In the mid-1990s, when erotic thrillers were all the rage, Playboy’s production group made a handful of direct-to-video movies to get in on summadat milky-white-behind action. First out of the gate from the House That Hugh Built was Cover Me. For coming from a nudie mag, it has far too much Elliott Gould.

Devilshly cute Courtney Taylor, who most notably vamped it up in Prom Night III: The Last Kiss, plays Holly, a gorgeous female cop who goes undercover as a centerfold model (and then, logically, a stripper) to snare Dimitri (soap regular Stephen Nichols), a serial killer who has cottoned to murdering gatefolds. Stranger than that, Dimitri seduces and then offs these torso-stapled beauts while he’s dressed in drag, replete with dripping makeup and bubbly voice.

Dimitri commits such acts because, as we are shown in grainy flashbacks, his momma used to force him into girls’ clothing as a child. Meanwhile, Holly won’t quit stripping because, as we are shown in slow-motion dance sequences, she realizes she actually likes having a wad of dirty dollar bills shoved into her panties by the hands of greasy strangers, dammit.

Directed by Michael Schroeder (Cyborg 2 and Cyborg 3), Cover Me is as laughable as Taylor is perky and scorching. Ironically, the film often garners its biggest inadvertent chuckles during its sex scenes, which feature intricate light shows, rear-projection images (not the anatomic kind of rear, mind you) and, when Schroeder feels like it, booby.

The Terminator’s Rick Rossovich was the lucky man who nabbed the role of Bobby, Holly’s cop boyfriend. Plumpy Paul Sorvino (Goodfellas) yuks it up as Bobby’s partner until he gets strangled while sitting in his car. Corbin Bernsen (The Dentist) plays a porno king, and thoroughly convinced me of his oily nature. But it’s Taylor who rules the show, making it worth the watch. (Well, okay, just parts of it.) Whatever happened to her? —Rod Lott

Buy it at Amazon.

Purportedly based on actual events occurring on the sleazy streets of El Lay, the gripping, grimy Vice Squad depicts one wild night of police and prostitutes in the era of tube tops, hot pants, cornrows and clubs bearing names like The Balled Eagle.

Princess (Season Hubley, Escape from New York) is a businesswoman by day and hooker by night. After her friend and fellow trick-turner (MTV VJ Nina Blackwood) is vaginally — and fatally — mutilated by a “psycho honky” pimp who goes by the name of Ramrod (Wings Hauser, The Carpenter), Princess agrees to wear a wire so the cops can nab him. She does and they do, but he gets away, and thus begins Ramrod’s pursuit to sniff out and snuff out Princess, as the police in turn seek him.

While an exploitation film at heart, Vice Squad takes itself rather seriously. As a result, director Gary Sherman (Poltergeist III) gives it a good amount of grit. It’s as raw as a knee sliding against asphalt and may leave the viewer with the feeling that a shower is in short order — and not the golden kind Princess negotiates over with a client.

Much-needed levity arrives in the form of dialogue as Princess discusses transactions with the would-be consumers of her wares; “Does a teddy bear have cotton balls?” she rhetorically asks one, while another inquires of her, “You’re looking at one horny conventioneer. I’ve seen more ass than a cowboy’s saddle. Think you can handle me?”

Hauser steals the show with his unhinged performance of a wacko in a Western shirt. As evil as Ramrod is, Hauser is a wonder to behold. But so is Gary Swanson (Sniper) as Det. Walsh, Vice Squad’s true leading man. Unfortunately, because he’s so grounded by comparison, not to mention sympathetic, he gets none of the enormous credit he’s due. —Rod Lott

Buy it at Amazon.