At the risk of offending many, I’m going to chance controversy by just flat-out saying that The Happy Hooker Goes Hollywood is the best film in the entire Happy Hooker canon. Sleazier than The Happy Hooker, funnier than Goes to Washington and considerably better made than My Pleasure Is My Business (a Canadian movie that counts as an unofficial entry in the series if only because it stars Xaviera Hollander, the real “Happy Hooker,” as a contented courtesan), Hollywood is a bawdy, fun time that you should only be mildly ashamed for enjoying.
In Hollywood, Hollander is played by Hammer horror regular Martine Beswick, who was never a noted comedienne, but doesn’t have to be, since she’s the straight woman in this farce and is only required to frequently appear without her clothes on, which she does very well.
Drawn to Los Angeles to sell her life story to Phil Silvers’ troubled Warkoff Brothers Studios, she decides instead to go the independent route when she discovers that lover/Silvers’ lackey Adam West is an even bigger whore than she is. Naturally, in order to finance the film, the merry madam turns to her crew of pneumatic working girls, who bring in big profits and bigger comedic complications.
The Happy Hooker Goes Hollywood satisfies because it’s a well-made film that isn’t embarrassed to be exactly what it is: a 90-minute excuse to display some truly astonishing naked bodies. That you also get to see Batman in drag is simply icing on the cake. —Allan Mott
Drive is so much fun that not even Hardison or Murphy — neither a reliable presence — can kill it. Directed by Steve Wang (
A thin story emerges: In one major metropolitan area, survivors live in a well-fortressed downtown area surrounded by rivers, barbed wire, electric fences and armed guards to keep the undead out. The rich among them live in a palatial skyscraper filled with fine dining, shopping and housing, all owned by the wealthy Dennis Hopper. He’s hired armies to roam the streets for the sole purpose of killing zombies. 
The chase isn’t as interesting as the film’s Tim Burton-esque bleakness and pervading sense of dark humor, both welcome elements to what could have been sheer kiddie junk (as the rather sly opening parodies, with a crudely animated “The Littlest Elf” cartoon). And I’d wager that the closing credits may be the most amazing cinema has ever seen. 
The cast makes the film sort of worth watching. Denholm Elliott stars in the first story, about a writer of horror stories who begins to think that his creations are coming to life. Peter Cushing and Joss Ackland are in segment two, about a creepy wax museum and the nutjob who operates it. Christopher Lee tops a tale of a man trying to live with an adolescent witch, and Jon Pertwee and Ingrid Pitt finish off with a comic vampire yarn.