Soooo much pussy is present in René Cardona Jr.’s The Night of a Thousand Cats, a Mexican horror film that will scare nobody but representatives of PETA. It will, however, entertain the hell out of practically anyone willing to tolerate the director’s slow, but unintentionally silly style, evident in such zoo-minded snoozers as Tintorera: Killer Shark and Beaks: The Movie. This particular animal-oriented effort stars Nightmare City‘s Hugo Stiglitz as — wait for it — Hugo, a leather-wearing cad who flies around in his helicopter to pick up hot ladies. (Hey, it may be a gimmick, but guys, it works.)
Taking his latest find back to his bachelor pad, a 1600s monastery owned by his family, Hugo introduces her to his bald, mute robed goon of a servant with a limp, Dorgo (Gerardo Zepeda, El Topo), who’s “obedient and as faithful as a cat” and not too shabby in the cooking department, either; according to Hugo, “meat is his specialty.” (Dorgo also gets a hard-on for a stethoscope, but that’s neither here nor there.)
Anyhow, Hugo’s date is going along swimmingly, until a cat interrupts the meal. At that point, our angered, bearded douche hurls the helpless animal over a ridiculously tall chain-link fence, on the other side of which stand hundreds — or perhaps 1,000, hmmm? — of felines, meowing their precious widdle paws off. So Hugo grinds his girl up and feeds fistfuls of the ground round to the kitties. (Oh, but not the head! That goes in his basement collection.)
The script then plops Hugo back into the chopper to spy in on babes in pointy-boob bikinis, and pick the next one to fuck ‘n’ chuck. For a guy who gets so much bed action, Hugo’s sex scenes should be better, but Cardona’s camera zooms in on the noses of polar bears and other stuffed heads on the wall, which don’t mean nothin’. (I apologize for quoting Richard Marx; it’ll never happen again.) —Rod Lott
Nancy Drew’s third big-screen adventure gets under way when her lawyer father (John Litel) is alerted to come help Matt (Aldrich Bowker), a crabby old farmer accused of murdering a neighbor. Matt says the sheriff is “a gol darn liar.” Mr. Drew frames their sudden getaway as a farm vacation so Nancy won’t stick her snoopy nose in his gol darn business. She does anyway. 
In 
Directed by first-timer Gary McKendry and based on a true story, the 1980s-set Killer Elite represents brainier fare for Statham than his bread-and-butter style of 
This relationship isn’t much different than the one between Michael Myers and Laurie Strode of the exalted 
Been to The Blue Gay? You know, “that weird club,” where the drag queens put on big production numbers, like a skeleton act performed in total darkness, a breakdancing extravaganza … and also murder! When a transvestite named Nadia is found dead in his/her dressing room, Inspector Giraldi (Tomas Milian) is assigned to the case, because, as his supervisor says, “Sissies like your type!” 
About the height of the humor is Venticello being forced to eat cat food. (Hey, just because it’s the height doesn’t mean it’s funny.) As you’d expect, the majority of jokes fall into the category of “potential to offend,” with “fairy,” “fruit,” “fag” and other derogatory terms that don’t start with F batted about