Breeders (Tim Kincaid, 1986)

Do virgins wear leopard-print skirts? Do virgins snort cocaine? Do virgins look like LeeAnne Baker? Breaking down the stereotypes of what constitutes a virgin in today's lackadaisical labiascape, Breeders is here to smash your preconceived notion of what female celibacy looks like. Yet, while it's doing all that, it also titillates, horrifies, and, most importantly, it entertains like a ten pound mothersbaugh. Cascading like a mucus-laden waterfall onto the crease-filled lower back of a dilapidated blonde, sci-fi horror/exploitation auteur extraordinaire Tim Kincaid (Bad Girls Dormitory, Mutant Hunt, Robot Holocaust, etc.) has decided to tackle the festering blight that is human reproduction. As an old-school Friend of Dorothy, Mr. Tim Kincaid (a.k.a. Joe Gage) views mating as that vulgar activity straight people like to engage in every so often. While he appreciates their tendency to make new gays, he finds the act itself to be obscene. Nowadays, though, that attitude has softened somewhat, as everyone, even Lance Bass and, N.P.H., seem to be using their sperm for reproductive purposes. But there are still those out there, the hardcore, the unflappably fabulous, who equate copulation with farm animals and white supremacists. And this film, made in, where else?, New York City circa 1986, encapsulates that anti-intercourse principle in the most succinct terms possible. Sure, on the surface, the film might seem like it's about a slimy alien life-form who collects virginal Manhattanites in order to mate with them. But having closely examined this film from every angle imaginable, it's obviously about much more than that. For starters, are there that many women in New York City who are still virgins? I doubt it. No, what Tim Kincaid has done is he's replaced the gay men–in other words, guys who rarely ever see the inside of a functioning vagina–with a bunch of straight women who have never seen the inside of a functioning cock–and by "inside," I'm referring to the seminal fluid it dispenses, not the blood and spongy tissue that keep the cock cock-like.
 

 

As far as theories go, that's probably one of the most intelligent things I have ever read. You think? Oh, yes. It's true, a mentally challenged unicorn could have figured out that a film called "Breeders," a film that was written and directed by the man who brought us Kansas City Trucking Co., El Paso Wrecking Corp. and L.A. Tool and Die, might possess a slightly negative stance when it comes to the subject of birthing and babies. However, you laid out your theory in a manner that was easy to digest. And for that, I salute you. Why, thank you. I appreciate that.
 

 

Even though I mentioned her right off the bat, it was hard for me not to go on a wordy tangent that lavished an insane amount of praise on the creamy shoulders of LeeAnne Baker, who plays Kathleen, the statuesque nurse who thinks something "spooky" is going on at the Manhattan hospital she works. Yeah, what was up with that? I mean, don't you usually start off your Tim Kincaid movie reviews with a creepy, yet mildly endearing tribute to LeeAnne Baker, the finest actress the video screen has ever seen? I guess. I don't know. It all depends on how big her part is. And in Breeders she's merely a supporting player.
 

 

The real star of Breeders, believe or not, is Tim Kincaid himself, as he has made, what I think, is his masterpiece. Teaming up with his go to makeup artist, Ed French, the guys who did the music for Mutant Hunt, Don Great and Thomas Milano (the so-called "theme from Mutant Hunt" is featured throughout this film), and his usual assortment of Tim Kincaid regulars, all the elements seem come together in this film.

One of those Tim Kincaid regulars I just alluded to appears in the opening scene as film's first victim. Getting out a taxi cab in disgust, Donna (Natalie O'Connell) turns toward the cab and starts yelling at her date. While I didn't quite catch every insult she hurled in his direction (he obviously did something to piss her off), I did hear her say something about a "second rate Italian restaurant." Either way, alone in a weird part of the city, with only her fishnet pantyhose to keep her warm, Donna finds herself in a precarious situation. Don't worry, though, a kindly old German man walking his dog will make sure she makes it home safely, or will he?

 

 

Just like the slit on her leopard-print skirt, kindly old German men are unpredictable. What the hell does that mean? Well, you see, when the wind hits the slit on Donna's leopard-print skirt, it causes it to flap haphazardly from side to side in a manner that can best be described as unpredictable.
 

 

I'm still not following. It would seem that the kindly old German man isn't as kindly as he initially lead on. Okay, I got it. Waking up in the hospital, Donna was apparently the victim of a bizarre rape; "bizarre" because her vagina was not filled to the brim with the sperm of a not-so kindly old German man, but with an organic matter of unknown origin. The doctor in her care, Dr. Gamble Pace (Teresa Farley), and the detective assigned to her case, Det. Dale Andriotti (Lance Lewman), are both at a loss. The doctor, who is wearing a white lab coat with a taupe skirt, is at a loss because she's never seen anything like this, and the detective, who is wearing a brown blazer, can't understand why Donna is having trouble remember anything about the attack.
 

 

Meanwhile, over in the fashion district, a slinky brunette is putting on a modeling clinic at a nearby loft. Posing in a variety of different bathing suits (my favourite being the black and white bikini), Karinsa (Frances Raines) is doing her best to make sure Gail (Amy Brentano), a fashion photographer, gets all the angles she needs; with a little help from Alec (Adriane Lee), a makeup artist, and Ted (Matt Mitler), a hair stylist.
 

 

It's one thing for me to believe that a woman who wears a leopard-print skirt with fishnet pantyhose is a virgin, it's another thing all together for me to believe that a fashion model who does cocaine and likes to do aerobics in the nude is a virgin as well. Oh, didn't I mention that Donna was a virgin before the attack? Well, she was. And so is Karinsa, a coked-up model/former gymnast from Wisconsin.
 

 

Popping a tape into her boombox, Karinsa snorts a couple of lines of her beloved cocaine and removes the blue bikini she was wearing when the photo shoot ended (Gail, Alec, and Ted have gone out for Thai food), and proceeds to stretch in the nude. Hey, look. Ted's back. How embarrassing. Covering herself up with a towel, Karinsa stands awkwardly to the side as Ted retrieves his wallet; oh, that Ted is a sly one, using the old forgotten wallet trick to get him a look-see at Karinsa's beautiful backside. Um, hello? Ted's a hair stylist who lives with his mother. Yeah, so, that doesn't mean he can't appreciate Frances Raine's rotund bum.

It doesn't look like Ted's in the mood to appreciate any ass today, as he has starts to convulse on the floor of Gail's studio. Looking on in horror, well, sort of, she looks more stunned than anything else, Karinsa finally begins to scream when blood starts erupting from his mouth and chest. And just like that, Karinsa is no longer in the presence of a wallet-forgetting hair stylist who lives with his mother, she is now face-to-face, at least I think it had a face, with a slimy creature covered in dark nipples.

 

 

Don't get me wrong, I love Frances Raines, she gorgeous to the max. And the deadpan style of acting that Teresa Farley is employing is, to put it mildly, off the charts in terms of being impassively matter-of-fact in a hospital setting. Oh, and I'm totally down with the leopard-print skirt-related antics of Natalie O'Connell; her New York accent is adorable. But we want LeeAnne Baker, and we want her now. Be patient. I'm sure she's gonna come along soon.
 

 

In the meantime. No! Fuck the meantime! We want LeeAnne Baker! You have given me no choice. What do we want? We want to see LeeAnne Baker's long legs encased in white stockings or pantyhose! When do we want it. Um, now? If it's not too much trouble. Fine. Towering over Dr. Gamble Pace on the roof of the hospital, Kathleen (LeeAnne Baker), a nurse who works at...yeah, yeah, she works at the hospital, get to the part where you tell us what she's wearing. Man, you're quite the...just do it! Wearing a dark coat over top her white nurses uniform, which includes a nurse's cap, a white shirt, a white skirt, white nylons, and a pair of white pumps, Kathleen tells Dr. Pace that she's afraid. Concerned about the recent spate of attacks on young women, Kathleen is clearly on edge.
 

 

In order to quell her fears, Dr. Pace tells Kathleen that she's a "big girl." In other words, stop being a baby and focus on the task at hand.
 

 

As Kathleen leaves the roof, we get a great shot of the back of LeeAnne Baker's white nylon-adorned legs in motion. Less importantly, we can't help but notice that the creature who attacked the leopard-print virgin and the coked-up virgin was lurking nearby as Kathleen and Gamble spoke. Since Donna (the leopard-print virgin) is still out of it, Dr. Pace and Det. Andriotti decide to interview Karinsa (the coked-up virgin). Unlike Donna, Karinsa remembers who attacked her. Yelling, "it was Ted," Karinsa's half-crazed outburst has given Det. Andriotti his first break in the case. But then again, most LeeAnne Baker fans probably didn't catch any of these plot developments, as they were probably too busy watching LeeAnne Baker, who was standing in the background for the duration of the scene. 
 

 

There's nothing to distract LeeAnne Baker fans in the upcoming scene, as Breeders becomes "The LeeAnne Baker Show" for the next ten or so minutes. If the sound of her white pumps hitting the pavement as she walked home wasn't exquisite enough, her walk gets its own music. As the music, which we'll call, "Kathleen's Walking Home Theme," plays while she walks, I could help but notice that she has one of the sexiest walks I have ever seen. Now, was her jaunt in white nylons as iconic as her black stockings stroll in Necropolis? Not quite. Nonetheless, LeeAnne Baker + Walking + Nylons = Cinematic Heaven.
 

 

After watching LeeAnne Baker walk in white nylons as seen from the front, the side, and the back, it's time to see them being taken off in a slow, deliberate fashion. Entering her kitchen, LeeAnne Baker/Kathleen grabs a giant pot from the fridge and places it on the counter. Having accomplished this feat with flying colours, LeeAnne Baker/Kathleen turns her attention to the removal of her nurse's uniform. And you what that means? We're about to find out what kind of hosiery she's wearing.
 

 

Removing her jacket first, then her nurse's hat, LeeAnne Baker/Kathleen pauses for a moment, before continuing to disrobe. Unfastening the buttons on her short sleeve nurse's shirt, LeeAnne Baker/Kathleen pauses yet again. It's obvious she senses something is wrong. Well, whatever it is, her skirt and nylons aren't going to remove themselves, so she rectifies this with an abrupt hiking motion.
 

 

And, if you ask me, it was a little too abrupt. In fact, it was so abrupt, that I didn't get a chance to see LeeAnne Baker's thighs being gripped by the tightness of her nylons.
 

 

Instead of getting angry about the abruptness of the hiking motion, I've decided to use my imagination. Okay, I'm imagining LeeAnne Baker. She's standing in her kitchen. The camera pans down to her feet (which still are adorned with white nylons and a pair of white pumps) to reveal a white skirt dropping to the floor around her ankles. Putting her right foot on top a chair, LeeAnne Baker proceeds to unattach, not before caressing her right legs with both hands, the suspenders that are keeping her white stockings up. After both stockings have been removed in this fashion, a naked LeeAnne Baker heads towards the bathroom.
 

 

Unlike the disrobing scene, LeeAnne Baker's artful profile filmed from every possible angle as she showers. Capturing her Lois Ayres-esque beauty in a manner that will satisfy even the most ardent of LeeAnne Baker fans, the soapy shower scene (lather those perky breasts, you svelte sex goddess), much like the kitchen scene, features many pauses. Does she have a reason to be skittish? I don't know, but LeeAnne Baker is now clean as whistle and sporting a towel.
 

 

Who am I kidding? You know something slimy and gross is coming her way. And I don't mean her boyfriend, Brett (Mark Legan), a real jackass who must have been standing on a milk crate when he stood next to the statuesque nurse wearing a towel, as there's no way he's taller than LeeAnne Baker; after all, she is, to quote Dr. Gamble Pace, "a big girl."
 

 

All women have something slimy and gross coming their way, and the six women, seven, if you include the bag lady (Rose Geffen), who appear in Breeders are no different. As expected, Gail, the photographer, and Alec, the makeup artist, are both visited by an alien sex fiend; the latter's encounter involves legginess (don't underestimate the intrinsic allure of a virginal makeup artist's gams) and the world's unluckiest rapist.

As the film goes underground (follow the red brick road), Breeders enters what I like to call, it's mucus pit phase. In other words, if you enjoyed watching adult female virgins wandering around naked, you're gonna love seeing them all together in a giant vat of mucus. And, yes, you know who is front and centre in the sticky nest. Actually, she was placed in the back of the giant vat. Remember kids, LeeAnne Baker is a big girl. Always place her at the back when filming a group of naked ladies writhing in a pit filled to the brim with mucus, as you don't want her to block the other women.

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Necropolis (Bruce Hickey, 1987)

The last sound you will ever hear is that of her high heel shoes hitting the floor as she walks away from your soon to be rotting corpse. Oh, and before you start accusing her of murder, remember this, she simply told you to kill yourself, which you did, without hesitation. Okay, maybe there was some hesitation, but not a lot. Either way, there's very little you can do once you have come face-to-face with the intoxicating allure of the platinum blonde demon goddess at the centre of Necropolis, the epic supernatural thriller from writer-director Bruce Hickey and producer Tim Kincaid (Riot on 42nd Street) about a three hundred year-old witch, one who, get this, uses her long, alabaster legs, which, of course, are sheathed in the blackest pair of black fully fashioned stockings money can buy, to persuade big haired and regular haired New Yorkers alike to do things they wouldn't normally do. Watching her slowly develop as an actress, a cameo in Bad Girls Dormitory, a bit part in Psychos in Love, and, who could forget, her scene-stealing turn as the forthright pleasure droid in Mutant Hunt, this is the film that proves once and for all that LeeAnne Baker is one of the greatest B-movie actresses of all-time. Hold up. Did you just say, "B-movie actresses"? Fuck that noise, LeeAnne Baker is simply one of the greatest actresses of all-time, period. At least from my unique perspective she is, and why wouldn't she be? You know how some people have shoe fetishes, or how some are obsessed with opera gloves? Well, I have a LeeAnne Baker fetish. Now, I know what you're thinking. What exactly does a LeeAnne Baker fetish entail? Excellent question. First things first, you'll need to watch all her movies. And you don't merely watch a LeeAnne Baker movie, you inject yourself into the film like a heroin user shoots up with a syringe. Except, in this case, LeeAnne Baker is the drug and your eyes are the addict.
 

 

Okay, now that I've cleared that up. What you need to do next is take what you have seen in her movies (it doesn't matter if she's in the movie for five seconds or is in it from start to finish), and write overlong passages that describe in exhaustive detail what Miss Baker did in each movie. And I'm talking about everything: the style of her hair (since LeeAnne only worked as an actress between years 1986 and 1987, her hair is usually short), the type of clothes she wore, the way she moves, the quality of her acting, etc.
 

 

Stealing individual scenes is one thing, but carrying an entire movie squarely on your creamy shoulders is quite a different story. And that's exactly what LeeAnne Baker has to do in Necropolis; a film that not only requires her to be the star (it's the first film where her character appears on the poster), she has to ride a motorcycle along the West Side Highway, grow four additional breasts right underneath her already existing pair, and dance in front of a pentagram in 17th century New Amsterdam.
 

 

History majors will probably notice right off the bat that the opening title "New Amsterdam, 1686" is somewhat erroneous (the name "New Amsterdam" was changed to New York in 1664). But don't let a minor detail like that ruin your appreciation for the scope of the storytelling employed throughout this classic tale of good vs. fabulous; I know I sure I didn't.
 

 

Speaking of things that are erroneous in nature, did they have "jazz hands" in 1686? I wonder. Anyway, in a misty forest on the outskirts of New Amsterdam circa 1686, a white woman is being followed by a mysterious black man. Why is a mysterious black man following a white woman? Judging by her long, platinum-coloured hair and equally long, black cloak, I'd say the woman in question likes to dabble in Satanism.
 

 

Dabble, you say?!? Hardly, she's the leader of a Satanic cult. And not only that, she's the leader of a Satanic cult during a time when being the leader of a Satanic cult actually meant something. Tell someone nowadays you're the leader of anything, let alone a Satanic cult, and they'll probably laugh in your face while they calmly call in a drone strike using the airstrike application on their smartphone. But back then, any extracurricular activities that didn't involve the Bible were usually greeted with an angry mob wielding torches.     
 

 

My instincts regarding the white woman with the white hair were right on the money, as we see her standing in front of giant pentagram (the official symbol of Satan). While it looks like she could be the opening act for a Ratt tribute band, don't be fooled, she's up to some seriously evil shit. After wowing the shifty-eyed rabble in attendance with her erotic, well, erotic for 1693, dance moves, she summons a bride away from a nearby wedding using her Satan-approved brand of telekinesis. The plan is to kill the virgin bride with a special knife in order to please her master. Unfortunately, the mysterious black man, and, not to mention, the entire wedding party, show up to ruin her ritual. Swearing to avenge this injustice, the cult leader vows to return.
 

 

When and where do you think she will return? Please return to New York City in the mid-to-late 1980s; I don't ask for much.
 

Panning up a leg encased in lace nylons that is attached to a torso sitting on a red motorcycle to the sound of "Rock & Rock" (yep, the same song used in both Valet Girls and Killer Workout), the next twenty minutes are easily the finest twenty minutes ever to be captured on film. Don't get me wrong, the stuff that happens after the twenty minutes are up is just as awesome. I'm just saying, this particular chunk of celluloid represents my aesthetic point of view like no other chunk has done before.

 

 

While that's great and all, let's get back to the camera panning up that leg. Sitting atop a red Yamaha XJ 400 Seca (thanks, IMCDb) motorcycle is a figure in lace and black leather. And you know what that means? That's right, Satan's girlfriend is back, baby! Removing her helmet, the first thing we notice is that her the long locks have been replaced with a shorter hairdo (the kind that would make Lois Ayres and Sharon Mitchell nod approvingly with a snotty grace). Looking around at her new surroundings, Eva (LeeAnne Baker), her eyes smeared with about five cans of black eye makeup, flashes a sly smile, and hits the road.
 

 

A close-up shot of her left hand revving her motorcycle's engine, her red fingernails juxtaposed nicely with her black, stud-covered leather fingerless gloves, is the epitome of cinematic cool as far as I'm concerned.
 

 

The first stop on her journey is an occult pawn shop run by a guy named Rudy (Gy Milano), a beer-drinking asthmatic who lost his hearing for a week when he was six years old. How do you know all that? Ah, yes. The thing about Necropolis that sets it apart from other films in the genre is that it takes the time to flesh out each character's backstory. You see, if Eva wants you to do something, but you, unwisely, decide to resist her, she'll poke around your subconscious until she finds a traumatic event from your past and use what she found to bend your will. In the case of Rudy the pawnbroker, she wants him to tell her who he sold "The Devil's Ring" to, as it possesses great power. And when he won't tell her (LeeAnne Baker's New York accent really shines through when she says, "You're Lying'!" in response to his floundering), Eva reminds him of the time when he lost his hearing as a child. The ringing sound in his ears drives Rudy mad, eventually kills him. But as he's dying, he tells Eva what she wanted to hear. And that is, the location of the ring.
 

 

Making her way to the youth outreach centre run by the Reverend Henry James (William K. Reed), who strangely looks exactly like the black man from the 1680s. It's during this scene when we get our first taste of Eva's menacing-sounding footsteps. Pretending to be a troubled teen, Eva confronts the reverend in the men's room. On top of being the first instance where we get a clear shot of the star earring dangling from Eva's left earlobe, it's also the scene I would submit to anyone out there who wants to learn a thing or two about the art of acting, as LeeAnne Baker is remarkable. Trading in her tough chick persona for a more vulnerable one, LeeAnne will melt your tear ducts with the range of emotions she displays during this particular scene.
 

 

Since her meeting with the reverend didn't get her any closer to her precious devil ring, Eva decides to use a different approach; one that involves psychological persuasion, and, of course, her raw sex appeal. When we hear a beat pumping, we know it's time for Eva to slip on her black stockings and attach them to the garter belt, which is no doubt lurking seductively somewhere underneath her short-as-can-be black leather skirt. Using the back room of Rudy's occult pawn shop as her temporary base of operations, Eva takes her black stockings for a test drive by dancing up a storm as "Say You Do" by Zoom Zoom throbs on the soundtrack.
 

 

Choreographed by Taunie Vrenon (Elaine from Mutant Hunt), what takes place next is probably the most alluringly staged dance number in film history. After she's done making sure there are no creases in her stockings (she does so by running hands, her black, stud-covered black fingerless glove-covered hands, over the surface of the stockings multiple times), and she finishes applying some more makeup, Eva dances erotically in front of the makeshift Satanic altar she has set up.
 

 

Hopping on her motorcycle, Eva arrives at the youth outreach centre just as a reporter in a red turtleneck dress named Dawn Phillips (Jacquie Fitz), a woman who looks like the virgin bride from the 1680s, is about to interview The Reverend and a troubled youth named Philly (George Anthony-Rayza) for some hard hitting piece for NPR. In order to break things up, Eva manipulates Philly (she's outside the centre) by causing him to go into withdrawal (he's a recovering drug addict). Since everyone with the exception one volunteer has gone to the hospital with Philly, Eva can get the key for the safe that contains the ring without as much hassle.  

 

 

All that stands in her way is a guy named Tony (Andrew Bausili), a man who looks like the preacher from Dawn's botched 1686 wedding. Luckily for Eva, Tony is no longer a puritan era preacher. He's now a man who is easily swayed by the sight of the exposed thigh skin languishing between two distinctly different textile realms.
 

 

Starting off with a close-up shot of the seams that run up and down the back of her stockings, Eva enters the youth outreach centre with a certain swagger.
 

 

Asking if he can help her, Eva replies, "Sure, Tony," even though they have never met (well, at least not in a couple of hundred years). Resting one of her legs on a chair, which purposely exposes a generous helping of ashen flesh thanks to the leg's placement and the zipper slit on her leather skirt, Eva toys with Tony in a way that can best be described as "cat and mouse." 

 

 

The sound of her footsteps echo through the office, as she circles his desk in a predatory manner.
 

 

Audible footsteps, brilliant streaks of rouge makeup, a dangling star-shaped earring, and exposed thigh skin inundate my psyche as Eva slowly approaches Tony's desk.
 

 

Grabbing a switchblade from one of Tony's drawers, Eva places it on his desk and tells him to kill himself. Using his suicidal tendencies against him, while, at same time, making sure his eyes remain focused on the first-rate absolute territory she was putting out there, Eva eggs him on by saying, "Do it," over and over again.
 

 

You have to wonder why Eva needed keys to open a safe in the first place. I mean, don't most safes use combination locks? And secondly, why couldn't she just zap it open using her witch powers like she did the lock on the fence? Well, to be fair, she did open the fence lock after she acquired the ring, so, she might not have had access to that witch function yet. At any rate, with the ring on her finger, Eva drives to her necropolis, a dilapidated warehouse up in The Bronx, which still contain the bodies of her long dead Satanic cult. After some great leggy shots of LeeAnne Baker walking through the warehouse are implemented, Eva summons her followers to arise.
 

 

Meanwhile, a no-nonsense cop named Billy (Michael Conte), a dead ringer for Alan Vega from Suicide ("America, America is killing its youth"), is trying to investigate Tony's death. What do you mean, "trying"? Well, even though Benny the medical examiner (Paul Ruben), a man who's on friendly terms with Dorothy, tells him, "it's a suicide, honey," Dawn and Reverend James are convinced that there's something strange going on in Tribeca tonight.
 

 

While Alan Vega's twin brother and the neck sensitive Dawn (seriously, don't touch her neck) make goo goo eyes with one another (the latter invites the former over to her Japanese themed apartment to drink wine and talk about reincarnation), Eva is out collecting souls in a pair of animal print leather pants with a matching bustier. The first soul she grabs belongs to a guy from Queens named Snake (Jett Julian), then she targets his big haired girlfriend Cat (Jennifer Stahl). Their souls are consumed as ectoplasm, which she later expels through her nipples so that her minions may grow stronger. Whoa, how is she supposed to feed an army of minions with only two nipples? Um, she develops four more breasts. Duh.
 

 

A rare instance where everything seems to be in perfect harmony with one another in terms of cohesion, Necropolis is a movie that works on so many levels, that it's not even funny. It's got homemade crosses used as weapons, a skeptical red meat advocate who looks like Alan Vega (a man who gets to fondle Eva's stockings at one point), it uses "On the Run From Whistler" from the Trancers soundtrack not once but twice, has a flamboyant M.E. ("That's 'Dr. Parker' to you, honey"), features scenes where a tall (LeeAnne Baker must be at least 5'10) blonde who looks like Anne Carlisle from every angle harasses a hooker named Candy (Nadine Hartstein), and sports a lead character whose clothes are styled by none other than Celeste Hines. Okay, I don't know who that is (Nancy Arons and Jeffrey Wallach are credited as the film's costume designers, and probably deserve most of the credit for Eva's many stunning ensembles), but I like the idea that LeeAnne Baker had her own stylist on this film. Anyway, capturing the nervous energy of New York City after dark, Necropolis is what cinema should be: A steaming wad of diaphanous nectar dripping from the nipples of a soul-sucking witch from the Lower East Side. 

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Special thanks to Thomas Duke, the beer-drinking dandy who runs the newly refurbished Cinema Gonzo (check it out, man, it's taint-tastic!), for doing me a solid and recommending that my Vorta-esque eyeballs make a date with this wonderfully crafted piece of filmed entertainment.