CineSchlocker

Fringe cinema weirdness!

24: Season Two

24: Season TwoRemember the first time you saw scream siren Linnea Quigley dance nekkid atop a tombstone? Awe inspiring, right? How about the next time when she did that immortal Virgin Dance of the Double Chainsaws? Pretty goldang memorable too!

Well, to put it country simple, that’s the relationship between Season One and Season Two of Kiefer Sutherland’s tornadic "real time" spy franchise — a mystical, zig-zagging adventure followed by another, more familiar, yet equally enthralling race against the clock. On this SECOND longest day of his life, counterterrorism agent Jack Bauer, obviously a victim of Die Hard Syndrome, must save Los Angeles from nuclear annihilation at the hands of Al-Qaeda type nasties (you can tell by the electronic hookah music) and unravel a diabolical plot with roots that bedevil the very highest reaches of our government … blah, blah, blah.

What’s really of profound importance here are the misadventures endured by TV’s most delectable dingbat of perpetual peril (a.k.a. Kim Bauer) on the second longest day of HER dizzy life. To that end, yours truly lends a critical eye toward all two hours, two minutes and fifty-one seconds of Ms. Elisha Cuthbert‘s salivatory screentime, paying prolonged attention to the 8 o’clock hour when she all-too-briefly shimmies into something that’d easily raise the hair on a cougar carcass …

8-9 a.m.

Appropriately enough, we rejoin a blue panty’d Kimberly, now a live-in nanny, starting her morning hunched over the sink scrubbing her pearlies when a giggling little nose miner bursts in and sours what was a delish dish of eye candy. Being blonde and prone to fussiness, the tike will be hence forth referred to as Lil’ Kim, and for subplot purposes, her daddy’s also a lunatic. Total screentime (10:17) plus peril (Knocked to floor by abusive employer) equals Kimcentric Factor Eight.

9-10 a.m.

Kim, dressed WAY too matronly, makes the first of 498 escapes. This time via the nearest Lexus with Lil’ Kim in tow. They’re pursued by Daddy Dearest until Kim dead ends it into an alley where a mano y bimbo tussle ensues and she learns that a knee to the groin is nice, but whomping the bejesus out of a fella with a tire iron is FAR more satisfying. Total screentime (7:12) plus peril (Foolishly hides Lil’ Kim among cardboard boxes) equals Kimcentric Factor Five.

10-11 a.m.

Lil’ Kim wanders from her hiding place and very nearly into the mitts of teenage street urchins, but not before our panicked heroine jiggles to the rescue. Kim then opts to seek shelter at the safest place she knows: CTU!?! Hey, isn’t that where her sainted mama — uh, never mind. Total screentime (7:30) plus peril (Almost clobbered FOUR times while running into traffic; later risks LA public transit; narrowly avoids getting blow’d up) equals Kimcentric Factor Six.

11-Noon

Lil’ Kim has a seizure spawned by a crack to the skull she took from Daddy Dearest two-and-a-half hours earlier. Nurturing Kim remains by her side at the hospital. Total screentime (2:29) plus peril (Accused of child abuse) equals Kimcentric Factor One.

Noon-1 p.m.

Jack makes Kim swear she’ll tell no one of the bomb in LA. She immediately alerts her boyfriend — latin pop sensation Innis Casey as "Miguel" — whom she also honey-do’s into kidnapping Lil’ Kim … for her own good. Total screentime (5:48) plus peril (Threatened with arrest) equals Kimcentric Factor Four.

1-2 p.m.

Miguel, Kim and Wendy Whiner v-e-r-y s-l-o-w-l-y vacate the hospital — right into the waiting clutches of you know who. Fortunately, he’s ill-prepared for pretty boy’s kung fu prowess. Total screentime (5:40) plus peril (Ochie!!! Gets hair pulled really hard) equals Kimcentric Factor Four.

2-3 p.m.

Speeding out of the "blast radius" in Daddy Dearest’s car, the trio is stopped by an eagle-eyed state trooper. Hijinks ensue. Total screentime (4:03) plus peril (Unexpected passenger) equals Kimcentric Factor Two.

3-4 p.m.

Kim finds herself headed to the pokey as, wouldn’t you know it, a MURDER suspect! Where? Downtown Los Angeles. In time for nuclear winter, no less. She calls daddy, although he’s awful busy being all heroic and stuff. Total screentime (7:04) plus peril (Handcuffs really chafe) equals Kimcentric Factor Five.

4-5 p.m.

Kim and Lil’ Kim’s tearful reunion is cut short by news the wee one will be delivered to the safety of Santa Barbara. NEVER TO BE HEARD FROM AGAIN! Muuuuuuh-ha-ha-ha!!! Total screentime (2:02) plus peril (Cop coffee is grody) equals Kimcentric Factor One.

5-6 p.m.

Presumably due to his intimate knowledge of Kim’s unusual flexibility, Miguel insists she pretzel free of her shackles and help him stage a daring — nah, make that dumb — prison break by lighting FIRE to the paddy wagon they’re racing down the highway in. This ends poorly, of course, but before she leaves Miguel to face the swarming fuzz, Kim smooches his bloodied lip and coos: "Thank you so much … for everything." Total screentime (5:39) plus peril (Yet another car crash) equals Kimcentric Factor Four.

6-7 p.m.

Our luscious lamb now wanders the wilderness much like the children of Israel until stopped in her tracks by a hunter’s snare and eye’d for din-din by a COUGAR!!! Total screentime (2:45) plus peril (Little early in the evening for ankle restraints don’t ya think, dearest?) equals Kimcentric Factor Six.

7-8 p.m.

A junior Grizzly Adams comes to Kim’s rescue and invites her back to his cabin to see his etchings. Total screentime (2:56) plus peril (Hopping on one foot is, like, hard) equals Kimcentric Factor One.

8-9 p.m.

From the sage lips of FOX’s other Nielsen knockout: "AYECURUMBA!!!" Kim sure wears her fugitive status well, especially now that she’s slinked her most nubile talents into a clingy white tank top that’s WAY too small to ever properly fit what’s his name. Maybe it’s such strangulating undergarments and the prolonged lack of oxygen that’ve made him twitch like the next Unabomber. Regardless, it’s a look that surely doesn’t make him a hit with the ladies. No wonder he opts to trick our freshly-showered Kim into an extended stay in his subterranean romper room. Total screentime (11:34) plus peril (Nearly apprehended by forestry ranger) equals — LEAPIN’ LIONS!!! — Kimcentric Factor T-E-N!!!

9-10 p.m.

With Kim, it’s either love a man or BRAIN HIM with the heaviest thing you can find. Afterward, this Grizzly Adams kid is dazed, yet somehow still forgiving as she manages another exit. In fact, he hands Kim a shiny .38 special (to shoot pesky cougars) and asks if she’ll swing back his way for a visit someday. She replies coldly: "I don’t think so … YA FREAK!!!" Total screentime (6:49) plus peril (Trapped in horny dude’s bomb shelter) equals Kimcentric Factor Five.

10-11 p.m.

That heater comes in handy once Kim hits a lonely highway where she’s first ogled by passing bikers and then nearly abducted AGAIN by a greasy character awful insistent on "giving her a ride" until a bullet through his passenger window convinces him otherwise. She hoofs it a bit farther down the road before accepting a ride from a world-weary soccer mom who then must endure a weepy cellphone exchange between Kim and her soon-to-be permanently absentee father. Total screentime (7:20) plus peril (Stuffs pistol dangerously close to hiney) equals Kimcentric Factor Five.

11-Midnight

Feeling antisocial, Kim cuts her hitched ride short, choosing instead to wander aimlessly all by her lonesome until answering nature’s call at a nearby liquor store. She then attempts to thwart a robbery by waving that gun around again. Bad idea, darlin. Total screentime (6:12) plus peril (That leering shopkeeper had it coming) equals Kimcentric Factor Four.

Midnight-1 a.m.

Kim tires of the same ol’ hostage schtick, so she up and ducks out the back when the baddie’s not looking. Her wisest move all day! Total screentime (5:38) plus peril (Police almost don’t get the door open in time) equals Kimcentric Factor One.

1-2 a.m.

Once returned to the nearest jailhouse an officer quips: "Looks like you’ve had quite a day!" For grins, he then outlines her hour-by-hour crimes and misdemeanors before handing her a Get Out of Jail Free card. If you look close, instead of Uncle Moneybags, it’s got a little picture of CTU heartthrob Jack Bauer on it. Freedom must make her frisky, because she promptly phones Miguel in the hospital. Though hers is a voice he’s none too pleased to hear after his having become a macabre object lesson in the high price of poontang. Total screentime (7:10) plus peril (Gets dumped over the phone) equals Kimcentric Factor Six.

2-3 a.m., 3-4 a.m. and 4-5 a.m.

These three Kimless hours are pure torture until about 4:30 when she and Jack burn more cellphone minutes. Total screentime (1:00) plus peril (None noted) equals Kimcentric Factor Zero.

5-6 a.m.

A family that kills together stays together! A new motto for the Bauer clan, perhaps? One might think so after Kim frantically calls Jack for advice after knocking Daddy Dearest out cold amid yet another rasslin match. His advice: "SHOOT HIM NOW!!!" and afterward, in a more comforting but firm tone: "AGAIN! I WANT YOU TO SHOOT HIM AGAIN!!!" It’s always so nice when fathers and daughters can share quality time. Could this little episode lay the groundwork for a La Femme Nikita meets Alias metamorphosis for Ms. Bauer? Stay tuned. Total screentime (7:01) plus peril (Nasty fall through ceiling) equals Kimcentric Factor Eight.

6-7 a.m.

An emotionally exhausted Kim, who unlike Pulp Fiction‘s Esmarelda Villalobos, now knows what it’s like to "keel a man," is given a ride back to CTU by daddy’s new squeeze. Total screentime (3:45) plus peril (Endures future stepmom’s attempt to sympathize) equals Kimcentric Factor Two.

7-8 a.m.

Well, that’s all those loveable yayhoos in Hollywood wrote. We’ve had lows. The cougar. The kung fu crooner. We’ve had highs. The tank top. The, uh, tank top. Yeah, um, pretty much just the tank top. Total screentime (2:37) plus peril (Miraculously survives brief CTU visit before finally returning to Jack’s side) equals Kimcentric Factor One.

But seriously, folks. Beyond Ms. Bauer’s hysterical, though COMPLETELY UNRELATED subplot, the second season’s most frustrating flaw is its C-R-I-M-I-N-A-L cliffhanger ending! Especially in comparison to the first season’s gratifyingly devastating final note.

All the Love You Cannes!

All the Love You CannesWhat begins earnestly as "an indie’s guide to the Cannes Film Festival" violently swerves head-on into a Croisette staging of the theatre d’absurde — an apt thumbnail of most Troma productions, actually, barring the glam locale.

CineSchlocker icon Lloyd Kaufman begins this crude docu-comedy with such serviceable advice for fledgling filmmakers as pilfering airline muffins today for free breakfasts tomorrow, dodging pricey taxies by thumbing rides with foreign media, sleeping 40 folks in a tiny flat and the art of crafting phony press credentials to crash studio soirees to guzzle complimentary cocktails, and more importantly, a chance to network with international film buyers.

That, after all, is why the Troma Team’s been there in force baring melon-heavy breasts, since the fest’s inception, to sell The Toxic Avenger and his head-crushing ilk to Turkey, Malaysia and other lands starved for puke-slathered American entertainment. Amid the dealmaking are also scores of drunken, er, determined young Troma evangelicals who storm the beaches waving banners and engaging in guerilla marketing tactics akin to the rubbernecking spawned by any particularly grisly highway disaster.

Former Tromavillian Doug Sakmann, being the Kabukiman-garbed poster boy of said movement, makes a royal jackass out of himself throughout by somehow getting tossed out of any joint with more than two walls, clocked by an elder coworker, strangled by an enraged bell hop, with the pee de resistance of his Tromatic behavior, being the MOST gratuitous — and heroically voluminous — urination yours truly has ever beheld.

18 breasts. Lesbian tongue rasslin. Grossly overloaded elevator. Unsightly bloodletting. Random Roger Ebert, Quentin Tarantino, Jean-Claude Van Damme and crinkle brow’d John Stossel sightings. Copious puking. Bitchin "Electric Chair" tuneage by The Dolls (whose lead singer, Jane Jensen, canoodled with Debbie Rochon in Tromeo and Juliet).

Mr. Kaufman on his interoffice war with a crabby Warner Bros staffer and her snoopy pooch: "I think as a shareholder, I will write some kind of letter to the powers that be at AOL Slime Warner and complain about the use of shareholder money for hags with dogs!"

American Psycho 2: All American Girl

American Psycho 2: All American GirlWhat does this have to do with the original? Beyond a crude and suspiciously tacked-on prologue … Zilch! That ’70s Chick Mila Kunis blathers endlessly about really, really wanting to be Captain Kirk’s teaching assistant as she’s backed by monkeys churning a nearly neverending circus calliope. I say "nearly," because the simian soundtrack IS interrupted nearly a dozen times for "Dawson’s Creek"-style music video interludes by hipsters like Old ’97s. Anyway, Ms. Kunis murders each of her TA rivals so she can land a gig at the FBI and catch serial killers who, presumably, aren’t as CUTE as she is. Hi-larious, huh!? Nary a snicker. Although it isn’t often CineSchlockers can spy Bill Shatner as a lecherous college professor.

No breasts, however freeze-frame perverts should proceed directly to timecode 51:45 and behold the wonder of notch three of Mila’s "clicker" bra. 12 corpses. Gratuitous Bob Dylan reference. Prophylactic strangulation. "Star Trek" booty call. Mop-handle lobotomy. One anime afro.

Blade II

Blade IIMexican FX slinger turned grue auteur Guillermo del Toro is, as the youngsters say, "the shiznit." No one in mainstream Hollywood is flinging buckets of blood and oozing creatures at the camera like THIS guy. He first drew the attention of CineSchlockers by making comely Mira Sorvino chase overgrown cockroaches through the icky wiles of the Manhattan sewer system. Now, he’s skillfully conjured a crimson cyclone of carnage known as Blade II (2002, 117 minutes), arguably among the most anticipated sequels of recent memory. How run-of-the-mill fans stack it up against the original will likely be dependent on whether they can avoid projectile puking their popcorn. Gorehounds, on the other severed hand, have a new idol in Gruesome Guillermo.

The movie: When last we found Blade (Wesley Snipes) he was skulking around Russky Land in search of his crusty adoptive papa Whistler (Kris Kristofferson) who’d messed around and got himself vampirized. Turns out he’s been pickled in a giant fish bowl and only kept alive to provide the primary ingredient in bloodsucker "protein" shakes.

Blade’s original intention was to put the old dog down, but in this sequel, he’s become something of a softie. Besides, if Whistler’s 86’d who else is gonna clank around with a bum leg and hurl around chicken-fried insults?! Now there’s a plot somewhere in between about 486,000 juiced up kung fu fights where Mr. Attitude whups the tar out of mean, nasty vampires. It has something or another to do with said suckheads coming to Blade for HELP in dealing with some new and improved vamps dubbed "Reapers" who scurry around like crackheads until their jawbones splay open like Jenna Jameson at a Britney Spears concert. Except these critters idea of oral gratification ain’t loving or beautiful, no sir, it’s downright DISGUSTING! Blade’s got nothing better to do than waste these creepazoids, so he agrees to lead a team of sun-wary commandos including beastly CineSchlocker fave Ron Perlman who admirably attempts to out ‘tude Mr. Snipes at every turn. There’s also some kinky love story stuff mixed in with Leonor Varela as a vampire ninja seemingly powerless against Blade’s razor-edged mojo. However things get way, way out of hand in the final reel when Norman Reedus (as "Scud") stinks up the joint with the worst monologue EVER delivered in a bloodsucking martial arts flick.

Thankfully, this is countered by another half-dozen hiney tanning sequences with Blade leaping around like Bugs Bunny in a Ginsu commercial. CineSchlockers will remember Mr. Perlman already played this role in Alien: Resurrection, the bizarro earthquake epic Shakedown and a whole slew of other flicks. He’s just so goldang GOOD at it! Almost makes up for his severely Lifetime-friendly "Beauty and the Beast" TV series.

Notables: No breasts. 261 corpses. Forehead licking. Blood Jacuzzi. One Freddy Krueger manicure. Gratuitous flashback sequences. Vampire rave. Gratuitous slow-mo strutting. Partial decapitation. Tazer attack. Compound fracture closeup. Ultraviolet explosives. Gratuitous bed of nails. Voluntary spine replacement. Razorblade tongue rasslin’.

Quotables: Whistler is curmudgeonly as ever, "They’re s@#%in’ bricks because they’re no longer top of the food chain" and "Better getcha some sunscreen, buttercup!" Blade’s just plain grumpy, "YOU OBVIOUSLY DON’T KNOW WHO YOU’RE F#%$ING WITH!!!" While Damaskinos (Thomas Kretschmann) contemplates deeper meanings, "Who do you really think God favors in the web? The spider or the fly?"

Time codes: Ubiquitous post-Matrix slow-mo bullet (7:30). Lee Marvin joins the picture (30:55). When Reapers say "Ahhh" it’s really, really grody (49:05). Guillermo’s ode to Alien Autopsy (59:58). Time for a little vampiric lovin’ (1:20:35).

Final thought: Seemingly endless whirlwinds of pugilism and geysers of meaty carnage.

Blood Feast 2: All U Can Eat

Blood Feast 2: All U Can EatThe return of Herschell Gordon Lewis after a 30-year absence from the slaughterhouse sinema he pioneered is, for rabid gorehounds, akin to a phoenix-like reemergence of Orson Welles to direct Rosebud’s Revenge!!! 

GORY, GORY HALLELUJAH!!!

Behold a gooey dream come true: Blood Feast 2

Ol’ Fuad must’ve found time for an ice cream social or two outside his hobby of hacking up nubiles to appease the Egyptian, er, make that Babylonian goddess Ishtar, because now his GRANDSON has returned to reopen the exotic catering biz unaware of the shop’s sinister past. Yet no sooner than the last board is removed from the windows, young Fuad Ramses III (J.P. Delahoussaye) fatefully switches on the whorishly hypnotic red light of Ishtar’s supply room haunt and instantaneously succumbs to the family bloodlust. He too must prepare a feast. He too must brain as many babes as possible. He too must overact and drag his bum leg like the Elephant Man. Fortunately, Fuad’s just landed the Lampley wedding and little Miss Tiffani (Toni Wynne) being the tasty little bride-to-be she is, naturally has a gaggle of equally delish maids of honor. All of whom are, uh huh, ON THE MENU!!! Hence the whole goldang point of this nostalgic exercise where silicon special FX are solely for Lacie Hundies’ bodacious bosom.

As many well know, the Godfather of Gore’s time-honored gospel demands the nearest slaughterhouse be raided for a ghastly array of near-rancid entrails to be wrenched from these poor lovelies — usually by slapstick aid of random kitchen utensils in this misadventure. A corkscrew to remove coed brain matter. A melon baller to pop peepers out. An electric carving knife to, um, well y’all get the idea. It’s these comically outrageous eruptions of divine grue that’ll reacquaint CineSchlockers with the H.G. Lewis of yon.

Although, even to such an unapologetic disciple as myself, the flick’s sum total doesn’t land comfortably within the Lewis lexicon. Despite its tumbled technical edges, the swoopy dolly shots and other haughty production miscues fail to honor the raucous run ‘n’ gun aesthetics of the original and its classic exploitation siblings. Then there’s the script rife with dicey Zucker Brothers schtick such as a migratory corpse (played by investor Chris Mauer), an impromptu weather report, zany sound effects and an exhausting running bit involving a gluttonous detective (John McConnell) which crescendos with his puke-worthy tongue lashing of a cruller.

Melissa Morgan‘s ingenious performance as the deliciously self-absorbed Mrs. Lampley is really the only character, including Fuad, that’d easily survive the three-to-four-decade time warp into any of Herschell’s previous movies. Whilst costars seem content to playact in a cartoon, she creates comedy through winkless bitchery. However post-production subtlety busters apparently sought to rectify her oversight by overdubbing a juvenile "SATAN! SATAN! SATAN!" stinger whenever Lampley enters frame.

So beyond the glorious grue, the historic reteaming of Lewis and exploiteer David F. Friedman, the fan-friendly Blood Feast riffs and Ms. Morgan’s welcome contribution, what else is there for CineSchlockers to revel in? How about final-reel savior John Waters‘ cameo as a priest on the prowl!?! That, dear readers, oughta curl your pencil mustaches!

Notables: 12 breasts. 12 corpses. One dead cat. Chloroforming. Puking. Slow-mo lingerie party. Nose mining. Decapitation. Hammy Hamlet quotation. Wriggling maggots. Sapphic massage. Bloody organ fondling. Arm in a meat grinder AND a garbage disposal. Self gratification. Excessive feasting. Drooling. Suggestive crosswords. Throat slashing. Gratuitous "Rock, Paper, Scissors" game. Amazing redhead-to-blonde transformation. Gratuitous shower scene. One jail break. Multiple "Emeril" refs. Brainpan whittling. Arterial high five. Multiple disembowelments.

Quotables: Huzzah to first-time screenwriter W. Boyd Ford for exercising the good sense to have Misty Morning squeal: "Hey! You just HAVE to see the new bra I got yesterday!" J.P. very nearly out emotes a bug-eyed Mal Arnold with: "I don’t need you to SERVE appetizers. I need you to B-E-E-E-E-E appetizers!!!" Detective Loomis has an eye for detail: "Well, without a real autopsy, I’d say the cause of death is this corkscrew stuck in her ear." Mark McLaughlan shamelessly channels Deputy Fife: "Don’t play coy with me Ramses! We know what you’re up to! Harvesting human organs for the black market! SAVAGE! FIEND! WE’RE GONNA NAIL YOUR HIDE TO THE WALL!!!" However the flick’s funniest moment is thanks to the Pope of Trash’s attempt to recruit a pair of kindercare altar boys: "Hi, kids! Do you know what HELL is? … Well, it’s where bad little boys go. Do you want to go there? … Then you should always hang around with priests!!!"

Postscript

The Godfather finds it bizarre. To yours truly, it’s outright inconceivable that a genre-centric distributor such as Media Blasters would release THREE versions of this historic sequel with nary a phone call, e-mail or singing telegram to the very filmmaker whose name they so enthusiastically exploit.

"One source of outrage: I see several websites advertising ‘The Director’s Cut,’ " Mr. Lewis tells me. "I had no involvement with any cutting and, in fact, have objected to several overlong scenes (one in which a girl wearing only part of a towel climbs stairs, to no purpose), lack of necessary repulsive death/strangulation noises accompanying the gore sequences, the final scene’s lack of a zoom into Ishtar’s severed head and the omission of one scene I specifically had asked to be included."

"I also object to releasing Blood Feast 2 direct to video after shooting in 35mm color," Herschell continues. "Had we shot digitally, we could have had two cameras as well as the tool I missed most, a zoom lens."

"I admit I’m getting worked up over this, because it strikes me as bizarre that Media Blasters never bothered to contact me," Mr. Lewis confides. "I’ll just hope to one day make Grim Fairy Tales and do it my way."

Britney Baby, One More Time

Britney Baby, One More TimeEqual parts road comedy and drag revue, this almost true story of one fan’s odd-yssey to meet a pop princess is an absolute riot. Robert Stephens (a.k.a. Angel Benton) really did beat out a gaggle of tweens in a Britney Spears sing-off. The leering press really did mistake him for the fabulously female Britney backstage just moments before he was to meet her. From there, reality and cinema turn off the lights and play grab ass.

Hence American Movie phenoms Mark Borchardt and Mike Schank as a pair of Milwaukee horror hounds — sound familiar? — who scheme to make some quick cash by interviewing Ms. Spears. Unfortunately, Mark’s innate journalistic instincts override his common sense, so he dares ask the question wondered the world over: "Are they for real?" With Mark ‘n’ Mike now sharing Robert’s persona non gratis status on Planet Britney, the trio form an absurd alliance as they trek across American to rejoin her concert tour in New Orleans. Along the way, "mistaken identity" hilarity ensues, such as when "Britney" saves a tike from a roadside inferno or when a gang of "You ain’t from around here, is ya?!" truckers form a redneck chorus line aping, in unison, a certain star-making schoolgirl routine. This mad, mad, mad, mad misadventure only gets wackier from there. Best of all, Mr. Stephens is often more Britney than Britney. Well, except for the penis!

No breasts. Gratuitous alligator-goes-into-a-bar joke. Rampant lip syncing. Angry goths. Fainting. Falsie fiddling. Gratuitous urination. Lesbian tongue rasslin. Gratuitous makeover. Thong talk.

That’s sound-alike Jennifer Herbig stunt-vocaling "Oops I Did It Again" and "Sometimes."

Cheerleader Ninjas

Cheerleader NinjasAt long last, the distribution gods have smiled upon Kevin Campbell‘s tender tale of small-town cheerleaders and the geekazoids who drool (and fart) at the mere sight of them.

Somewhere amid an admittedly migraine-inducing plot, the squad runs afoul with an ornery gaggle of Catholic schoolgirls who’ve seen too many Bruce Lee movies and are bustin’ pompons at the behest of an anti-Internet movement. Feel a cranial twinge coming on? Not to worry, there’s oodles of slapstick girlfights and Star This-Or-That references to fix what ails ya.

Late-night cable siren Kira Reed (of the CineSchlocker fave Alien Files) prances around nekkid in a few bizzaro dream sequences, including an amusing ode to American Beauty.

10 breasts. Two corpses. Yogurt slinging. Panty torture. Lesbian tongue rasslin. Girls jumping on trampolines. Guys in chipmunk, squirrel, chicken and bear suits.

Easily the best Troma movie they never made!

Colin’s Sleazy Friends: Raw and Extreme

Colin's Sleazy Friends: Raw and ExtremeWhen Cooking With Porn Stars breezed to the top of DVD Talk’s most popular reviews it proved two important points: A catchy title is still king and there’s a heckuvalot of horn’d up porn hounds out there. Well, nasal-voiced burnout and alleged cable-access personality Colin Malone rebounds from that miserable debut with Colin’s Sleazy Friends: Raw and Extreme (2002, 63 minutes), a deliriously absurd collection that mines five years of his spastic mingling with adult-film stars and second-tier celebs.

The hijinks begin with CineSchlocker fave Corey Feldman sharing his expertise in female anatomy, even going so far as to provide his own visual aids. Kid Rock talks drugs and groupies. NPR heartthrob Margaret Cho ponders the etiquette of anal coupling. Jack Black caterwauls with his Tenacious D compadre. Members of Blink 182 watch nekkid girls demonstrate a bizarre bungie love swing. Pretty much a similar situation for Weezer, except they ask a starlet if she’s planning on getting married and having a "normal" life. When she says she IS married they proceed to fiddle with her nipples. Bob Odenkirk and David Cross of "Mr. Show" talk shop with gang-diddle queen and sometime-rassler Jasmin St. Claire who launches into a rant about how "Half these people in the business can’t even read or they’re in it for the money and drugs!!!" Later she spews venom toward ’80s sensation Christy Canyon, "I’m not old and washed up with stretch marks, cellulite, no brain and a drug problem!!!"

But not even Jasmin can match Mila‘s expletive-riddled tirade. Just after a loving embrace between two lesbians, the presentation cuts to her SCREAMING about how Colin hogged the bathroom before shooting, then she spits on him while waving a double-duty, anatomically-correct device in his face. Mila then stops, composes herself and attempts to behave for a half second, before howling some MORE about how her pornos are the nastiest and how naughty she is. Then things devolve further when she snarls at Colin, telling him to spit on and bludgeon her nethers with the aforementioned device. That’s not the only tussle Mr. Malone finds himself in. After interviewing Glenn Danzig on a tour bus, groupies cry "WEDGIE! WEDGIE! WEDGIE!" and strip off Colin’s shirt exposing his gelatinous belly while his hands and feet flail like an overturned doodle bug.

Finally, there’s a series of excursions to various porno sets. That’s where he meets ultra-buxom siren Bridgette Kerkove and the towering blonde’s hubby "Skeeter." Then Colin explores the hottest craze to sweep the industry since breast implants … BUKKAKE! Allegedly an ancient tradition of Japanese pervos, in this case it involves Allison Embers, a classroom full of nekkid dudes doing something they really oughta do in private and it ends with, well, given this isn’t triple X, they don’t show that. But don’t miss Colin’s post-bukkake Q&A with Ms. Embers for all the gooey details.

Notables: 37 breasts. Spanking. Nipple noodling. Advanced lesbian tongue rasslin. Loogie hocking. Multiple wangdoodles (including a Deftone). Adult novelty abuse. Hair pulling. Selfgratification. Copious drug references. Hot tub orgy.

Quotables: "Safe Stud" Breckin Meyer proclaims, "I watch that barely legal, can’t-send-through-the-mail porn." Janeane Garofalo is a fan, "What has drawn me to the show … [is that] a lot of the women who come on here are savants almost. They don’t seem to have a lot on the ball except for they’re VERY articulate about the world of porn." David Cross is no sex symbol, "Right now, all these guys are at home watching the show with their d@#% in their hand going, ‘Heyyyyyy!!!’ " Monique vies to become an oral pleasure champ, "I’m going to try and take as much as I can. I’m very, very greedy … I’ll use my feet, my hands, whatever. I like a challenge!"

Time codes: Shane and Yvonne demonstrate how to properly shave a, ahem, you know (4:46). Kiwi-Strawberry is the flavor du jour (15:42). "When Porn Stars Attack" (17:08). Danzig groupies maul Colin (29:45). Jonathan Davis of Korn quizzes Tabitha Stevens about her pre-shoot prep (36:55). Ms. Kerkove is an ENORMOUSLY talented gal (41:08). Embracing obscure aspects of Japanese culture can go way, way too far (54:23).

Final thought: Mila’s meltdown alone is reason enough to snag this train wreck of humanity.

Colin’s Sleazy Friends Rocks

Colin's Sleazy Friends RocksFrom the ashes of two royal kitchen disasters, tittering LA cable host Colin Malone returns to his true calling, which is cramming porn and garden-variety stars together for often comedic results.

This second collection of "Sleazy" highlights is probably best viewed by diehard rockers as it features members of Poison, Van Halen, Foo Fighters, Linkin Park, Cypress Hill, Godsmack, Rick James, Gwar and MANY more alongside sex sirens Bridget Kerkove, Kendra Jade, Houston and Tabitha Stevens.

Eleven breasts. Homoerotic hiney slapping. Gratuitous "labiaplasty" talk. Puppet penis manipulation. Reefer madness. Groupie groping.

Insane clown Violent J visits a triple-X set, "If any of the porno chicks want me to lend a hand, I’ve got more hands than Hamburger Helper. If that don’t make sense, it makes dollars."

Cooking with Porn Stars for the Holidays

Cooking with Porn Stars for the HolidaysSpastic cable-access host Colin Malone‘s half-baked cooking show returns with even less on its plate. Where vodka fueled the original’s antics, this Christmas edition, denoted by Colin donning a Santa chapeaux, relies on reefer as the primary ingredient in its limp recipe for hilarity. Nakita Ka$h and Calli Cox paw one another whilst whipping up a green bean casserole. Tabitha Stevens bakes cookies, and to the bewilderment of the ever-tittering Mr. Malone, even provides her OWN milk. While double-your-pleasure covergirl Ruby delivers best on the show’s inspired, but squandered, premise with a full array of Cajun vittles before retiring to her hot tub for the disc’s sexiest moments. However fleeting.

Eight breasts. Gratuitous Martha Stewart ref. Pubic hair tugging. One food fight. Gratuitous shower scene. Nipple frosting. Nakita squeals, "Oops! My top came off!!!"