.
The date goes pretty good, too. Paul even sneaks in a goodnight peck or two.
And then, while he's still basking in the afterglow and walking back to his cabin, Judy shows up to wreck his good mood. What sort of evil tricks does she have up her sleeve?
Paul gets back to the cabin, excited to tell the fellas about his date, but there's no time for that, because they're busy tormenting the fat kid, Mozart, with their childish prankery. PS: one of the kids is wearing a sweet Asia baseball jersey. What kind of weird kidlikes Asia?
The next day, Meg tries to make Angela go swimming, but she refuses, so Meg shakes her like a rag doll. She still won't go swimming, though. Back at the cabin, Judy starts to wonder out loud why Angela refuses to do anything water-related. Turns out she doesn't shower with the other girls, either. Judy assumes it's a puberty thing, and torments Angela about it until Susie, the nice counselor, makes her stop.
Angela splits to go see Ricky, but on her way, one of the older guys hits her with a water balloon. A couple hours later, he's sitting on the toilet when somebody drops a beehive into the stall! It would be remarkably easy to escape this sticky situation, since there is nothing but a torn window screen between the guy and a bee-free environment. Sadly, he does not think of that, and so he is stung to death.
With yet another death on his hands, Mel is finally ready to throw in the towel. He's also pretty sure he knows who is behind all this murder and mayhem. Ronnie encourages him to keep the camp open, though. After all, there's still 25 campers left! Meanwhile, Paul and Angela make out at the lake, which is what you do at camp when a serial killer is afoot.
Paul almost gets his hand down Angela's blouse when she has a childhood flashback to two dudes caressing each other gently in a bed, and she freaks out and bails on blue-balled Paul. So that was weird.
The remaining campers play Capture the Flag, and Ricky schemes with Angela to cut through the woods and steal the flag. I don't understand the game, but that's what Ricky says. Here's the thing, though: Paul, feeling jilted by Angela's sudden frigidity, decides to give in to Judy's relentless advances and locks lips with her in those very same woods. If Angela sees this flagrant betrayal, she is not going to be happy.
Whoops. She sees it. Paul tries his best to patch things up later on at the ol' swimming hole, but there's no way Judy's going to let that happen.
Things take a Lord of the Flies sorta turn when Meg just picks Angela up and throws her into the lake. Ricky tries to stop her but he's busy with Mel, who's twisting his arm and accusing him of killing everybody. Ricky finally wrenches free and fishes his cousin out of the water, and as they walk away, the rest of the campers throw sand at them. It's getting ugly at Camp Arawak.
Also, as if to further prove that this is the gayest summer camp movie of all time, Ronnie or somebody asks Ricky why he looks so glum, and he says, “I wish there were more guys around.”
That night, Meg makes a dinner date with Mel(!). However, she never gets to bone the grizzled old bastard, because somebody knifes her to death in the shower.
And then Judy finally gets it. All you really see is a shadow on the wall, but it appears that she is killed with a curling iron. How? However you kill people with curling irons, man. I'm not an expert on such matters. Looks like some kind of vagina-related mayhem, though.
So at this point, almost everybody's dead, including a whole troop of young campers who were roughing it in sleeping bags down by the lake. Ricky is calmly taking a late-night stroll, gorging on candy bars, when he is yanked into the woods and assaulted by Mel – still in shock from finding Meg murdered – who is convinced that Ricky is behind it all. So Mel beats Ricky either senseless or to death, and then stumbles away. But he doesn't get very far!
A mustache cop (he looks like he got said mustache at Jack's Joke Shop) shows up, and the remaining counselors pair up to find the rest of the campers.
It as at this point when Angela decides to go skinny-dipping with Paul. She instructs him to take his clothes off. He is happy to oblige.
And then...the slasher shock-twist of the century!
Hint:
The end.
Sleepaway Camp is missing many of the essential elements of a summer-slasher – boobs, most glaringly, as well as gory kills and a decent Final Girl (unless we’re counting Ricky, and we might be, given the gender-bending finale), and yet, it still manages to be a wildly entertaining no-budget 80’s trashfilm romp. Part of it’s appeal is that it’s so off-kilter: there’s a palpable homo-eroticism that runs though the film, and the scene-stealing bookend bits by the androgynous, over-the-top Crazy Aunt Martha only add to the sexual confusion. The film constantly shoots for cutting-edge kills, only to let itself down with backyard splatter gags and wonky edits, and the acting wobbles drunkenly from amateur to insane. Half the time it’s a G-rated teen rom-com, and the rest veers rapidly between nudity-free raunchfest and bloodfree slice n’ dice. It’s a difficult trick, being lame and awesome at the same time, but Sleepaway Camp somehow nails it. The final shot has made it a legend, but everything that comes before that is just as weird. You’ll laugh, you’ll cringe, and you’ll think differently about that one strange kid in summer camp who refused to go swimming or to shower with everybody else.
PS Sleepaway Camp is survived by three sequels, with a fourth on the way.
PPSI want to make out with Crazy Aunt Martha. Hard. Is that weird?
Directed by William Sachs Starring Bill Adler, Cynthia Wood, Dennis Bowen, Melissa Prophet, David Hayward, Tara Strohmeier Rated R U.S.A.
Written and directed by William Sachs (The Incredible Melting Man, Galaxina), 1979’s Van Nuys Blvd. kind of stands as a nominal tribute to the real-life cruising scene that during the ’60s and ’70s characterized the ten-mile strip running through San Fernando Valley. Although from what I understand, the film also kind of helped spell the end of said scene by drawing undue attention to it.
In any event, Van Nuys Blvd. also stands as indisputable evidence that when it came to movie-making circa late ’70s, all one really needed was access to (and the ability to wreck) a few cars and vans, tickets to an amusement park, enough change for an afternoon’s worth of fun at the arcade/go-kart track, a pair of handcuffs, an oversized submarine sandwich, some whipped cream, and a pig.
The story opens with Bobby (Bill Adler of The Pom Pom Girls and Malibu Beach) driving his cool '70s-van back to his mobile home where his girlfriend Jo (Susanne Severeid) greets him in bra and panties. Jo quickly loses even that as she delivers her hard-working man a cold beer after a long day.
Tough life, eh? Yet Bobby is somehow unfulfilled, and soon is distracted from his delightful damsel by a television news report. We watch with Bobby as Officer Al Zass (Dana Gladstone) is shown describing law enforcement's efforts to curb "a lot of wild stuff going on here" during "cruise night" on Van Nuys Blvd.
Bobby's bored with Jo and his small-town existence, where apparently he and his super cool van rule uncontested. "Nothing happens here…. I got no competition here. I wanna get out, I wanna move, I wanna race!" he says.
Soon he's out the door, leaving Jo behind and taking a trip to Malbu and that mythical land of adventure and fresh challenges -- Van Nuys Blvd.!
Night has fallen by the time Bobby arrives. The trip takes a while. Then comes a lengthy, tedious series of shots of cruisers, all accompanied by the blaring title song, an infinite loop of female singers' sexy whispering and a dude shouting "VAN NUYS!!!!" over and again. Enjoy:
Seriously, that singer is just a stoplight or two away from being Wesley Willis, ain't he?
At last Bobby arrives at "Pleasure," a drive-in restaurant, where carhop Wanda (Tara Strohmeier of Candy Stripe Nurses and The Kentucky Fried Movie) takes his order with a smile and some suggestive talk.
Cut back to the boulevard, where the incredibly-mustachioed "Chooch" is whooping it up, hollering non sequiturs to unseen pedestrians in a way that ensures we all quickly understand what we have here is some sort of homage and/or ripoff of American Graffiti.
As if to reinforce that idea, Chooch is suddenly mooned by a female passenger in a neighboring car, causing him to run a red light, and a moment later he's pulled over by Officer Zass.
The pair engage in some tough guy talk as Zass writes up Chooch, but soon we learn (a) both are more nerdy and insecure than tough, and (b) both are getting older and thus aren’t fitting well into the young-person's scene going on around them. (Indeed, later we learn the two went to school together.) Zass ends up carting Chooch off to overnight lock-up, apparently a much-repeated “cruise night” ritual for the two.
Meanwhile, carhop Wanda delivers Bobby his meal in the back of his van, and soon enough the two are no longer wearing their clothes, but rather wearing his burger, fries, and shake. Oh, and this is where the whipped cream comes in.
While they're having their fun, we meet red-haired, fresh-faced Greg who pulls into a gas station with his buddy. "One," says Greg to the attendant. "One what?" comes the reply. "Gallon or dollar?" "Dollar," says Greg with a smirk, adding "You think I'd waste your time for a gallon?" And he and his bud have themselves a chuckle.
It was a different time. Not only was gas less than a dollar a gallon, but more stuff was funny, too. Must've been, right?
While they wait, another car drives up with a couple inside. "It's her!" says Greg, again evoking American Graffiti. "I can't believe it… it's her!" As he explains, he's dreamed about the girl in the neighboring vehicle no less than three times, and thus feels compelled to go tell her all about it.
The boyfriend is predictably unamused, and soon things escalate to each driver taking tire irons and other implements of destruction to each other's cars.
The girlfriend, Camille (Melissa Prophet), finds the whole scene tedious and soon catches a ride out of there in the van of her friend Moon, played by 1974 Playboy Playmate of the Year Cynthia Wood.
The fetching, doe-eyed blonde Wood turns up in a bit role in Shampoo and a few other '70s films, although her most memorable moment on the silver screen was undoubtedly as the gun-toting, cowboy-hat wearing playmate in the "Suzie Q" scene in Apocalypse Now.
The mutual vehicular destruction continues, then weirdly peters out before tow trucks are called. Another girl drives up -- one who knows the dude whose car Greg has been smashing up -- and she gives the dude and Greg's friend a ride up to Van Nuys Blvd., leaving poor Greg alone.
But his fortune soon changes as a mysterious leather-clad vixen with blonde hair and rock star makeup arrives on a chopper and with a breathy "Hi!" invites the mopey ginger to hop on.
Next thing Greg knows, he's at an apartment party with topless dancing, then the motorcycle girl (Di Ann Monaco) leads Greg to a back room with weird mural on the wall that makes it look like a Yes album. After some goofy close-ups of licking lips and exaggerated winking, the rapidly-cut, sweet-’70s. lovemaking commences.
Soon Greg’s “teacher of dreams” (as the cornball soundtrack sings) drops him back at the gas station and after a goodbye smooch wordlessly rides out of the film.
Back at "Pleasure," Bobby and Wanda have finished up (and cleaned up) as well. Camille and Moon have arrived, and soon Moon and Bobby are challenging each other to a drag race in their vans. The night isn't even done, and besides getting laid already, Bobby is getting his wish for some fresh competition!
The race begins, but is cut short when police arrive.
Our characters are summarily deposited in a co-ed cell (all are full, we’re told, thanks to the increased patrol on “cruise night”). Chooch happens to be there as well. And Greg arrives soon, too, having been arrested for the heinous crime of trying to hitchhike without having at least one foot on the curb.
The five bond a bit, then plan an excursion to Magic Mountain together the next day. It’s Greg’s idea -- as he explains, it was part of the dream he’d had about Camille. All are game and soon we’re stuck in another lengthy montage of merry-go-rounds, carnival games, and rolly coasters.
Paul Le Mat-wannabe Chooch gets nauseous after riding the “Revolution” haha. Then the group attend a show of some sort where the Kansas City Glitter Girls present a brand new dance, the Van Nuys Blvd.!
The dancing lasts about two minutes, but feels more like 20. Plenty of time to learn the Van Nuys Blvd., though, if you so desire. Or perhaps have yourself a home workout.
Cut to the back of Officer Zass' black-and-white, parked on Malibu Beach, where somehow he and Wanda the carhop both have their shirts off and are involved in a bit of hand-to-hand combat. It was just the offer of a ride home she'd accepted from the cop, she points out, not an invitation to participate in any shaggin' shenanigans.
Wanda manages to wiggle her way out of the situation by tricking Zass -- actually only slightly more difficult than, say, successfully telling a knock-knock joke -- a ruse that leaves him handcuffed to his car in his boxers.
Back to more dancing. And dancing. And dancing. Finally, Bobby and Moon hook up.
As do Greg and Camille, although their liaison involves a Greg first accidentally climbing into her parents' bedroom and starting the lovemaking with ma, Ã la Screwballs a few years later.
Meanwhile, on his way home Chooch happens upon Wanda on the highway. She further shows her cleverness in her method of getting him to pull over to give her a ride.
Those two wind up a couple, meaning that as we move into the latter part of the film our ensemble of six have sorted themselves out into three convenient pairs. Incidentally, we realize somewhere along the way that while there are a few extras here and there -- including some who flash their boobs or butts -- the world of Van Nuys Blvd. pretty much begins and ends with these six.
The group goes to the aforementioned go-kart track where Chooch finds himself in some semi-humorous competition with an old lady over the track record. She’s not too happy about losing it.
There's some air hockey, video games, and pinball. And some bikini-clad fun at the beach...
...where for some reason a pig named Reggie shows up.
There’s also a reprise of sorts of that earlier mistaken identity scene, this time involving Greg, Camille, and both of her parents.
It looks for a moment there might be some sort of drama when Bobby (now with Moon) and Wanda (now with Chooch) reunite, acknowledging their earlier whipped-creamy liaison with an exchange of looks. But nothing really comes of it.
Indeed, the only real drama preceding the film's climax comes when Greg tries to eat a too-big-for-his-mouth submarine sandwich and has to visit the hospital because he can't shut his trap.
That and the plight of poor Officer Zass, who incredibly remains handcuffed to his car on Malibu Beach for an entire day-and-a-half.
Maybe that pig on the beach earlier was setting up some sort of visual pun here, I dunno.
One gets the feeling that as in American Graffiti our characters are all supposed to grow up or experience some sort of meaningful change during these couple of days we spend with them. And some of that does happen, particularly with the older Chooch who comes to realize it's probably time he moved on and left wild Van Nuys to the younger crowd. Bobby and Moon experience something along those lines as well, I suppose, when their relationship undergoes one last challenge once they find it necessary to race their vans once more.
That said, nothing here is nearly as deep or carefully orchestrated in terms of message delivery or plot as with Graffiti. Instead, Van Nuys Blvd. offers fans of '70s fashion, cringe-worthy dancing and music, and other dated goofiness plenty to enjoy without complicating things too much with dramatic twists or character development.
If you fall into that category, then perhaps check it out. Especially if you missed Van Nuys Blvd. back during its brief stay in theaters and drive-ins, when as far as I remember it came and went in a flash.
