Deadly Trigger (1985)

Real-life not-twin sisters Audrey and Judy Landers play respective twin sisters Polly and Ruth Morrison in Deadly Trigger. It also features special guest star from Das Boot, Jan Fedder. Mind you, that’s how the actual movie actually credits him in its actual opening moments, which is one of your first signs that something about this double-vanity project is … off. Another tell is that a script credit is nowhere to be found.

Many more red flags unfurl; please be patient.

No sooner are happy, sexy sisters Polly and Ruth picnicking in a New York park and talking about moving to Germany to work in a bank and take pictures, respectively, and — bam — they’re in Germany and wearing sparkly dresses and singing in a local nightclub, allowing for music numbers that you just know the Landerses had written into their contract. One night, the girls are attacked in a parking garage, have their shirts ripped off and are raped, all at the behest of laughing thug Harry DeRomeo (aforementioned special guest from Das Boot, Jan Fedder) and his coke fingernail. Making this all the more is tragic is that Ruth, three months pregnant, miscarries and tries to kill herself by jumping out the hospital window. In the fall, Ruth is paralyzed, confined to a wheelchair and presumably testing the bonds of sisterly love by putting Polly on wiping duty.

Alternately known as Deadly Twins, the movie then becomes a rape-revenger — or at least once-and-only-once director/producer Joe Oaks’ approximation of the exploitation staple. Polly teams with a police detective to frame DeRomeo for stealing a cash payroll from a steel mill. Their plan does not make sense, but does DeRomeo flee, kidnap a kid at gunpoint and shout “It’s April Fools’ Day, guys. Off with your pants! Off!” at two cops? He does.

Does he chase an army man with a bulldozer? Yes.

Is said army man outwitted by said bulldozer and deposited into a lake? Most certainly.

Will you see DeRomeo duke it out with a guy while going through an automatic car wash? You will, but don’t get your hopes up — Oaks did not spend the extra two bucks for a spritz of tire sheen.

In fact, despite Deadly Twins being shot on video, Oaks somehow didn’t spring for recorded sound. This entire enterprise in VHS Eurotrash is not only dubbed, but dubbed very, very poorly, digging to a level of incompetence that is nearly indescribable.

But I’ll try: It’s as if Oaks had never seen a movie before, and only had heard about the concept in passing, yet decided to give it the ol’ community-college try. Then he either forgot to mic everybody or accidentally erased the soundtrack while playing with a RadioShack magnet kit too close to the camera. Thus, he was forced to re-create all the audio, but by then, everyone long had thrown away the script, so they went off memory, but everyone had received at least two concussions in the interim.

You have no idea how close that explanation is.

Lovely and talented, the Landers sisters were TV mainstays in the late 1970s and early ’80s — prime time to be a vital part of my pre- to pubescent dreams. I was partial to Judy (Hellhole) purely for curvaceous reasons, but Audrey (Bachelor Party 2: The Last Temptation) is the better actress, which may be why she gets the lion’s share of screen time. However, their infamous Playboy spread from 1983 exhibits more life than either sibling does here.

Where was Andy Sidaris when the Landers sisters — and the world — needed him? —Rod Lott

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Six She’s and a He (1963)

Thanks to Something Weird Video, all but 25 minutes of the once-lost Six She’s and a He exists, under its original title of Love Goddesses of Blood Island. While the aimless film bears no connection to the Blood Island trilogy, it certainly revels in that gorgeous, gory spirit.

Bill Rogers (A Taste of Blood) plays Fred Rogers (!), a B-26 bomber pilot whose plane goes down around Okinawa. Passed out in a raft in the middle of the ocean, he’s pulled to shore by some lovely loinclothed ladies led by Aphrodite (Launa Hodges), who says, “You will get to know this stick intimately.” (Trust me: It’s a warning, not a come-on, because these half-dozen honeys are not in that kind of movie.)

Surrounded by live exotica tunes, tiki torches aplenty and a pig roasting on a mouth-to-anus spit, the all-female tribe of six sexpots live and love on a set that looks borrowed either from a school play adaptation of Fantasy Island or from a scrapped Price Is Right Showcase Showdown. While the women do have offscreen sex with Fred, they also deprive him of sleep, subject him to hard labor and harder bamboo swats, and flaunt their all-around superiority to the Aqua Velva man.

Just ask the Nazi (Joe Capriano) who gets his guts torn out by the gals during a torture ritual. On the movie’s meager resources, the German soldier’s intestines resemble wet balloon animals. In other words, Six She’s and a He — directed by Richard S. Flink (producer of William Grefé’s Sting of Death) and written by actor William Kerwin (God’s Bloody Acre) — is something of a wet dream as scripted by Herschell Gordon Lewis and/or a nightmare of the incel set. Neither is a bad thing. —Rod Lott

Get it at Something Weird Video.

Meow Wolf: Origin Story (2018)

When the Santa Fe renegade art collective known as Meow Wolf opened the doors to its immersive funhouse in 2016, one of its key creatives worried that visitors might write the permanent installation off as “a bunch of fuckin’ masturbatory bullshit.” Obviously, the public did not, or the documentary Meow Wolf: Origin Story wouldn’t exist to give that quote a lasting home.

Co-directed by Jilann Spitzmiller (Still Dreaming) and first-timer Morgan Capps, the doc essentially functions as a feature-length commercial for the group’s burgeoning empire, but also to audiences’ benefit as a warts-aplenty family portrait of an American Gen X/millennial success story. In other words, it’s not only a bunch of fuckin’ masturbatory bullshit.

In a proverbial nutshell, the film tracks how Meow Wolf evolved from several hipsters (all of whom my dad would roll his eyes at) partying in a shared hovel to the collaborative powerhouse they are today, with a little bit of luck, a lot of fundraising and a lot more of patron saint George R.R. Martin. Other than CEO Vince Kadlubek, you don’t get much of a rounded feel of the various founders and first-gen artists, which also sets up — perhaps unintentionally — a portent of animosity: Kadlubek speaks of his desire to turn Meow Wolf into a billion-dollar company, while others claim potentially fatal allergies to any Disney-fication. (Perhaps someday, Meow Wolf: Conclusion will tell that fractious tale.)

The Monkees-style shenanigans of the group early in the film grate like nails on a chalkboard. But once they start building the whacked-out abode for which they’ll always be known, Origin Story comes alive as an inspiring paean to the creative spirit … and the necessary evil of deep pockets. —Rod Lott

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The Films of Jess Franco

Even Jess Franco himself likely never thought he would the subject of three books released in roughly a year’s time, and yet, here we are, with Kristofer Todd Upjohn’s Jess Franco: The World’s Most Dangerous Filmmaker released last January, Stephen Thrower’s Flowers of Perversion due come Valentine’s Day, and now Wayne State University Press’ The Films of Jess Franco in between.

Isn’t it a great time to be alive?

In 2013, Ian Olney delivered the fine Euro Horror, an accessible book with an academic bent, and his Films of Jess Franco could be a spin-off, as it takes a similar approach and flies off with that spirit. Olney and co-editor Antonio Lázaro-Reboll present their case of viewing Franco as an auteur, despite his “amorphousness” filmography and tending toward “spectacle and excess over unity and logic” working against him. I’ll be damned if they don’t convince.

Franco forever tiptoed through the tulips of genre — including crackling crime pictures, which Sex, Sadism, Spain, and Cinema author Nicholas G. Schlegel contributes a terrific essay on — but among the dozen pieces that follow, most concern themselves with his melding of sex and horror: “horrotica,” as Tatjana Pavlović dubs it. For example, Aurore Spiers draws comparisons between the vampire cinema of Franco and Jean Rollin (Zombie Lake, anyone?), while Andy Willis uses the arguable breakthrough Awful Dr. Orlof as a benchmark, and Finley Freibert dares to tackle the “Politics of Monotony” in the man’s dreadful DIY efforts (à la Mari-Cookie and the Killer Tarantula that formed the final chapter of the man’s career.

But all that is the expected route. Not as predictable — and, therefore, twice as engaging — are a pair of late-in-book essays, in which Xavier Mendik and Lázaro-Reboll respectively consider the postmortem cult of Franco muse Soledad Miranda and the role that zines like Thrower’s Eyeball and Tim Lucas’ Video Watchdog on championing Franco, if not outright fertilizing his brand-name status. —Rod Lott

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Virgin Paradise (1987)

Okay, okay — yes, I admit it: The only reason I watched Virgin Paradise is because its no-name leading lady, Zuzana Marlow (née Struss, I presume), and her yellow bikini joined forces to become an arresting visual highlight of 1985’s The Tower, a Canadian SOV SF thriller, and this comedic caper appears to be her only other prominent role in a filmography as slim as her Venus Swimwear figure.

Despite its come-hither title smack-dab in the golden age of teen sex comedies, Virgin Paradise contains no sex. This made-for-TV cheapie is called that only because of its eventual locale of the Virgin Islands. That’s where three newly minted college graduates — the only grads that year, judging from the otherwise barren Toronto campus as they exit the ceremony — head to celebrate all that pomp and circumstance. Marlow is Samantha, the rich girl obsessed with money. Her Tower co-star Charlene Richards, is Candice, the black girl obsessed with men. And Gloria Gifford (This Is Spinal Tap) is Julie, the divorced girl obsessed with alimony checks.

zuzana struss marlowThe Schick Hydro Silk razor strip of a story upturns the girls’ vacation plans, as they charter a boat christened Bad Timing — I’ll say! — on which smugglers have stashed emeralds worth $3 million or $6 million, depending on the scene. The jewels look like beads borrowed from a game of Pente, and Candice hides them in her container of hair gel. Sitcom setup firmly in place, the girls run afoul of pirates, one of whom resembles a squatty James Brolin. Our heroic trio also gets lost in the Caribbean, because that’s what comedy rules dictate right after you wonder aloud, “Look at all these little islands. How could we possibly get lost?”

Did writer/director Ron Standen possibly think the material was funny? One punchline in the action-packed (relatively speaking, of course) finale has Samantha utter in exasperation, “I said ‘distraction,’ not ‘total destruction!'” For the Canuxploitation faithful who eat up these video-lensed Emmeritus Productions, its threadbare funding, two-left-feet plotting and — if we’re grading on a curve — amateurish performances will not disappoint. The pleasure they’ll derive is not the kind Standen intended … except for the endless scenes of Samantha, Candice and Julie in more bathing suits than can be counted — mission accomplished there, my good man.

zuzana struss marlowPresumably to get the running time to the magic 90-minute mark, Virgin Paradise comes with a wraparound sequence featuring the gorgeous Marlow as a different character. Speaking in a baby-doll voice (which is most annoying) and wearing skimpy lingerie (which is most welcome), she relays the story to her diary — and the viewer — complete with interruptions throughout. One of her lines is “I kept thinking to myself, ‘Self, if only I had a camera to record it all. What a movie it would make.’” It did not. —Rod Lott

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