Safety First: the Rise of Women! (2008)

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Invasion of the Bee Girls (1973)

Directed by Denis Sanders
Starring Victoria Vetri, Anita Ford, William Smith
Unrated
USA

“We found him with his pants around his ankles, dead of a massive you-know-what.”

In the small town of Peckham, California, local men are dropping dead of heart attacks. Autopsies suggest death by sexual exertion. Now it’s up to security agent Neil Agar (William Smith) to unravel these bizarre deaths. With a cute librarian (Victoria Vetry) at his side and a stressed-out Sheriff (Cliff Osmond) looking over his shoulder, Agar has to stop the erotic executions before more men meet their sweaty demise. Could the killings be linked to the experiments of Dr. Susan Harris (Anitra Ford): experiments involving…bees?

The rest of the film is comprised of locals get seduced and shagged to death by a coven of leggy lovelies. Meanwhile, Agar bumbles from crime scene to crime scene, uncovering a scientific conspiracy so half-assed that the screenwriters seem too embarrassed to explain it. Something about bees, or sex, or something. Who cares?

Up to now, Invasion Of The Bee girls is extremely mediocre. However, right around the one-hour mark, we’re treated to an unexpectedly awesome spectacle. Deep in the underground lab, a small group of Bee Girls (wearing only sunglasses, lab coats, and go-go boots), transform a frightened normal girl into one of them. They strip her, stun her, then blast her with some funky blue light.

Next, they slather the now-passive victim with cake batter. (It could be anything, but I assume it’s cake batter.) 

Then they wheel her into a glass chamber, seal it off and fill it with bees. The bees swarm all over her, till she’s crawling with the buzzing insects.

When they wheel her out of the bee-chamber, she’s coated in a white rubbery substance. Peel off the cocoon and BAM, instant hot naked Bee Girl. As the soundtrack choir reverently coos in the background, all the lab technicians start pawing at themselves, and Anitra makes out with the new recruit. It’s all ridiculous, but who cares? There’s bees, cake batter, and hot chicks in lab coats. What’s not to like?

This scene, and a handful of photogenic T&A, is the only memorable aspects of Bee Girls. The poster looks like a giddy romp ala Doctor Goldfoot and the Bikini Machine, but the actual film is woefully sedate and well-behaved. By not delivering either creature feature chills or goofy laughs, Bee Girls doesn’t give viewers much to remember. Still, the acting is adequate, the girls are cute, the script provides some (mostly unintended) chuckles, and there is some slick camera-work by prolific porn director (and Orson Welles collaborator) Gary Graver.

My primary beef with Bee Girls is over the design of the titular she-monsters. What do you expect a “bee girl” to look like? A woman-bee hybrid? Some nasty Cronenberg-ian monstrosity? A go-go girl in a stripey mini-dress with a pair of pipe-cleaner antennae? Too bad. The filmmakers were apparently going for subtlety (or cheapness), because these Bee Girls aren’t insect-like at all. Okay, except for their eyes. When the buzzing beauties get turned on, their eyes turn jet black (thanks to schleral contact lenses).

It is creepy, but looks more like a Hellraiser Cenobite than a bee. They hide this ocular abnormality behind giant bug-eyed Yoko Ono shades. As a dedicated monster maniac, I was disappointed by the films dearth of bee creatures. Still, it’s not like the film is skimping on the eye candy, and those black compound eyes do lead to some groovy multi-faceted bee-vision effects.

It’s a mixed blessing that Bee Girls avoids the fright-flick formula, because the murders aren’t scary at all. The modus operandi is, to quote Futurama, “Death by snu-snu.” The problem is, death by sex isn’t such a bad way to go. Sure, it would start to chafe after a while, but not enough for me to prefer a gunshot over a fatal bonk. The on-screen action seems reasonably pleasant, not some torturous marathon of back-breaking monster-humpage. This sexual normalcy is nice for the victims, but boring for the viewers. At least we can still oggle some wobbly bits.

While there aren’t any “name” actors in Bee Girls, MAGsters may recognize the two beautiful leading ladies: Victoria Vetri as the cute librarian and Anitra Ford as the mad scientist. For the unhip, Vetri was Playmate of the Year 1968 (under the alias Angela Dorian) and starred in When Dinosaurs Ruled The Earth, an awesome Hammer caveman flick. Vetri’s character is a rehash of the familiar “sexy librarian” role, an intelligent buttoned-up girl with a naughty side. 

Anitra Ford was a “Barker’s Beauty” on The Price Is Right, and was also in The Big Bird Cage (which I still need to see, dammit!). With her knock-out bod and permanent bedroom eyes, Miss Ford is as sultry as her role demands; it’s a shame she couldn’t add a little madness to spice up the villainous vixen. Besides, she looks damn cute in a lab coat.

(Another nifty trivia tidbit, Bee Girls was written by Nicholas Meyer, who would later direct Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan. Cool, huh?)

The score is a wonky delight: a mish-mash of chicka-wakka rhythms, wobbly synth piano, bleepity-bloop R2D2 noises, and a cooing girl-choir. It’s a shame that they don’t play it over the closing credits. Instead, we get Strauss’ “Also sprach Zarathustra.” Just five years after 2001: A Space Odyssey and movies are already parodying it.

With a bevy of perky babe-flesh, a freaky batter-sploshing centerpiece, and a brisk running time, Invasion of the Bee Girls isn’t a bad little flick. While it lacks any scares, narrative cohesion, or character development, there’s still enough nudity and silly charm to merit a recommendation.


-Paolo Phibes

Heavy Traffic (1973)

Directed by Ralph Bakshi

Starring (the voices of) Joseph Kaufmann, Beverly Hope Atkinson, Frank Dekova

Rated X

USA

“Son-of-a-bitch! This broad’s got a hard-on!”

Do you like cartoons? Sure you do. The problem is, the genre is sorely lacking the finer things, like boobs, gunfights, and antisocial behavior. The looming Disney colossus (sucking Pixar like a leech) dominates the animation landscape, and seemingly no one can topple this wholesome family Goliath.

But once upon a time, Ralph Bakshi delivered a few solid kicks to Mickey Mouse’s nads. Bursting with subversive humor, groundbreaking techniques, and antisocial shenanigans, Bakshi’s films are the perfect cure for the Disney blues. Heavy Traffic is his second film, after after the controversial smash-hit Fritz The Cat. Bakshi would later create the notorious Coonskin, an animated Lord of the Rings, and the ill-fated Cool World. After nine features, Heavy Traffic is still considered Bakshi's masterpiece.

Michael Corleone is a virginal 22-year-old loser, sharing a New York apartment with his Italian dad and Jewish mom. He’s a loner, with no job, few friends, and little hope of escaping his dismal surroundings. He keeps himself sane by drawing comics, fueled by the bizarre characters around him.

His luck improves when he starts kinda-sorta dating Carole, a vivacious black girl. Like Michael, she’s down on her luck and craving escape. Is Mike’s artistic talent the lovebirds’ ticket out of the concrete jungle? More importantly, can the two survive long enough to get out?

Heavy Traffic depicts New York as a seedy freakshow, infested with bums, whores, mobsters, and assorted slimeballs. There are no “normal” people, just weirdoes and scumbags. As in much of his work, Bakshi does not sneak around ethnic and social stereotypes—instead he inflates them to the point of caricature, exposing them for the jokes that they are. (This approach landed Bakshi in trouble over his film Coonskin, a blaxploitation riff on Song of the South.) Michael’s nagging, worrying Jewish mother carries a hatchet adorned with a Star of David. His buffoonish, dad oversees dock operations for the Mafia. Side characters include black bums, knife-wielding greasers, and a pallid drag queen named Snowflake. Every character is a (semi-affectionate) spin on a stereotype.

Which leads me to Carole, Michael’s sweetheart. She’s a living embodiment of the soul-sistah archetype: brash, sassy, vulgar, unabashedly sexual. She has the spit-fire tongue and voluptuous figure of a classic blaxploitation heroine. (Also a set of permanently high-beaming titties.) Stereotype or not, Carole is a total fox, the Venus de Milo of ass-cleavage. She has a mouth on her, and a brain in her head; it’s easy to see why Michael falls for her. Okay, yeah, I’m in love with a cartoon. What of it, jive-ass honkey muhfucka?

One common trait in Bakshi’s early work is his unflattering portrayal of the Mafia. Here, the Godfather is a corpulent tyrant, hissing his commands through mouthfuls of spaghetti. I mean, the kid’s name is Michael Corleone. If that isn’t a backhanded tribute to The Godfather, what is?

Heavy Traffic takes place in the same rotten NYC as Taxi Driver and Bad Lieutenant. The cartoon city is rife with violence. Not your usual anvil-to-the-head cartoon slapstick, but brutal real-world bloodshed, portrayed cartoon-style. Here, a gunshot results in a fatal pratfall, a splatter of brains is punctuated with a comedic rim-shot. Just in the film’s opening montage, we see more blood and gore, more tits and dicks than most live-action films show in their entire runtime. Throughout the remaining 77 minutes (most animated films are short, because animation is a pain in the ass), we’re treated to explicit and bizarre nudity, showers of profanity, and some of the most brutal skull-cracking cartoon violence ever seen outside Japan. The putrid cityscape is shown with a collision of live-action and cell animation, adding to the film’s already trippy aesthetic.

Yet for all of its ugliness, Heavy Traffic still possesses an anarchic charm and syrupy-sweet romanticism. It’s a tribute to the weird and gritty New York of olden times, at once comical and heartbreaking. Far out, funny, and sometimes very sad, Heavy Traffic is a must see for animation fans.

Still not convinced? Here’s a gratuitous panty-shot of Carole.

-Paulo Phibes

Tragic Ceremony (1972)

Directed by Riccardo Freda
Starring Camille Keaton, Tony Isbert, Giovanni Petrucci, Maximo Valverde  
Unrated 
Italy

"I think a good hot bath will do you good."

If you are curious about this movie because of the name "Camille Keaton", then welcome to the club. Such is the notoriety of "I Spit on Your Grave", that I went ahead and gave gave this film a shot, despite being warned that this is one best avoided. So lets get on with it.

Tragic Ceremony opens with Jane (Camille Keaton), and her friends Bill (Tony Isbert), Joe (Maximo Valverde), and Fred (Giovanni Petrucci), lounging on a sailboat. Eventually they migrate to camp. Bill loses a bet to the other two guys and writes them checks. He is the son of wealthy parents, so this whole trip is on his dime. He offers Jane a check but she declines, so he gives her a pearl necklace (ahem) as a token of his gratitude. We see through a flashback sequence that the necklace has a history of being blamed for Satanic possession. She remains blissfully unaware of this, and accepts it at face value.

Next they pile into Bills bitchin' dune buggy (Scarabo). After a bit it runs low on gas so they stop at a gas station. But Bill left his ID at camp, and the station attendant refuses his travelers checks. Eventually he concedes and gives them some gas. Barely a blink later and it is raining cats and dogs, and the dune buggy shuts down, right in front of a mansion. This is where the movie takes a left turn into "Old Dark House" territory.

They are invited in by the lady of the house, Lady Alexander (Luciana Paluzzi). The three guys are forced to share one room, whereas Judy not only gets her own room. But Lady Alexander also draws her a bath as well. Here, we get lots of shots of Judy sitting upright in the tub fiddling with the pearl necklace, and staring into space. Also, we get to see her boobs.

Meanwhile downstairs, it is clear that something evil is afoot. We have a roomful of middle-aged to geriatric aged people preparing for a Satanic ritual. Someone shuts the power off, and the boys upstairs are alarmed but stay put. Judy meanwhile, puts on her nightgown, grabs a candelabra, and makes her way downstairs, as if compelled subconsciously. Along the way, she rips the pearl necklace off and drops it on the stairs.

The boys eventually decide to check out whats going on downstairs. Along the way, they find the remains of the pearl necklace, and quicken their pace. Once downstairs, they see Judy on an altar, and Lady Alexander standing above her, preparing to plunge a dagger into her heart. It is as if they are in the middle of, some sort of, what could it be, oh yes, a Tragic Ceremony!

Bill saves her life and whisks her to safety, unintentionally killing Lady Alexander in the process. As this happens, the participants begin to massively freak out, and inexplicably kill themselves, and each other in some ridiculously violent ways.

The gang rush back to the dune buggy which helpfully cranks up this time and they zoom away to Bills parents house. But on the way they find themselves back at the gas station they stopped at earlier. However now it is abandoned, and appears to have been closed for years. Weird. Soon enough they get to Bill's parents house.  Here they find themselves in a hostile environment. Bill's dad is away on a hunting trip, and his mom makes it clear that tonight is not a good night. Predictably after they leave, we see that Bills' mom has a male guest upstairs, hiding out of sight.

Eventually the boys start dying in mysterious ways, within hours of each other. Judy is impassive about their deaths, and refuses to help when she could have made a difference. Then there is a jump in time and we see Judy in a mental hospital. Why is she there? What caused all of those deaths? What was the ceremony all about? What was with the pearl necklace? And who cares?

Most of these questions are kind of answered, in one big eye glazing bout of exposition by a doctor at the very end of the movie, Scooby Doo style. Unfortunately, no amount of exposition or doctors advice is enough to save this movie from terminal suckage.

Tragic Ceremony is an Italian cheapy that pretty much goes nowhere, and fails on almost every standard by which films are held. It seems that Tragic Ceremony is just...tragic. Did I mention that you get to see Camille Keaton's boobs?

Availability: Tragic Ceremony is available on DVD from Amazon.

-BoDuley

Whisper Kill (1988)

Directed by Christian I. Nyby II
Starring Loni Anderson, Joe Penny, June Lockhart
Unrated 
USA 

"You're a sicko, and all of your ancestors are slime!"

I just spent the last hour and a half watching this lame-o TV movie from 1988 because its got Loni Anderson in it. First of all, I'd like to say that I thought it was an R-rated movie. I thought this because Netflix said it was. It is not. But I thought it was, and it's supposed to be about a serial killer and the intrepid reporter (Loni) hot on his tail, and even though I know Loni is never going to get naked, hope springs eternal. And by the time I figured out it was a TV movie (i.e. about three minutes in, Stacey said, "This looks like a TV movie. Yep. This is a TV movie"), it was too late. I was now committed.

So, here's the story: some crazy lady is killing people in some small town and before she does, she calls up the victim and whispers death threats to him/her. And then they get (bloodlessly) stabbed to death. Liz Bartlett (Loni) runs the local paper. Her mom (June Lockhart from Lost in Space) is some sort of Dear Abby-esque celebrity. Dan Walker (Joe Penny, AKA Jake from Jake and the Fatman) is a freelance journalist who shows up in town to figure this whole mess out.

He finds out from mom that Liz spent a few years locked up in an asylum, so, even though he's now in love with her, he assumes Loni is the killer, especially when she dresses up in black jeans and a black turtleneck, which is classic murderous madwoman attire.

Spoiler alert: It's not Loni.
Spoiler alert 2: It's her mother. Which isn't hard to figure out, since she's the only other woman in the movie.

Sorry about blowing the ending for you, but I really wanted to spare you the tedium. The only highpoint of the entire motion picture is this shot:

If I didn't have a 24 hour porn machine at my fingertips, I would be very grateful for that scene.

Thank you, and good night.

- Ken McIntyre