Directed by Paul Justman Starring Stephen Shellen, John Karlan, Sarah Miles, Karen Lee Kelly Rated R USA Shop for this poster!
"Hey Sissy, when you can piss in a balloon, then you can aim it."
For a movie about rival cheerleaders who descend on a place called Camp Beaverview to do battle, Gimme an F is a terribly boring film. The plot centers around two cheer squads - the Stepford Wives-y Falcons, who win every year, and the Moline Ducks, a gentle-spirited group of girls who dress in classic 60's-era outfits, and act like the 80's never happened. There's a third team in the mix as well - the Demons, who wear bright red lipsticks and racy outfits. They don't really have much to do, but they look pretty cool.
The school/camp is run by the flamboyant Doctor Spirit (John Karlan, perhaps most well known as Tyne Daly's loving husband on Cagney and Lacey). Doctor Spirit dresses like the squarest pimp alive and seems to be perpetually working out some cheerleader-related scam. As the film opens, he is looking to expand his business to foreign markets, so he's brought in a group of Japanese businessman to check the place out. They wander around throughout the movie, silent spectators with spy cameras.
Into this boiling cesspool of boredom enters one Tommy (Stephen Shellen), a young and absurdly intense cheerleading coach at perpetual odds with Doctor Spirit. I'm not sure why, though. I think he may want sleazier outfits or something, because at one point, Doctor Spirit says:"Tommy, Tommy, Tommy. You know that sex has nothing to do with cheerleading."
See the dramatic confrontation below.
Anyway, once Tommy shows up, they have a big show with dancing and acrobats. Tommy dances with this other dude in a twirly number heavy with homoerotic overtones. The film never recovers from this awkward scene; the rest of it's running time appears wholly dedicated to Tommy and his fancy footwork. Aside from his bullshit dancing, there's a mere wisp of a plot that bubbles up here and there, as he takes the Ducks under his wing and trains them in the ancient arts of cheerleader-Fu. "Let me tell you something, Bucky," he says to Doctor Spirit at one point, "I can turn a tube of toothpaste into a world class cheerleader."
Even without Tommy's help, you already know the Ducks will defeat the Falcons at the climactic cheer-off. It's painfully obvious. I mean, the Ducks are the only ones with ponytails. So he doesn't bother doing much training. He just screams at them a few times, and then breaks into dance. He even does a strip-dance in the shower at one point.
The only scene remotely resembling a teen sex comedy comes halfway in, when the Ducks and the Demons decide to sneak out of camp at night and visit a local bar. Although the bar appears to be filled with regular dudes, the entertainment is yet more guys in tight pants dancing. It's a little confusing, but what the hell, the girls seem to be having a good time. Until Tommy shows up.
Tommy is not just a bore, but a killjoy, as well. He decides it's time for the girls to get back to the camp. Somehow he ends up with a red white and blue dildo in his hand. When he pries one of the girls away from the dude at the bar, dude says, "You gonna zap me with that, or suck it?"
At one point, a dude wearing a cape crashes his motorcycle through the back wall of the dance club/gay disco/whatever it is. That part was pretty good.
The first glimpse of breasts comes when some of the girls are getting ready for the climactic cheer-off. Perhaps sensing that this will be our only chance at any sort of action in this dumb movie, the Japanese businessmen from the beginning swoop in to snap pictures of them.
The last 20 minutes is dedicated to the dance-off. The lead Falcon is distracted by this guy dressed up like Wez from the Road Warrior, so she falls over and blows their score. The Ducks win. Like anybody gives a fuck. Roll credits.
People will tell you that Gimme an F is the worst cheerleader movie ever, and you will scoff, because really, how could a cheerleader movie possibly be bad? And so you will watch it. And then you'll understand what they were talking about. With zero sleaze, the barest minimum of skin, and more scenes of dudes dancing in tight pants than an entire season of Dance Fever, Gimme an F is truly a nadir in teensploitation cinema. It's basic premise was lifted whole-hog sixteen years later for the vastly superior Bring It On series, so if you are truly hungry for a rival cheerleader movie with a dance number every five minutes, seek those out and leave this one to die.
Directed by Ed Hansen Starring George "Buck" Flower, Candie Evans, Blondie Bee, Gail Harris Rated R USA Shop for this poster!
"I've had that pious prick up to my eyeballs. Don't worry, honey. That's just a figure of speech."
I should mention up front that Party Favors won an AVN award in 1988 for "Best Alternative Video", although I'm not sure what it's an alternative to. I can certainly see why Adult Video News would have an interest in it, since it's littered with sex stars, and looks, for its entire running time, like the set-up to a raunchy triple X stroke flick. It even has topless girls delivering pizzas, for Chrissakes. But beyond an almost suffocating amount of heaving pulchritude, there is no sex to speak of, and the plot, script, and acting are so far below even 80's porn standards that it fairly defies you to keep watching. It is a bomb of Nagasaki proportions, a thing that should not be, and yet...and yet, despite all its glaring faults, it still achieves its primary objective: make no mistake about it, if you watch Party Favors, boners will be popped. And so, it wins.
I very much wish I could ask someone about this film, to grasp the lapels of its creators and shake them forcibly, and ask, "Why? Why?" But that is now quite impossible. Its headlining star, writer, and associate producer George "Buck" Flower, and its director, Ed Hansen, are both dead. Most of the cast were plucked from the porn industry, and have now moved on to less carnal careers. It is a forgotten film, left to gather dust in the already faded memories of 80's sex comedy fans. Does it deserve this sad and lonely fate? While excruciating in places, probably not. It probably didn't deserve an AVN award either, but their standards were pretty low back then.
The plot, such as it is, involves grizzled ol' Buck, who runs an instructional school for strippers. Said school exists entirely in one rundown dance studio. Its sole teaching staff is a mincing old queen in a leotard (the credits don't match up names with characters, so I don't know who he is, but imagine Don Calfa baring his midriff) named Eliot, and four buxom blondes with an almost pathological desire to bare their breasts at whatever man enters the room. One of the girls, Allison (porn starlet Candie Evans) is supposed to be Buck's daughter, which is creepy, but not nearly as creepy as this film eventually gets. One of the other fledgling pole dancers is obscure but prolific sex star Blondie Bee (Pumping Irene, Sheets of San Francisco, Little Shop of Whores), and a third is Gail Harris, a British actress and sexploitation vet (Takin' It Off, ScrewballHotel, Nudity Required). So, obviously, the couch got a rigorous workout during the casting sessions for this one.
The opening credit sequence is pretty awe-inspiring.. The actual credits look like a cheap video toaster crawl, exactly like you'd see in a quickie porn flick from the era. As they roll, the camera follows women's asses all over a busy street - on a bike, while jogging, bending over to tie a shoe. Out of nowhere, a chubby black guy in sweatpants shows up. He's so busy ogling the women that he walks right into a mailbox. He falls down and more women step on him. Every time they do, it makes a cartoon noise.
The first scene is a seemingly endless static shot of the four girls peeling off their street clothes and putting on various bits of Flashdance-y spandex workout clothes. Significantly, director Hansen also helmed the Kitten Nativadid-headlining Eroticise (1983), which was a whole hour's worth of this stuff. Eventually, they finish getting dressed and perform a clumsy dance routine as Eliot snaps his fingers and flounces around. Suddenly, the doors burst open and some weird old fucker bursts in with a cop. Said old fucker (don't know his name, but imagine a cross between cranky genre vet Kevin McCarthy and Brother Theodore) is from a group called DOPA, the Decently Organized People of America. He, of course, wants the school shut down. Instead, the cop asks Allison out on a date. Furious, old fucker storms out, vowing revenge.
TV bit actor Tom Moses (Kolchak, McCloud, What's Happening) shows up soon after wearing a red leather outfit reminiscent of mid 80's Eddie Murphy. He plays cards with Buck and ends up loses his pizza delivery van in a bet. Buck sees it as a way to go 'legit', and hires his stripper students as his pizza delivery girls. Eliot takes the orders over the phone. "Kiss your ass?" He says, to one angry customer. "Well golly gee, don't get romantic now, I'm doing business!"
Meanwhile, Weird Old Fucker (who I will now refer to as WOF) is home with his drunken wife, who runs a choral group. Said group is a trio of porn stars dressed up like conservative southern belle types. They sing some off-key hymnal - the only lyrics are "Purity, purity!" while WOF fondles them. "You must sing from your diaphragm," he slithers in a phlegmy croak to one of the girls, while gingerly groping her. "But I don't wear a diaphragm!" She tells him.
So, Buck's girls attempt to deliver pizzas, but it's a disaster. People hate his pies because he only makes them with pineapple toppings. They hate them so much, in fact, that they routinely assault the delivery girls. Gail Harris returns from one run with the pizza box stuck around her neck, her eyes crossed like a just-punched cartoon and a ring of pineapple hanging off her nose. But there was one successful delivery, and it occurred during one of Blondie Bee's runs. Seems she accidentally popped her top while handing over pizzas to a group of frat boys. They call back looking for more. "I don't give a fuck about your lousy pizzas," says Frat Boy. "I just want you to send that hot girl back over."
Always one to jump on a trend, Buck abandons the pizza delivery business and switches to a strip-o-gram service, which results in some of the most traumatic strip scenes ever committed to video tape. In one I will surely never forget, the stripper sits in a crowded doctor's office, clutching her stomach and moaning loudly. She finally gets the doctor's attention, and when he asks her what's wrong, she says, "It really hurts here, doctor..." and then reveals her breast. "And here!" She pulls out the other one. "Oh doctor, now my crotch is burning, too!" I'm not sure how this is supposed to be erotic. She looks like she's having a nervous breakdown.
Another strip-o-gram gone wrong occurs at an outdoor party. The bride hires Gail Harris to titillate her new husband, but when he gets a little too forward with her, his new wife hits him in the face with a banana cream pie. And then everybody starts throwing pies. And then the sweatpants black guy from the beginning shows up, wearing a poncho. He grabs one woman and body-slams her onto a picnic table. And then he drags her through plates of food. It's fucking crazy.
Meanwhile, Weird Old Fucker is sitting in a garbage can, spying on Buck. A woman comes along, dressed like a young girl. I think she's supposed to be prepubescent. He says to her, "Young lady, have you ever achieved spiritual absolution?" "No," says the girl. "But I got my appendix out once. You want to see the scar, mister?" "Oh, very much, my child. That's where the spiritual healing begins!" The girl starts lifting up her shirt, but is called away by her mother. Thwarted, WOF curses the heavens. "Why did you make me so good, Lord?" he asks, looking skyward. "And still, you keep shitting on me!" On cue, a bird shits in his eyes.
I sound like I'm just making this all up as I go along now, but that whole sequence really happened. Anyway, as the film rushes towards it's climax, WOF sets up a sting operation on Buck's girls, but they turn the tables on him. Dressed like a cop, Allison humiliates WOF who, at this point, is stripped down to his boxer shorts, begging her for sex. The real cops show up, and, thinking it's another stripper in disguise, WOF tears open the female officer's shirt, revealing two massively over-ripe melons. That one you can't really blame him for, though. After all, she was wearing high heels. "You'll get 20 years for this stunt!" She says, jamming her gun in his crotch.
At this point, WOF's besotted wife and the three chorus girls are the only women in the film that have not appeared naked. As WOF is carted off to the pokey, they rectify this situation. "At last!" Says wifey, tearing off her dress. "Now I can go for a fuckin' swim!" Still singing "Purity, purity", the religious chicks strip down and jump in the pool as well. And then Col Sanders, straddling an inflatable alligator, swims by.
While I am pretty sure that this film was made with the expressed intent to get Buck Flower laid, I am not so sure it was ever intended for public consumption. It looks more like a lost weekend than a movie, like a dazed community theater group dosed on LSD spiked punch working out their deep-seated sexual insecurities in an extended improv exercise. 70% of the film is made up of harrowing strip scenes, and the rest is unfunny, sub-Vaudeville yucks. But those are minor quibbles, really, because Party Favors may in fact hold some record for bared breasts in a non-sex film. I mean, there's a staggering amount of toplessness in this thing. That may have little bearing on modern audiences, but in 1987, this would have been an unholy grail for lonely teenage goons skulking around the video store in search of R-rated skin.
The very definition of Bad Fun, Party Favors is a mess of a movie. It's clammy, weird and witless. But the girls are uniformly gorgeous, and they absolutely abhor clothes. You owe it to the teenage you to watch this oddly titillating abomination. Pants most definitely optional.
-Sleaze
Don't know if there ever was a trailer for this movie, so instead, courtesy the seriously awesome Up All Night Videos Blog, here is a minute and a half of the Weird Old Fucker and a cheerleader.
Bonus: The girls of Party Favors...
Candie Evans starred in nearly a hundred adult films in the 1980's. A Candie Evans website is still active, although it doesn't appear that she's involved in it at all. At last report, she was married with children and very much beyond the sex trade.
If you're interested in seeing Candie in action, here's a scene with Peter North from...ahem...1986's In Search of the Golden Bone.
Although she never performed onscreen with anyone except for her boyfriend, Tony Montana (!), button-nosed Blondie Bee (AKA Blondi) was one of the most popular porn performers of the mid-late 80's, due largely to a body toned to perfection by a strict workout regiment. Last known sightings were in the mid 1990's, when she was performing in Foxy Boxing matches at the Tropicana in Hollywood.
Here's a clip of Blondie Bee in 1986's Satin Seductions.
Bubbly Brit actress Gail Harris (AKA Gail Thackery) started her career as a Page Three Girl, but moved to Los Angeles in the early 1980's. Her first forays into movies was as a stunt person, but she soon starting acting in low budget comedies and horror films, eventually earning a 'scream queen' tag for her performances in films like Sorority House Massacre II, Hard to Die, and The Haunting of Morella (all 1990). Her last acting credit was for 2006's Street Monk; latest reports have her working in Larry Flynt's corporate offices.
Directed by Chuck Vincent Starring Jewel Shepard, Donna McDaniel, Paul Gunning, Edy Williams Rated R USA Shop for this poster!
"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?
Shop for this poster!
For a movie about rival cheerleaders who descend on a place called Camp Beaverview to do battle, Gimme an F is a terribly boring film. The plot centers around two cheer squads - the Stepford Wives-y Falcons, who win every year, and the Moline Ducks, a gentle-spirited group of girls who dress in classic 60's-era outfits, and act like the 80's never happened. There's a third team in the mix as well - the Demons, who wear bright red lipsticks and racy outfits. They don't really have much to do, but they look pretty cool.
