Sex

Alice Goodbody (1974)

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Alice Goodbody is not a good film — if only because it never completely transcends its status as a low-budget ’70s softcore sex comedy that had the misfortune to not be made by Russ Meyer — but it’s an amiable, occasionally funny effort that actually manages to sneak in some sly commentary about the realities of Hollywood filmmaking.

As the title character, former Meyer starlet Sharon Kelly (who would later end the decade with a guest spot on TV’s Lou Grant before re-inventing herself as ’80s adult film actress Colleen Brennan) plays a ditzy L.A. waitress whose attempts to fuck her way to a major role in a musical version of Julius Caesar are hampered by the injuries she sustains each time she appears in front of the camera. Much of the film’s humor comes from how none of her sexual partners seem particular turned off by the casts, slings and neck braces she collects as the story progresses.

Writer/director Tom Scheuer clearly had no interest in the film’s many sex scenes, since he plays them all for laughs (with varying results), but they all benefit from the presence of his lead actress (who appeared in a lot of these movies for a good reason), which makes their ubiquity a lot easier to bear.

Definitely a product of its time, Alice Goodbody manages to be both more innocent and cynical than other films from its ignoble genre, which isn’t enough to recommend it, but also not enough to warn you to stay away. —Allan Mott

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Stealing Candy (2002)

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In a premise so sleazy you’d expect it to be rated X, Stealing Candy has three ex-cons plot to kidnap glamorous but prudish movie star Candy Tyler, and force the busty blonde to have sex on the Internet in a one-time-only event so they can net millions.

The bad guys are played by Daniel Baldwin, Coolio and Alex McArthur (aka the fat one, the black one and the one who’s aging so poorly he looks like Jan Michael-Vincent). McArthur is the mastermind, recruiting prison buddy Coolio to help with the forced entry (of Candy’s house, mind you) and Baldwin to handle the technical end of things, which entails lots of really fast typing and making lines of code scroll onscreen.

Candy (luscious Jenya Lano), who has a no-nudity clause in her contract, agrees to, um, perform, but only to save her life. When it comes time for the big bang, the movie actually delivers the goods. And when the netcast is over and $13 million sitting in an offshore account, alliances are tested, secrets are revealed, tables are turned and Lano’s breasts go back in her bustier.

Lano’s no great shakes as an actress, but in the shaking department, she’s tops! In other words, she’s teasingly voluptuous enough to make the movie work. At one point, Coolio tells Lano she has the nicest “tits and ass I seen in a long time,” and it’s hard to argue. Without her, the movie would just be another turd on one of the lesser Baldwin brothers’ résumé.

I’m not sure Baldwin is playing a simpleton or if he simply is a simpleton; it’s too close to call. But I’m pretty sure Coolio is playing himself, and doing so terribly; every line is delivered in that macho rap-video posturing solely to convince us he’s a hardcore thug. You’re not — your name is Coolio, for crying out loud.

It’s effectively directed by Mark L. Lester (whose big-budget days of Commando and Firestarter are long gone), making for a no-brainer nugget of death and D-cups worth your meager four-dollar investment. —Rod Lott

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Action

Highwaymen (2003)

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A man in a beat-up El Dorado hunts shapely women to rundown and kill, and only Jim Caviezel can save them. Yes, it’s Duel meets The Hitcher meets The Passion of the Christ! Ladies and gentlemen, it’s Highwaymen!

Five years earlier, Caviezel lost his wife to the careless driver, so he chased him down and plowed right into him, forcing the guy into an 18-month hospital stay, during which he had his limbs rebuilt — not bionically, but with a brown bag of spare parts apparently purchased at a local TruValue hardware store.

Ever since then, the six-dollar man has been traveling the country, knocking off someone every thousand miles or so, with Caviezel hot on his rusted bumper. Next on the disabled driver’s hit list? Doomsday’s Rhona Mitra, who has the advantage of built-in airbags. And I don’t mean in her car.

The reason for watching a movie like this is for the carmageddon, and on that level, Highwaymen delivers some efficient and mildly gory B-movie thrills. But it is repetitive and padded (even at a mere 80 minutes), so it’s not quite the high-octane ride one would hope. —Rod Lott

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Comedy

Valley Girl (1983)

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For that segment of the population that doesn’t remember a time before e-mail and smartphones, the 1980s have taken on the faint haze of nostalgia, a romanticism borne from such snappy oddities as skinny ties, checkered sneakers and Andrew McCarthy. Don’t believe it, youngsters. It wasn’t all lollipops and John Hughes.

Not even the syrupy gaze of nostalgia can help Valley Girl, among the surfeit of teen comedies that passed like gallstones through movie theaters in the Eighties. Dull, uneven and flat as a (insert teen flick joke here), the picture is a particular letdown coming from well-heeled director Martha Coolidge, whose credits include 1985’s infinitely more entertaining Real Genius. It also marks the gangly film debut of Nicolas Cage, whose hipster loner shtick is a pale version of what he would later bring.

Deborah Foreman stars as Julie, a good-looking, popular, high-school hottie in San Fernando Valley who’s tired of her good-looking, popular, high-school hottie boyfriend, Tommy (Michael Bowen). In true Capulet fashion, she is drawn to Randy (Cage), an L.A. County punker whose haircut and clothes suggest a certain mousse-addled worldliness … if The Fixx embodied worldiness.

All the language curiosities of the Valley ring especially hollow coming a year after Moon Unit Zappa and daddy Frank had skewered the pampered class in the song “Valley Girl.” By contrast, the comedy and satire (?) of the picture feels like an afterthought. In the final outrage, Valley Girl has the audacity to skimp on the nudity, opting instead to simply peter out in a wheezy climax at the prom — a scene only marginally less competent than 96 percent of soft-core porn viewed by lonely salesmen in discount airport hotels.

At least it boasts a bitchin’ soundtrack populated by the likes of The Psychedelic Furs, Modern English, Sparks and The Plimsouls. Good for iTunes. —Phil Bacharach

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Panic in Year Zero! (1962)

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Although dated, AIP’s nuclear-family thriller Panic in Year Zero! still resonates today, and is a good candidate for remake status.

Ray Milland (who also directs), his wife and two kids are on their way to a fishing and camping trip when their hometown of Los Angeles is hit with a nuclear bomb. Civilization quickly breaks down, with price gouging and looting abound. Milland struggles to keep his family alive amidst the chaos, even though he has to clock the occasional gasoline attendant, set innocent people’s cars on fire or hold up a hardware store to do so.

Eventually, they find relative peace and quite in a cave, but it is short-lived, as their situation soon spirals into rape and murder. Milland spends the movie barking orders to son Frankie Avalon and rarely takes off his hat and suit, despite the apparent end of the world.

But he’s awesome, just as he was in other AIP greats of the time, like X – The Man with X-Ray Eyes. And despite all its moments of implausability, Panic is solid B-moviemaking, delivering thrills on a tight budget. Plus, it’s hard not to think about our world’s current situation and wonder what you would do under the same circumstances.

I’d at least ditch the tie. —Rod Lott

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