Guess the future’s not always so bright. In his Sex Galaxy, writer/director/producer Mike Davis imagines an Earth 100 years from now, when overpopulation and drought have resulted in premarital intercourse being outlawed. Up in space, however, those rules don’t reply, which is good news to the U.S. astronauts who land on a planet of hot and horny women.

Sex Galaxy is not porn, despite that title and setup. Bearing a front-to-back redub, it’s a comedy invented from noncomedic sources: educational shorts, big-boob stag loops, cartoons, PSAs and other cinematic ephemera in the public domain — some 40 titles in total. The meat on these bones comes from two extra-crispy pieces of science-fiction schlock, both originally rejiggered from Russian films by the ever-thrifty Roger Corman: 1965’s Voyage to the Prehistoric Planet and 1968’s Voyage to the Planet of Prehistoric Women, respectively starring former Sherlock Holmes Basil Rathbone and buxom bombshell Mamie Van Doren. In Sex Galaxy’s sole new footage, Van Doren’s clamshell-bikinied character gets a bona fide nude scene using XXX starlet Puma Swede (Seduced by a Cougar 26, Lez Be Friends, Passenger 69, et al.) as a looks-good-enough stand-in.

Again, Sex Galaxy is not porn, despite the use and top(-heavy) billing of Swede, the performer of such adults-only fare as Screw My Husband Please! 6, Deep Anal Drilling 3 and the rather presumptuously titled White Kong Dong 1: MILF Edition. It is, however, heavily juvenile, what with a millions-year-old creature named the Vaginasaurus. But hey, juvenilia can be funny under the right circumstances and delivery; I’m partial to the all-female planet’s politically incorrect pimp robot, who doesn’t like being compared to an ATM: “Okay, I’ll be your ATM — Astronaut motherfucker Torture Machine!”

Four years later, Davis undertook this experiment in junk-culture repurposing to much funnier and all-around better results with President Wolfman. We all have to start somewhere. Luckily for him, Sex Galaxy is nothing to sneeze at. —Rod Lott

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To my knowledge, Student Bodies is the only slasher film in which the killer not only wears green rubber dishwashing gloves, but dispatches victims with paper clips and eggplant. It should be noted that Student Bodies is also an outright spoof — and a damn good one — of the subgenre’s biggest hits at the time, including Halloween, Friday the 13th and When a Stranger Calls.

Reportedly directed by Fletch’s Michael Ritchie, but credited to screenwriter Mickey Rose (a frequent Woody Allen collaborator in the earlier, funnier days of Bananas, et al.), the under-the-radar comedy plays fast and loose. Unafraid to be supremely silly, it takes place at a high school where the pupils perish due to an asthmatic heavy breather voiced by producer Jerry Belson (Jekyll and Hyde … Together Again), arguably the biggest name in the go-for-broke cast. Novelty comes in the form of an onscreen body count and arrows calling out such horror clichés as unlocked doors and windows. That’s a gimmick, but Ritchie/Rose hardly rest there, as gags fly at a ZAZ-approved speed, per the Airplane! model.

Like Airplane! just before it, the movie is smart in its stupidity. For example, a man returns home to find a Kentucky Fried Chicken drumstick in pieces on the kitchen floor; naturally, he picks it up and returns it to the fridge … but only after Scotch-taping the poultry piece back together.

Coming 19 years before, Student Bodies is the Scary Movie of its day. It even outdoes Scary Movie in the laughs department — not too daunting a feat, I know, but all the more impressive considering it had so few targets to parody. —Rod Lott

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When Amy Schumer walks in Trainwreck, her ponytail draws the eye as it swings back and forth with the impressive reach and precision of a metronome. Turns out, that look stands as a symbol for the film itself: cute on the surface, deeper underneath.

Graduating from comedian to movie star in one fell swoop — thanks in large part to a smart and highly personal script of her own doing — Schumer plays a young New Yorker named Amy, which is to say a near-Xerox version of the drunken slut she inhabits in her acidic, wildly funny (and funnier) stand-up act. Instead of telling jokes, this fictional Amy tells stories, as a writer for a too-hip city magazine run by a crazy woman (Snowpiercer’s Tilda Swinton, glammed up to a point of nonrecognition). Whereas her fellow staffers work on pieces like a guide to workplace masturbation, Amy is assigned to profile Aaron (Saturday Night Live vet Bill Hader), a sports-medicine physician. Among his roster of superstar patients is basketball’s LeBron James, who is better than expected in a supporting role as himself. James is one-upped in the department of scene-stealing by WWE champ John Cena (The Marine), not playing himself, but Amy’s steroidal, sexually confused suitor.

Aaron is as buttoned-up as Amy is fucked-up, so, as romantic comedies demand, these opposites must attract. But Trainwreck is not your average rom-com, as anyone familiar with Schumer’s 50 shades of blue humor (so blue, it’s the warmest color) knows before frame one. Given that and a ratio more “com” than “rom,” the material is a natural for Judd Apatow. Although this marks the first movie he’s directed that he didn’t also write, Trainwreck works as a gender-flipped and experience-flipped variant of his 40-Year-Old Virgin. Schumer’s work bears those Apatow touchstones — awkward sex, pot smoking, riff-o-matic exchanges that wear out their welcome — yet the collaborators still manage to exploit the old Hollywood template (musical number included!) as they imbue it with pain and a vulnerability most leading ladies are not allowed to exhibit, much less possess.

More goes on in Trainwreck than meets the eye — not a ton, but enough to notice a difference; you’ll feel it first in your funny bone, then your heart. You’ll also feel it in your butt, because Apatow needlessly takes his movies to the two-hour mark and blows past it. Unlike 2012’s This Is 40 — and thank God for that! — at least this time he’s spared us from casting his two daughters. This one is Schumer’s turn in the spotlight, and she takes it and she makes it. Now, whether she can do it again … —Rod Lott

At the peak of the DVD market, I hatched a great idea about making a film called Public Domain: The Movie, which would assemble footage from dozens of the copyright-free titles populating every bargain-bin box set into an overdubbed comedy. As with all my grand visions, I never proceeded past the thinking stage. Mike Davis essentially beat me to it anyway, first with 2008’s sci-fi romp Sex Galaxy and then 2012’s President Wolfman.

Using the 1973 B-horror cheapie The Werewolf of Washington as its base — and Lord knows how many other flicks for frames here and there — President Wolfman rejiggers the Dean Stockwell vehicle into a rollicking tale about POTUS John Wolfman (voiced by Marc Evan Jackson, 22 Jump Street) making good on his last name by becoming a real werewolf after acquiring a Native American curse during a hunting trip. This occurs in the midst of Congressional shenanigans involving a Chinese buyout of good ol’ America and all its waving wheat.

This story is thin and messy, as it should be; Davis knows he needs only just enough spit to hold the disparate pieces together. From there, it’s all about firing the jokes quickly and persistently, and that he does with R-rated glee, sticking the landing not with consistency but regularity. Little footage matches from one scene to the next — or even within the same scene — which is not only part of the fun, but part of the point. If the experiment were polished, it would fail.

Instead, President Wolfman is infinitely creative, leaving no stock footage unsqueezed for potential laughter, from a crudely animated Smokey the Bear PSA to a surprisingly graphic educational reel on childbirth. Only a gyrating go-go girl during the opening credits appears to account for original footage … and who’s going to complain about such sights? (Don’t answer that.) —Rod Lott

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While watching, I had planned to write that Jekyll and Hyde … Together Again must have made Robert Louis Stevenson turn over in his grave, but Jerry Belson’s goof on the 19th-century author’s arguably most famous tale takes care of that in its final scene. It’s one of many unashamedly dopey gags in this unheralded R-rated gem.

Bug-eyed Mark Blankfield (Dracula: Dead and Loving It) is Dr. Daniel Jekyll, resident superstar surgeon at Our Lady of Pain & Suffering. Despite having it all, including an engagement to the hospital boss’ conceited daughter (Bess Armstrong, Jaws 3-D), Jekyll announces his retirement from surgery to dedicate his brilliant mind to drug research. This being the early ’80s, that includes the recreational kind — namely, cocaine … and lots of it.

Falling asleep with a straw up his nose, Jekyll accidentally snorts a sparkling white powder in the lab that transforms him into a spastic sex maniac, an unleashed id with disco duds, animal instincts and a lone gold tooth. While in this unruly state of Hyde, he couples with a prostitute named Ivy (Krista Errickson, Mortal Passions) and snorts more lines than can be found in a geometry textbook. Such hedonistic activities threaten to derail his professional and personal lives — all three of them.

To my off-guard surprise, Jekyll and Hyde … Together Again is very funny — often laugh-out-loud hilarious, such as Jekyll’s meet-and-treat cute with Ivy, who checks into the emergency room due to a “foreign object” lodged in her vagina. (Trust me.) Working as a broad parody, Jekyll bears more of the National Lampoon stamp than the humor magazine’s official movie that same year, Class Reunion. (The Lampoon staff had to be envious of Jekyll‘s breast-enlargement scene in particular. Speaking of, Elvira alter ego Cassandra Peterson and her right “gazonga” have supporting roles as a surgical nurse and her right “gazonga,” respectively.)

Belson (vet of many a classic sitcom, most notably The Odd Couple) and his three co-writers deserve credit for putting laughs on the page, especially in the tricky realm of drug humor. They realize — as so few of today’s filmmakers do (*cough* Seth Rogen *cough*) — that getting high can’t be the beginning and the end of the joke; something more has to be done with it, and they do. But Blankfield is the largest reason the movie works as well as it does. He’s a terrific physical comedian, and his dual performance here can’t be experienced without seeing a lot of Jim Carrey at the peak of his Ace Ventura/The Mask commercial ascent. Based on this film alone, Blankfield should have been every bit the star. —Rod Lott

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