Flesh Gordon (Howard Ziehm, 1974)

The tenants of porno chic and state of the art visual effects repeatedly collide with one another in the deliriously campy Flesh Gordon, the raunchy space adventure from... Ugh, I don't like that at all. I mean, I sound like a real douchebag. Speaking of things you insert in [hopefully] damp places, is this first film to feature the word dildo as an insult? I have no way of backing this up, but I think this is where dildo started its long, arduous journey to becoming a respectable putdown. I know Chevy Chase and others of his ilk used the term as far back as the late '70s, but this is the film, directed by Howard Ziehm and Michael Benvensiste, where it all began. If I'm wrong, I will happily retract everything I just said. In the meantime, until I'm told otherwise, the word "dildo" was first used in Flesh Gordon, and that's that. Oh, and you might have noticed that I used the word douchebag in the lead up to my dildo-based proclamation. I had read somewhere that Lily Tomlin considered the word douchebag to be sexist when used by males in a perjorative context. When I read this, I agreed, and ceased using the word from that day forward. However, it later came to my attention that Lily Tomlin disapproved of the classic music video for the Devo song "Whip It" back in the '80s (again, something to do with it being sexist). When I heard this I thought to myself: I can't take linguistic council from a person who's not down with Devo. So, without fail, I re-entered "douchebag," "douche" and "douchebaggery" back into my vocabulary. In conclusion, let that be a lesson to all of you. (And that is?) Sorry. Don't fuck with Devo.

Favourite uses of the word dildo in a movie or television show: "Goddamn-dipshit-Rodriguez-gypsy-dildo-punks." - Bud, Repo Man and "I don't think that I need to sit with you fuckin' dildos anymore." - John, The Breakfast Club

Favourite use of Devo in a movie or television show: "Going Under" (from the album, "New Traditionalists"), Miami Vice (from the episode, "Heart of Darkness")

Thank you for indulging in my mini-vocabulary rant. We now return to our regularly scheduled movie review.

I was going to start complaining about how Flesh Gordon wasn't sleazy enough for my taste. But then it dawned on me. There's a scene in the film where Flesh Gordon (Jason Williams), Dr. Flexi Jerkoff (Joseph Hudgins) and Prince Precious (Lance Larsen) try to shake loose a power pastie that's been lodged in the hard to reach confines of Rene Bond's well-travelled vagina. (Hold on, if her vagina is hard to reach, how can it be well-travelled at the same time?) You really want me to answer that? Never mind. Anyway, the film is definitely sleazy enough. Trust me, I should now.

A power pastie, by the way, is a powerful weapon Queen Amora (Nora Wieternik) bestows on Flesh Gordon after they make sweet love in her giant space swan. And when worn on the nipples, as Dr. Jerkoff does on several occasions, they enable the person wearing them to fire laser beams... from their nipples. (Where else would they fire from?) I just wanted to make sure people realized they fired laser beams from their nipples and not somewhere more conventional -- you know, like, your eyes or from the tip of your penis.

How the power pasties bestowed to Flesh Gordon by Queen Amora ended up on Dr. Jerkoff's nipples and then ultimately crammed into Rene Bond's well-travelled vagina is a long and complicated story. However, since I'm not one to shirk from things that are long, or things that are complicated for that matter, I plan on diving head first into this film's murky stew with my trademark gusto. (Don't forget your trademark verve.) Oh, yes, how could I forget. There will be verve.

After a lengthy disclaimer that states that this film is a satire and is in no way to be confused with Flash Gordon, and a beautiful opening credits sequence (Corny Cole), the film begins, where else, on Earth. But not the Earth you and I know, no, this Earth is overrun with an affliction known simply as sex madness.

The story finds Flesh Gordon meeting Dale Ardor (Suzanne Fields) aboard a plane. When the plane's pilots leave the cockpit in order to partake in the impromptu orgy that has broken out in coach, the plane begins to crash. Jumping out of the plane via a parachute, Flesh and Dale land near the secret lab belonging to Dr. Flexi Jerkoff. Before I continue, I'd like to point out that one of the pilots unsuccessfully tries to put Dale's foot in his mouth during the coach orgy and that Dale gives Flesh a blow job while they parachuted to safety.

Oh, and if the plot so far sounds eerily similar to the plot of the Flash Gordon film that came out years later, that's because it is...eerily similar.

Determined to find out what's causing the Earth's population to behave like a bunch of sex-craved maniacs, Flesh and Dale agree to accompany Dr. Jerkoff in his penis-shaped spaceship.

As expected, their journey leads them to Planet Porno, a dastardly rock ruled with a limp-wristed fist by Emperor Wang the Perverted (William Dennis Hunt), an impotent tyrant who commands an army of dickless chuckleheads.

Just as Emperor Wang is about to put Flesh in the "sex depletor" (they're captured shortly after crash landing on the planet), Amora, Queen of Darkness and the Guardian of the Sacred Power Pasties, appears in Wang's thrown room and states that she wants Flesh for herself. In order to claim Flesh, Wang says that he must wrestle three deranged women in the arena. When Flesh wins (Flesh can wrestle deranged women with his eyes closed), Amora swoops in to claim her prize. Ushering him aboard her giant space swan, Amora fucks Flesh utilizing a series of thrusting motions and the occasional moan-assisted hump.

Meanwhile, Dale is to marry Wang (he says of Dale upon meeting her, "My eyes have never behold such loveliness") and Dr. Jerkoff is being forced to do science stuff in Wang's lab. While Dr. Jerkoff is smart enough to outwit his captors and escape (quickly reuniting with Flesh), Dale isn't so lucky. (Are you saying Dale is too stupid to escape.) I wouldn't exactly go that far, but she isn't the brightest bulb in the egg carton of life, if you know what I mean.

I'll give her this, she sure can writhe. (Writhe?) Yeah, writhe. You know, squirm, wriggle, twist... Writhe! At any rate, when Flesh and Jerkoff crash Wang's wedding, an enchanting woman with long black hair ushers Dale to the Amazon Underground of Porno. A girly, subterranean realm ruled by Candy Samples (a unruly dyke wearing a ruby-encrusted eye-patch and metal leg brace), Dale has her clothes ripped from her body (all that remains is a single black hold up stocking) and is strapped to a gurney. Kudos to the director(s) for providing us with an overhead shot of Dale as she writhes on the gurney in one black hold up stocking. I love writhing.

(Did it ever occur to you that the fact that the Amazonians left one of Dale's black hold up stockings on wasn't accident?) Huh? (If you look closely, you'll notice that Candy Samples is wearing one black hold up stocking as well. However, it can't be mandatory, as some of the other Amazon women are clearly wearing two hold up stockings.) Nonetheless, after inspecting the troops (checking to make sure their nipples were in order), Candy Samples chooses a black Amazonian woman to be the first to ravish Dale. Midway through the black lesbian rape, Flesh and Jerkoff show up to break things up. And with the help of Prince Precious, a Robin Hood-esque character who digs gay sex and knitting just as much as he hates Wang, they manage to usher Dale to safety.

Am I crazy or are the special effects in this film pretty great? After doing some mild research, I soon discovered that the majority of the effects crew on Flesh Gordon went on to have successful careers in the visual effects field. Seriously, the stop-motion animation beetle, the one-eyed penis monsters, and King Kong-style creature (voiced by Craig T. Nelson) were all well done. The robots with drill penises were excellent, too (though, they weren't created using stop-motion animation).

Grabbing Dale, the King Kong-style creature takes her to the top of the Tower of Murder (it's where he likes to hang out). Why am I mentioning this? Oh, yeah, when the creature gets Dale to the top, he says, "I wonder how you'd look in black nylons." All right King Kong-style creature who appears at the end of Flesh Gordon, I like the where your head is at.

Troop Beverly Hills (Jeff Kanew, 1989)

Legend has it, that I can watch anything, and I do mean anything. Seriously, put it in front of me and I will look at it. However, this viewing prowess was surprisingly not needed as I bravely entered the kooky realm of Troop Beverly Hills (a.k.a. Die Wilde von Beverly Hills), an unfairly maligned slice of cookie-accented enchantment about a ragtag troop of Wilderness Girls from Beverly Hills, a chichi city in Los Angeles County. The act of sitting through this delightfully nutritious crumpet disguised as filmed entertainment was one of the most pleasant experiences I have ever had. How so? Well, doing its part to advance secular values at every turn and a staunch promoter of individuality and moderate Philistinism, the film uses the tyrannical netherworld that is your average outdoor jamboree to shed light on the scourge that is Groupthink. You see, unlike the crap excuses for movies being made today (you know, the kind that only seem interested in demonizing the people of Eastern Europe, glorifying rape, and promoting apathy), this exercise in undiluted fabulousness instills its audience with a positive message that doesn't make them want to rape or act apathetic in public. No, this film makes its watchers want to go forth and do utilitarian things of a nonspecific nature. Educational to an almost egregious level of learnedness, the Jeff Kanew (Revenge of the Nerds) directed opus is, like I said, about a troop of Wilderness Girls from Beverly Hills. Yet, it's about so much more. These well-off girls and their overly pampered troop leader may represent the most mollycoddled segment of Earth society, but they also prove that disenfranchisement does not discriminate. In charge of demonstrating this wonky point is the flaky Phyliss Nefler (Shelley Long), the leader of the much ridiculed troop.

On the surface, she may seem shallow and materialistic, but the amount of selflessness the stylish Phyliss displays in this film was quite extraordinary. I mean, she takes care of her troop obligations while in the middle divorce proceedings with her husband (Craig T. Nelson), makes sure her daughter Hannah (an adorable Jenny Lewis) is coping with the split, and repeatedly clashes with the fascistic leader of the Culver City Red Feathers, Velda (Betty Thomas).

I don't know about you, but I'd say the fashion adventurous Phyliss is the least selfish person in that particular zip code. Sure, her troop has never sold a single a cookie or earned a single patch, but as Phyliss' maid Rosa (Shelley Morrison) would say, "We don't need no stinking patches."

Utilizing a truckload of can-do spirit, the showy bunch make up there own patches. Really, who needs a fire starting patch, when you can earn a sushi appreciation patch or a gardening with glamour patch? And selling cookies is a breeze when peddled at a fashion fund-raiser celebrating khaki where an ultra-chic Pia Zadora shows up "smashingly sheathed" in the what Phyliss calls "the wilderness look."

A brightly garbed force of nature, Shelley Long is a comedic whirlwind in Troop Beverly Hills. Funny to the point of hilarity and sexy to the point of something that is similar to the word "sexy," the former television barmaid rightly jettisoned those self-satisfied pricks in Boston in order to create one of the most electrifying characters ever to grace the screen that movies are a shown on. Sporting an impish mane of red hair and one visually astounding outfit after another, Shelley attacks the film's clever dialogue (a rich cornucopia of puns and wordplay) with an unembellished ferocity.

Even though she peppers her sentences with a smattering of French, I loved the way Miss Long spoke English in this film; in that, I could understand everything she said from start to finish. She's doesn't mumble and every word is pronounced with an understandable flair. It's no simple task, but Shelley has somehow turned a clothing-obsessed shopaholic, who equates getting a perm as a suitable premise for a campfire horror story, into a sympathetic heroine worthy of a compassionate gaze.

Demure and luminous simultaneously, Shelley confronts fascism, teaches us that too many accessories can clutter an outfit, and says "shit" three times in the presence of youngish children (two of them being Carla Gugino and Kellie Martin). Not bad for a film that a has her dancing the Freddy twice and participating a staged musical number about cookies.

Oh, and the animated opening credits were off the fishing hook in terms of new wave and 1950's inspired coolness.

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