Thursday, November 12, 2009

Seven Women for Satan (1974)

AKA Les week-ends malefiques du Comte Zaroff
Directed by Michel Lemoine
Starring Michel Lemoine, Joelle Coeur, Nathalie Zeiger, Howard Vernon
Rated R
France

"For a moment, I thought you were a woman, and it hurt me, so very much."

Before we even begin with an analysis of this bizarre little curiosity, I must point out that the title is bad ass. I mean, "Seven Women for Satan"? Bring it on, Jack. Of course, you gotta keep in mind that this film was concocted and shot in France, a country that is not known for it's horror flicks (well, besides the dreamy sex-vamp snore-a-thons of Jean Rollin, maybe), but hey, they actually banned it in their own backyard, so it's gotta have a few sleazy merits, right? Right.

In a rather blazing opening segment, one Mr Boris Zaroff (Lemoine),a libertine trapped in a businessman's life, daydreams of hunting down a naked hippy chick on horseback (with a trusty Great Dane at his heels), and knocking her over a cliff. Then he snaps into reality, eyeing his hippy chick-looking secretary hungrily. Creep city. It's obvious that ol' Boris is gonna head right off the tracks any moment now, and damned if he doesn't find a stray waifish hitch-hiker that very day. He lures the pretty young thing home for the night, imagining a champagne drenched whipping session with her, but manages to keep it (whatever 'it' is) in his pants for the evening.

The next day the two venture out to the south of France, but they stop for a walk in the woods. "You have a beautiful face", Mr. DeSade wannabe tells hitchhiker girl, "made for moments of tenderness, passion...and suffering, also." She looks up at him with dreamy eyes. "That's what I want", she says, breathlessly. So he chokes her. Did we just take a weird turn into Max Hardcore-ville, or what? Boris rips her shirt open, and attempts to rape her. She makes a run for it, and he chases her in his car until she collapses in a heap. Then he dumps her in the lagoon.

Turns out, Zaroff is part of a long-line of pseudo-supernatural sadists. He lives only to satisfy his strange and terrible urges for cruelty and weird sex, and has so far gotten away with his indiscretions because he's super-rich, and because his butler, Karl (Vernon) is the devil. Maybe.

Eventually, in fabled horror flick tradition, a wayward couple (inquisitive young hottie and her dopey, naïve hubby), break down near Zaroff's estate. He lets 'em stay the night and reveals that the mansion has a hidden torture chamber. Wifey, beyond all normal reasoning, decides to go looking for it, and the fun- and mayhem- begins.

My description is actually a lot more straightforward then Seven Women really is - a large portion of the film is dedicated to a series of flashbacks/dream sequences featuring a ghostly woman (Coeur) from Zaroff's past that is either his salvation or his ultimate undoing - but part of the fun of this one is trying to decipher what is real and what is merely cruel imagination. It's hardly gutbucket horror, and the nudity is mostly gauzy and non-sexual (even in the sex scenes), yet the film has a decidedly perverse flair to it, nonetheless. A haunting and compelling slice of Euro-centric weirdfilm, this one. I can't imagine a better movie for 3 AM viewing.

In the bonus section, there's a great featurette called "Formidable" that serves as a handy primer on the life and work of Lemoine, who says fantastic things like "I truly am in love with this Cyclops". He also talks about his 15 years as an actor in Italy, and working with Jean Cocteau, Jess Franco, and Mario Bava. Wild. There's also informative cast bios and trailers. All in all, a pretty swank package. It's not gonna put France on the horror movie map or nothin', but it just might get those fussy characters invited to a few splatterhead parties, at least. Seven Women for Satan is a slow-boiler, for sure, but stick with it, and you'll reap some rich, trippy rewards.

Clip: Seven Women for Satan: Topless French chick dancing!


Honey Britches (1971)

AKA Shantytown Honeymoon, Honey Pie, Hillbilly Hooker, Little Whorehouse on the Prairie, Demented Death Farm Massacre
Rated R
USA

"These hillbillies are big, dumb, and strong. They got muscles they ain't even used yet. Especially in their heads."

Alright, so Kentucky-fried exploitation handyman Donn Davison wasn't the greatest filmmaker - even by my bottom-shelf standards, he's was a cinematic bungler - but he was fantastic at yo-yo tricks. A world champion, even. He was also a magician, specializing in grisly spookshow gags. He also ran the notorious Dragon Art Theater in California for a spell, did voice-overs on countless movie trailers and radio spots, and acted as producer, screenwriter, and director of promotions for Film Ventures International. He also released several helpful how-to books on hypnotism and magic tricks, and even wrote a novel. He might have also gone to the moon once. And listen, the poor fella died at the relatively tender age of 55, so who knows what else he might have accomplished had he lingered on a little longer? So let us cut him some slack on this movie directing thing. He clearly had bigger fish to fry than this goofy bullshit.

Davison shot Honey Britches in Alpharette, Georgia. From its friendly, easy-to-navigate website, the city has clearly grown into its own in the past 35 years. But as depicted in Honey Britches, it's pretty much just a clump of trees and a few shacks. Perhaps it's my Yankee upbringing, but there's something magical about the (non)set design in this movie. How could a place like this exist? Who would live there? You could take all the actors out of the movie and just film the decayed backwoods scenery, and I'd watch it, completely transfixed.

Ah, but you get more than a creepy travelogue here. You get a crime story!

A mismatched group of jewel thieves - Phillip (Mike Coolik), a stuffy, bearded, pseudo-Brit; Kirk (Jim Peck), sideburned slickster; and Karen (Pepper Thurston) and Susan (Trudy Moore), two sharp-tongued gangster molls - crash their getaway plane (!) in the woods of North Carolina. They decide to hole up in the nearest shack and wait until the heat is off before they make their next move.

Meanwhile, a couple of backwoods moonshine runners drop off their weekly shipment to Jessabelle's house of ill-repute. Jess (Valarie Lipsey, a hilariously bad actress) is a statuesque, Pam Grier-ish beauty with full command over her body and her business, which clearly confuses the backwards local yokels. Head shine-pusher Harlan P Craven (George Ellis, Legend of Blood Mountain) exchanges sharp words with the unlikely hillbilly hooker, but she quickly puts hypocritical Harlan in his place.

Interestingly, even though it looks very much like the movie will be about her and her relationship to the bigoted locals, Davison never returns to Jessabelle's house or her story. So why did we go there in the first place? It's as if he changed the entire plot mid-stream, just because he found a girl with bigger tits. It couldn't have been her atrocious acting. There's plenty more of that in here.

Anyway, the blundering robbers ditch their jeep in a clump of trees and then wander through the forest until they come upon the shack of Reba Sue Craven (Ashley Brooke, who is listed as a one-time actress, but looks hauntingly familiar to me. I'm guessing obscure 70's porn starlet?), Harlan's inexplicably gorgeous young wife. She offers them some meager hospitality, and the eagerly take it. As the Craven's do not have any indoor plumbing, Karen and the Amazonian Susan throw on bikinis and head over to the nearby pond to bathe. Reba-Sue is thrown off by their big-city immodesty, but she rolls with it.

Harlan comes home from a busy day hustling corn liquor to find his wife innocently entertaining the two city fellas. This does not make him happy. Along the way, he found their abandoned Jeep and appropriated it, so they're not so thrilled with him, either. But then Harlan gets an eyeful of Susan's magnificent rack, and everything gets smoothed over. Harlan lets the strangers stay the night. He even lets the girls take his bedroom. He and Reba Sue bed down on the kitchen floor, but when his new wife strips down to her underwear and tries to get it on with her hubby (showing off her cesarean scar in the process), the drunken, conflicted Harlan just pushes her away. Clearly, this pop-eyed old fellow has problems.

Speaking of problems, the next morning, Harlan listens to the radio and hears a news report about the missing jewel thieves. Even in his alcoholic haze, he figures out that the culprits are his new house guests. Phillip pulls a gun on him and tells hem that they'll be staying a while. He also orders Reba Sue to rustle up some clothes for them so that they'll fit in with the mountain-folk.

Later on, while Karen, Harlan and Phillip are out doing god knows what, Kirk sits at the kitchen table, bickering with Susan. He finally tells her to get the fuck out, because he's got pressing business with the lady of the house. He barges in to Reba Sue's bedroom, startling the half-naked hillbilly. Then he forces himself on her. When Karen gets wind of it - they're a couple, apparently - she goes bananas, and she and Reba Sue get into a vicious catfight on the kitchen floor. The scuffle ends when Reba Sue cracks Karen's skull with a moonshine jug, killing her. When Kirk announces that Karen's dead, Reba Sue stares directly into the camera and lets out a throaty scream. It's pretty awesome.

So now the robbers have Harlan over a barrel. If he makes a peep about their whereabouts, they'll spill the beans about Karen. He agrees, and buries her in the backyard. Inside, Reba Sue confesses to Kirk that she was forced to marry Harlan because her father owed him $200. Kirk shows her his stash of diamonds and promises to take her with him when they split, if she, you know, plays her cards right.

Meanwhile, Kirk and Phillip cook up a scheme to further wreck Harlan's life. Kirk figures that Harlan must have a stash of moonshine profits somewhere in the house. He tells Phillip he'll start tagging along with Harlan on his runs to keep him away from the shack, while Phillip roots around for the cash. Phil also instructs Susan to use her powers of seduction to weaken Harlan's resolve, so that perhaps he'll just tell her where the money is hidden. So, that's the plan.

Kirk shows up for his first day of work, and Harlan promptly jams a pitchfork through his neck. I did not see that coming. Phillip finds out and gives chase. Somewhere along the way, Big Tits Susan gets run over by the Jeep. Phillip chases Harlen through the woods, and they wrassle. And then Phillip kills the smart-alecky bastard. He comes home to find Reba Sue rifling through the dead city-slickers belongings, which includes a handgun and a million dollars worth of diamonds. Harlan reckons he can take that shit to his shifty pal in Charlotte, who will give him a pretty penny for it. A pretty penny, indeed. "With all the money I'll have, I can make a new start," says Harlan.

Reba stares at him quizzically while fondling the handgun. All the money you'll have? Fuck that.

One of the more stubbornly artless offerings from the 70's drive-in canon, the only element that elevates Honey Britches from Super 8 home movie level is the fact that it was actually shot on 35mm. It does have a surprising amount of blood for 1971, but its also got a surprising dearth of nudity. Reba-Sue briefly flashes boob when Kirk's molesting her, but molested-boob hardly counts, does it? Otherwise, the film is quite chaste. So what are we left with? Well, as with all choice nuggets of badfilm, Honey Britches is a full-immersion experience. Nothing - not the badly scratched print, the woeful acting, the eyeball-offending ugliness of the shacks and the barren woods, or even the tomato sauce gunshot wounds - can pull you out of this movie's hypnotic spell. For the 80 or so minutes that it ever-so-slowly unspools, you can't help but to be fully engrossed in this lurid melodrama, acted out by clueless non-actors in some strange and distant land nearly 40 years ago. It is fitting that most of the cast came and went with this movie. The better to imagine them as ethereal spirits of the Georgian woods, who somehow managed to manifest themselves for Davison's cockeyed camera, and then slipped back into the darkness of the undergrowth. I haven't seen anything so oddly soothing yet vaguely troubling since the last time I chugged an entire bottle of Nyquil and spent 36 hours snoozing away on the couch.

I'm not sure if that's a recommendation for Honey Britches or Nyquil, but I'd certainly try one of 'em this weekend, if I was you.

By the way, in the mid 80's, Hollywood Chainsaw Hookers helmer Fred Olen Ray edited some random John Carradine footage into Honey Britches and sold it to Troma, who released it as Demented Death Farm Massacre, and hyped it as "Deliverance Meets A Fish Called Wanda". Holy smokes, they are fucking crazy at Troma.

Honey Britches is available from Something Weird Video.

Clip: Honey Britches trailer!



- Ken McIntyre

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Murder World (2009)

AKA Pearblossom
Directed by Ron Carlson
Starring Sophie Monk, Anya Lahiri, Charles Napier
Unrated
USA

"You rotten bitch. You killed my little friend!"

First off, I think our Bad Actress of the Year Award has to go to Sophie Monk. She's incredibly awful. If she was walking around in some other, less blinding sack of skin, she would have been laughed out of the audition. But she is blessed/cursed with a million-dollar-pout, long legs, and a top-shelf rack, so until her beauty starts to fade, every man that stumbles into her vortex - including, clearly, director Ron Carlson - will continue to tell her she's wonderful, even though she's pretty much the exact opposite of wonderful. I suppose in one way it's fitting that she got this role - that is her character, after all - but seriously, she's on the Ed Wood acting troupe level. Her line reading is so wooden I'm still plucking the splinters out of my eyeballs.

But hey, one bad actress can't derail a whole movie, can she? Let us find out. Murder World begins, as many groovy scenes do, in 1968, at a swinging house party held by one Warren James (Justin Shilton). Apparently James is some sort of movie star. He's also a cad and a creep, as evidenced by the scene in which he coaxes naïve Southern belle/would-be actress Carrie-Lain (Scout Taylor Compton, Rob Zombie's Halloween) into his bedroom to "Run some lines", and once he gets her in there, threatens to beat her face in with a bar of soap in an old gym sock. She is saved from this ugly fate by Brooke (Sophie Monk), a statuesque blonde runway model/frenemy of Warren's. Outraged at his behavior, she stabs him in the neck, leaving him to choke to death on his own blood. And then she gets the fuck out of there.

And so, into the night zooms Brooke and her lesbian lover Rhea (British/Finnish/Indian model-cum-actress Anya Lahiri), in a break-neck run to escape Brooke's star-killer fate. From the get-go, Rhea is too twitchy and over-dramatic to handle a situation of this gravity, so she's already nearing a full-blown panic. Then she finds some kind of flower stuck under their windshield wiper (a Pearblossom? Who knows), which really freaks her out, for some reason. Then they run over a possum, which puts her right over the edge. She demands they pull over, so that she can catch her breath and sputter incoherent, pseudo-Christian jibber-jabber.

"Rhea, you are overreacting," barks the agitated Brooke. And indeed she is, blubbering about signs and portents. But just then a gust of wind shows up and starts throwing blondie around. She actually tries to fight the wind with a stick, but it knocks her out. And then she dies. And then God shows up in the guise of a hot lesbian vampire, and gives Rhea a smooch. Then she turns her into an angel, and at Rhea's whiny behest, brings her gal-pal back as a monster. Or something. And then there's more making out.

Flash-forward to New Years Eve, 2008. The girls - in muddy lingerie - are "Reborn" via garbage bags buried under the sand at the beach. First order of business? Make out, naturally

Cut to the sheriff of Pearblossom - for that is where they are -wiling away the night at the precinct, watching a TV show where chicks in bikinis chase chickens around. Said sheriff is essayed by none other than legendary character actor Charles Napier, in full asshole mode.
His deputy is a little person, Felix Shoe (Danny Woodburn, AKA Mickey from Seinfeld) which you don't see everyday. Clearly, given an 80 year old Sheriff and a four-foot tall deputy, this is not a town that sees much action.

Cut to: Rhea and Brooke, figuring out what happened. Turns out they're immortal now, and they've been sleeping for 40 years. Brooke figures out pretty quick that she's some kind of vampire/cannibal, so she eats a fat, high-voiced Bob Ross lookalike who was on his way to a bowling tournament. Then she eats a honcho mustache dude who was hanging around, for good measure. Brooke realizes that she derives both pleasure and power from eating people. So that pretty much dictates her behavior. Lesbo-Jesus warned Rhea that this would probably happen, and that it's her job to not only keep Brooke from eating innocent bystanders, but from destroying evil creatures like her whenever she finds them. Given Rhea's hysterical reactions to everything around her, she doesn't particularly seem up to the job.

It's almost dawn when Brook is through eating people, so the girls hole up at a gas station run by young Dan (Patrick Renna, AKA the fat kid from The Sandlot) At first our man Dan is alarmed, assuming they are there to rob him, but then he goes with it when he thinks he might get laid.

Meanwhile, Deputy Half-pint finds the girls' leftovers strewn all over the road, and calls it on to the boss.

Rhea begins to feel weak. She realizes that she needs to feed off of Brooke. Who knows why. So, she bites her neck and sucks out some life-juice. Later on, they watch a true crime show on the "F" channel. The episode happens to be about the Warren James murder. Turns out that Brooke wasn't saving the other chick at all, she was just into killing the dude. We find this out via an interview with the now 60 year old Scout Taylor Compton, in hilariously shoddy old-age make-up. Brooke shrugs it off and tries to eat Dan, but Rhea stops her, and so, they have a lesbian wrestling match. Brooke appears to strangle Rhea to death, and then she chases poor Dan around the store. A loudmouth Persian guy (Marshall Manesh) shows up and foils Brooke's plans. Dan nearly manages to escape, but she bites his leg as he bails. And then Brooke's face gets half-melted by the sun. And then she kills the Iranian dude, and eats his wife.

Dan runs into Felix on the road and explains what's up. Vampires, lesbians, the whole bit.
Felix assumes Dan's gone bananas, but he checks it out anyway. The gas station, by the way, is called Murder World. That's an odd name for a gas station. Anyway, clearly, things aren't going to work out for the pint-sized policeman. It's up to asshole sheriff to save the day...or the night. Whatever.

But that doesn't work out either. Brooke kills everybody and takes off in an SUV.

But guess what? Rhea's not dead. Or maybe she was, but God-disguised-as-a-hot-lesbian shows back up (in a see-through top!) and kisses her back to life. So she hops into the cop car and takes off after Brooke. She catches up with her, and they make up. And then make out. Or do they?

Much like the equally frustrating Lesbian Vampire Killers, with which this film obviously shares some similarities, Murder World suffers from an inability to realize how absurd it is. There was all the potential in the world for a campy, gory, and most importantly funny movie somewhere in the mess, but it's lost in a tedious, talky script and hobbled by Monk's non-acting. It never really delivers on its lesbian premise, either: the girls peck each other, sure, but there's no full-on girl-on-girl action, and God is the only one who shows her boobs - and even then, they're under a layer of gauze and smoke and bullshit.

While the film is otherwise competently produced - the high-end digital video picture is crisp, and the supporting cast members are all fine in their roles - Murder World stubbornly refuses to deliver the goods. I'm not sure how he did it, but Ron Carlson actually made an unwatchable lesbian vampire movie. Congratulations, Mr. Carlson. You've achieved the impossible. I can't wait to see what sub-genre he fucks up next.

PS: Just so you know, if I ever meet Sophie Monk in person, I'm going to tell her I was just goofing, and that she's actually a very talented actress. I won't want to, but I know I will.



- Ken McIntyre

Sunday, November 8, 2009

Please Don't Eat My Mother (1973)

AKA Glump, Hungry Pets, Please Not My Mother, Please Release My Mother,
Sexpot Swingers
Rated X
USA

"You hate your mother?"
"No, I love her."
"That's very unusual."

Carl Monson (RIP) was a low-rent grindhouse auteur who wrote, produced, directed, and acted in a fistful of memorable trash-films in the early 70's, many of them, including this one, for slime-cinema legend Harry Novak's company, Box Office International. His most productive year was clearly 1973; besides producing, directing, and acting in Please Don't Eat My Mother, he also produced A Scream in the Streets and The Booby Trap, two ultra-violent and very strange crime flicks, the very same year. Monson's trademarks were bright, vivid colors, ugly actors and uglier production design, and awkward sex scenes randomly crowbarred in whenever possible. All of those are in ample evidence in Please Don't Eat My Mother, an absurd soft-core reworking of Roger Corman's infamous three-day wonder Little Shop of Horrors (1960)

Henry Fudd (Buck Kartalian) is a creepy middle-aged schlub who lives with his overbearing mother, works at some unknown menial job, and spends his lunchtime ogling women. Not a bad cat, really, but clearly an underchiever.

A word, before we continue, about the great Buck Kartalian. Buck was born in Detroit, in 1922. He grew up in New York City and was drafted into the Navy during World War II, where he served on a Destroyer in the Pacific. After the war, Buck became a bodybuilder. He won the Mr. New York contest, and was a Mr America runner-up. Later on he became a professional wrestler, and was a fan favorite on the regional circuit. One day, he tagged along with some actor friends he knew at the gym and blundered into a blind audition. He got the role, and was quickly bitten by the acting bug. Although he is well-known for his low-budget exploitation films, it should be known that Buck has appeared in many high-profile and well-loved films and TV series, including Cool Hand Luke (1967), Myra Breckinridge (1970), Conquest of the Planet of the Apes (1972), and 70's Saturday morning kid-classic The Monster Squad (1976). Buck is still active in his late 80's, appearing most recently in How I Met Your Mother (2005) and National Lampoon's Cattle Call (2006). Regardless of the budget or artistic merit of the role, Buck always delivers an honest and believable performance, including his portrayal of Henry Fudd. The great thing about Buck's performance here is that he often plays it like straight drama. You actually felt for the guy, and you believed that Buck was Henry, despite the fact that Buck-the-actor is a much more accomplished human being than Henry could ever hope to be.

So, there's our man Henry, content to wile away his afternoons watching an amorous couple have fumbling car-sex while chomping on a ham sandwich. One day, he passes by an odd flower shop. It appears to be built into a construction site, and they've only actually got one plant for sale. It's a very special plant, however - it talks. Sure, the flouncing florist doesn't hear it, but Henry does. He takes his new friend home and dutifully feeds it plant food. It responds well, and starts to grow. His meddling mother suspects that Henry's up to something, and so when he heads off to work, she snoops around his room. At this point, however, there isn't much to see, except for an exceptionally ugly plant.

Eventually the plant starts talking to Henry in a seductive voice. She tells him she wants to eat some flies. So he catches some, and she starts growing even larger. And then she wants to eat a frog. So, you see where this is going. Henry is just happy to have some female attention, even if it is just with a plant. He complies with her wishes, even though they get more complicated, and even though his affair with the plant is beginning to cause a rift between him and his mother.

The plant soon graduates to dogs. Henry gets a job at the pound to accommodate her, bringing home strays to feed to her. She, naturally, grows bigger with each meal. Their relationship continues to develop as well, in bizarre and uncomfortable ways. For example, at one point, they have a very awkward discussion about Henry's late-night boners.

This ugly little scenario goes on and on until, finally, mom and the plant have a stand-off.
Guess what? Despite the polite request offered by the film's title, the plant eats Henry's mom. He is slightly upset, but not, you know, devastated or anything. By the way, you can hear that stupid dog he fed to the plant earlier barking through that entire scene.

Henry thinks he might have gotten away with the sorta-on-purpose murder of his mom until a detective, Officer O'Columbus (director Monson) shows up and starts asking questions.
A neighbor reported Henry's mom as missing, so he came by to get to the bottom of things. While he interrogates a panicked Henry, the plant starts yapping. Assuming that it's actually mom, O'Columbus goes into the bedroom to investigate, and the plant eats him. The paper mache monster is really starting to fall apart at this point,which adds some unintentional yucks to the proceedings. After the plant eats the cop, her relationship with Henry ceases being a partnership, and turns predatory. When Henry protests and threatens not to feed her anymore, the plant spits out the cop's gun and badge. If Henry wants to play rough, the plant is quite willing to do so. After all, who would they arrest? Henry or a plant?

The plant decides she doesn't like the taste of men, so she wants Henry to go find her some girls to eat. Since he's a loser, he doesn't know any, so he has to hire a hooker. When said hooker shows up, she insults Henry, which makes it easier for him to feed her to the plant. By the way, it should be noted that every woman in this movie, including Henry's mom but excluding the hot blonde hippy chick, are all redheads. It's not a plot point or anything, but I just thought you should know. Anyway, after writhing on the bed for awhile, the hooker gets chomped. The plant likes the taste, and demands that Henry gets s0me more. He hits the streets to look for more girls, but it causes him many problems, and most of the time, his requests are met with punches in the stomach.

And then, Henry tries to fuck the plant. Why not, at this point? She tells him it's not going to work out, and sends him back to the gay florist to get another plant like her, so she can breed. Amazingly, the florist has one. Also amazingly, he's male. He's also homophobic and an avid TV watcher.

The man-plant settles in, and the girl-plant shows him the ropes. Henry, of course, is forced to bring back more live girls for them to eat. And then we go back to the fucking couple. Throughout this ordeal, there's been a couple having hippy sex in the woods. Henry would often stop by to watch. This time he pulls a gun and makes them go back to his place to feed the plant. The blonde, as previously mentioned, is seriously hot. There's a lot of penis involved in the scene, though.

And then the plants fuck while Henry tries to shoot himself in the head. Then he goes out and spies on a neighbor couple (70's porn star Rene Bond and her boyfriend and frequent co-star Rick Lutze) while they have sex. They just got home from watching a porn flick, and they're feeling quite amorous. Things go south after the love making, however, and then they go berserk. At one point, the guy says, "You're no surprise package yourself, you know."
She pulls out a gun on the guy and she shoots him. You shouldn't call a girl "Stupid broad" when she's got a gun aimed at you.

Henry, who watched then entire drama unfold from the bedroom window, makes a deal with her to take the body. For some reason, it turns the chick on to watch her boyfriend get eaten by the plant. And so, finally, Henry gets laid.

Or does he? Please don't eat the busty redhead!
By the way, you get a serious shot of Buck's erection in that scene.

Clearly not for everyone, Please Don't Eat My Mother is an acid-gobbling piece of no-fi sexploitation junk that stands out both for the shabbiness of its monster and for its oddly affecting protagonist, a teeth-gnashing, chronically masturbating man-child fleshed out into a living, breathing hunk of sweaty desperation by Buck Kartalian, one of exploitation's most sadly unsung character actors. Boner-seekers will be out of luck, since the sex scenes are ineptly staged and boring to watch, but the sniveling characters, eye-scorching sets and inept creature construction are just too bizarre to miss. High weirdness awaits you in perhaps the most ill-planned porn remake this side of Edward Penishands.

Please Don't Eat My Mother is available from Something Weird Video.

- Ken McIntyre

Saturday, November 7, 2009

Heart Strings (2002)

Directed by Chloe Nicole
Starring Chloe, Daisy Chain, Kylie Ireland, Tyler Wood
Rated XXX
USA

"Now, that was punk rock."

Heartstrings-the-movie is a Beyond the Valley of the Dolls style rockudrama about a mostly girl band from Hollywood determined to claw their way to the top. Plus, it's got explicit anal sex. Heartstrings-the-band is an all porn star supergroup consisting of 10 foot tall blonde deity Daisy Chain on guitar, the ever-present Kylie Ireland as the punk-in-Vixen's clothes 'Brinks', skinny, red-headed ball o' fire Chloe on bass, and some dude in silver pants named Tyler Wood on vocals. It looks like Wood picked up the Buckcherry Halloween costume at Wal-mart for his rock star outfit, and the puffball flash metal-lite the band is heard playing at the film's opening sounds better suited for one of those dumps in New Hampshire that the Bullet Boys still play at than LA, but I'm not here to review fake rock bands, I'm here for the pussy.

As our story unfolds, the Heartstrings are tearing up Tinseltown with their signature brand of estro-glam. It's rock and rollin' business as usual at the club, complete with groupies- or at least one of them. Aria, a dramatic looking brunette in a panty-less pink miniskirt and fake bulletbelt, sits at the bar, licking her lips over the power-ballad king on stage. After a little classic power-brokering, she's sent to the men's room by Kyle, the Heartstrings' sleazy manager, with a promise to meet Tyler later- if she's lucky.

There's no time for the 'ol in and out now anyway, as Kyle has big news for the band. Seems a certain sideburned son of a bitch by the name of Forrest Black (Eric Masterson), also known as the head honcho of Black Note records, has his eye on the Heartstrings. "He wants to hear your demo for consideration", Kyle tells them excitedly. "You're as good as signed!" Only in Hollywood. As the band chatter amongst themselves about their inexplicable stroke of luck, Kyle sneaks off to the bathroom and the waiting groupie. She services him in every way possibe. As she wipes the man-goo from her lips, she asks, hopefully, "Is Tyler going to be here soon?" Kyle snorts. "Tyler left already. Maybe next time." And then he splits, leaving her humiliated.

Welcome to rock and roll, baby.

Meanwhile, back at the Heartstrings ranch, Tyler and Daisy are discussing their precarious relationship.
"It's an unwritten rule", she says. "No fucking between band members. Look what happened to Pat Benatar!"
"Pat Benatar? They're still together."
"You know what I mean."
They fuck anyway.

Ever resourceful Kyle has a surefire plan for inking the deal with Black Note. He wants to offer up his woman to Forrest Black. "You want me to what?!" asks an incredulous Mya (Wendy Divine), his long suffering girlfriend. "It's sleazy, I don't want to do it." Kyle puts on his best snake charmer voice. "Baby, that's just the way this business works. It's how we cement the deal." Listen, I know plenty of record label guys. Sleeping with one of those fuckers is way beyond the call of duty.

But Mya is dedicated to the Heartstrings cause, so she reluctantly agrees to the foolish plan. Foolish because there might not even be a band by the time she gets Black's pants off.
"I can't do this anymore", Chloe says, 5 minutes into rehearsal. "I have to go home and fuck my boyfriend." And she does.

"Gen X porn star" Chloe, instantly recognizable as the Poison groupie in half a dozen VH1 specials on...well, either Poison or groupies, has her gratuitous sex scene, and it's a revelation. I have never seen anybody fuck like this, outside of a badly supervised methadone clinic, maybe. Chloe channels demons when she screws. Her eyes roll back in her head, she murmers in strange tongues, and she convulses as if hit by lightning. She even manages to wrangle a little crazy girl tenderness out of the anal portion of the proceedings. Chloe is my new favorite porn star. If there is any brilliance to having sex on film, she's beholden of big fistfuls of it.

Meanwhile, at the (literal) workshop, Brinks and Daisy are happily sanding down guitars. Normally, this would not be an erotic activity. But these are not normal girls. Suddenly voraciously horny, they launch into an audacious lesbo scene, with neon colored dildos conveniently popping up all over the place. Brinks even has one sutured to a guitar. Of course she doggy styles Daisy with it, stretching the 'guitar as a phallic substitute' metaphor to it's logical extreme. And while we're getting poetic about it, later on, Brinks backs up ass-first onto a big pink dildo attached to a vice. Vice. "Vices". Like the Circus of Power record. Kick Axe, too. Rock and roll, right?

Then Mya meets up with Mr. Black. Instead of screwing her, he takes her out to lunch, and they fall immediately in love. "I've already decided to sign the band", he tells her. She fucks him anyway.

Then everybody in the band quits.

Then Daisy plays an acoustic hippy chick song. Who would've thought that underneath the Warped tour tattoos and the Amazonian, Ozzfest chest, lies a Lilith Fair heart?

With their future hanging in the balance, pragmatic Chloe pulls everyone together and saves the day. "If this was a movie, what would we do now?" Daisy asks. I'm sure you know the answer.

Heartstrings is rife with all the loopy line delivery and threadbare plot development you'd expect in a porn flick, as well as plenty of lovely young things having seriously athletic sex. That much you knew already. But is it an accurate portrayal of life in a Hollywood rock and roll band? I dunno, I've never been there. But it's probably pretty close to the truth. I mean, something's got to explain the career of the Beautiful Creatures, right?

File this one under 'Rock and Fucking Roll'. Literally.

- Ken McIntyre

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