The Naughty Stewardesses (1975)

Directed by Al Adamson
Starring Connie Hoffman, Marilyn Joi, Donna Young, Sydney Jordan
Rated R
USA

"Eat Your Heart Out, Burt Reynolds!"

70's Z-king Al Adamson - the genius-blunderer behind eyeball searing trash like Dracula VS. Frankenstein (1971) and Brain of Blood (1972) - and his longtime partner in grime, producer Sam Sherman, clearly thought 1975 was the Year of the Stewardess. Together, they produced two waitress-in-the-sky epics in '75: Blazing Stewardesses and The Naughty Stewardesses. Although they shared several cast members, both films were quite different from one another. Blazing was a cringe-worthy 'comedy' full of creaky old vaudeville acts and slapstick gags. Naughty Stewardesses, on the other hand, was a sexploitation/kidnap drama mash-up with a generous dose of nudity and a creaky old cowboy. Both made a bundle at the drive-ins during their initial releases, but they have not aged equally well. Blazing is literally painful to watch at this point, even with the benefit of 70's nostalgia-goggles. Naughty Stewardesses, on the other hand, still gets the job done. In fact, it remains one of Adamson's most consistently watchable films, and may be his strongest directorial effort, next to 1969's notorious Satans's Sadists. Not surprisingly, he reportedly hated it.

Debbie (Connie Hoffman) is a golden-haired starchild from Nowheresville, headed to Los Angeles to discover herself. She nabs a decent gig as a stewardess, and even ends up rooming with a whole house full of them.

Her new roomies - Jane (Sydney Jordan), Barbara (Marilyn Joi, Ilsa Harem Keeper of the Oil Shieks), and Margie (Donna Young, Fugitive Girls) - are all free-spirits prone to mile-high club antics and sexy, extravagant house parties. In fact, they throw an anything-goes bash for Jane's birthday just a couple days after Debbie arrives, complete with a live penis-cake for raunchy Jane.

This proves all too much for small-town Debbie, who is quite unsure whether she wants to be part of this permissive new lifestyle. Margie talks her off the ledge, however, and the two begin to bond. Debbie calms down, and the girls resume frolicking through the friendly skies. And then, presumably because it was cheap to film, the stews go traipsing around the Las Vegas strip, gawking at the neon and occasionally tugging at a slot machine.

Later, during a bumpy flight, some dude starts having an allergic reaction to something. Or maybe he's choking, it's never all that clear. The point is, the fucker turns purple.

He is saved by retired soldier Brewster (40's cowboy star Robert Livingston), a smooth-talking ladies' man/rich old bastard. Despite the fact that he's a cadaverous 70 year old, the stews are quite taken with him. He even talks Debbie into going home with him.

When he gets there, there's already a naked broad waiting for him in his bed. He leaves Debbie downstairs and tells her he has to attend to a sick dog upstairs. So he bangs the chick and then sends her packing, so he can work on Debbie. Not a bad night for a great-grandpa.

Presumably, Adamson cast Livingston because he was a contemporary/friend of Al's dad, cowboy star Victor "Denver Dixon" Adamson. Fair enough, and Livingston was certainly spry for 71, but he was clearly 25 years too old for the role. The ridiculous, ill-fitting blue jumpsuit they have him in for half of the movie doesn't help the case much, either.

At any rate, Debbie's latest flight takes her to San Francisco, so she decides to see the sights. She ends up in a cab with Cal (Richard Smedley, The Abductors) a talky driver who tells her she'd make a great model. That shit has to work once in a while, right? Somewhere along the way, he gets into a road rage incident with a burly black guy in a VW Bug, who punches him in the chest so hard it makes his head bleed.

Naturally, Debbie ends up going home with him, just to make sure that he's OK. Once he gets her in his place, he starts to show her his collection of photographs, and she agrees to model for him.

Cue the takin' pictures montage, complete with a horrendous/awesome Jesusploitation number by John Kay's pre-Steppenwolf band The Sparrow called "The Rainsun Song" that starts out like warbly acid-folk, but bursts into Polyphonic Spree-esque sunshine pop by the chorus.

Also, there's a bunch of Hare Krishnas wandering around. You used to see those fuckers everywhere. Where'd they all go?

That all goes so well, they go home and do a topless shoot. But afterward, Cal starts crying. This is what you would call a "warning sign".

Creaky old perv Brewster throws a bash at his place. Barbara pops her top and frugs around the swimming pool while her boyfriend EV (Al Richardson, Mean Mother) raps with Cal. Cal explains that he's looking for work as a photographer, and EV tells him he might have a gig for 'em. Hardcore porn!

Cal doesn't seem to fazed by the offer, but then he starts hassling Dab about how he hates her friends. And then he splits. Eventually, the party breaks up, allowing Brewster the opportunity to hit on Debbie. Amazingly, she lets the skeletal old bastard have his way with her. So that was kinda gross. In the morning, Brewster drives her to work, and she says, "That was the most delirious, wonderful night I've ever had."

Brewster drops her off, picks up Margie, and brings her home to fuck in some sort of French sex basket. Not a bad day's work for an 80 year old.

Meanwhile, our man Cal is really losing it. He calls Debbie to reconcile, but she blows him off, so he threatens her and hangs up. Then he goes back to work shooting "Locked Loins", but starts spazzing out mid-shoot.

He tells EV that he's part of the "People's Liberation Front", which has helped out "Lots of blacks and Chicanos". He also says they get by on ripping off rich old fuckers like Brewster. If EV will help him out, he can knock over Brewster for $50,000, and also get back at Debbie in the process. Clearly, Cal needs a rest. Preferably at the state hospital.

EV agrees to help him - for two-thirds of that take. That's ridiculous, but Cal's nuts, so he goes along with it. AV tricks the girls into thinking they're going skiing, but he really ends up kidnapping them in a cabin and holding them for ransom. Brewster agrees to pay the 50K, but plans on giving them something else entirely - a hail of bullets.

Again, pretty ballsy plan for a 95 year old guy.

Back in the cabin, Cal admits to Debbie that he is both impotent and certifiable. Then he rapes her. Afterwards, she slips out the window and makes a run for it through the snow. EV takes off after, and we rush towards a thrilling climax full of rapists, kidnappers, pissed-off stewardesses, and old dudes with high-powered rifles.

Stylistically similar to 1979's head-spinning Cheerleader's Wild Weekend - which also starred Marilyn Joi - The Naughty Stewardesses deftly balances tongue-in-cheek humor with 70's scuzzball nihilism and TV Movie-of-the-week style-action.

Of course, we are dealing with an Al Adamson film, so there's a fair amount of stock footage and stilted dialogue to wade through, but even so, the performances are solid, the girls - particularly Sydney Jordan, who sadly never acted again - are both fetching and frequently undressed, the music is both ridiculous and sublime, the over-aged cowboy is hilariously miscast, and there's a slapdash, anything-goes energy to the production that's difficult to dislike.

And also, it's got stewardesses in minidresses and go-go boots. So everybody wins.

Naughty Stewardesses and Blazing Stewardesses are available in a two-disc set from Retro Seduction Cinema.

- Ken McIntyre

Terror at Orgy Castle (1971)

Directed by Zoltan Spencer
Starring Bambi Allen, Holly Woodstar, Jane Louise
Rated R
USA

Directed by Walt Davis and Zoltan Spencer in 1971, this sleazy satanic sexploitation flick is now available as part of a 3-on-1 set ('a diabolical triple feature') which promises good value.

I wasn't sure quite what to expect from this movie other than a castle, some terror and some sexual content. As I discovered, this movie is in the early 1970's narrated porno style with an eerie prog-blues-goth soundtrack. In other words, file under 'retro horror-smut'.

The beginning of the film can be summarized in a couple of sentences: An American couple (Bill and Lisa) are visiting an apparently unspecified European country as part of their swinging European vacation (presumably in the Romania/Transylvania region) on what seems to be their honeymoon night.

They arrive at a gothic castle where they are greeted by the resident Countess ('Countess Dominova' played by the aptly named actress Holly Woodstar!) and her hunchbacked servant. As you might expect this is a recipe for some hammy horror fun and from thereon in things get a bit weird! For within this ancient fortress are some sinister things going on, as we shall discover...

There must be something in the spooky air, Bill and Lisa get down and dirty quite early on in the film, no great surprise - something about the way the chick was dressed suggested that some of her clothes might be coming off! Anyway, the couple seem put the bed to the test, going through a repertoire of sexual positions.

Bill awakes and wanders around in the castle only to discover the Countess engaging in a black mass with a couple of satanic chicks, one blonde (played by Jane Tsentas who also starred in 'Evil Come, Evil Go', 'Blood Sabbath', 'The Adult Version of Jekyll & Hyde', credited here as Jane Louise), the other a redhead. She then shape-shifts into a man in order to do the nasty with said satanic sluts, and Bill watches from his hiding place, somewhat shocked. Later the Countess and satanic sluts take their revenge...both chicks take it in turns to have their way with Bill. They are both succubus' sent to suck the strength from her male victim. He doesn't put up too much of a fight and when the second one appears it provides one of the best lines in the movie; "Oh no! Not another one!"

The young couple decide that they want to leave but are made to stay and participate in a party which is actually a satanic orgy involving some sick mock-torture (involving a rat and a burning lantern) and other bizarre and ungodly activities.

The end of the story sees Lisa getting banged by a procession of Satanists wearing hideous ritualistic masks as Bill is made to watch. Afterwards they are able to leave but then the twist......they decide to stay and live there with the Countess and the rest of the Terror Castle orgy club.

As a 'movie about girls' "Terror At Orgy Castle" works, there are plenty to look at crammed into its 63 minutes. The narration provides some funny lines too, and the soundtrack is simultaneously horror-ific and groovy. Also of note, this film stars Bambi Allen ('Cursed', 'Satans Sadists', 'The Ribald Adventures of Robin Hood', and 'Hell's Bloody Devils' etc.) who tragically died a couple of years after its release, according to the IMDb "due to health complications brought about by silicone injections meant to increase her breast size."

- Alex Eruptor

The Babysitter (1969)

Directed by Don Henderson
Starring Patricia Wymer, George Carey, Kathy Williams
Rated R
USA

"Do you want a little drinkie? We're all having drinkies."
"Do you suppose I could have a big drinkie?"

Patricia Wymer was one of the many waif-y naked hippie chicks that sprang up seemingly from nowhere in the late 60's/early 70's, made a fistful of kicky/kinky b-flicks, and then just vanished into the ether like a fragrant plume of marijuana smoke. I suppose it was much like the modern age of pornography, which manufactures 'starlets' that burn bright for a year or so and then disappear.

Well, the porno girls all get sold off into white slavery rings. I'm pretty sure the 70's B-chicks just retired. Otherwise, same deal.

Miss Wymer made three films during her tenure as an actress: The Babysitter, The Witchmaker (1969), and The Young Graduates (1971). All three are well worth seeking out for trash-film enthusiasts, but The Babysitter is especially engaging, since it cleverly straddles several sub-genres at once. It's a black and white roughie, a teenage rock n' roll dance party, a biker flick, a doomed romance, and an overwrought melodrama all rolled into one. And all of it is anchored by the spunky, frequently topless Wymer, a five foot fireball who totally nails this tricky blonde-gone-berserk role.

Wymer toplines as Candy Wilson, a deceptively innocent-looking teenager making a couple extra bucks by babysitting for district court judge George Maxwell (exploitation vet George Carey, RIP) and his shrewish, bee-hived wife Edith (still-working character actor Anne Bellamy). While the uptight couple head off to their snooty cocktail party, Candy calls a bunch of her pals - including an entire rock band - and they have a topless go-go party in George's basement. Amazingly, Candy's able to hear the couple pulling into the driveway over the din of the fuzzy guitars, and she shoos away her naked buddies in the nick of time. The only thing that gives her away when sleepy George and Edith walk into the house is that she's missing her shoes.
She tells George that she left them in the basement, and when he asks her why she was down there, she fesses up, sorta: "Well, after you and Mrs. Maxwell left, I got on the phone and called some friends of mine. I mean, I didn't call any bums or anything, I called some really groovy guys. And they brought some axes over, and we just sat around and listened to the music and danced a little."
George is too tired to argue about it, plus she clearly chubs him up a little, so he shrugs off her indiscretion and offers to drive her home. Along the way, Candy starts putting the moves on the aging judge. He resists, of course, but still agrees to eat tacos and goof around with her. So they do that. Meanwhile, across town at ye old Nazi biker hangout, motorscuzz moll Julie (softcore queen Kathy Williams) laments the fact that Judge Maxwell is about to send her ol' man Larry (career nutball Robert Tessier, RIP) to the electric chair for killing a girl. One of the biker dudes casually mentions to her he heard a rumor about the judge's daughter Joan (Sheri Jackson, Wanda the Sadistic Hypnotist) being a lesbian. This would, apparently, be a career-ender in '69, so Kathy quickly plots out a blackmail scheme. Said scheme involves her showing up to the judge's house with a bikini and a giant camera to take pictures of any Sapphic goings-on. Seems valid.

The girl-on-girl action does indeed go down, but it's behind a 'frosted door', so Julie is thwarted. Curses!

Here's the thing, though. Stupid fucking George actually starts falling for flighty, scheming little Candy. She is amused by the old bastard, so she goes along with it, and the two make sweet love in motels and hammocks all over town.

He assumes he's being discreet, but he is quite wrong. Julie, always on the lookout for an angle, follows the illicit lovers to the beach, where she snaps many photos of the two frolicking in the sand. Then she calls the judge and tells them that she's got enough evidence to bring him down, so he'd better talk turkey with her, but quick.

George leaves the house in a hurry while his ever-suffering wife is left wondering what's gone wrong in their relationship. I should point out that the baby at the center of all this bullshit remains unseen, but is constantly referred to. Somebody's always saying, "Keep an eye on the baby, she's upstairs, still sleeping." Are you sure? Has anybody actually checked in on the kid? She's probably been dead for two weeks, but everybody's too busy with their philandering to notice. Anyway, he gets over to Julie's trash-strewn crash pad, and she reminisces about the good old days before her boyfriend Larry got nabbed.
"It was like he gave me wings," she coos. George, knowing what a piece of human filth Larry is, can only roll his eyes.

Julie demands Larry get off free and clear or she'll send the photos not only to George's boss, but his wife, as well. George tells her this is quite impossible, since it's very obvious that Larry committed the heinous crime he's accused of. And then they flash back to that one time when Larry tied a waitress to a tree and then slashed up her tits with a hunting knife until she died. So yeah, he's definitely guilty. Still, George tells her he'll think about it.

To make matters worse, Candy breaks up with him. She also refuses to help him in any way, shape or form, when he explains what just went down. So, life sucks for George.

But wait! Candy feels a last minute twinge of guilt - and also a burst of frightening blood lust - so she grabs a couple thugs and heads over to Julie's place to sort that conniving bitch out.

So, does everything work out OK in the end? Of course not. It was 1969, man. Ever hear of Altamont? Nothing worked out OK in '69.

Fun, well-acted, sleazy, violent, and fast moving, The Babysitter is well above the usual standard for late 60's grindhouse dreck. The only real complaint I can muster is that it's in black and white. Given all the naked hippy-chick asses and groovy outfits on display, this film would blow minds to bits in Technicolor.

The Babysitters' credits list "Don Henderson" as director, but Henderson was a actually pseudonym for Billy Jack actor Tom Laughlin. Don/Tom directed a trio of must-see exploitation flicks during his biker-movie phase. Besides this one, he also helmed A Touch of Satan (1971) and Weekend with the Babysitter (1971). Years later, he ran for president twice, once as a Republican, and once as a Democrat. Obviously, America is not ready to elect Billy Jack for president. Another pervy babysitter movie would great, though.

- Ken McIntyre

What Have They Done to Solange? (1972)

Directed by Massimo Dallamano
Starring Camille Keaton, Cristina Galbo, Fabio Testi
Rated R
Italy

"Do you always have to be so piss elegant?"

Considered a masterpiece of the Giallo genre, What Have They Done to Solange is, admittedly, a beautiful film to look at. That's not surprising, given its impeccable pedigree. Solange was shot by sex n' sadism expert Joe D'Amato, directed by one of Sergio Leone's cinematographers, Massimo Dallamano, and scored by Ennio Morricone. It also features a bevy of breezy, natural beauties in its cast, including I Spit On Your Grave star Camille Keaton, Christina Galbo (Living Dead at the Manchester Morgue), and Pilar Castel (The Torture Chamber of Baron Blood). All of this should, naturally, lead you to believe that you're in for a rare treat. And that's what you get, if you consider a boredom-induced nap a treat.

Enrico Rosseni (Fabio Testi) is a professor at an all-girl's school. He is married to a cold, shrewish German woman, Herta (Karin Baal). So, naturally, he sleeps with his students. One afternoon he's out on a rowboat, putting the moves on one such young charge, Elizabeth (Cristina Galbo). Liz manages to ward off his advances long enough to witness a murder in the woods.
Both of the secret lovers keep their mouths shut about the incident until further bodies - all of 'em Elizabeth's school chums - start to pile up around campus. Every victim dies the same way - stabbed through the vadge with a big shiny knife. Ouch.

Feeling guilty about her silence, Liz spills the beans to the cops. Then she gets summarily drowned in her bathtub.

Enrico and Herta - bonded once again, now that his mistress has been snuffed - band together to find the girl-killer. Enrico's hunt leads him to a very groovy photographer/Jimi Hendrix rip-off who tips him off that a mysterious (and currently missing) girl named Solange is the key to solving the mystery.

How does he know this? Because he's fucking cool, man. That's how.

Meanwhile, this guy here serves as the red-herring. He's another teacher in the school. He carved out a little hole in the wall so he can watch the girls shower together. Just like in Porkys!

Solange (Camille Keaton) suddenly pops up out of nowhere and starts wandering around, which brings the whole hazy house of cards crashing down on the heads of Enrico and the cops.

Eventually the killer kidnaps Brenda (Claudia Butenuth) and she explains the whole sordid tale via sepia-toned flashbacks.

And everything ties up neatly. Weirdly, but neatly. The end.

That is, of course, the short version. At nearly two-hours long, Solange takes its sweet fuckin' time getting to the point. For example, the first 45 minutes are dedicated wholly to the cops trying to get Enrico to admit he saw the first murder. That's it. 45 minutes of Italian dudes in sports coats yapping at each other. I am aware that Giallo is not a genre known for its whiplash pacing, but even still, this thing lurches along like half-frozen pancake syrup. That's not really a condemnation - it's still a gorgeous looking film, full of color and fluid camerawork and sunny, skinny blondes riding bicycles - but if I were you, I'd gulp down a few cups of espresso before taking Salonge on, lest you snooze away half the afternoon, like I did.

PS: Solange is an Italian film with (mostly) Italian actors, but it was shot in England, and the non-English speaking cast members did all their lines in phonetic English, ala Bela Lugosi. Their lines were later dubbed over by voice-over actors, but the effect is much smoother than usual.

- Ken McIntyre

Nun of That (2009)

Directed by Richard Griffin
Starring Sarah Nicklin, Alexandra Cipolla, Shanette Wilson, Ruth Sullivan
Unrated
USA

"I want those fuckin' nuns dead!"

The 48 Hour Movie Project is an annual event wherein speedfreaks and manic-obsessives all over the world write, produce, and edit a short film during one long and bleary-eyed weekend. Nun of That began as one such 48 hour mini-flick and, emboldened by the awards and accolades (Best Editing, Providence, 2008), the filmmakers decided to give it the full-length treatment. The result is a campy girls-with-guns comedy that parodies various 70's trash-cinema sub-genres (Nunsploitation, blaxploitation, Jesus freak musicals, Italian police thrillers, etc.) at a breakneck pace and wears its shabbiness like a gold (foil) medal.

The story involves one Sister Kelly Wrath (workaholic Z-queen Sarah Nicklin, well on her way to becoming the next Debbie Rochon), a rebel nun ousted from her cloister for battering a lesbo sister in the shower and breaking a pervy priest's arm for molesting a girl scout.

On her way to the ghetto nunnery she's been banished to, she gets shot in the chest by some rival sisters of the cloth and goes to Heaven, which turns out to be a pretty groovy place with lots of wine-gulping and foot massages. Groovy Jesus does a little song and dance number by way of introduction, and then he recruits Sister Kelly in the Order of the Black Cloth, an elite force of vigilante Super Nuns. And then he shoots her back down to Earth to get shit done.

Her mission? To take on the Corbucci mob family. And yes, in case you're wondering, every Italian guy in the entire movie has a first and/or last name based on either a spaghetti western or Italian gore-flick director. You know how that goes.

Along with her gang of Super Nuns (Sister Lust, Sister Pride, and Sister Gluttony, natch), Sister Wrath blasts through the bad guys, eventually squaring off with the devil himself.

Hardcore sacrilege fans should note that Nun of That lacks the pervy grit and the softcore slurping of the vintage 70's Nuns-amuck cycle (Killer Nun, Flavia Priestess of Violence, etc) that it apes in its posters and box cover. Beneath the habit, it's really just a goofy, low-budget action comedy with a smattering of nun-centric jokes.

Very much in the same tongue in cheek vein as Griffin's previous flicks - Necroville (2007), Splatter Disco (2007), and so on - Nun of That is exactly what you'd expect from a life-long exploitation fan who grew up in the big-box VHS era. It's got gore, it's got laughs, it's got cameos from Debbie Rochon and Lloyd Kaufman, and it's got nuns with studded belts and stretchpants blowing scum away with machine guns. What more could you want?

Well, ok, more lesbian nun-on-nun scenes. That goes without saying. But it's got everything else.

Nun of That is available from Camp Motion Pictures!
Listen to an interview with director Richard Griffin on the Alternative Cinema Podcast!
Visit the official Nun of That Myspace page!

- Ken McIntyre

Freeway (1996)

Directed by Matthew Bright
Starring Reese Witherspoon, Kiefer Sutherland
Rated R
USA

"You didn't have to kill me!"

Matthew Bright was one of the original Mystic Knights of the Oingo Boingo. This was way before they sold out, man. He's the guy who wrote Forbidden Zone (1980), that zany midnight movie starring Herve Villechaize and Susan Tyrell they used to show clips of on USA Up All Night at 3AM. I don't know much more about him, but Mr Bright is clearly either a genius or a madman. Who else would spend $3 million Hollywood bucks on an ultraviolent re-imagining of Little Red Riding Hood, starring Reese Witherspoon as a trash-talking wayward teen and Kiefer Sutherland as a hooker-murdering child molester? I mean, that's pretty fucking bizarre, isn't it?

Witherspoon - still five years away from her break-out role in Legally Blonde - stars as Vanessa Lutz, an illiterate high school student/compulsive shoplifter with a crackwhore mom (a fully berserk Amanda Plummer) and a pedophile tweaker for a stepfather (Michael T Weiss). When mom and step-groper get popped by Johnny Law, Vanessa finds herself facing foster care. Since she's already suffered under villainous foster parents one too many times, she decides to make a run for it, shackling her parole officer to a bed (Two and a Half Men's Conchata Ferrell), jacking mom's car, and heading for the open road. She has one relative left - a grandmother who lives just outside of LA, in a trailer park. And so, Little Red Vanessa (She carries a basket and wears red, just like the fairy tale) heads off to Grandma's house, unaware that the Big Bad Wolf is already on her tail.

First, however, she stops to say goodbye to her boyfriend, Chopper (Bokeem Woodbine), who gives her a gun to help her on her way. Moments after she peels off, this decision proves fatal, as Chopper is gunned down in the street by rival gang members. His death is mercilessly realistic, and agonizing to watch. No reason. Just is.

Vanessa gets on the freeway and almost instantly, her car erupts in plumes of smoke. She has no idea what to do next, but luckily a friendly motorist named Bob (Sutherland) stops to help her out. Since her vehicle is officially dead, he offers to give her a ride to grandma's, and she takes it. At first, the two get along famously. Bob is a guidance counselor for wayward teen boys, and he encourages Vanessa to open up to him about her troubled life. Once he gets an earful of her tawdry true tales, however, he goes bananas, brandishing a straight razor and threatening to kill her. Just prior to the cops coming to take her family away, Vanessa watched a news report about the elusive Freeway Killer, a serial slayer at large who specializes in picking up prostitutes and chopping them to bits. It appears she has found him. And so she shoots him, in the face and chest, ten times.
I mean, that's what you'd do to a serial killer, right?

Vanessa gets thrown in juvie and Bob, amazingly, survives. Since there's no evidence linking him to the murders, he's set free. Of course, he has sustained some terrible injuries, and now he looks like some Frank Hennenlotter-esque mutant monster, with a gruesomely distorted mouth that leaves him with a permanent madman's leer. But still, it beats the electric chair. His gorgeous wife (Brooke Shields) hires an army of high-powered lawyers and tries to get Vanessa nailed for attempted murder. Vanessa, to her credit, admits that she did, in fact, try as hard as she possibly could to kill the fucker. So it should be a quick trial.

While in jail, Vanessa meets a compulsive lesbian with a Frankenstein face (Brittany Murphy, RIP), two evil pig-tailed twins (Monica and Leanna Creel), and a murderous gangster moll (Alanna Ubach) who Vanessa nearly decapitates five minutes after she meets her. Later on, however, they work out their differences and team up to shank a couple guards and escape.

Meanwhile, the two bumbling detectives on the case (Dan Hedaya and Wolfgang Bodison), finally put two and two together and realize that Vanessa was telling the truth about Bob. They raid his house and find a shed out back literally bursting with child porn and human remains (!). When his wife sees her hubby's dirty secret, she goes upstairs and graphically blows her head off. Who ever thought we'd see Brooke Shields' brains splattered all over a wall? Holy smokes.

Bob sees the cops outside of his house and splits. He remembers Vanessa's yapping about her grandmother, so he heads out to the trailer park to see the old girl. Vanessa, on the lam, heads there, too. So do the detectives. Mayhem ensues.

Pitch-black, aggressively weird, and laced with queasy chuckles, Freeway is one of the most enigmatic films of the 1990's, and certainly the most extreme film Reese Witherspoon was ever involved in. Half arthouse, half grindhouse, it walks a woozy line between trash and transcendence. If David Lynch and Roger Corman got into a batch of brown acid together, this is very likely the movie they'd make.

Amazingly, Bright was really only revving up with this one - his follow-up, 1999's Freeway 2: Confessions of a Trick Baby, is pure balls-out, gutbucket exploitation. Starring a too-close-to-the-fire Natasha Lyonne and a cross-dressing, kid-killing Vincent Gallo, Trick Baby is an eyeball-searing trip to hell that's nearly impossible to shake off. Freeway, in comparison, is a mere fairy tale.

A fairy tale with graphic murder and mutilation, but a fairy tale, nonetheless.

- Ken McIntyre