All posts by Rod Lott

Thriller

Las Vegas Lady (1975)

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Las Vegas Lady begins, appropriately enough, in a theme park and wax museum. But it’s not as much fun as either. I’m going to dish out blame to a mood-setting (read: mood-destroying) country-rock theme song that’s worse than any turd ever dumped onto drive-in screens by Crown International Pictures.

Said song is about Lucky, played by government-certified MILF Stella Stevens. As the tune goes, “She’s a winner and a sinner,” and the plot is only slightly more complex. In the opening moments, a shadowy figure in a cowboy hat ropes her into a job of robbing a Vegas casino of — pinky toward mouth, Dr. Evil — half a million dollars! The place deserves to lose it, because the unsmiling owner (George DiCenzo, Helter Skelter) is a real douche.

It’s a not-so-ritzy joint where the entertainment isn’t Goth magicians, killer tigers or stick-up-the-ass Billboard divas, but a chintzy circus act starring three busty trapeze artists, one of whom is sick of all the flying around. Lucky corrals her (Linda Scruggs) and a token black woman (Lynne Moody, Scream Blacula Scream) to aid her in the gig, along with Lucky’s fuck buddy (Stuart Whitman), who works security there and won’t stop asking her hand in marriage, even though she’s hot and he’s … well, like a beer gut in unkempt human form.

Ocean’s Eleven this is not, as the heist is as low-tech as the casino, which may as well have wood paneling. It’s so bottom-barrel by today’s standards that you can smell the Pall Mall through the screen. The biggest element into pulling the job off are Stevens’ pendulous breasts, which distract WKRP‘s Frank Bonner, forever endanger the PG rating, and mitigate that the big twist is obvious from the first scene. —Rod Lott

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Action

Men of War (1994)

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Meet Nick Gunar (Dolph Lundgren), a former mercenary who wears a palooka beret and drinks from a flask. He’s approached by two yuppie maggots about going to the tiny island of South China Sea and making the native give up their mining rights.

Because his former superior tells him that “The art of war is the art of life” or whatever, Nick assembles of team of expendables from all over the nation to stick the business end of their guns, rocket launchers and other weapons in the faces of the islanders to convince them to give up what’s theirs. Of course, they encounter resistance, but what really sways Nick’s soul and mind to the other side are the terrific bared breasts of Charlotte Lewis (The Golden Child). That’ll do it.

Directed by actor Perry Lang (Spring Break), Men of War also features Catherine Bell of TV’s JAG as part of Nick’s team. Unlike Charlotte, she doesn’t take off her clothes. However, this may be a good thing, because here she looks like a man. In fact, her role is so butch, my genitals wept.

Shit blows up in this Thai-shot actioner. And by “shit,” I mean people, mostly. There’s even a bad guy with a burnt face who has what looks like a vulva where his right ear should be. What it lacks in story, it makes up for in mindless violence and Dolphitude. Judging from the credits, I believe the crew may have been locals forced to work for free, under threat of Dolph. Just look: Special effects assistants? Lek, Niphon and Kob. Electrician? Jakkrid. Dolly grip? Meng. —Rod Lott

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Comedy

Deathrow Gameshow (1987)

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Following a production logo outlining a breast with a nipple pointing north, Deathrow Gameshow begins with its own quasi-rap, sax lick-flavored theme song unfolding over cartoon footage of knives and jail cells: “Deathrow gameshow / It’s the only way to go / But if you lose / You’ll be no more.” Despite evidence presented by these deep lyrics, let me pause to tell you that this is a comedy.

The title refers to the chintzy TV show Live or Die, where felons scheduled for execution compete in quizzes and challenges for a reprieve or other rewards, but not necessarily for themselves. Typical scenario: If a contestant’s guillotined head falls into the basket face up, his family nets thousands. Hosting this trash is Chuck Toedan (John McCafferty, who also starred for Deathrow director Mark Pirro in Curse of the Queerwolf, A Polish Vampire in Burbank and, um, Rectuma), he of the 47 death threats a week and occasional busty groupie showing up in his bed.

Opposing him is cute blonde feminist Gloria Sternvirgin (Robyn Blythe, a former Brady Bunch Variety Hour Kroftette), who wonders if he’d stoop so low to air Raping for Dollars. She eventually becomes his ally when Chuck’s life is in danger by Mafia hit man Luigi (who looks like a fat Richard Simmons and is played by a man credited only as Beano) for 86ing mob boss Guido Spumoni on a prior episode. Won’t Luigi be furious when his elderly mom accidentally gets on the show, thinks she’s going to win a fridge, and is instead killed? Hee-haw!

I’m sure some day, the future imagined by Deathrow Gameshow will become reality, but this isn’t to be mistaken for the highbrow works of Paddy Chayefsky. It is, however, awfully fun to watch in spite of / because of its extreme stupidity, what with Blythe’s incredible boobs, Debra Lamb’s “Dance of the Seven Boners” strip number, a nightmare presented as a movie trailer, end-credit commercials that tastelessly defile corpses, and one old lady explosion. —Rod Lott

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Horror

CreepTales (1986)

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In this absolutely dreadful, no-budget horror anthology, two seemingly mentally retarded boys try to get to the video store before closing time to rent CreepTales. They don’t, so they raid the grave of Uncle Munger, who was buried with a copy of the fine, fine film. Then they take it home to a house full of monsters to enjoy a viewing. This passes for a wraparound story.

The amateurish tales — ranging from an unbearable three minutes to an unbearable 20-plus — begin with “Warped,” in which a young woman goes to visit her crazy cousin (“Oh, Mama, you’re making my gall bladder act up!”) and her even crazier mother. Entering into the story are the screen’s fattest cop in history and an entirely predictable skeleton baby. “Snatcher” — about a killer purse — is notable only for the presence of Tom Kenny, the voice of SpongeBob Squarepants, and the stupid song he sings about his houseboat.

“The Closet” is about a monster in a closet, every bit as original and exciting as its title. “Groovy Ghoulie Garage” is just as stupid as its title would lead you to believe, about a gas station populated by ghosts. “Howling Nightmare” is about a werewolf, “Sucker” is about a unique vacuum cleaner, and the entire film itself is about 88 minutes too long.

The aforementioned creatures watching the films within the film pop up between segments for alleged comic relief, shown eating popcorn (with rats in it, ho-ho!) and ordering pizza (and not paying, hee-hee!). You don’t need to sit through all six stories to realize you will hate yourself for watching this. —Rod Lott

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