Starring Swedish voluptuous vixen Uschi Digard, Getting into Heaven is your basic sex comedy with better-than-basic bosoms. By “comedy,” we don’t mean funny — just wacky. You know the kind: cartoon sound effects, sped-up voices, predictable pratfalls, acknowledgment of the camera, and dialogue exchanges like this:
“That can get you into trouble?”
“Are you trouble?”
“No, I’m Heaven!”
“I’ll say!”
As you may have guessed by now, Uschi plays the titular Heaven, a new-to-L.A. gal who hits (and gets) it off with a nerdy cop, who becomes her boyfriend. She and her roommate want to be movie stars, but they don’t really have any talent other than harboring large breasts, so they hold a producer hostage and bang him continually — we’re talking more than 100 times — until he gives in. Happy endings all around. Just maybe not with you. —Rod Lott
In director Harry Hurwitz’s 
The four-digit number in the title refers to the amount of kilometers of the race, but I suspect it was put there to fool moviegoers into thinking it a sequel to Carradine’s hit 
Every time my wife leaves town, the house is dead silent. But in 
They have no intentions of going. In fact, they tie him up and “hold court,” pledging to kill him at the end of the weekend. Jackson goes all nom-nom-nom on his groceries like a brain-damaged pig (“You have the manners of an alley cat!” he screams), while Donna plays the piano horribly. Both fuck with his wife’s makeup so they look like they’re part of a troupe called Whore du Soleil, and cackle like the batshit-crazy loons they are. But, hey, Camp’s breasts.
Beyond Winslow, the rest of the characters comprise an amazingly forgettable lot that range from the bland to the obnoxious to the blandly obnoxious. The fact that there isn’t a human alive capable of giving a fuck about its two lovelorn protagonists (Days of Our Lives’ Mary Beth Evans and Skatetown USA’s Greg Bradford) definitely hurts the central romance, which takes up the bulk of the third act.