Flexing with Monty (John Albo, 2010)

After watching Monty flex for what seemed like ninety minutes straight, I wondered if my Lippy (Lip Service) stretch f**kin' jeans still fit me. Having not worn them in quite some time, I feared that my not being able to zip them up would cause me to fall into a shame spiral. What did I get myself into, I thought to myself, as began to slide them on. Well, I'm happy to report that not only did they fit, they fit like a glove. And here I was, all ready to blame the wonderfully not normal Flexing with Monty for my sudden uptick in poor body image. However, the opposite occurred, as my sense of self seemed to improve. In fact, I felt so good, I decided to take my jet black Lippy stretch f**kin' jeans (worn with a pair of black seven-hole Getta Grips; a black, mildly frilly Eternal shirt; and my trademark black military-style jacket)  for a walk along Queen Street West to celebrate. Unfortunately, no one seemed notice how I amazing I looked in my jeans, as they were all too busy staring at their portable glowing rectangles to care. When I got back from strutting unnoticed, I turned on the television (a sort of stationary version of the portable glowing rectangle) and watched Flexing with Monty again. While a small part of me wanted to watch the film a second time in order to thank it for boosting my self-esteem, the part of me that is made up of mostly chunks of brain matter wanted to take another stab at trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

Actually, I think I should rephrase that. It's not that I didn't know what was going on (the plot is on the cusp of being straight-forward at times), it's just that the film, written and directed by John Albo, goes about implementing its ideas in a manner that is, let's just say, highly unorthodox. How 'bout I put it this way: If the film I'm watching starts to remind me of Dandy Dust and Dr. Caligari, you know some seriously unorthodox shit is transpiring onscreen.

Questions like: Did that woman just lay an egg in a marsh? And: Why is Trevor Goddard humping that stuffed bear in a pair of assless chaps? will no doubt tumble from your lips as you're watching this movie. And that's okay. Just as along you don't say: "What the fuck did I just watch?" I'm not a fan of that expression.

Just to let you know, the reason I was reminded of Dandy Dust is because there's a scene that features a bald, bloodied woman covered in bandages dismembering a body in a bathtub. As for Dr. Caligari. Well, I was reminded of that film because it features a smallish cast acting real meshugenah and junk all within the sinewy confines of the gayest gay wet dream in existence.

In a weird twist, it just so happens that the gayest gay wet dream in existence also boasts the leggiest leggy floozy to hit the gay wet dream circuit in donkey's years. Except, this here leggy floozy utters words from her talking hole unlike any leggy floozy I've ever seen. But more on her in a minute. To properly understand this so-called "Domestic Symphony," you need to start at the beginning.

Anyone care to guess what Monty (Trevor Goddard) is doing when the film begins? (Railing against "faggots and dyke feminists," who are, according to him, ruining the country?) Well, yeah, he does do that. Here's a free tip, whenever someone asks you what Monty is doing at any given moment, say he's exercising. You wanna know why? That's right, because he's probably exercising. You don't get a body like Monty's by sitting around all day eating Cheetos.

Truth be told, when we first meet Monty, he's using a blowtorch on a hunk of metal. However, I don't think he's actually making anything. No, what I think he's trying to do is give all the guy's in the audience man-boners. While I would love to tell you what he's trying to do to all the women in the audience with this display of fire-based machismo. In all honesty, I have no idea what's going on down there (female genitals confuse and frighten me).

Sharing a loft/gym with his brother, Bertin (Rudi Davis), Monty is from Australia and is really into  physical fitness. So much so, he's the phys-ed teacher at the local university. It's only a two credit course, but Monty hopes to become head of the athletic department in two years.

Oh, and in case you're wondering, the exact moment I started to feel inadequate was when Monty began to crouch walk around Bertin while carrying a large barbell. Simply put, the man's a machine. However, this feeling inadequacy began to lesson a bit after seeing Monty have sex with a lingerie-clad blow-up doll while viewing a slide-show that featured photos of himself flexing.

Meanwhile, in another less gym-like part of the loft, Bertin, who's a student at the university Monty works, is trying to keep his new exotic pet a secret from his brother. Of course, in true Flexing with Monty fashion, this exotic pet turns out to be some kooky-looking dude in a cage.

In-between all the brotherly horseplay (which there is a lot of), we learn more about Monty and Bertin's complex relationship, and Granny (Gwen Van Dam), their eye-patch sporting grandmother. I don't know what's more disturbing, the sight of Monty holding his hand over Bertin's naked, writhing buttocks as he slept, or the sight of Granny giving Monty a massage. Actually, the sound of Bertin's aborted foetus crashing into that metal bucket takes the cake, disturbing-wise.

While Monty clearly hates the gays. That doesn't stop him from placing ads in the classifieds that offer his services as a male prostitute. Telling Bertin that he's going to visit a "sick friend," Monty puts on his best leather duds, hops on his motorcycle and heads over to the house of a man who responded to his ad, which boasts, among other things, that he has a nine and a half inch cock (cut) and a firm bubble-butt. When he gets there, he finds a coked up fairy Goth who looks the non-existent third member of Suicide.

It's true, I've seen enough so far to convince me that Flexing with Monty is a unique motion picture worthy of my attention. But the scene where a nun (Sally Kirkland) comes over to Monty and Bertin's loft, asking them to donate money to help restore people's skulls, is when the film really starts to get kinda awesome. For instance, the dialogue that centers around Monty's biceps (which are, according to him, "pregnant with power") is simply to die for.

If that wasn't enough, a leggy floozy (Michelle Zeitlin) comes over to drink wine, talk about books and dress up like a horse, or was it a cow? No, I think it was a horse. Either way, I loved the seams on the leggy floozies nylons and the creaking sound her dress would made whenever she moved.

Oh, and I almost forgot. As Monty and the leggy floozy are getting to know one another, Bertin is making a pie. That's right, a pie.

At this moment, I have no idea what's going to happen next, but the leggy floozy, the pie, the literal horseplay are all leading up to something. While it might not be profound, I bet it's going to be strange.

Propelled by a charismatic performance by Trevor Goddard (he makes you like him, despite his dickishness), and a leggy one by Michelle Zeitlin, Flexing with Monty is the definition of a cult classic. While the product that appears onscreen is enough to cement its status as a "cult classic," reading about the film's troubled history (they began filming in 1994) will no doubt inflate this status even more.

White Bunbusters (Gregory Dark, 1985)

Don't worry, I'm going to talk about Shanna McCullough's killer thighs and what is easily the best porn movie theme song of all-time, I just want to discuss the A-Busters' business model before I go any further. Oh, and, just in case you're wondering, Shanna McCullough's killer thighs and the best movie theme song of all-time both appear in Gregory Dark's White Bunbusters, the zany poop-chute compromising fuck-flick that bills itself as: "The World's First All Double-Penetration Shocker!" Okay, from where I was sitting, it would seem that the A-Busters provide a service. As to what exactly this service actually entails is still a bit of a mystery to me. Sure, they have an office. They have tools. They even advertise (their radio spot is heard during the film at one point). But what do they do? They will tell you that they help women overcome their reluctance to allow grown ass men to insert their erect penises into their brownish assholes. But all I saw was a couple of rapists who force their mostly female victims to endure a steady barrage of condom-free cock in every orifice imaginable. Granted, there is an instance where a porn star named Cha-Cha (Rachel Ryan) enlists the help of the A-Busters (she says something about wanting them to loosen her rectum before a big shoot), but more often than not, The A-Busters basically show up at your door (wielding an inordinate amount of crap pipe-related gear and equipment) and sexually assault you... in the ass.

Of course, the reason I think the A-Busters are glorified serial rapists, and not entrepreneurs, is because I'm not currently existing in 1985. You see, back in 1985, door-to-door anal rape startups were seen as no big deal. But in today's outrage obsessed nothing-verse, companies like, The A-Busters; Rectally Yours; Sphinctersoft (softening your sphincter since the mid-1970s); and All Up In Your Bum, Inc., fail within the first two months. And not because of poor business acumen on the part of the owners. But because door-to-door anal rape is frowned upon. And I, for one, I'm glad it's frowned upon, as there's nothing funny about door-to-door anal rape. On the other hand, that doesn't mean I can't enjoy a thoroughly repugnant, occasionally hilarious hour long ode to the door-to-door anal rapists of yore. And that's exactly what this is.

Besides, even the most humour-challenged, politically correct nincompoop will love the film's catchy theme song. Written by Johnny Jump-Up (a.k.a. Antonio Passolini) and Wavy Dave, the song, which is playful, funny, clever and frightfully stupid all at once, will bore its way into your brain, and remain there for the rest of your life. Seriously, it's the kind of song that can and will pop into your head at any given moment.

"I'm going to call the White Bunbusters. And no matter where you are, they're going to bust your fucking buns. White Bunbusters, they're really going to bust some buns. White Bunbusters, they will fuck anything but nuns. "They're the WHITE!!!! Bunbusters! WHITE!!!! Bunbusters! Call White Bunbusters!

The almost five minute long song plays over the opening credits, which boasts a montage of all the wacky degradation we'll be "enjoying" over the next hour or so. If you don't like what you see during the opening credits, you might as well tap out now, as the montage is a pretty accurate sampling of what's to come. However, you would be a fool to "tap out." Unless, of course, you have an aversion to killer thighs. You don't, right? Have an aversion to killer thighs? That would be sad if you did. Anyway, the prospect of being rewarded with the sight of Shanna McCullough's shapely thighs encased in red fishnet stockings is worth any mental anguish you might suffer at the hands of this double-penetration opus.

An opus that opens with John Doe (Tom Byron) plowing into his wife's vagina with his cock. Utilizing the missionary position, John's bunny slipper-wearing wife, Jane (Shanna McCullough), doesn't seem all that responsive to the humping her hubby is putting forth for their mutual benefit. Checking her nails in-between his lackluster thrusts, Jane looks like she would rather be somewhere else.

Noticing this, John decides to mix things up, and sheepishly tries to insert his cock into Jane's anus. This hangdog attempt to penetrate her chocolate starfish does not go over well, as Jane protests by telling John, flat out, that she doesn't want his dick in her ass. Realizing he's in a no win situation, John backs down, and says to Jane: "Will you at least suck my penis." After thinking it over for two, maybe three seconds, Jane agrees and takes John's dingle-doodle  tonsil deep until it spews tiny droplets of cum all over her face and hair.

At work the next day, John and Bob (Greg Rome), his friend/co-worker, are sitting around the offices (their desks, by the way, are made out cardboard boxes) of ACME Proctological listening to Dark Brothers radio (the official radio station of the Dark Brothers). When the topic of anal sex comes up, Bob tells John all about the A-Busters. Actually, the ad for the A-Busters that airs on Dark Brothers radio does most of the legwork when it came to explaining the A-Buster's modus operandi. Either way, it's obvious that John is intrigued.

We get more information about their unique methods in the next scene, when we're whisked into the offices of the A-Busters. From what I could gather, the A-Busters seem to be two guys, Tex (Marc Wallice) and Doc (Steve Powers), who share an office (like ACME Proctological, their desks are made out of cardboard boxes). And every once and awhile, their phone would ring. This usually prompts them to yell "Ayyyyyyy-Busters!" When they do this, you can almost guarantee that some poor woman is about to get her buns busted.

Since it wouldn't be a Gregory Dark movie without Jack Baker, the animated actor appears briefly as a man whose wife (Erica Boyer) won't let him fuck her in the ass. When the A-Busters show up, wearing their trademark orange-tinted goggles, work boots, yellow suspenders and orange baseball hats, they grab Erica Boyer and begin to violate her. Eventually, the A-Buster's cocks wind up in Erica Boyer's vagina and butthole simultaneously. I thought it was odd that the A-Busters felt the need to penetrate Erica Boyer vaginally as well. I mean, they're the "A"-Busters," not the "V"-Busters." Whatever, they ejaculate seminal fluid all over Erica Boyer and Jack Baker pays them. Wait, did Jack Baker just pay two guys dressed like gay disco plumbers to rape his wife? Again, I'm not quite sure what kind service the A-Busters actually provide.

After the A-Busters are finished busting Erica Boyer's buns, you'll notice that Tex and Doc spray their flaccid bun busters with some kind of liquid. I'm guessing it's disinfectant. Sort of like, Lysol Antibacterial Kitchen Cleaner. Except instead of spraying it on counter tops, they spray it on their cocks.

Since Jane still isn't providing John with the anal delights he desires, John decides to stick his cock in the ass that belongs to Bobette (Keli Richards), Bob's wife. However, as Bob clearly states, this is a one time deal. The look on John's face when Bob says, "I can't let you come over every night and fuck my wife in the ass," spoke volumes, as I bet he genuinely thought that this could be a regular thing.

When a budding secretary (Jennifer Noxt) shows up at ACME Proctological for a job interview, John and Bob pepper her with questions: "How's your typing? Do you take shorthand? Dictation? Do you take it up the ass?" Anyone care to guess what happens next? That's right, they fuck her in the ass. Well, one of them fucks her in the ass, the other one makes his home in her vagina.

The great thing about this scene, beside the fact that both cocks move during the double-penetration phase (in scenes like these, one cock typically does the bulk of the thrusting, while the other one just sort of sits there languishing in a vaginal/colon stew), is that Jennifer Noxt's Velveeta is the only woman who is seen standing in this film. Come to think of it, they actually showing her walking at one point. This blew my mind. Seriously. Standing and walking? Madness.
  

After the A-Busters are done busting the buns of a new wave punk porn star named Cha-Cha (Rachel Ryan), she has sex with some guy (Dick Rambone) she had hidden under her bed (talk about filler).

Will John call the A-Busters, and get his rectal reward... Hold on. Let's say he does call them, and they come over and penetrate Jane's a-hole with their cocks. What happens next? Call me crazy, but what I think the film is trying to say is this: After the A-Busters have "serviced" your wife, she will allow you to penetrate her anus with your penis. Personally, if my husband did this to me, I would call the police. That being said, this is the type of film that shows a woman standing and walking for a split-second, while the rest of the time they're usually lying spread eagle or on all fours with their asses in the air. In other words, good luck getting the cops to be on your side.
   

  
On the bright side, all the women, except for Erica Boyer, wear lace fingerless gloves, stockings, high heel shoes during their sex scenes. And I did laugh when Shanna McCullough says to John: "My Mama told me, Jane, don't stick things in your ass."  [If you want to be cool like me and watch White Bunbusters, head on down to Eyesore Cinema and they will hook you up. Tell 'em Yum-Yum sent ya.]

Strange Behavior (Michael Laughlin, 1981)

Who's ready for some Aussie horror fun from the early 1980s? Okay, you might not be, but I know I sure am. I've got a comically large can of Fosters. I'm wearing my lucky Akubra. Hell, I've even picked up some extra shrimp just in case some asks me to throw another shrimp on the barbie. Let's do this, mate. And... wait a minute. Why do these guys sound like yanks? At first I thought that Strange Behavior (a.k.a. Dead Kids) was going to be about an American father who moves down under with his teenage son after his wife dies. Then it dawned on me, everyone is American. It just goes to show that you shouldn't assume that all Aussie movies are going to be about Australians. Speaking of Aussie movies, remember my review for the Aussie body melt movie called Body Melt? Of course you do. Well, do you happen to recall what my biggest problem with that film was? No, it had nothing to do with the film itself. You might recollect that I spent a good chunk of my Body Melt review scolding my massive readership for not making me aware of films that boast milfy lady scientists wielding syringes that contain iridescent liquid.

Now, I don't want to sound like a broken record. But what the fuck, guys? Strange Behavior is probably the ultimate film in the milfy lady scientists wielding syringes that contain iridescent liquid genre. Think about it. Not only is Gwen Parkinson (Fiona Lewis) a lady, she's milfy, and, judging by her lab coat, she's definitely a scientist. On top of that, it looks like she's holding a syringe in her hand, and the liquid inside said syringe has a iridescent sheen to it. So, I'll say it again, what the fuck, guys?

Please, for the love of God. If you know of any other movies that boast milfy lady scientists wielding syringes that contain iridescent liquid, don't hesitate to inform me of their existence. I want to watch as many films that boast milfy lady scientists wielding syringes that contain iridescent liquid as I possibly can. Thank you.

If being a film that boasts a milfy lady scientist who wields a syringe that contains iridescent liquid wasn't enough, Strange Behavior has so much more going for it. I know, who needs more when you have a milfy lady scientist who wields a syringe that contains iridescent liquid  in your motion picture? But I think most of you will agree that slightly chubby gals with a penchant for dismemberment compliment milfy lady scientist who wields a syringe that contains iridescent liquid perfectly. As do wild costume parties that feature choreographed dance numbers.

It should be noted that I'm a tad uncomfortable calling the gal with the penchant for dismemberment "slightly chubby." Truth be told, she is slightly chubby when compared to, say, Dey Young, but the way she's characterized as "fat" and "overweight" by the authorities irked me like you wouldn't believe. Personally, I loved her shape. I mean, the way that purple dress hugged her curves was mind-blowing.

What's that? Why were the  authorities characterizing her as such in the first place? It's simple, really. It had nothing to do with her size (which, like I said, could be described as "slightly chubby"), it was because of her penchant for dismemberment. You see, the authorities tend to frown upon dismemberment, especially human dismemberment. As you might expect, when word gets out that a slightly chubby gal with a penchant for dismemberment is roaming around Galesburg, Illinois doing just that, dismembering people while being slightly chubby, the authorities spring into action.

You're probably thinking to yourself: What could possibly cause a slightly chubby gal to develop a penchant for dismemberment? I have nine words for: Milfy lady scientists wielding syringes that contain iridescent liquid. Seriously, was there ever any doubt that a card carrying milfy lady scientist was the main reason why a slightly chubby gal developed a penchant for dismemberment? I didn't think so.

If you were to judge this film based solely on its opening scene, you would be forgiven for thinking that it was going to be yet another lame teens in peril horror film. Sure, the fact that the film's youthful screenwriter, Bill Condon (Gods and Monsters), plays the the first victim does make the scene a tad more interesting. But I only found out that was Bill Condon after the fact. At any rate, as far as opening scenes go, I'd have to declare the one that opens Strange Behavior to be lackluster.

As I was thinking about what movie to watch next, the dark synths of Tangerine Dream began to percolate on the soundtrack. In all honesty, I think their music is the first thing we hear as the film begins. Either way, once I noticed the music of Tangerine Dream, I immediately put my plans to watch another movie on hold.

Lacking money, two Galesburg, Illinois teens, Peter Brady (Dan Shor) and Oliver (Marc McClure), decide to earn some quick cash by allowing themselves to be experimented on by scientists at the local university. Since Oliver's already been once, he takes Pete over there to meet Fiona Lewis' Gwen Parkinson, the ultimate milfy lady scientist. An appointment is set up for Pete for the following day. In the meantime, who's ready to party?

If there was any doubt as to whether Strange Behavior was worthy of my time, there isn't the moment Pete and Oliver knock on the door of a suburban house and Nicole Anderson (dressed as the Flying Nun) answers it. After she declares that she isn't wearing any panties, Peter and Oliver enter just as Lou Christie's "Lighten' Strikes" is starting to play.

As if the sight of a bunch of teens dressed in wacky TV character themed costumes dancing enthusiastically to "Lightin' Strikes" wasn't enough, the enthusiastic dancing slowly morphs into a choreographed dance number.

I have to admit, I'm having a bit of trouble deciding if the party sequence in Strange Behavior is one of the greatest scenes in film history or simply the greatest scene in film history. Nevertheless, the fanciful, on the cusp of being surreal tone of the party scene officially made me a fan of this movie. And get this, the scenes where a milfy lady scientist wields a syringe filled with iridescent liquid and a slightly chubby gal with a penchant for dismemberment makes with the dismembering are still to come.

The fact that the party scene also features a pretty decent slasher sequence is basically icing on the cake; a knife-wielding killer in a Tor Johnson mask chases a young party guest (Elizabeth Cheshire) across a lawn, famously hacking at her heels.

Despite the grisly events that took place at the party, Pete manages to keep his appointment with the milfy lady scientist (they're going to pay him a hundred bucks). After taking a pill (one that will supposedly make him smarter), Pete goes on a date with Dey Young, who plays Caroline, the lab's receptionist. Hey, would you look at that. It would seem that pill is already starting to work, as Pete is literally charming the pants off Dey Young.

Overwhelmed by the string of murders that have been plaguing Galesburg, Illinois as of late, the chief of police, John Brady (Michael Murphy), Pete's father, asks for help from Chicago, who send a detective who looks like he stepped right out of a 1940s film noir.

It looks like he's going to need all the help he can get, as Mrs. Haskell (Beryl Te Wiata) comes home to find some kid named Timothy dismembered in a bathtub. Now, I'm not sure what Mrs. Haskell's relationship is to Timothy (she's seen doing dishes for Pete and his father in an earlier scene), but nonetheless, her confrontation with Paula (B. Courtenay Leigh), a slightly chubby gal with a penchant for dismemberment, is downright sexy. (Um, Sexy?!? Paula stabs Mrs. Haskell with a knife, then chases her downstairs, where she slits her throat.) What's your point? I find the sight of slightly chubby women murdering women who not even close to being slightly chubby to be extremely arousing. You got a problem with that?

I also like it when milfy lady scientists inject iridescent liquid directly into people's eye sockets. Which is exactly what happens to Pete when he shows up for his second appointment.

Call me crazy, but I think the drugs the milfy lady scientist is giving to her test subjects are somehow connected to the recent spate of homicides. (You already came to that conclusion fifty paragraphs ago.) I did? Oh well.

At any rate, if you're into American-Australian horror films that are made in New Zealand that sport milfy lady scientists who wield syringes that contain iridescent liquid, slightly chubby gals with a penchant for dismemberment, the band Pop Mechanix ("Jumping Out a Window" and "The Ritz" are both on the soundtrack), Tangerine Dream, the sight of Louise Fletcher (Kai Winn from Star Trek: Deep Space Nine) holding a yellow slip while wearing a purple dress, and choreographed dance numbers, you'd be insane not to watch this movie at least once.