Following her Playboy heyday, billionaire wedding and many, many Drake’s Cakes, Anna Nicole Smith showed us just how far starlets can fall and how pathetic they can really be (yet still be alive), in a softcore quasi-documentary that’s one of the least sexy things the year 1998 had to offer, along with the Nairobi Embassy bombing and the last ski trip of Sonny Bono. If there’s anyone who could make sex a turn-off at the time, it was Smith, in what could be called the Schafer’s Honey-Glazed Ham era of her career.
Interspersed with demonstrations of Anna’s uninspired fantasies are semi-interviews with Anna herself, in which she says things so stupid, you wonder why she had to read them off cue cards. (Example: “My favorite place to masturbate? Definitely the tub. I get the shivers just thinking about it.”) Serving as a framing device, Anna poses for a calendar that never hit the market.
Clearly, Anna Nicole Smith Exposed: Her Fantasies Revealed does not feature the early-’90s Anna that made her a household name; here, her face is all puffy and her once-celebrated breasts look bruised from excessive beatings. (“With a body like this, who wouldn’t want to masturbate?” she asks, and I assume rhetorically. “What a great way to start the day.”)
Nevertheless, several guys were (paid to be) eager to join her for some simulated sex, including Darren, a houseboy who gets his RDA of calcium from a morning romp with his bloated employer (“Darren, wonderful Darren. I pay him a lot to do nothing but please me. … Oh, and he also has a pretty good butt.”) Also falling prey to her scripted wiles is Jason, a shirtless pastry chef who moves like an animatronic robot on the fritz. (“I see Jason pounding out some dough on that hard, cold marble counter with his bare hands. … I just get sooo excited.”)
Coming to an end, Exposed presents some of Anna’s nude scenes from her starring roles in the action films To the Limit and Skyscraper. In theory, this would save you from having to rent them, but they’re even funnier than this misbegotten project. —Rod Lott
Director Michael Anderson’s career had come a long way since he was nominated for a Best Director Oscar for 1956’s 
Ultimately, it is this young woman (Diane Franklin) who ends up giving the movie its only reason to exist. Indifferently directed by Anderson on an Australian sex-comedy budget, Second Time Lucky is less a cohesive narrative than a good excuse to see a very attractive lady-person in some state of undress every 10 minutes. 
I come not to bury Freddy, but to resurrect him.
Therefore, an attempt to actually make Freddy scary again is a welcome thing. And anchored by a strong performance by the always-great Jackie Earle Haley (
Saddled with writer’s block, novelist Howard Hansen (Ted Prior, 
Every time the jar bubbles, somebody gets horny or murderous — sometimes both. During one particularly heated round of intercourse, Howard and Carol start slapping the crap out of each other. The boom mike makes its way into the frame once. 
With his bald head and flaring nostrils, the world-renowned Dr. Henry J. Heimlich looks like Sid Caesar on a bender and sounds like Christopher Walken, eerie phrasing and all. Thus, it’s tough to take him as competent, especially when in the first scene, he straddles a woman lying on the floor, pushes on her chest and calls it “an act of love.”