Young Nurses in Love (1986)

Directed by Chuck Vincent
Starring Jeanne Marie, Alan Fisler, Veronica Hart, Jamie Gillis
Rated R
USA
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"Comrade, you must succeed on this mission. Even if it costs you your virginity."

Can you spoof a spoof? 1982's Young Doctors in Love was a gag-stuffed, Airplane-esque satire of hospital-themed soap operas, ala General Hospital. Directed by sitcom legend Garry Marshall, the modestly successful film was a minor blip in the pantheon of spoof films, but appeared to be sufficiently inspirational to hardcore-gone-soft cheese-churner Chuck Vincent. Most of Marshall's plot points are used here - the doctor/nurse with a secret, the illicit supply-room trysts, the bumbling mobsters - but, as you might expect, given Vincent's resume, the emphasis is on sexy hijinks.

When you consider that the Cold War didn't really end until 1989, the premise of this one isn't really that far-fetched: at an otherwise low-rent American hospital, there exists a world-famous collection of frozen semen samples. Said samples were collected from various geniuses (Howard Hughes, Picasso, Thomas Edison...ok, so it is pretty far-fetched). The USSR, lagging behind the US in science and technology, wants to steal the samples, so that they may breed their own army of super-geniuses. A Russian spy is dispatched to work undercover as a nurse to snatch the vials and bring 'em back to the motherland. Meanwhile, having caught wind of the nefarious plot, the FBI place a handsome young spy to pose as a doctor and nab the faux-nurse in the act of jizz-robbery.

Along the way, of course, there's the usual gang of idiots and porn stars to contend with. This one's got more high-profile sex stars in substantial roles than usual. There's Annie Sprinkle as a perpetual boob-job patient being stalked by a creepy German morgue attendant, Jamie Gillis as a booze and drug-hoovering reconstructive surgeon in charge of giving a cigar-chomping mob boss a new face, and Veronica Hart as head nurse Francesca, the only approaching-sane character in this whole motley crew.

All of this is incidental to what this film is really all about: people running down hospital corridors, knocking each other over. That, and screeching. There isn't one segment in this film that doesn't involve one of the nurses yelling about something, usually in a half-assed foreign accent of some kind. Ah, but the jokes! Young Nurses in Love is packed with 'em. Half the jokes don't even make sense, though. Here's an example:

"We're out of syringes."
"Did you try the deli?"

There's a lot of moments like that.


Yes, but will boners be popped? Most assuredly, although not as many as you'd think. Nurses in mini-skirted uniforms are always welcome, and there's plenty of them on display here. When undercover Russkie Ellis (Jeanne Marie) first receives her curve-hugging uniform, she complains to Nurse Francesca that she's been given an "Extra-small".
"That's right, honey," Francesca tells her, "One size fits all."
Aside from the obvious appeal of mid 80's jiggle-bunnies poured into porno-nurse outfits, though, there's actually very little bared skin. Marie strips down for a tame sex scene with Dr. Reilly (Alan Fisler), and Veronica Hart lets loose her tea-cup shaped floppies during a comical sexcapade with a doctor, but there are otherwise very few flashes of nudity.


So, what's the appeal here, if any? Well, the performances are generally pretty good, especially for a haphazard cast full of sex stars and amateurs. Gillis and Hart, in particular, are both very funny in their roles. Gillis saunters around like a greaseball Foster Brooks, and Hart is clearly channeling her inner Lucy. Also good is Beth Broderick as Putnam, yet another Russian spy disguised as a nurse, only this one's got a thick Soviet accent and a mile-long mean streak. There's a scene where she barrels down the hallway, knocking passerby to the floor as she goes, that rivals the Terminator for sheer macho swagger. I don't know why a Russian would be named Putnam, or why all the KGB spies in this film are California blondes, but I don't suppose that matters in Vincent's plastic-fantastic world. The soundtrack is also pretty swell, filled with catchy power-pop songs by a handful of seriously obscure bands like Zen for Primates and Buzzard Luck, and the economical running time - 82 minutes, including five minutes of slowly scrolling end-credits - means it's in and out of your radar before all the yelling and pratfalls start to shred your nerves.

Young Nurses in Love was produced right in the middle of Chuck Vincent's R-rated run. He followed this one up with Wimps a few months later, dragging most of Nurses' cast and crew with him. Jamie Gillis, by the way, appeared in 30 films in 1986. 29 of 'em required his penis. Jamie Gillis had sex with more women in one year than most people do in a lifetime. That fucker deserves a round of applause. Beth Broderick, who appeared in a handful of Vincent's films, including Sex Appeal (1986), Student Affairs (1987), and Slammer Girls (1987), eventually carved out a decent television career, and is probably best known as Aunt Zelda from the Sabrina, the Teenage Witch TV show.

Everybody else either continued to fuck for money or went off and did something more productive. Sometime after the 1980's, the bottom dropped out of the nursing industry, so young sexy blondes generally choose a different line of work, leaving hospital visits mostly boner-free these days. So I'd avoid getting sick, if you can.

Availability: Young Nurses in Love is available on VHS.
Buy Young Nurses in Love at Amazon.
-Ken McIntyre

Preppies (1984)

Directed by Chuck Vincent
Starring Dennis Drake, Steven Holt, Peter Brady Reardon, Cindy Manion
Rated R
USA
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"I'm very big on oral."
"Well, you do have a big mouth."

I suppose there may be those among us unfamiliar with the term "preppies". It was a popular term-of-derision in the late 70's and early 80's, an accusatory slur aimed at people who attended private, "preparatory" universities. 'Preps' carried themselves with maximum snoot. They talked through their teeth in a halting huff and snorted whenever po' folks were around. The classic preppy look included a sweater wrapped around the shoulders, golf clothing in pastel colors, loafers, possibly a visor. Whether anyone actually wore these clothing combinations anywhere besides goofy movies like this is a mystery to me, as I have never known anyone that would fall into the preppy category. I barely even know any college graduates. In 1980, a satirical prep-guide, "The Preppy Handbook", hit the humor racks at bookstores and somehow became a smash hit. As legend has it, many did not care that the book was meant as a goof, and embraced it's fashions, fads, and upper-crusty notions, eventually resulting in a mini-cultural movement of people who were actually proud to call themselves preppies. Again, who the fuck knows. They say there really were 'valley girls' back then as well, but I don't remember any. All of this shit might have happened in California. Seems like a likely place for it. At any rate, in the 80's, any half-assed cultural movement would end in a bad b-movie - See Breakin'(1984), Thrashin' (1986), and Joysticks (1983) for three perfect examples - and so, 1984's Preppies, the final word on rich assholes in Izod Lacoste shirts.

Preppies was directed by Chuck Vincent, which should tell you a couple things right off the bat. First, lower your expectations. This is not going to be nearly as good as you'd like it to be. Second, squint a little, and you'll find a stray porn star or two in the cast. Famously, Mr. Vincent began his career as a director of adult films, and when he 'graduated' to z-level sexploitation, he tended to fill the productions with his old starlets and studs. That is certainly the case here, with veteran pipe-layer Jerry Butler in a small-but-vital role as elusive soap opera star Dick Foster, and a smattering of 80's goo-girls (Tish Ambrose, Sharon Kane, Annette Heinz) playing exotic dancers. The rest of the cast is made up mostly of first (and for most, only) time actors, which will become painfully obvious pretty quickly.

Our saga opens with three preppies - Chip (Dennis Drake), Bayard (Steven Holt) and Mark (Peter Brady Reardon, who really should've just used his own hilariously preppy-esque name) - getting a lecture from Chip's tennis-obsessed dad. Seems they've got exams coming up, and if Chip passes, he inherits the family's $50 million dollar fortune. If he doesn't, he's out on his ass, and his weird sexual deviant brother Blackwel (Leonard Haas) gets the motherlode.

Blackwel, by the way, is introduced to us in a scene straight out of Caligula, with dominatrixes, dog collars, topless stoned chicks, the works. It's pretty nuts. Blackwel is well aware of this situation, so on the weekend before exams, he dispatches a quartet of local party girls to seduce and distract Chip and the boys. It's not the world's hardest sell, as the prep-molls are strictly cold fish. About the most the fellas get from their girlfriends is when Margot (Hollywood Hot Tubs' own Katt Shea, in a very unconvincing blonde bob wig) strips naked and mashes her boobs against a glass door, allowing Mark to slobber on the other side. So, you know, they are certainly open to new options.

Oh, another thing about Chuck Vincent movies that you should probably know: there's always too many characters. Chuck is not happy unless there's half a dozen thinly written players jammed into the frame. I am surely baiting tedium here, but we must mention the good-time girls, since they are, after all, the film's real protagonists. There's Roxy (Nitchie Barrett), Jo (toothy, statuesque blonde Cindy Manion, instantly recognizable from Toxic Avenger), Tip (Kate Stelletello), and Suzy (Jo-ann Marshall). With the exception of Suzy, who is clearly the voice of reason, there is no nuance or affect that differentiates one of these characters from another; they are simply a bunch of girls who like driving around in a customized van and will, if you offer them $20,000, attempt to seduce some high-faluting jokers, even though they kinda-sorta hate preppies.


The girls attempt to snag their men, first by dressing up as waitresses at a country club and later as hot-to-trot stoner chicks at a disco ("This is erotic!" Jo squeals, as the six of them huddle in a men's room stall, smoking a joint and listening to other guys pee), but neither ruse works. Then they bait Suzy with the promise of a date with her favorite TV star, Dick Foster, if she dresses up like a preppy and infiltrates their inner sanctum. She does, allowing the other girls to decorate the place with streamers and a "Happy Birthday Jeff" sign ("What?" Roxy shrugs. "I got it from Jeff."), strip down to lingerie, and force their reluctant prey to party. But before they can completely destroy the college boys' lives, the prep-girls show up and ruin everything. This goes on for many, many minutes, so let us cut to the chase:

Yes, boners will be popped, particularly during the scene when stuck-up Margot and Trini (Linda Wiesmeier, Joysticks, Private School, and Playboy Playmate, July '82) practice hip-thrusting together.

Will you laugh, somewhere along the way? Depends on whether you think the following is funny:

Mark, staring at Jo's tits. "I really like those."
Jo: "Oh, thanks. I got them from my mother. And she got them from my grandmother."
Mark: "So, they're family heirlooms!"

That's about as fuckin' funny as it gets. It has a happy ending, like they all do. The acting veers drunkenly between over the top and woefully inadequate, although all the actors are very enthusiastic, and everyone is obviously working quite hard to pull off this ludicrous premise and barely-there script. Cindy Manion, who has crazy eyes, an even loonier smile, and a manic-panic energy about her that nearly bursts right through the screen, is particularly into it here; if this is anybody's movie, it's hers. Unfortunately for the world, this film and Toxic Avenger (also 1984) are her only significant acting roles. The music is terrible (Chuck Vincent also co-wrote many of the songs), the boom mic is clearly visible in a few scenes, and although there's a goodly amount of breast-baring (this was, after all, a "Playboy Production"), there is very little sex. And it's about preppies, which is a pretty fuckin' lame premise, even for the 80's.

Availability: Preppies is available on (murky) DVD from Jef. It's also available for rental from Netflix.
Buy Preppies on Amazon.
-Ken McIntyre

Hollywood Hot Tubs (1984)

Directed by Chuck Vincent
Starring Jewel Shepard, Donna McDaniel, Paul Gunning, Edy Williams
Rated R
USA
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"Oh god, what a time to lose my Valium!"

A legend amongst 80's skinema aficionados, Hollywood Hot Tubs is simultaneously wonderful and wretched, a cheap and often ugly film so far off in it's attempts at ribald humor that it almost plays like anti-comedy. On the other hand, it also offers perky naked breasts approximately every ten or so minutes, and a handful of scenes so absurd they border on the surreal. A devil's bargain, then.

In accordance with the established rules of 80's sex comedies, the plot is both simple and implausible. Shawn (Paul Gunning) is teenage ne'er-do-well who runs afoul with the law in a confusing opening scene involving two of his buddies, a car, a camera, a sexy girl, and...well, it's not important, although the opening dialogue is pretty funny:

Shawn's dorky friend number 1: "Can we stop at my house? I need to get my Asthma pills."
Shawn's dorky friend number 2: "Yeah, and I have to pee."
Shawn: "And I need to get new friends."

After getting nabbed by the police, he is escorted back home, where the cop and his parents discuss his fate. Turns out, it's either jail, or go to work for his Uncle Al, the plumber. And he's too pretty for jail.

Mom: "I'm only trying to save you from the butt slammers."

Uncle Al's plumbing company specializes in hot tub repair. Apparently, California was in the grips of Hot Tub Fever in 1984, because there's plenty of work to go around. Shawn is dispatched to various establishments to fix their hot tubs. Sex naturally ensues.

In one scene, future Carrie II director Katt Shea, playing a young starlet named Dee Dee, has sex with a Hairy Harry Reems lookalike on top of a hot tub while Shawn tries to fix the leak underneath. Later on, he visits an "Oriental Massage" parlor. Former Russ Meyer siren and perennial Z-movie fixture Edy Williams nearly rapes him. When she jiggles her ample, aged boobs, they punch in a sound effect of two balloons rubbing together.

There's also a giant penis lamp in the room. It's disturbing.

All of these jobs are small change, however. The real money is in scoring the Hollywood Hot Tubs account. HHT is an ever-expanding pleasure emporium that offers private rooms equipped with hot tubs and, apparently, whatever else you might need. The company is run by straight-laced Pam (genre vet Remy O'Neil), who employs her dizzy daughter Crystal (Jewel Shepard) as her secretary/Girl Friday.

It is at this moment that Hollywood Hot Tubs reaches a crossroads. Up until now, it is a pleasantly cheeseball 80's comedy. None of the jokes work and the music is dismal, but the constant threat/promise of tits keep things moving along nicely. And then along comes Jewel Shepard.

Miss Shepard needs little to no introduction to trashfilm fans. She is most easily recognized as Casey, the neon-mohawked punkette in Return of the Living Dead (1985), to say nothing of her voluminous nude modeling career. Agonizingly gorgeous and much smarter than her roles, Shepard was a bonafide exploitation movie goddess in the 80's. And this stunning role provides ample evidence why.

To say that her acting here is bad...that's like saying nuclear war is merely a bummer. Her acting her is phenomenally bad, jaw-droppingly awful, the stiffest, most awkward attempt at a bubble-headed 'valley girl' imaginable. And that's not all. Besides the teeth-gnashing "Like, you know" dialogue, Jewel performs every scene braless, her then-26 year old boobs jutting straight ahead like fleshy torpedoes armed and ready to strike. In one memory-searing scene, a half-shirted Jewel forcibly jiggles them up and down for five minutes straight, vibrating like a jackhammer for no other reason than the obvious.

Here, watch this. It'll blow your mind.



It's quite possible that Jewel's hamming is on purpose. After all, the worst actor in a film is even more memorable than the best. But whatever possessed her, we can only sit and stare and bask in her untamed badfilm glory. She is a colossal force in this film, and whenever she's in a scene, the rest of the cast dissolves into dust. There are other reasons to watch this movie, surely - the all-girl soccer team, for example, or Edgar Blood - but the reason to own it, savor it, and share it with friends and neighbors is because of Jewel Shepard's performance. It will rock you to the core.

Oh yes, the soccer team. The fellas fix a hot tub at HTT and somehow get an entire female soccer team topless in said tub. Well, all except for one headband-wearing blonde, who, oddly, wears a towel while soaking in the sudsy water. Watch this scene closely, because when Shawn tosses the soccer ball across the room, it ricochets back and accidentally smacks her right in the mug. It's an awkward gaffe that really should have been cut out, but...well, that's just not the kind of movie we're dealing with here.

There's another weird encounter with Edgar Blood (Victor Marko, who, sadly, never acted again), a Vincent Price-wannabe aging horror actor with a hot-tub equipped stretch limo. They drop him off in a cemetery, so that he can do 'research' for his next role.

And so on. I should mention Donna McDaniel, who plays Shawn's love interest. This is Donna's sole acting credit, but she is well-known in heavy metal circles for serving in the surely thankless role of back-up singer for Motley Crue. She was one of the 'Nasty Habits' during their late 80's tours. Her role here is pretty thankless as well. But probably less embarrassing.

What else? There's a three-man biker gang with one guy who appears to have escaped from the Hair Bear Bunch. There's a gay bath-house scene. At one point, two horny grannies buy a hot tub - the deluxe party model - to "orgy in." There's also the expected nutso party at the end, which features a Burt Reynolds impersonator, a beer swilling chimp, rubber monsters, a Mariachi band, and people just randomly running back and forth.

This all sounds like the most fun ever, especially when you consider that it was directed by porn-maven gone semi-legit Chuck Vincent, the hallucinatory anti-genius behind Summer Camp (1979), Hot T-Shirts (1980), Wimps (1986), and Slammer Girls (1987), and written/produced by Mark Borde, who also wrote Summer Camp and produced the Chuck McCann/Louisa Moritz jiggle-fest Lunch Wagon (1981). The reality - at least without the benefit of booze, weed, or LSD - is that it lumbers along in a rather clunky fashion, and only really brightens up when either a woman doffs her top or Jewel rolls her eyes and says something inane. Luckily, both things happen quite a bit.

Hollywood Hot Tubs is not on DVD. The VHS is pretty rare. Most people remember it from repeated viewings on USA Up All Night. It's not a good movie. Most of the time, it sucks. Chuck Vincent is, of course, dead. Mark Borde has gone on to produce A-list material, like...uh...Kickin' It Old School. Donna McDaniel sings back-up for Glen Frey now. Jewel Shepard is a mostly-respected culture reporter. Only old people and coke addicts sit in hot tubs anymore. Quite obviously, this film's time has come and gone. And yet, it remains mandatory viewing for sleaze-beasts and trash-fiends, and it probably always will be. Why?

Well, like, you know.

Availability: Hollywood Hot Tubs is available on VHS.
Buy Hollywood Hot Tubs from Amazon.
-Ken McIntyre

Link: Jewel Shepard