Porky's (Bob Clark, 1981)

It's finally come to this. I'm writing about Bob Clark's Porky's, the most successful Canadian movie of all-time. What's that? You didn't know Porky's was Canadian? Yeah, well, it is. Whenever you see Doug McGrath (Goin' Down the Road), Art Hindle (The Brood) and Kim Cattrall (Mannequin) in the same movie, chances are, it's Canadian. Anyway, I can't believe I'm about to review Porky's. It's not that the film is beneath me or anything like that. It's just that I've seen it so many times. Or have I? You see, Porky's is one of those films I've seen hundreds of times, but never from start to finish. What I think I'm trying to say is, I've gone out of my way more times than I care to admit to watch Coach Brackett fuck Miss Honeywell in the boys locker room. In other words, what happens before and after this scene has always been a bit of a mystery to me. Okay, maybe it's not a mystery, but I'm sure nothing that occurs before or after the sight of Kim Cattrall being boned on a pile of dirty gym socks can top it in terms of being iconic and junk. And trust me, it's iconic. Whenever Porky's would air on late night television back when I was a smallish person, I would stop everything I was doing the moment I saw Kim Cattrall in a gymnasium setting. Only problem being, there are, like, four separate scenes that feature Kim Cattrall in a gymnasium setting. Yeah, I said, four (there's a shitload of gym in this movie).

On top of there being four separate Kim Cattrall-related gym scenes, there's an intolerance subplot and a child abuse subplot. Though, to be fair, these two subplots are kind of related, as they both involve Tim (Cyril O'Reilly), a rampant anti-Semite with a dick for a dad. So, as you can see, there's a lot of stuff to wade through to get to my favourite scene.

(Given that you have now seen Porky's from start to finish for the first time, the big question is: Is the Coach Brackett and Miss Honeywell locker room sex scene still your favourite scene?) After giving it much thought, I've decided... What am I talking about? Of course it's still my favourite scene. Did I mention that Kim Cattrall is fucked on a pile of dirty gym socks? I did? Good. Did I mention that she wears a blue skirt that's the size of a dish towel? No? Well, she totally does... wear a blue skirt that can't be bigger than a dish towel.

The coolest thing about watching the entire film is that I got to see the build up to Coach Brackett and Miss Honeywell's locker room tryst.

It all starts in the gymnasium of Angel Beach High - located in the swampy wilds of Florida (it's 1954, by the way), when Coach Warren (Doug McGrath) implies to Coach Brackett (Boyd Gaines) that Miss Honeywell (Kim Cattrall) is a demon in the sack. No, actually, he implies that she's like Lassie, and that if you take her up the boy's locker room, she'll have sex with you. Either way, Coach Brackett is curious to learn more about Miss Honeywell and her Lassie-complex.

Even though Coach Warren tries his best inform his co-worker that he's about to be taken on the vaginal ride of his life, Coach Brackett still doesn't seem to fully-comprehend the magnitude of the sex fiend he currently has access to.

If only there was a way to get her up to the boy's locker room. It's no secret, but Coach Brackett finally does manage to get Miss Honeywell up there. And when he does, the whole school's going to find out why Miss Honeywell is called "Lassie." I'm guessing she's called that because her moans, or, I should say, her howls of pleasure, are canine-like in their application.

While the sight of Coach Brackett fruitlessly attempting to stifle Miss Honeywell's howling mouth hole as he plowed into her silky smooth vagina hole with his erect penis is the only sane reason anyone would watch this movie more than once. I have to say, Doug McGrath's equally fruitless attempt to stifle his laughter as he listened to Miss Honeywell howl is just important to the scene's success.

In fact, the film's two funniest scenes both involve Doug McGrath failing miserably when it came to stifling his laughter. The first one, like I've already mentioned, involves him trying not to laugh when he hears Kim Cattrall being screwed upstairs. And the second one has him unsuccessfully trying not to laugh as he listens to Miss Balbricker (Nancy Parsons) explain to the school's prudish principal that she wants put out an all-points bulletin for the teenage boy-penis she saw (and grabbed onto for a spell) in the girl's shower.

Convinced that the wayward adolescent cock belongs to Tommy (Wyatt Knight), Miss Balbricker wants the principal to allow her to stage a sort of penis lineup. As you might expect, Miss Balbricker's emphatic plea comes off as funny to the male coaching staff.

However, there's actually more to Miss Balbricker's grievance than simply a fugitive pecker. Ridiculed, fat shamed and sexually humiliated throughout the film by Tommy, Miss Balbricker sees the penis in the shower incident as her last chance to give Tommy his comeuppance through conventional channels. Of course, it being 1954, no comeuppance is forthcoming. And white male privilege continues unabated... for a little while longer.

Someone clearly benefiting from white male privilege is Dan Monahan's Pee Wee, a short basketball player with a small penis. Wait a minute, small penis?!? The opening scene shows Pee Wee waking up with quite the pup tent. Sure, he's not sporting John Holmes-quality morning wood, but it's not exactly tiny either. What gives?

Desperate to get laid, Pee Wee begs his friends to let him attend a gang-bang party they plan on holding in a shack in the woods. Only problem being, the whole thing is a ruse, as his friends have hired a large black man to play the hooker's machete-wielding husband.

Hold on, why am I writing about the Pee Wee subplot? Other than the "Mike Hunt" crank call he makes to Wendy (Kaki Hunter), this Pee Wee guy is a bit of a bore. Oh, and he calls "Blubber McNeil" a "lard ass" during the famous shower peepshow/glory-hole scene. Hey, Pee Wee. Just because "Blubber McNeil" doesn't fit into your narrow view of feminine beauty, doesn't give you to right to call people hurtful names. I know, I just got finished stating that white male privilege basically gives you that right, and she was blocking your view, but what you did was totally uncool.

After the shower peepshow scene, a traumatized Miss Balbricker tries to convince the school's principal to take disciplinary action against Tommy (he inadvertently taunts Miss Balbricker with his tallywacker through a hole in the shower wall). When this scenes ends, the credits should begin to role. But they don't. What we get instead is a thirty minute plus sequence where the gang, including Billy (Mark Herrier) and Meat (Tony Ganios), plot their revenge against Porky Wallace (Chuck Mitchell), the owner of a bar/brothel named... Porky's.

When the gang first show up at Porky's in the early part of the film to get laid, it ends badly. Dunked in water, the thoroughly degraded gang slink back to Angel Beach with their tails beneath their legs. Well, not Mickey (Roger Wilson), who apparently goes back repeatedly, only to get his ass beat. Now, I used the word "apparently," because we never actually see Mickey get his ass beat. The lack of visual evidence regarding Mickey's many trips to Porky's is the film's biggest flaw. I mean, I had completely forgotten about Porky by the time the revenge subplot gets underway. Meaning, the film's final third is pretty much a colossal waste of time.

In fact, the only bright spot of the "Porky's"subplot was the brief shot of the three ladies Pee Wee and the boys were supposed to have sex with had they not been deceived by Porky. The brunette on the right in the black hold-up stockings was my favourite, in case you were wondering.

Despite there only being four, maybe five genuinely funny moments in the entire film, I can see how Porky's managed to inflame the imaginations (and the genitals) of countless sex-starved teenage boys back in the day. Personally, I prefer to get my  old school juvenile kicks from films like, Private School (mmm, Betsy Russell). Or better yet, My Tutor, Beach Girls, or pretty much anything else teen-related released by Crown International Pictures.

City Limits (Aaron Lipstadt, 1984)

Even though this is yet another film that is supposedly set in the future, it technically takes place in the past. Um, I think that makes sense. Nevertheless, despite the wonky timeline, City Limits still manages to capture the unwashed disquietude of a world rife with unopened cans of cat food and fingerless gloves as far as the eye can see. How, you might be asking yourself, does it manage to do this? It's simple, really. Costume designer Merril Greene was obviously given free reign when it came time to design the various outre outfits worn by The Clippers and The DA's. And, no, I'm not talking about the NBA franchise, nor am I talking about a group of funkily attired trial lawyers. Believe or not, The Clippers and The DA's are two of L.A.'s toughest bike gangs. Actually, I think they're L.A.'s only bike gangs (they basically run the entire city). Of course, there's not much for them to rule over nowadays... you know, since a mysterious plague wiped out almost the entire population. Needless to say, with no links to the past, the citizens living in this post-apocalyptic paradise have developed their own unorthodox sense of style.

Now, if, say, The Clippers or The DA's were to walk down the street during the pre-apocalypse, they would probably be laughed at (or worse, be accused of being hipsters). However, since the people who would have been doing the majority of the laughing are all dead, it means that Rae Dawn Chong can wear a white fedora with a pink cape covered in black polka dots without having to worry about being judged by the self-appointed fashion police.

If this world sounds too good to be true. Don't worry. The fine folks at Sunya Inc. want to change all that. In a normal movie, Sunya would be the heroes, and bikers the villains. But in a bizarre twist, especially for a movie from the mid-1980's (a period when Charles Bronson/Chuck Norris/Sly Stalone-style vigilantism was all the rage), City Limits implies that the biker way of life is the way of life worth preserving.

Sure, Sunya will tell you that all they want to do is turn the lights on and bring back other essential services to the city. And who in their right mind would be against that? Yeah, but can Rae Dawn Chong still wear flannel shirts with studded collars? (Um, I don't think she wears anything like that in this movie.) Okay, maybe she doesn't wear a flannel shirt with a studded collar. But at least she can if she wants to. When Sunya take over, you can pretty much forget about mixing and matching.

How do I know this? Trust me, if the leader of a powerful, quasi-fascist organization looks like Norbert Weisser, you can pretty much kiss your freedom goodbye.

Oh, crap. It just dawned on me that Mick (Darrell Larson), the leader of The Clippers, sort of looks like Norbert Weisser, who, if I haven't mentioned already, plays Bolo, Sunya's most Germanic honcho. Either way, judging by Norbert's actions, it's clear that Sunya are not to be trusted.
    

Born in the desert and raised by James Earl Jones (his parents died during the plague), Lee (John Stockwell) has grown tired of living in the country, and yearns to go the city. Hopping on his motorbike, Lee rides to L.A. with the hope of joining The Clippers.

Now, this may come across as a tad dickish, but any review for City Limits that fails to give props to Mitchell Froom's score should be discounted immediately. Seriously, it's that good. Sure, it sounds a lot like Mr. Froom's Café Flesh score. But as almost everyone knows, the Café Flesh score is one of the greatest scores of all-time. In other words, you could view City Limits as the real Café Flesh 2 (no offense to the late great Antonio Passolini - a.k.a. Johnny Jump-Up). Except instead of being about Sex Negatives looking for post-nuke thrills at a club run by Tantala Ray, it's about... Come to think of it, the plots of the two films are eerily similar. Of course, no one expels seminal fluid on anyone in City Limits. Which is a shame, as I was hoping to see James Earl Jones blast his CNN-bank rolled seed all over Pamela Ludwig's alabaster backside.

Don't look at me that way. It's clear to anyone with eyes that James Earl Jones and Pamela Ludwig (Over the Edge) do more than bond over model airplanes in this movie.

Anyway, after being initiated, Lee is accepted into The Clipper fold. Oh, wait. It would seem that Ray (Danny De La Paz), the leader of The DA's, wants Lee dead. You see, one of The DA's was killed during the chase involving Lee. So, Ray wants restitution.

Instead handing Lee over, Whitey (John Diehl), or maybe it was Sammy (Don Keith Opper)... Whoever it was, trial by combat is put forth as a possible solution. I liked how the idea comes from issue #43 of Insect Man, a comic book that serves as a sort of bible in this film's universe. In a way, it reminded me of how the Earth book "Chicago Mobs of the Twenties" shaped the residents of Sigma Iotia II in the Star Trek episode, "A Piece of the Action."

The cool thing about the trial by combat sequence is that Jennifer Balgobin (Dr. Calgari and Repo Man) is the one The DA's  choose to fight Lee. Any time I can add a Jennifer Balgobin movie to my list of Jennifer Balgobin movies that I've seen is a reason to celebrate. Watch out, Out of Bounds, you're next!

If you look closely, you can spot Jennifer Balgobin busting out some sweet ninja moves during the climatic battle scene as well.

The reason there's a climatic battle scene is because The Clippers refuse to cooperate with Sunya. Managing somehow to convince Ray and The DA's that working with Sunya is in their best interest, the corporation, lead by Robby Benson, seem to be having trouble convincing The Clippers.

When asking nicely gets them nowhere, Sunya resort to acts of violence. It's at around this time that Wickings (Kim Cattrall), an idealist Sunya employee, realizes that the company she works for is super-nefarious. Of course, by the time she figures this out, it's too late.

With the majority of their members either dead or being subjected to Sunya sponsored re-education seminars, The Clippers find themselves with their backs against the wall. Will these freedom-loving, motorcycle-riding, flamboyantly-dressed samurai ass-clowns be able to retake their half of the city from a heavily armed group of jumpsuit-wearing fascists? Probably. I mean, sure, the odds are not exactly in their favour. But I bet they got a few tricks up their puffy sleeve.

The most puzzling question has to be: Why did Mystery Science Theater 3000 feature this movie on their show? I thought they only watched bad movies, and City Limits is not even close to being a bad movie. Weird. At any rate, if you like films like, Café Flesh, Punk Vacation, Roller Blade and Shredder Orpheus, you should give this film a whirl.

Mannequin (Michael Gottlieb, 1987)

Inanimate objects like, plastic combs and wooden spoons serve their purpose with a lifeless diligence every time they're implemented by the user. Whether straightening tangled hair or stirring a spicy sauce, their commitment to the task at hand is resolute. On the other fingerless glove, the department store mannequin is an inanimate object whose man function is to mimic the shape of a person in order to sell them fabric-based coverings to conceal, or, in some cases (depending on the virtue of your particular neighbourhood) accentuate the periodically engorged regions of their dirty flesh. Intentionally sculpted to look human, the people looking at these frozen figures often drift into a dreamlike state, where the desire to aggressively lick and caress the motionless embodiments of humanity in their nonexistent naughty places soars persistently through their little heads. This unconventional want comes to fruition for an artist named Jonathan Switcher (Andrew McCarthy) in the vivid and life affirming Mannequin, a film about not being afraid to blur the line between perversion and true love, and failing to care what others think about you and your offbeat fetish. The amount of mental excursion involved may be minimal, but the mental reinforcement one gets from this film is insurmountable in terms of enlightenment, and, not to mention, the sheer quantity of unmitigated joy obtained through the simple act of staring at it. Meticulously crafted by screenwriter Edward Rugoff and writer-director Michael Gottlieb, the film is a tribute to all those who believe that love lasts forever. Dressing it up as a loopy satire about the unscrupulous world of retail politics, deep down the heart of the film is in fact a thoughtful meditation on the meaning of human existence.

On the surface, the screwball farce appears as if it takes place solely in the chichi aisles of two rival department stores, Prince & Co and Illustra. However, the universe of Mannequin is much bigger than that. Spanning a thousand of years of human history, Edward Gottlieb and Michael Rugoff have created a breathtaking origin story, one that equals any work of classic fiction. Commencing with the sight of an attractive woman arguing with her mother about dating in a well-lit crypt in ancient Egypt, and then proceeding to bob and weave its way through the next millennia via a hauntingly beautiful animated opening credits sequence, the journey inexplicably settles in late 1980s Philadelphia.

Cursed to remain inactive until she finds true love, Ema 'Emmy' Hesire (Kim Cattrall), the attractive woman from the well-lit crypt, finds herself lifelessly standing in the window of Prince & Co in a pink ensemble that is absolutely to die for. Going through a bit of a funk of his own, Jonathan Switcher (Andrew McCarthy), a motorcycle riding sculptor, is having trouble staying employed (he can't help but bring his artistic nature to every job) and his sexy girlfriend Roxie (the gorgeous Carole Davis), a junior executive at Illustra, is embarrassed to be seen with him (his motorcycle and overall poorness are hurting the yuppie image she is trying to maintain).

In a series of weird, yet totally believable circumstances, the wide-eyed artist lands a job at Prince & Co by impressing its owner (Estelle Getty), and soon finds himself face-to-face with Emmy, his creation.

The gainfully employed Jonathan, thanks to his piercing stare, somehow manages to arouse Emmy from her mannequin slumber and the two proceed to engage in what has to be the love story of the century. All that's standing in the way of their pursuit of happiness is Mr. Richards (an extra oily James Spader), a slimy Prince & Co administrator secretly working for Illustra, and a bumbling night-watchman (G.W. Bailey) and his dog Rambo. Luckily, their ludicrously evil performances are counterbalanced nicely by the excessive flamboyance of Meshach Taylor's Hollywood, who is not only a Friend of Dorothy, but her BFF. Anyway, Meshach and his many pairs of outlandish sunglasses look out for Jonathan and is accepting his relationship with a piece of plastic. You see, only Jonathan can see Emmy move and stuff. So, to everyone else, it appears as if he's tonguing a dummy.

Since perversion is best explored at after hours, Jonathan and Emmy's love for one another comes alive when the store is closed. This, of course, leads to some of the film's finest moments. Some of which include a spellbinding montage set to "Do You Dream About Me" by Alisha, a miraculous glider flight, and a mock beach party complete with the application of suntan lotion and some mild straddling.

Peppy montages and gliders are swell and all, but having an actress that is worth animating is probably the important ingredient to making a successful romantic comedy that revolves around a mannequin. I mean, what if she was just as stiff while awake? Fortunately, there's no chance of that happening with the effervescent Kim Cattrall in the role of Emmy. An actress who knows how to use her killer body simultaneously with her winning personality, the leggy Miss Cattrall wields her supple frame like it were a deadly weapon.

On the receiving end of these dangerous stems is a boyish Andrew McCarthy, who bounces between naive and cocksure with a subtle ease.I really thought he sold the whole "I can't believe my favourite mannequin is alive" segment quite well. It's essential that the audience's doubt is properly massaged before Jonathan starts accepting the fact that a walking and talking mannequin is redecorating her tonsils with his lukewarm man-glaze.

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