Sunday, July 20, 2014

Prayer of the Rollerboys (Rick King, 1990)

Rollerboys?!? What about Rollergirls? I mean, what's up with that? And while we're at it, where are the Rollerpeopleofcolour? I didn't see one black dude skating with the Rollerboys in the totally awesome, Prayer of the Rollerboys. What's that? Get the fuck out of here. Really? Even though I'm playing dumb, I've just been informed that the Rollerboys are a gang of white supremacists who view women as merely sex objects. Just for the record, I threw in the latter distinction because: A) They have no female members. And: B) You should have seen that party the Rollerboys staged midway through the film, it was like something straight out of Caligula or an Alex de Renzy flick. Welcome to the Los Angeles of the not-so distant future. Do you know how I know it's the "not-so distant future"? No, not because the city is rife with rollerblading racists who wear white winter coats. And not because Patrica Arquette is wearing a leopard-print jacket with a sailor hat (oh my god, I can't wait to talk about the outre outfits she wears in this film). You know it's the not-so distant future by the unorthodox way old-timey televisions are employed.

Since television in the not-so distant future, especially the dystopian variety, is reserved for the wealthy elites of society, the rest of humanity have managed to come up with alternative ways to utilize them. And the most common way is to display them as decorative pieces for their home or hovel. The best way, I've found, anyway, is to combine the television set with the body of a mannequin. (You mean like Prince Robot IV in Saga?) Yeah, kinda like that.

(Didn't you love it when gay porn flashed on his screen/face after he was wounded in battle?) Yes! That was one of the coolest things ever. Oh, I'm sorry. As most of you know, but just in case some of you don't, Prince Robot IV has an old-timey television set for a head, as do, I'm guessing, the majority of blue bloods who live in The Robot Kingdom, and... yeah.

Anyway, when I saw that the headquarters of the Rollerboys was decorated with television sets attached to mannequin bodies, I knew I was wallowing in the not-so distant future. And now that I've established that this film does in fact take place in the not-so distant future (pats self on the back), I think I'm going to use next paragraph to openly opine about how Corey Haim reminded me of Justin Bieber.

I'll admit, thinking about Justin Bieber was the last thing I wanted to do while watching a pretty kick ass action flick with sci-fi overtones. But I couldn't help it. The similarities were downright eerie. Is it okay if I move onto another subject, like, say, the sound Patricia Arquette's red panties made as they swooshed past her black stocking-ensnared thighs? 'Cause I don't feel comfortable talking about this. What's that? Write one more sentence? Fine. Um, let me see... Okay, I got one. The similarities between the two don't just apply to looks, as I bet the Biebs, much like Corey Haim's character, is pressured on a daily basis to become a member of an all-male gang of rollerblading white supremacists.

Ugh, I'm glad that's over. It's not that I'm above writing about Justin Bieber, it's just that I don't like polluting my little corner of the virtual universe with something that is so aggressively lame.

Opening with the sight of Corey Haim's Griffen, a.k.a. Ramrod (this film, by the way, is my first real Corey Haim experience since I saw Lucas back when I was a gothed up Winona Ryder fanatic) rollerblading in a white tank-top, you would think it was just another average day in 1990. But you're wrong, it's... (Yeah, yeah, it's the not-so distant future. We got it.) What I was going to say, before I was rudely interrupted, was that, yes, it's the not-so distant future, but get this, the United States of America is bankrupt.

According to a speech being broadcast over the airways via a pirate satellite by Gary Lee (Christopher Collett), the leader of the Rollerboys, a paramilitary group of disaffected teenagers, there was a "great crash" that basically left America in financial ruin. Blaming "alien races" for the nation's downfall, Gary Lee hopes to inspire a new generation by assembling a white army of rollerblading patriots.

When Gary Lee holds his fists up and does the official Rollerboy salute after his speech, did anyone else think of Darryl Kromm from Strange Advance as he appeared in their video for "She Controls Me"? Oh, c'mon, it couldn't have been just me. Are you serious? Whatever, man.

After finding a used coffee maker while out dumpster-diving, Milton (Devin Clark), Ramrod's younger brother, spots Casey (Patricia Arquette) while trying to hawk the appliance at a local market. Anyone care to guess what the first words out of his mouth are when he spots her? He says, "Whoa." If you think that's a bit much. Let me tell ya, if you saw the way Patricia Arquette looks throughout this movie, you would say whoa too.

Wearing a sailor hat(!), a leopard-print jacket(!), an orange belt, sunglasses, a black skirt, and black nylons, Patricia Arquette's first ensemble had me literally bouncing off the walls. I mean, her outfit was so fucking fierce. Think about it. She's wearing a sailor hat with a leopard-print jacket. Ahhh!!!! And it keeps getting better.

We see the same outfit in the next scene, as Casey stops by the house that belongs to Speedbagger (Julius Harris) to get her roller-blades fixed (it would seem that everyone roller-blades in this version of the not-so distant future, and that Speedbagger fixes roller-blades). Since most white people live in "Municipal Homeless Centers," Speedbagger allows Ramrod and Milton to pitch a tent on his front lawn, and that's how Ramrod sort of meets Casey (they didn't actually talk, they just made goo-goo eyes at one another).

You can't really blame Casey for assuming Ramrod's a Rollerboy (as the film's opening proved, he's an excellent skater). But he's not a Rollerboy. He is, however, a pizza boy, and, in the next scene, we see him delivering a pizza (in an armored van) to one of those homeless centers I mentioned earlier; not to the homeless, mind you (they can't afford pizza), but to the guards guarding them - they're kind of like prison camps.

I liked it when Ramrod consults the "dash map" (a sort of GPS system) to find the homeless center. Oh, and given that the homeless center is called "No. 87 Municipal Homeless Center," I'm going to go ahead and assume they're must be a lot of them.

Rescuing a Rollerboy–get this–named Bullwinkle (Morgan Weisser) from a burning building using his pizza van, Ramrod suddenly finds himself in the good graces of the Rollerboys' leader, who apparently lived next-door to Ramrod when they were kids.

In order to not cause any further confusion, the only character in the film who calls Griffin by the name "Ramrod" is Jaworsky (J.C. Quinn), a police detective. And since I prefer the name "Ramrod" that's what I've chosen to call him in this movie review. So, if there's anyone out there wondering why I keep calling Corey Haim's character "Ramrod," that's the reason.

While practicing his rollerblading moves in a parking garage with Milton, Gary Lee and the Rollerboys, including Bullwinkle and Bango (Mark Pellegrino, I love this guy), come skating towards them in unison. The sight of the Rollerboys skating in unison is somewhat comical yet awe-inspiring at the same time (their white coats flowing in the wind... so awesome, so cheesy). At any rate, Gary Lee tells Ramrod that if he should ever need anything that he shouldn't hesitate to ask. Oh-oh.

Flouting society's conventions at every turn, we see Patricia Arquette's Casey wearing a bra as a top in the next scene. I know, a bra as a top. (So, what else was she wearing?) Didn't you hear what I just said? She's wearing a bra as a top! It's lewd, lascivious, salacious, and, to be perfectly honest, outrageous!

With American colleges literally moving overseas (Harvard is now located in Japan), what's a teenage juvenile delinquent with great hair to do? Attend a raucous party being thrown by the Rollerboys, that's what. I'm not the biggest Nine Inch Nails fan in the world, but even I have to admit the sight of Corey Haim strutting through the crowd to the strains of "Head Like A Hole" was pretty bad-ass.

A hedonistic free-for-all for the ages, the Rollerboy party has everything: Balloons... (Funny-shaped balloons?) Well, no, unless round is funny. Now, where was I? Oh, yeah, the Rollerboy party. It has female mud wrestling, chicks dressed as mermaids, a working merry-go-round, and leggy babes in black pantyhose. See what I mean, everything.

Running into Casey, who is wearing a white ruffled collar, a white tutu, black opera gloves and a black bowler hat, Ramrod takes her outside to "chat." After making out for a few seconds, Ramrod proceeds to remove Casey's red panties. Reaching down towards the area where her red panties are currently housed, Ramrod slowly hikes them down. In order to help facilitate Ramrod's attempt to peel off her red panties, Casey lifts one of her legs up to allow for greater hiking leverage.

As her red panties go swooshing past her black stocking-ensnared thighs and calves (which, by the way, is the best sound ever), Ramrod hands the red panties to Casey and walks away. What just happened? Oh, I know what's going on. Ramrod thinks Casey wants to have sex with him just so he'll hook her up with some mist.

What's mist? It's the drug of choice in the not-so distant future. And guess who controls the distribution of mist in the not-so distant future? That's right, the Rollerboys.

Little does Ramrod know, but Casey is an undercover cop. Soon, however, Ramrod finds himself working for the police, too. But he's not going undercover out of some sort of misguided civic pride, he wants to prevent his little brother becoming a Rollerboy ("Once in, never out," is the Rollerboy motto). To make matters worse, his little brother has started misting.

Already a legend as far as I'm concerned, costume designer Merilyn Murray-Walsh manages to top herself when she unveils Patricia Arquette's orange and black cowgirl outfit. Hell, even the denizens of the not-so distant future can't help but do a double-take when they see Patricia Arquette walking down the street in her crazy cowgirl get-up.

It's a good thing Patricia Arquette's Casey was such a fashion risk taker, as the film's lack of female characters was a tad depressing (she's the only woman with a speaking part). But then again, the film more than makes up for it in other ways. How so, you say? Um, the film's about a gang of rollerblading racists who wear white winter coats. Nuff said. Day of the rope! Day of the rope! Day of the rope! The Future is ours!

Thursday, July 17, 2014

Indecent Desires (Doris Wishman, 1968)

We've all groped dolls when no one is looking. Uh.... Let me put it another way: Every man, woman and child has, at one point in their life, put aside some time in their busy schedule to grope a doll. And the reason we do so is simple: We know the doll doesn't feel anything. In other words, what's the harm? I can't think of any. But what if I told you that every time you groped a doll, a blonde with a pleasantly pronounced booty would be rewarded with the fruits of your clandestine doll groping? You would be pretty excited, wouldn't ya? Well, you can forget about it, 'cause it ain't going to happen. You wanna know why, you perverted doll groper? It's because you don't have a magic ring. You see, groping a doll without a magic ring on your finger is basically an exercise  in pointlessness. However, with the ring properly attached to one of your fingers, you can transport your (indecent) desires onto anyone you see fit. I think it helps if the person you select bares a slight resemblance to the doll you plan on groping. But then again, I'm fairly new to whole doll groping racket, so I could be wrong in that regard. That being said, thanks to Doris Wishman's decidedly off-kilter Indecent Desires, I'm one step closer to fully understanding the ins and outs of this frightfully unique and frightfully unusual phenomenon.

No doubt inspired by Roman Polanski's Repulsion, Doris Wishman has created a claustrophobic masterpiece that will challenge your perception of reality. Utilizing her tried and true formula–you know, the one that depicts a shapely, somewhat clueless blonde woman becoming deeply unhinged as a direct result of outside forces beyond their control–Doris Wishman has made what I consider to be the most realistic film ever to capture what it's like to live underneath the dangling serrated dildo that is psycho-sexual tyranny.

Think about it. How would you feel if at any moment you could be groped by a stranger? No, seriously, think about it. You're sitting on the bus, minding your own business, when all of a sudden, you feel a hand caressing your inner thighs. And don't bother looking over your shoulder for the culprit responsible for this unasked for inner thigh rub down, 'cause there's no one there.

Of course, there are going to be some sick twists out there who will view all this untoward groping as a step in the right direction. Most normal people, though, will be justifiably horrified by the prospect that they could be, at any given minute, groped by an unseen entity.

Finding a magic ring and a doll in a trash can while wandering the park on a cold and dreary winter day, Zeb (Michael Alaimo) takes them back to his one room apartment. Putting the magic ring on his finger and placing the doll on a pedestal, Zeb looks at the doll with a cockeyed sense of wonder.

Did Zeb know he was going to find a doll today? I mean, it looked like he had the pedestal already set up before he came back. Either way, after cleaning the doll's face with a rag, Zeb enjoys a cup of tea.

Meanwhile, in a fancy apartment down the street, Ann (Sharon Kent) answers the phone while sort of wearing a towel. Skipping into frame while clutching a towel against her chest, we get our first glimpse of Ann's outstanding booty as it bounces bodaciously across the room. Telling her friend/co-worker Babs (Jackie Richards) that she'll be right down, Ann heads, where else, to the living room to put on her black panties, black bra and black garter belt.

You'll notice, as she's putting these items on, that a pair of light-coloured stockings are laying in a heap on one of the chairs waiting patiently for Ann's delicious stems to be lovingly poured into them in a slow, deliberate manner. Unfortunately, we don't see her put them on. Now, did this hosiery-based oversight cause me to throw a conniption fit? Not quite. Sure, I was disappointed, but I have a feeling Doris Wishman will more than make up for it in a future scene.

While walking down the street, Zeb spots Ann and Babs (who is wearing a zebra print trench coat) heading off to work together. As they're standing at an intersection, something weird occurs. Suddenly and without explanation, the ghostly image of Zeb's doll appears over top of Ann's organic structure.

The look on Zeb's face when he realizes that his doll and Ann share the same soul was one of stunned excitement.

Following them to work, Zeb lingers around outside a bit before going home (making sure to check all the payphones along the way for loose change).

Putting his magic ring on the second he gets home, Zeb approaches the doll. The second he begins to caress it in an erotic manner, Ann feels the touch of his grabbing hands while standing near the water cooler. Unclear as to what just happened, Ann calmly puts her coat on and goes home. Of course, she's being followed by Zeb, who now knows where Ann lives.

As she's making dinner for her boyfriend, a real dullard named Tom (Trom Little), Ann  feels the grabbing hands of Zeb (the power of his groping is so pronounced this time around, it causes her drop the dish she was holding). Not wanting him to see her in this state, Ann basically tells Tom to get lost.

Groped by Zeb yet again later that day, Ann begins to think that she might be going mad. Checking herself in the bathroom mirror for grope marks (her black gossamer nightie lying in a ball around her supple ankles), Ann can't seem to figure out what's wrong with her.

A sigh of relief washes over the audience, as we finally get to see Ann put on her stockings. However, as she's slipping them on, Ann hears a noise at the door. Would you look at that, someone left her some freshly picked flowers. She assumes that Tom left the flowers, but we know that is was Zeb who put them there. He might be creepy as all get out, but Zeb knows how to make a bold romantic gesture.

Watching Ann and Tom as they go for a walk, Zeb begins to fantasize what it would be like if Ann was his girlfriend. Wearing a sharp suit and minus his glasses, Zeb envisions himself as a debonair gentlemen who knows how to treat the ladies right.

The decision to give Zeb no dialogue was the correct one, as it gave him an added air of mystery.

He might know a thing or two about making bold romantic gestures, but Zeb can also be petty and vindictive. Angry over the fact that Ann is still seeing this Tom jackass, Zeb lashes out at Ann while she's doing some light reading in lingerie by poking the doll in the face with a lit cigarette. Ouch.

She gets a bit of a reprieve when Zeb loses the magic ring, but it's only temporary. No, it would seem that Ann and Zeb are in this for the duration.

Do you see the large leafless hedge outside Zeb's apartment? Well, Zeb walks past it a total of seven times during this film. (You mean to say, you counted the amount of times Zeb walks past the large leafless hedge located outside Zeb's apartment?) I sure did. (That's just plain sad.) Watch what he does on the seventh trip past the hedge, you'll be pleasantly surprised.

Containing all the ingredients I look for in a good sexploitation yarn, this film has a shapely blonde woman with a big booty slowly losing her mind, a downbeat ending, confused head tilting, a small cast (movies with large ensembles annoy me), stockings held up by suspenders attached to a garter belt and a perverted male lead who gropes dolls for a living.

I don't want to come off as half-cocked or anything like that, but I'm having a difficult time believing there's a Doris Wishman film floating around out there that's better than Indecent Desires.

Wednesday, July 16, 2014

Enemy Gold (Christian Drew Sidaris, 1993)

The debate I had with myself over whether or not I should include Enemy Gold (a.k.a. Opération panthère noire), co-written and directed by Christian Drew Sidaris, in my unnecessarily exhaustive examination of Andy Sidaris' filmography was truly epic. Massively epic. Exceedingly epic. You get get the idea? Good. Nonetheless, I think the moment I uttered the words, "co-written and directed by Christian Drew Sidaris," was when everyone out there got clued in as to why the debate was so freakin' intense. Is this an Andy Sidaris film? It's included in the reasonably priced "Girls, Guns and G-Strings: The Andy Sidaris Collection." That's true, but this particular film isn't written or directed by Andy Sidaris (the man responsible for classics such as Guns, Picasso Trigger, Savage Beach and Fit to Kill), it was, like I've said twice already, co-written and directed by Christian Drew Sidaris, Andy's son. When I noticed that Andy and his wife Arlene Sidaris were listed as producers, I started to think: As long as there's a Sidaris behind the camera, it's still an Andy Sidaris film. And while I won't say the decision to watch Enemy Gold was the smartest decision I've ever made, I will say this: I didn't completely regret the decision after the end credits began to roll.

Boasting the same formula that has driven every Andy Sidaris production that preceeded it, the film has fake boobs, guns and explosions. In other words, the formula hasn't been tampered with. Technically, this film is the first Andy Sidaris production to not feature Dona Speir as its star. Which is a good thing. But don't forget, it's also the first Andy Sidaris production without the gorgeous Cynthia Brimhall. Which is a bad thing.

How will the house that fake boobs and terrible acting built survive such a monumental shake-up in its cast? It's simple, really, hire more bimbos. Wait, that didn't come out right. What I meant to say is, grab a Playboy Magazine (nothing older than a year), open it to any random page, and point. And looks like, Suzi Simpson, Playboy's Playmate of the Month for January, 1992, and Tanquil Lisa Collins, Playboy model and the former Miss Virginia USA, 1983, are the one's they pointed at.

Now, did they ask them if they could recite scripted dialogue in a semi-convincing manner or express various types of emotions on cue before casting them? Who am I kidding? Of course they didn't. They were willing to appear onscreen without their clothes on and that's that. Though, I have to wonder, why no bush? I mean, out of all the Andy Sidaris movies I've watched over the past couple of years, I don't think I've seen a single vagina. I know, it's pretty distressing.

Nonetheless, while their acting isn't quite up to par in terms of being even remotely adequate, they are attractive, I'll give them that. Which, I guess, is all that really matters at the end of the day. I don't know why, but just the mere act of writing that last sentence has managed to fill my heart.with sadness.

You see what you have done, Mr. Sidaris, you have reduced me to a sniveling mouth-breather who only wants to watch movies that feature attractive people doing dumb shit in and around Dallas, Texas.

Ugh, listen to me, I sound like such a baby. Mwah, I don't like fake boobs. Boo-hoo, I'm not a big fan of awful acting. Wah, wah, I think films should be competently made. Give it a rest.

Speaking of awful acting, Enemy Gold possesses what has to be one of the worst line readings I've ever heard audibly expressed in a motion picture. In fact, forget about all that talk about debating with myself whether or not I should classify this as an Andy Sidaris film or not. When I heard the delivery of this particular line, my eyes lit up and I said to myself: Oh, I'm definitely reviewing this film. And get this, the line is uttered by someone who I consider to be one of the sexiest women ever to appear in an Andy Sidaris-produced motion picture.

What's that? You want me to tell you who I'm talking about? Oh, I'm sorry, I was just trying to build up the suspense. Actually, the real reason I'm stalling is that I'm not quite sure who performed the horrendous line reading. I know, it's crazy. But that's what happens when you list your characters as "Dancer #1" and "Dancer #2" in the closing credits.

Is it safe to assume that because the stripper on the right has more lines than the stripper on the left, that she would be known as "Dancer #1." You know what? Since I can't find any other way to tell them apart, I'm officially declaring Stacy Lynn Brown to be the actress who utters the worst line reading in movie history.

I promise to go into more detail about the line reading in question later on. In meantime, let's discuss the ins and outs of Enemy Gold, shall we? Opening in 1865, during a battle in the American Civil War, we follow two Confederate soldiers, who are riding through the woods on horseback. Did they fight any major battles in Texas during the American Civil War? Nevertheless, the two soldiers are carrying gold bars they stole from the Yankees. Unable to continue, one of the soldiers, the one who isn't wounded, buries the gold by a tree and marks the spot by plunging a knife into said tree.

Flash-forward to moderns times, and we're in the parking lot of Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport. Suddenly, a pair of female legs attached to a pair of white pumps appear onscreen. Testing the integrity of the pavement of  Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport parking lot, the white pumps grind into the asphalt using the classic heel toe method. I gotta hand it to him, Sidaris Jr. definitely knows a thing or two about how to win this viewer over, as I'm loving these pervy camera angles.

Sure, the Civil War opening was a bit of a drag, but the shot of Suzi Simpson's legs making their way to a white Corvette parked in the Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport parking lot definitely made up for it.

After watching her drive for awhile, Suzi Simpson eventually arrives at her destination. The building she breaks into boasts two male federal agents. Managing to subdue one of the male agents, Suzi Simpson grabs his gun. Unfortunately, she is unable to subdue the other one. It doesn't matter, though, because the federal agent she subdued is Chris Cannon (Bruce Penhall), a former flame, and the one she couldn't subdue, that's Mark Austin (Mark Barriere).

The first thing that struck me about these two guys is their aversion to sleeves. The second thing is... Oh, wait, there is no second thing. You see, for there to be a second thing to strike me, their characters would have to fleshed out a bit more. And believe me, they're not fleshed out at all.

The cool thing about Suzi Simpson is that her character's name is Becky Midnite. On the downside, however, her fake breasts not only mitigate her legginess, they don't match her body type. Did I mention that Becky Midnite is a federal agent, too? I didn't? Well, she totally is.

I liked when it Becky says, "Sounds like an old boyfriend," after Chris tells her the arrows for the crossbow he is holding explode three seconds after penetration. You get it? It's a double entendre. This film has plenty of them, but that one was my favourite, as it implies that Chris' penis ejaculates sperm three seconds after it has penetrated a vagina. Ha! Ha! You can't control the implementation of your orgasm.

It's a good thing Becky Midnite showed up when she did, as Chris and Mark are about to take down some drug dealers. Using Becky, who has since changed into a pair of cut-off jean shorts and a black tank top, as a diversionary tactic, Chris and Mark poke around a barn filled with watermelons that are stuffed with bags of cocaine, while she flirts with a shotgun-wielding henchman.

A decisive gun battle takes, one that ends with Becky using the crossbow whose arrows explode three seconds after penetration; I knew there was a reason they were talking so much about that crossbow.

Killing two henchmen and capturing another two, you would think Chris, Mark and Becky's superiors would be quite pleased by this turn of events. Wrong! The aptly named Dickson (Alan Abelew) is actually very upset that he wasn't informed of this action, and promises to report them to Washington.

Okay, I've stalled long enough. Here comes the scene. Dancing on the stage at Cowboy's Club and Restaurant are two of the hottest strippers I have ever seen. Only, they're not really stripping, they're learning how to strip. And get this, personal fave and Sidaris regular, Kym Malin, is the one teaching them how. Overseeing this on the job training is the owner of the club, Santiago (Rodrigo Obregón), who is watching their every move.

If the white lacy suspender-hose get-up Angela Wright (a.k.a. Dancer #2) is wearing looks familiar, that's because Cynthia Brimhall wears the exact same outfit in Do or Die. Now, I don't want to get into an argument with myself over who looked better in said outfit. But I will say this, Angela Wright has the sexiest legs to ever appear in the Sidaris universe.

After getting in a heated discussion with Dickson, who, to the surprise of no one, is on Santiago's payroll, over the watermelon/cocaine debacle (Dickson is supposed to prevent such things from happening), the "two-bit Bolivian drug dealer who thinks he's Al Capone" (Dickon's words, not mine), heads backstage to unwind.

Asking Kym Malin, who is brushing her hair, "Where are the girls?," she tells him they're in the shower. Pulling the shower curtain open, Stacey Lynn Brown turns around and says, "What's up?," to which Santiago replies, "I am." Now, as far as double entendres go, it's not the greatest. What is great, however, is how mind-bogglingly terrible Stacy's delivery of the line, "What's up?

While most people probably watch the threesome that transpires between Santiago and the two dancers in the shower over and over again. I, on the other hand, must have played Stacy's "What's up?" ten times in a row. Of course, I am, in no way, blaming Stacy for this line reading fiasco. Someone, like, say, the director, should have stepped in and helped Stacy deliver the line more effectively.

Tired of getting his lucrative illegal drug business thrown off track by a trio of meddling federal agents, Santiago enlists the help of an assassin named Jewel Panther, who, of course is played the amazing Julie Strain. As much as these films suck, I always look forward to seeing Julie Strain. Whether head-butting losers outside cowboy-themed strip bars or blowing up park rangers while wearing leopard-print bikinis, Julie Strain never fails to deliver the goods.

Let me quickly check to make sure I didn't forget anything, 'cause I want to wrap this thing up. Oh, Tanquil Lisa Collins (a.k.a. Tai Collins) plays Ava Noble, Chris, Mark and Becky's boss in Washington, D.C. She wears black stockings, lounges in nighties, and talks tough in business clothes. (Is that it?) Yep, it looks like it.