It may have a Playboy Playmate in the lead, but Andy Sidaris’ Stacey is the most un-Sidaris movie Sidaris ever made (documentary The Racing Scene excepted). No matter. It’s still a damn good time. Anne Randall portrays Stacey, “the centerfold private eye,” and she’s actually a better actress than one usually finds in Sidaris movies, exuding a real wholesome, Heather Graham quality. As the film begins, she tells us she “just finished a case involving a pet chimpanzee and a talking parrot. The chimp was a slob and the bird knew too much. The maid shot them both.” Whatever that means.
Stacey is hired by a rich, old bat in Bel Air who is confined to a wheelchair, on which hangs a bullhorn so she can yell for people to push her. The woman wants Stacey to find out exactly who’s who and what’s what among her family members so she’ll know to whom she should leave her inheritance.
It doesn’t take long for Stacey to find out the chauffeur is banging the whoreish wife and trying to blackmail her with pictures of their trysts. The real mystery comes when the chauffeur is stabbed to death, but Stacey — whether she’s wearing blouses, bikinis or bare breasts — is on the case, lugging her pilot boyfriend around as she investigates. After barely escaping death a second time in one day, he finally asks her calmly, “Stace, will you tell me what that was all about?”
The action centerpiece is a bloody shootout in the parking lot of a speedway (where nary a bystander even bats an eye), soon leading to two goons in a helicopter chasing Stacey in a borrowed race car down the coastline highway. This being a Sidaris film, there’s plenty of action in the bedroom, too, and Randall is quite the hottie. Hell, even with the huge hair and the ugliest of ’70s outfits, she’s still a hottie. I also didn’t mind her T-shirt, which reads “FONDLE WITH CARE,” too. —Rod Lott
During a student trip, a white gay guy has to room with a black straight guy. Nothing happens. I don’t mean sexually — I mean nothing happens. (At least the movie is consistent.) Finally, there’s a two-parter (seemingly to stretch the film to its big, bad feature length of 69 minutes) in which a guy thinks he’s going to get his rocks off, but instead gets his kidney stolen. 
If you have a hard-on for the works of Mario Bava and Dario Argento, you’ll love 
The middle (and shortest) part of Amer finds Ana as an adolescent (Charlotte Eugène Guibbaud) with bee-stung lips and a budding sexuality that threatens to turn into danger, as she accompanies her mother (Bianca Maria D’Amato) on a walk into the dizzying, labyrinthian cobblestone streets of the nearby village. By the final tale, Ana is a full-blown gorgeous woman (Marie Bos) returning to her childhood home now abandoned and in disrepair … and complete with one of those black-gloved, razor-wielding psychos on the grounds. 
Call this softcore entry Star Whores or Fuck Rogers. Described by its very own producer, David F. Friedman, as “the worst science-fiction movie ever made,” 
The plot — James wants to stop them from reaching a California desert, oops, I mean far-off planet — is simply an excuse to allow the various and numerous sexual couplings. Strangely, the women (one of whom is named Portia — a Shakespearean reference, perhaps? Nah!) are allowed to fully disrobe, but the guys keep their pants on and simply do a lot of rolling around. Capt. Mother even gets her groove on with another girl and wields a stinging whip to another.
And you two started complaining about weird things happening, and Dennis set up a couple of totally sweet camcorders ’round the house to see what was what. (Even I gotta admit, rigging the cam on the oscillating fan’s base was ingenious.) And boy, did his DIY spirit pay off! The house had its own invisible demon — Toby, his name was, and he didn’t like to be called fat — who moved objects askew and had this cool trick he liked to do where people would fly across the room like puppets who suddenly had their strings yanked.