Womb Raider

Womb RaiderIntriguing new players have arrived to challenge Seduction Cinema’s sexploitation throne with this uncomfortably titled, yet wildly ambitious and salaciously wry spoof. In fact, writer/director Randolph Scott and pals’ burgeoning mastery of exotic locales and collective gift of gawk have rarely been seen since all-American auteur Andy Sidaris first raided the Playboy Mansion.

Guess that’d make late-night cable siren Lauren Hays their answer to Andy’s action queen Dona Speir? That’s a tall order, but by another comparison, the babeilicious Ms. Hays certainly apes an English accent no worse than her big screen rival as clothing-optional adventurer "Cara Loft." Here, the "wombs" to be raided are three chintzy jewelry boxes fabled to harness the power of creation and are, naturally, as far-flung as Tibet, Africa and Arabia. What better excuse for Cara to tramps across picturesque sand dunes in platform combat boots, hiney-hugging shorts and a top so cropped she finally decides to lose the goldang thing entirely?

The desert’s, um, HOT!, ya know? Apparently so, because she then forgoes customary water rationing for an impromptu canteen bath. Take THAT, Angelina! Now there IS a plot in here someplace with a frog-throated evil mastermind — you can tell by Roland Lanza‘s phony fu manchu — and a busty blonde assassin aptly named "Natasha" (Antoinette Abbott). However, as the genre dictates, a full quarter of the running time is devoted to various combinations of sapphic canoodling, including a Sidaris-patented celebratory dip in the ol’ hot tub.

CineSchlockers will also remember Ms. Hays as the neglected Hollywood housewife in Club Wild Side who sought solace in the bosom of a nubile niece (by marriage, of course).

16 breasts. Five corpses. Belly dancing. Advanced lesbian tongue rasslin. Less than medicinal use of baby oil. Suggestive banana munching. Two-fisted gun shooting. Gratuitous Indiana Jones gag. Huzzah to Ms. Hayes for mustering "Dr. Scrotus, I presume?" with nary a snicker!