Mission: Killfast (Ted V. Mikels, 1991)

If this film is really from 1991, then why does Sharon Hughes' hair look exactly the way it does in Chained Heat... from 1983? Of course, I found out later that Ted V. Mikels' Mission: Killfast was actually shot in the early 1980s but not released until 1991. But still, the amount of 1980s stuff in this film (big hair, Uzis, Jewel Shepard's puffy nipples, etc.) threw me for a loop. I know, I've said in the past that 1991 is more '80s than some years that appeared in the actual 1980s. But this is 1983, or maybe even 1982, we're talking about. Anyway, after clearing up the whole year thing, I decided that I was going to accuse Ted V. Mikels (Corpse Grinders) of ripping off Andy Sidaris. But thanks to the year debacle, it looks like that's not going to happen now (I had this idea that Ted V. Mikels was trying to replicate Andy Sidaris' Girls, Guns and G-Strings formula). Nonetheless, the film, whether it's an Andy Sidaris clone or not, is still a garbage. However, there were certain parts that I did enjoy. Though, I have to say, the film's annoying habit of killing off my favourite female characters did test my patience. I mean, at least four hot babes are murdered in this movie. Either way, the film's fixation with showing Shanti modeling bikinis was wonderfully bizarre. Why is it "wonderfully bizarre"? It's simple, really. You don't often see mature models in movies. Yet, this film features a woman (with, mind you, a shaved head) in, oh, let's say, her early fifties, modeling bikinis... in the middle of the day!

When I saw Shanti (a.k.a. Wendy Altamura) modeling '80s-style swimwear pool side (like I said, in the middle of the day!) at around the eleven minute mark, I thought to myself: Damn, I might have to review this piece of shit.

Then I saw Shanti sending a fax using a fax machine (duh) while wearing a kufi and red thigh-high boots. When I saw this, I was like, Stop it, movie. Don't make me review your stupid ass.

The film ultimately left me no choice when it showed a bikini-clad Shanti posing for photos at the beach. If I didn't have a soft spot for mature women with ultra-short hair, I would have tossed this movie's bloated corpse in the nearest dumpster.

Or would I have? You see, the film introduces us to Sharon Hughes' Catt Valone pretty late in the game. And, I think most people will agree, she's the best non-Shanti thing in this movie. For starters, she's a real actress. And secondly, she has big hair. Think about that. She can recite scripted dialogue in a semi-convincing manner and she has big hair.

I'm afraid the same can't be said for the rest of the chuckleheads who appear in this movie.

The film's supposed "star," Tiger Yang, is adept at kicking people in the face and that's about it.

As for the actors who play the seemingly never-ending cadre of lumpy, middle-aged henchmen, they bring nothing to the table. Hell, one of these lumpy fucks is repeatedly upstaged by a never not pool side leggy blonde floozy. Clearly told by the director to fawn all over this lumpy fuck, the never not pool side leggy blonde floozy gets nowhere with him. Yep, this Crisco-scented tub of reticulated ass-fuckery just sits there as a leggy angel in a black one-piece bathing suit acts circles around him. Or maybe she was overacting? Nah, it was all that tubby asshole's fault. To make matters worse, they have two scenes together.

On the bright side, the never not pool side leggy blonde floozy is the only female character who doesn't die horribly in this film. Yay?

Should I bother doing a synopsis of the film's plot? Um, sure, why not. Let's see if I remember what happens, plot-wise.

A unnamed big-haired brunette steals case containing detonators for an atomic bomb. When the big-haired brunette tries to sell the detonators to a gang of criminals, she winds up dead (she asks for too much money). Not wanting the detonators to fall into the hands of terrorists, the government (lead by Ronald Gregg) enlists the help of Tiger Yang, a retired C.I.A. agent turned martial arts instructor. Detonators. Terrorists. Tiger Yang. Yep, that pretty much covers it.

Did I mention the criminals who steal the detonators run a magazine called "Scam"? No? How strange. At any rate, some of the film's best scenes involve the running of this magazine. Mainly the scenes, where, you guessed it, the milf-tastic Shanti poses for photos.

Fans of older women in headbands will love the fact that Shanti's headbands always match her outfit. (Get the fuck out of here. They can't always match.) Trust me, they always match. Always.

If you're wondering if Jewel Shepard's headband matches her outfit, stop wondering. Her character, in a shocking twist, doesn't wear clothes. (Not even a headband?) Man, you guys and your obsession with ladies in headbands. No, she doesn't wear a headband.

Even though Mission: Killfast is a colossal failure as an action movie (even the explosion effects are laughably bad), the film will definitely satisfy fans of Andy Sidaris/Amir Shervan-style action-adventure films. In other words, if you like gross incompetence and '80s fashion, you might want to check out this out. At the very least, fast-forward to good parts, i.e. the scenes featuring the unknown big-haired brunette, Shanti, Jewel Shepard and Sharon Hughes.

Scenes from the Goldmine (Marc Rocco, 1987)

Do we really need another movie to tell us that the music industry is full of assholes? Since I'm the only one here at the moment, I'll go ahead and answer that question myself. No, we do not. We do, however, need more movies that star the amazing Catherine Mary Stewart, an actress who you might know from Night of the Comet, Nightflyers, Dudes, etc... Oh, and The Apple! (God, how could I forget The Apple?) And Scenes from the Goldmine provides us with more C.M.S. than all those other movies combined. (Even more than The Apple?) Oh, you better believe it. This film is the ultimate C.M.S. experience. Sure, it's premise is basically this: The music industry sucks. But nothing is gonna stop me from enjoying the sight of Catherine Mary Stewart playing keyboards in winklepicklers alongside... (Wait a second. Did you just say, winklepickers?) Yeah, so? (How are you so calm right now?) Trust me, I'm not calm. In fact, my mind is racing like a cocaine-fueled tornado. When the camera zooms in on Catherine's multi-buckle winklepickers while her band was jamming at a local bar at their rehearsal space, I had to stop watching for a minute, as my psyche suddenly found itself inundated with pure, pointy-footed pleasure.

As far as I'm concerned, there's no other type of footwear on the planet that brings me more joy than winklepickers. Okay, creepers make me smile as well. But when it comes right down to it, I'm a winklepicker man through and through. Always have been, always will be.

Of course, I own pair of winklepickers myself. Unfortunately, due to financial constraints, I could only afford a pair of winklepickers that sport two buckles. Don't feel too sorry for me, my two buckle winklepickers and I have had some pretty good times together. It's just that I feel that I could have had an even better time if my winklepickers had more buckles.

Anyway, what caused me to react so intensely to the sight of Catherine Mary Stewart's winklepickers was the fact that they had [are you sitting down?] six(!) buckles (that's a total of twelve all-together). When I would dream about owning a pair of winklepickers that had more than two buckles, I would usually stop at four buckles. So, as you might expect, the sight of C.M.S. wearing a pair with six... (Yeah, yeah, you like pointy, goth-friendly footwear.) You don't understand, they're very important to me.

Besides, I'm sure everyone would rather listen to me bather on and on about winklepickers, than listen to me describe the plot of this toothless jab at the music industry. Yes, people who work for record labels are terrible human beings. We get it.

While it's true, the film, written and directed by Marc Rocco, does cover a lot of familiar territory, it does have a few nice twists here and there. The biggest one being that Niles Dresden (Cameron Dye) of Niles Dresden and The Pieces is just as big of a phoney as the music execs.

To an outsider, the red flags should have started waving immediately. But I guess Debi DiAngelo (Catherine Mary Stewart) was too awestruck by Niles' mega-mullet to think clearly. I mean, the way Niles and the boys, Dennis Lameraux (Timothy B. Schmidt) on bass, and Kenny Bond (John Ford Coley) on drums, fired Stephanie (Pamela Springsteen), their previous keyboard player, should have sent alarm bells ringing in Debi's head. But like I said, his mega-mullet is pretty persuasive.

I know, how can an overgrown clump of hair cause someone to lose touch with reality? It's simple, really, the clump in question is flowing from the back of the head attached to Cameron Dye (Valley Girl), a man whose sharp bone structure could moisten even the most obdurate of panties.

Of course, I don't mean to imply that Debi's new wave panties are soaking wet after successfully auditioning to be the band's new keyboard player. I'm just saying her judgment must have been hampered somewhat. As the quote that opens the film says, "A good girl falls for a wild one every time."

Now that Debi is a fully-fledged member of the Pieces, Harry (Steve Railsback, Lifeforce), the band's manager and Niles' brother, get them a gig at a local club, where Manny Ricci (Joe Pantoliano), an artists and repertoire man for Rush Records, will apparently be in attendance.

Even though the song they play, "Listen To My Heartbeat," is a non-threatening slab of banal mid-80s pop rock if I ever heard one, the band still manages to impress Manny, who tells them to basically keep at it.

After having dinner with her drug addict brother and her disapproving parents (her father, played by Alex Rocco, doesn't like the fact that his daughter is performing at clubs with names like, "The Lingerie"), Debi hangs out at the beach with Dana (Jewel Shepard), her best friend/roommate. It wasn't until near the end of the movie that I realized that Debi's pal was played by Jewel Shepard. I blame the director for this, as he seemed to like to shoot everyone, except for the two leads, from afar; the same goes for Lee Ving, who plays an eccentric music video director.

Taking Manny's advice to keep at it, Niles and the Pieces perform "I Was Just Asking" at their rehearsal space. On top of being my favourite song in the movie, this is the sequence where we first see Catherine Mary Stewart in her six buckle winkpicklers.

In a weird twist, Catherine's winklepickers get more close-ups than both Jewel Shepard and Lee Ving combined.

Speaking of weird twists, the decision to feature three bands performing covers of "Twist and Shout" during Niles and Debi's club crawl courtship sequence was the film's most interesting from a stylistic point of view. Of course, the version I liked the most was the robo-synth one by James House's Roberto Roberto.

Now, I don't want to say too much about what happens after Niles and Debi eventually become a couple. Though, I will say this, Debi should have never shown Niles her giant binder of songs. Seriously, that was a bad decision (you'll see why). But I like said earlier, it's hard to say no to a fully-mulleted Cameron Dye... he's a wild one.

Even though you'd be probably better off watching Ladies and Gentlemen... The Fabulous Stains, Breaking Glass, or even Eddie and the Cruisers, if you're a fan of Catherine Mary Stewart (who does all her own singing), music movies, winklepickers and zebra print, you should probably check this film out. If you can find it (there's hardly any information about this film on the interweb).

My Tutor (George Bowers, 1983)

Who knew Katt Shea, the writer-director of Stripped to Kill and its sequel Stripped to Kill II: Live Girls, had such long, luxurious legs? Oh, you did know that. Well aren't we special. Just to let you know, I'm fully aware that this isn't the most conventional way to start off a review for a film about a dark-haired student who has sex with his blonde-haired tutor. I'm just trying stall long enough until the film's annoyingly catchy theme song leaves my head. Wait a second, shouldn't the fact that the film's theme song is stuck in your head make it easier to type words pertaining to the film in question? You would think that, wouldn't you? But, no. It's actually having the opposite effect. It's true, I don't know who sings the song, but I do know that Webster Lewis and Arthur Hamilton were the one's responsible for writing the music and lyrics. In other words, most of the blame/credit should be hurled in their general direction. One of the main reasons the song that opens My Tutor is so irritating is because it causes me to hum it whenever I think about the bounty of leotard-adorned female crotches heaving and thrusting their way to fitter selves that greet us at the beginning of this Crown International Pictures release. Now, this may come as a shock to you, but not every movie made during the 1980s had an aerobics montage. And that's why, when I do come across a film that does boast an aerobics montage, I have a tendency to hold it against my bosom with a little more gusto than usual. Wow, I had no idea you were so fond of chicks in leotards. Yeah, it's kind of my thing. If that's the case, get ready to smother this film with kisses, because it has not one, but two montages where physically attractive women perform aerobics in an environment that is conducive to stretching, bending, jumping and lunging in tight-fitting clothing. I don't want to sound greedy, but why couldn't they have given us a third aerobics montage? I think most people will agree that the film's finale third could have used an aerobics montage.
 

 

Don't you think a third aerobics montage would have been somewhat redundant? You better be playing devil's advocate, because that's one of the most egregious things I've ever heard. No, hear me out. How many times do you need to see a woman's sweaty crotch being strangled by a thin layer of spandex? It's doesn't make sense, from a storytelling point-of-view, for the filmmaker's to go to the aerobics well a third time. In fact, the second aerobics montage was pushing it a bit. I don't know how to put this, but I think you have lost your mind. And, not only that, you're coming off as a tad square. Square, eh? Yeah, only a real square would openly refuse an extra helping of spandex-ensnared resplendence.
 

 

Speaking of ensnaring things, is Katt Shea's crotch at anytime smothered by a thin layer of spandex during this film? First of all, why do you keep mentioning Katt Shea? She's a director, not an actress. And secondly... Holy crap! It says here that Katt Shea is in this movie. And get this, she apparently plays a mud wrestler. You're obsession is slowly starting to make sense. Anyway, I'll tell you what is pressing against Katt Shea's crotch in a minute. In the meantime, let's pretend this is a normal movie review, written by a normal person.
 

 

What's strange about "You're My Tutor," the song that opens My Tutor, is how disco-friendly it sounds. Call me out of touch, but I didn't think anything that smacked of disco was allowed to be an American movie after it was declared dead sometime in 1980. Nevertheless... Actually, disco, while shunned by mainstream society, was still popular in nightclubs, and, of course, played an important role in the aerobics craze that was sweeping the nation at the time. And since California is in the nation I'm referring to, it makes perfect sense that Terry Green (Caren Kaye) can be seen working up a sweat in a striped leotard in the film's disco-friendly opening scene.
 

 

An opening scene that mixes chicks in headbands doing jumping jacks with shots of Bobby Chrystal (Matt Lattanzi) struggling to finish a French exam.
 

 

I know what you're thinking, aerobics and French exams don't exactly go together. But don't they? Hear me out. One involves a group who have gathered together in a room to improve their bodies, while the other involves a group who seem determined to better themselves as well. Except the latter involves the mind. However, and most people probably don't know this, but the mind is part of the body. And like any muscle, if you don't use every so often, it will become weak and feeble. In other words, you could say Terry and Bobby are both striving to obtain the same thing.
 

 

The only difference being, Bobby fails his French exam. This, as you might expect, causes Bobby much grief, as a high score was needed for him to gain acceptance into Yale. Comforted by his friend Jack (Crispin Glover), Bobby tries to look on the bright... What the hell! Crispin Glover is in this movie! And one of the first things out of his mouth is the line, "Kick out the jams! It's time for summertime fun!" Do you mind? You're interrupting my flow. He may have flunked French, but at least he has Bonnie (Amber Denyse Austin) to confide in. What do you mean they're not dating? Are you telling me that Bonnie isn't interested in Bobby? That doesn't make sense. This problem comes up a lot over the course of My Tutor, and I place the blame squarely on the shoulders of Matt Lattanzi. Why? Look at him. I'm supposed to believe that Matt Lattanzi is a socially awkward teen who's best friends with Crispin Glover? Have you seen this guy without a shirt? He's an Adonis.
 

 

To make matters even more ridiculous, Crispin Glover and his brother Billy (Clark Brandon) decide to take Bobby to a brothel to get, as the kids say, "laid." Why would Matt Lattanzi need to be taken to a whorehouse?!? It doesn't make any sense. He should be beating them off with a stick. On the other hand, maybe he is, after all, socially awkward. I mean, how else can you explain the fact that he falls asleep on Kitten Natividad's breasts? I guess you can be handsome and socially awkward. It's not something I've ever seen, but I guess it could happen.
 

 

It doesn't help that Crispin Glover is his best friend, as he is the king of socially awkward. Though, I was a tad surprised by how Crispin Glover reacted to being tied up and whipped by Louisa (Shelley Tayor Morgan), a blonde dominatrix. Instead of enjoying the experience, Crispin freaks out and runs screaming from the room. Yep, you heard right: Crispin Hellion Glover's character in My Tutor isn't into sadomasochism. So, let me get this straight. The über-gorgeous Matt Lattanzi, that's right, I said "über," plays a dork who likes astronomy, and Crispin Glover, the future king of the echo people, plays a guy (one who wears sock garters in the late 20th century) who's not into being whipped by sexy blondes in black stockings? It looks that way. 
 

 

Since the movie is actually about Bobby's relationship with Terry Green, the freelance French teacher. It's about time we met her, don't you think? Hired by Bobby's father, Mr. Chrystal (Kevin McCarthy), Terry is told that she will get a 10,000 dollar bonus if she succeeds at getting Bobby's French grade up into the mid-80s. Of course, Bobby doesn't know about this so-called bonus, which will probably cause some drama down the road.
 

 

Did anyone else notice they way Mr. Chrystal looked at Terry's crossed legs as she was being interviewed for the tutoring job? No? Well, I did. Actually, it's not that hard to spot.
 

 

To say that Terry has her work cut out for her is a bit of an understatement, as her first pool side French lesson does not go all that well; Bobby seems more interested in Terry's social life than French verbs.    
 

 

If you thought Jack and Billy were going to let the debacle at the brothel stop them from trying to get laid, you obviously know nothing about teenage boys. Taking Bobby to see Sylvia (Graem McGavin), a woman who works at a nearby burger joint, the plan is to have sex with her in the parking lot while she's on her break. I thought it was nice of Sylvia to rent out her vagina to a trio of down of their luck teens. Only problem is, Sylvia's boyfriend is in a bike gang, and they're rumbling into the burger joint parking lot as we speak.
 

 

Having failed to penetrate the pussies belonging to Kitten Natividad and Graem McGavin over the course of the two subsequent nights, Bobby is clearly itching for some poontang. Don't be crude. Uh, I mean, Bobby currently possesses a profound desire to experience a raucous bout of tasteful coitus with a willing member of the opposite sex. And you know who's a member of the opposite sex? That's right, Terry Green. And just like her interview with Mr. Chrystal, Terry induces hardness via the sight of her legs crossed. Except, instead of deploying them in a stuffy office with the aid of a modest white dress, Terry unleashes her gams pool side with the backing of a pair of pink shorts. The sight of her legs crossed causes Bobby, in a veiled attempt to cool off his inflamed genitals, to jump in the pool.
 

 

You can tell that Bobby that is more focused on his French lessons after dampening his erection in the pool. And this new-found focus can be seen in his grade (his test score went from a 55 to an 80 in under two weeks). However, as most people know, teenage boys have trouble focusing on multiple things at once, and Bobby's focus is also squarely on Terry herself. Whether watching her take midnight swims or doing aerobics down at the local health club, Bobby is obsessed with Terry.
 

 

If he's so obsessed with Terry, why is Bobby fantasizing about having sex with Jewel Shepard? Playing "Girl in Phone Booth," Jewel briefly appears in a fantasy sequence, where Bobby pulls over to the side of the road (on his red Vespa), to watch her talk on the phone. In all honesty, I can't really explain the purpose of this scene; I guess it's supposed to remind us that Bobby is still a horny teenager. Either way, as a Jewel Shepard fan, I appreciated its inclusion.
 

 

Just because Bobby's focus is elsewhere, that doesn't mean Jack and Billy are going to stop trying to get laid. And they think they have found the surefire way to achieve this goal: Exotic All-Female Mud Wrestlin'. To the surprise of virtually no one, their attempt to woo two female mud wrestlers by jumping in the ring with them doesn't exactly go as planned. The great thing about the mud wrestlin' sequence is the appearance of filmmaker Katt Shea as one of the mud wrestlers; she's the one with the insanely longs legs wearing the leopard print bathing suit.
 

 

Someone should tell Katt Shea's mud wrestler character that she's not naked, as she is clearly wearing a pair of red panties. Huh? After Billy tears off her blue dress, Katt Shea starts screaming, "I'm naked, I'm naked!" over and over again.
 

 

In a shout out to The Graduate, the film that started the whole older woman, younger man trend, a business partner of Mr. Chrystal pulls Bobby aside during his elaborate birthday party (so elaborate, that his mom, the alluring Arlene Golonka, booked a new wave band who sound like Devo and look like Spandau Ballet), to tell him the future is in "computer chips."
 

 

As expected, Bobby and Terry eventually develop feelings for one another. But, like I said, how will Bobby react when he finds out that Terry is being paid 10,000 dollars to teach him French? Nonetheless, I thought Matt Lattanzi and Caren Kaye had excellent chemistry together as the proponents of this film's non-existent agenda. Lighthearted and innocuous, My Tutor harkens back to a time when we could sympathize with the privileged son of a super-rich businessman who is too handsome for words.