Joysticks (Greydon Clark, 1983)

Staring at the flickering shapes darting and exploding across the screen, the patrons at your local video arcade–your local what? Ask your Uncle Steve–may look like they're engaging in an activity that is social in nature (they're out of the house, they're amongst friends, they're consuming junk food). However, what they're actually doing is the epitome of anti-social. With their attention completely focused on the army of colourful ghosts chasing their "Pac-Man" or "Ms. Pac-Man" through a pellet-filled maze, the well-being of those around them is the last thing on their minds. And I don't mean to imply that the people hovering about as they played are in danger or not feeling well. On the contrary, most of them seem to be in perfect health. But if, say, the blonde woman with the large breasts were to...Wait a minute. "Blonde woman with large breasts"? Um, hello? That pretty much describes about eighty percent of the gamers who appear Joysticks, the video game movie starring the gorgeous Corinne Bohrer (The Beach Girls) and the always delightful Jon Gries (TerrorVision). Okay, what if, oh, I got it, those two black guys in the matching red shirts were to start choking on, oh, let's say, a hot dog? Yeah, that's right. Simultaneous hot dog choking. Would any of the people playing stop to help them? I don't think so. In fact, they probably wouldn't even notice as the coroner takes their lifeless bodies to the morgue. How do I know this? Well, let's just say, I used to be one of those people. Sure, I don't ever recall being so into a game that I completely ignored the sound of two black guys simultaneously choking to death. But then again, how can I be sure that I didn't? I mean, have you ever played Defender? If you have, you know what I'm talking about. It's like being addicted to crack. Actually, crack addiction sounds like a walk through a field of daisies when compared to playing Tempest for eight hours straight, as the combination of secondhand smoke, irreparable ear damage, carpal tunnel syndrome, and, not to mention, being exposed a wide array of airbourne microbes, allergens, and toxic chemicals will severely test the limits of your fragile immune system.     
 

 

The worst aspect about playing video games, whether they're played in an arcade, at home, or on the go, is that you're not accomplishing anything. It's true, some games have recently introduced a more physical component to the gaming experience, so technically you're getting a workout. But for the most part, it's still a passive activity. While watching the similarly themed Pinball Summer, I couldn't help but notice that the players seemed to be practicing to copulate as the hurled their tightly garbed crotches toward the pinball machines they were attempting to play. Holding it firmly by its haunches with both hands, you lunge at the game with everything you've got. Responding to your heaving flesh, the game makes a series of sounds that are designed to inform that you've heaved well. Much in the same the way a baby cries when its born, as the shrill noise it's making is not meant to annoy, but to indicate to you that your sperm and/or ovum is in working order. A crying baby is a well-produced baby. A non-crying baby is a dead baby.   
 

 

You'll find no stories of reproductive mirth within Joysticks; if anything, you'll probably want to destroy your genitals with a set of fiery hedge clippers when all is said and all is done ("my hands work with fire and steel"). Pressing your hand against the long, slender shaft of the joystick, you place your quarter, or in this film's case, your token, in the slot, and you are now ready to commence masturbating. Whoa, how come the people in Pinball Summer are laying the groundwork for the reproducing the probably racist spawn of tomorrow, while the folks in Joysticks are merely making stains on the carpet? I don't know, my dear Agnieszka, but the floors of the establishment at the centre of this deeply troubling mishegas have become soiled beyond recognition, and there's nothing anyone can do about it; at least not until the internet is invented. 
 

 

One man tries to do something about it, but he's fighting, to use one of them lame war metaphors, an uphill battle. Nevertheless, his name is Joseph Rutter (Joe Don Baker) and he hates video games. Shocked by what the video arcade in located in River City has done to his daughter Patsy Rutter (Corinne Bohrer), Mr. Rutter, utilizing his henchmen/nephews, Max (John Voldstad) and Arnie (John Diehl), tries everything in his power to close what he sees as a blight on, not only the community, but on society as a whole.
 

 

It's hard to imagine him succeeding when you take in account what we're shown during the film's opening sequence. A blonde woman with large breasts named Candy (Lynda Wiesmeier from Malibu Express) is jumping up and down while playing an arcade game. Set to a song that featured lyrics such as "totally awesome video games" and "video to the max," the sequence mixes shots of Candy bouncing in super-tight short-shorts with clips of classic video games. While I don't remember the names of all the games, I do recall playing more than half of them at one point or another. In other words, good luck trying to keep people away a place that features hot chicks in skimpy shorts playing video games in an overly enthusiastic manner.
 

 

Employing the classic early '80s movie trio of the nerd, the fat slob, and the preppy asshole, the building blocks of any poorly conceived sex comedy based on a cultural phenomenon, we're introduced to the "nerd" character first. Driving to his new job at the local video arcade, Eugene Groebe (Leif Green) is propositioned by two women while stopped at a red light. Showing him their tan line adorned breasts, the women, a brunette with short hair and a long-haired blonde invite Eugene into the backseat of their convertible to fuck. If this all sounds a little far-fetched, that's because it is. They don't want to have sex with him, they just want to get a picture of him with his pants down in order to complete a pledge prank for a sorority they want to join.
 

 

Judging by the way the ladies giggled as they drove off with his pants, it's obvious that they enjoyed their encounter with the bespectacled young man in the sweater vest. On the other hand, Eugene will probably be scared for life, and, from this day forward, only be able to become sexually aroused by women who remind him of his mother.
 

 

The so-called "preppy asshole" of the film is introduced when we meet the video arcade's manager Jeff Baily (Scott McGinnis), a smirking cocksucker if I ever saw one. When he notices Eugene's name written in the waist of a pair of pants he finds on the floor, he remarks, "His pants are here, he can't be that far behind." And while I'll admit, McGinnis does execute that line with a flair that can best be described as "jaunty," that doesn't mean I'll forgive him for what he does to two of the film's most compelling characters. Oh, and it's after Jeff Baily utters the pants line that we're treated to the first of the film's many Pac-Man themed transition wipes (complete with the wocka wocka sound). 
 

 

When Eugene, who's since been reunited with his pants, tells this slovenly fellow playing Pac-Man to stop being so physically objectionable, we're unwittingly introduced to the film's ubiquitous "fat slob" character. A video game expert who helps maintain the upkeep of the arcade's many games, Jonathan Andrew McDorfus (Jim Greenleaf), or, as those close to him like to call him, "Dorfus," is, to put it mildly, a disgusting human being.  
 

 

It's true, the nerd character does flirt with being likable every so often (the fact that he calls his penis "Simba" was an agreeable attribute), but the threesome are pretty loathsome overall, especially the preppy asshole, who I wanted to straight-up murder on several occasions. Filled to the brim with so much unpleasantness, it's a miracle that Joysticks was able to exude any charm whatsoever.    
 

 

This should come as no surprise, but the reason the film doesn't completely suck has a lot to be with the presence of personal favourite Corinne Bohrer as Patsy Rutter, the daughter of, you guessed it, Joseph Rutter, and Jon Gries as King Vidiot, the leather clad leader of an all-girl gang of new wave punks (think: The Misfits from Jem meets Wendy O. Williams), as they both bring a certain level of class and dignity to the proceedings. Blowing their respective co-stars of the off the screen with an alarming ease, the insanely adorable Corinne uses a thick Valley Girl accent to great effect, while Jon destroys all comers with his spastic mannerisms.
 

 

While they share very little when it comes to fashion and music, Patsy Rutter and King Vidiot have one thing in common: they both love hanging out at the arcade. Only problem being that there are forces in the universe who would like nothing better than to see them banished from the River City gaming mecca. As far as Patsy goes, it's rather obvious who wants to her keep away from the arcade. You see, her father views the arcade as a corrupting influence on his daughter, and will do everything in his power to make sure his sand pail of girlish sunshine stays as far away from its alluring glow as humanly possible. And if that means forcing it to close its doors for good through untoward shenanigans, than so be it.
 

 

When it comes to why King Vidiot and his gang of gorgeous punk pretties are being denied access to the arcade, things get a little more complicated. After thwarting a late night attempt by Mr. Rutter's henchmen/nephews, Arnie and Max, to steal all the arcade's games, Jeff decides to celebrate their victory by throwing a private party for a bunch of his regular customers; the only stipulation being that all the women must wear their nightclothes to the arcade (that's the reason Patsy is wearing a white negligee). Anyway, when King Vidiot and his girl power entourage show up to enjoy some after hours gaming, Jeff tells them to leave. If I needed anymore evidence proving that this Jeff guy is a jerk, this shameful display solidified my point with crystal clear precision.
 

 

Even though a deal is struck, if King Vidiot beats Dorfus at Satan's Hollow he can stay, if he loses, than he and his "subjects" (he is royalty, after all) must leave immediately, I still thought Jeff was being a major dick. The way he looked at King Vidiot with that pompous grin was obscene. I mean, that's no way to treat a regular customer. What I think was at play here was a definite anti-punk agenda on the part of the filmmakers, because I can't think of any other good reasons to have Jeff be so hostile towards King Vidiot. Of course, you need to have the two of them at each other's throats in order to make King Vidiot's alliance with Joseph Rutter seem more plausible. But still, the manner in which the crowd cheered when King Vidiot lost to Dorfus made my skin crawl.  
 

 

To the surprise of no-one, Joseph Rutter attempts to exploit the rift that forms between Jeff and King Vidiot by making the latter an offer he couldn't possibly refuse (his very own video arcade game). If only Jeff would have let King Vidiot stay, things would have been so much. Oh well. Don't feel too sorry for Vidiot. On top of having killer cheekbones, a soft spot for chicks with dicks (he tells Max masquerading as "Maxine" that she has "great legs"), and access to mini-bikes (one of the perks to selling out to Rutter), King Vidiot is the leader of a gang of new wave girls who all wear sleeveless tops.   
 

 

Will Jeff be able to overcome his fear of video games in time to save his arcade? And why was John Diehl always wearing that red Angels cap? To be honest, I don't really give a shit; about Jeff overcoming his fear, not the thing about the Angels cap. He's [Jeff] a fucking fascist. Plus, he made Corinne Bohrer sad. You heard right, he cruelly shuns Patsy in the end. Personally, I'm still trying to get over the fact that he rejected Patsy–a new wave flapper goddess–for some chick who was the epitome of bland and boring. But I guess shouldn't expect much from a guy who makes Heinrich Himmler seem personable.
 

 

Changing gears for a second: His balls might smell like corn nuts, but I was deeply impressed with the Dorfmeister's milf-bagging skills. The sexy Mrs. Rutter (Morgan Lofting, best known to kids of the '80s as the voice of The Baroness from the G.I. Joe animated series) can't get enough of the Dorfster's cock. (I'm surprised she was able to find it underneath all that excess flab.) The film, stupid as it might seem, had me longing for the days when Yonge Street (a long stretch of concrete in the middle of Toronto) was awash with record stores, porn theatres, t-shirt shops, and, of course, video arcades.

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Special shout out to "Cotter." (See the comments section for entry on the film Valet Girls to find out why.)

Malibu Express (Andy Sidaris, 1985)

Since my track record with films that contain the word "Malibu" is pretty rock solid, I decided to dive headfirst into Malibu Express while wearing nothing but a black lace négligée and a smugger-than-usual smirk on my face. I'm curious, did the floppy nature of the lace on your négligée happen to get caught on say, a protruding branch or rock before your body hit the film's bosomy surface with a resounding thud? No, but why do you ask? No reason. Actually, that's not entirely true. You see, I desperately wanted to see that precious smirk you always seem to wearing wiped clean off your exceedingly punchable face, and was interested to know if this film, written and directed by Andy Sidaris (Hard Ticket to Hawaii), was able to put a dent in that pompous bubble of unsubstantiated self-satisfaction you seem to float around in. Well, that's good to know. It's funny you should mention smirking, because the hero in this particular venture does a whole lot of smirking. In fact, he smirks so much, that it caused a riff to form in that special section of the space time continuum that oversees the implementation smirks within the known universe. While some folks might take issue with the amount of smirking that transpires in this flick, I, on the other hand, had no problems whatsoever with its abundance of first-class simpering. Besides, if you were a babe magnetic on the level of which Darby Hinton is as Cody Abilene, your inflamed hindquarters would be fleering like a bi-curious banshee in heat as well. Call me loopy and unhinged, but I feel sorry for all the heterosexual men who inadvertently stumble across this film while cleaning out their tool sheds. On top of sporting a red DeLorean DMC-12 (non-structural brushed stainless steel catnip for the straight boy in all of us), the sheer number of hotties and temptresses who prance, gesticulate and cavort about during this unnecessarily convoluted enterprise will cause the genitals of the discerning men in the audience to melt into a pile of thoroughly emasculated goo.
 

 

Okay, maybe "thoroughly emasculated" is somewhat of an overstatement. But I guarantee, they're will be goo. Why? Well, because there's not a dud in the bunch. Every actress, and, I'll be the first to admit, the term "actress" is a bit of a stretch in some cases, whether they're playing a race car driver with large breasts or a phone sex operator with delicate toes, puts in a herculean effort in terms of putting their body on the line for the benefit of art. There were times when I thought the wanton display of womanly flesh was a tad excessive, but, for the most part, I...Wait a second. Did you just use the words "flesh" and "excessive" in the same sentence?!? Bad pervert. 
 

 

You might have noticed during all that smirk talk that I called Cody a "hero." Now, as most as people know, I don't usually use that term, as I find it be crass and unseemly. However, I'm willing to make an exception in Cody's case, because his desire for justice doesn't leave a trail of bullet-ridden corpses. Sure, henchmen do end up getting shot, some even lose their lives at the end of the day, but Cody's lack of skill when it came to the handling of firearms means that there a lot henchmen walking around out there who wouldn't be if he wasn't such a lousy shot. We get a firsthand taste of his firearm incompetence when Cody takes his trusty .44 Magnum down to firing range in the films opening scene. Sure, as he brags later on (he hit the board that held the target), but none landed on the actual target. 
 

 

Fans of antiquated technology will dig the opening credits, as they feature a secretary (complete with long fingernails) typing out the names of the cast and crew on an old computer. Which is fitting since the film is basically about unsavoury characters trying to sell American computers to the U.S.S.R.
 

 

Undaunted by his lousy showing down at the firing range, Cody heads over to the race track in his red DeLorean DMC-12 to meet June Khnockers (Lynda Wiesmeier), his race car driver girlfriend, and Rodney (Jeanine Vargas), her official photographer. I don't know what the purpose of this scene is exactly, but it does give us our first sighting of a pair of naked breasts. They belong to Miss Wiesmeier, and I must say, I wasn't that impressed. The sight of Lynda and Jeanine standing with their backs to the camera as Cody drove off, on the other hand, was quite impressive. Seriously, this film is gonna have its work cut out for it if it expects to top the image of Lynda (teal) and Jeanine (purple) standing on a race track wearing short shorts.
 

 

Two gals from Corpus Christi named Fay (Kimberly McArthur) and Faye (Barbara Edwards) make a valiant attempt to steal Lynda and Jeanine's thunder by surprising Cody at his house boat, the Malibu Express. And, judging by the amount of heterosexual drool that littered floor, they were  pretty successful. Again, I can't quite tell you what purpose this scene is supposed to serve in the grand scheme of things, but from the perspective of a rarely shaven, down of his luck bikini inspector, it was greatly appreciated. Just for the record: Faye's the brunette in the blue bikini and May's the blonde in the pink bikini twirling a baton.
 

 

It's a good thing Sybil Danning shows up when she did, as I was beginning to think that this film was going to be just a series of random scenes where some blonde dude with a mustache interacts with a bunch women who can't act. One of the few actresses in this film with any experience, Sybil commands the screen as Contessa Luciana, a secret agent working to stop the Russians from stealing U.S. technology. Wearing an alluring red and black off the shoulder number with shades (the entire ensemble looked like something she might have "borrowed" from the set of "V"), talks to some guy about who knows what. The important thing is that she's supposed to meet Cody for dinner. Bringing her a dress to wear, Cody, after she gets changed, accompanies Luciana to a fancy eatery. The dress Cody brought her, by the way, a red sequined monstrosity, was downright awful. Anyway, after wining and dining her, Cody smokes cigarettes and has dehydrating sexual intercourse with the contessa, in that order.
 

 

Given the task...Oh, have I mentioned that Cody is a womanizing private investigator from Texas? Well, he is. Given the task of watching over the Chamberlain's, a rich, mildly eccentric family living in Bel-Air, Cody ingratiates himself their matriarch, Lady Lillian Chamberlain (Niki Dantine), in order to find out who's been selling computer technology to the Soviets. Pulling up in a beat up Ford (the DeLorean needed to be serviced), Cody meets the aforementioned Lady Lillian, Shane (Brett Baxter Clark), their live-in butler/chauffeur, her daughters Anita (Shelley Taylor Morgan), a leggy gal with a perm (who enjoys tennis) who's having an affair with Shane on the side, and Liza (Lorraine Michaels), a non-permed brunette who might enjoy tennis (how the hell should I know?) who is also having an affair with Shane on the side, Anita's husband Stuart (Michael Andrews), who Cody thinks might be a little "light in the loafers," who is, of course, having an affair with Shane on the side, and Maid Marian (Robyn Hilton), their sexy housekeeper, who, for some strange reason, wears a giant blonde wig; I'm not entirely sure if she's having an affair with Shane on the side or not. But given Shane's voracious appetite for tight wet holes, I would be surprised if he was penetrating the maid's plush, fishnet pantyhose-adorned pussy on a semi-regular basis as well.
 

 

Just when I was starting to think that there were way too characters for me to keep track of in the Malibu Express universe, they introduce us to Sgt. Beverly (Lori Sutton), Cody's best friend/exercise buddy/occasional sex partner, and Peggy (Peggy Ann Filsinger), some brunette gym patron who appears in two scenes. In fact, why am I even mentioning the gym patron? Um, hello? She looked hot in a pink leotard. Yeah, but...No, you're right. That's a good enough reason. But still, half of these people have no business being in the film industry. Just because you were born with larger than normal breasts doesn't mean you should be allowed to utter dialogue in motion pictures, especially one's that have plots. I'm well aware that I'm contradicting what I said earlier about there not being "a dud in the bunch" when describing the "actresses" who appear in this movie. But now I would like to clearly state, with the exception Miss Danning, of course, that all the women who appear in Malibu Express are, for the most part, terrible actresses.
 

 

Anyway, it turns out that Shane doesn't have a voracious appetite for tight wet holes. Oh, sure, he doesn't mind doing it; penetrating them, that is. But the real reason he's doing it because he wants to blackmail them in order to help pay off the 30,000 dollars worth of gambling debts he's racked up. Using "state of the art video," he films himself having sex with the Chamberlain girls, Stuart included, and plans to extort money from them at a later date. Well, that "later date" has come sooner than expected, as the mob want their 30k right now. He decides to shakedown Stuart while driving him to a nightclub on Sunset Blvd., but he's having nothing of it. Why should he care? Everyone knows he's a card carrying friend of Dorothy. Following Shane's limo to the club, Cody is shocked when he discovers that Stuart has emerged dressed as a woman (he got dressed, or should I say, "glammed up," in the car). And not just any woman, a "gorgeous woman," as Cody puts it. Yep, I totally agree with Cody on this one, Michael Andrews is a fox.  Oh, and the fact Cody was able to appreciate Stuart's stunning appearance made me like him even more. He may be a good ol' boy from Texas, but he knows an attractive drag queen when he sees one.
 

 

At a swanky party being held at the Chamberlain estate the very next day, a catty Liza tells Anita that the maid was, and I quote, "Raped by two homosexuals. One held her down and the other did her hair." Ouch! At any rate, despite the fact that a lot of plot-based intrigue occurs during this particular shindig (one that allows women to wear sunglasses indoors), all I could think about was the sight of Sybil Danning in that snake skin bikini. I mean, damn!
 

 

Employing the help yet another character, Sexy Sally (Suzanne M. Regard), a sex phone operator with nice feet, Cody tracks down a lead. Luckily, Sgt. Beverly (whose feet are just as nice as Sexy Sally's) is there to bail him out when the bullets start to fly. While there's no doubt he's super smooth when it comes to the ladies (he practically has to beat them off with a stick), he can't shoot for shit. Just like his ability to appreciate an attractive drag queen, Cody's lack of skill when it came to firearms was oddly endearing.
 

A dumb movie with an overly complicated plot (Cody's explanation of all the plot details is exhausting), Malibu Express is lighthearted escapism for those who love naked breasts. Speaking of which, I don't know who told Lynda Wiesmeirer that her breasts had the power to persuade men to her bidding, because I thought they mostly induced sadness. If I would have to peg anyone in this movie to be in the possession of the kind of power to persuade others, it would have been Lori Sutton or Shelley Taylor Morgan, as their attractiveness seemed to come from a moist and sincere place.  

 

 

Ironically, the film's only genuine laugh is attained by an uncredited Andy Sidaris, who plays a Winnebago driver who picks up Cody and Lynda Wiesmeirer (and, yes, the reason he stopped was because Lynda flashed her breasts) after they get stranded in the middle of nowhere. Don't worry, though, it's not all tits and drag racing (Cody is periodically challenged to drag race by the Buffington family), Maid Marian wears fishnet pantyhose, Sexy Sally wears legwarmers at one point, Shelley Taylor Morgan looked absolutely smashing in her tennis gear, and don't forget about Peggy Ann Filsinger and her pink lycra spandex get-up.

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Private School (Noel Black, 1983)

When it comes to cinematic trash, occasionally we all need to take the time and reassess the things we once deemed lame and objectionable. And one of those things in desperate need of being reassessed is the totally awesome Private School, a film I loved as a Betsy Russell-obsessed adolescent, yet recently dismissed as a pompous adult. Well, unfortunately, I'm still an adult. But I like to think I'm a little less pompous. And the moment I realized I was less pompous than I used to be was when I decided to give this unfairly maligned masterpiece a second look. It should also be noted that I had previously never seen this film, directed by Noel Black (Pretty Poison) and written by Dan Greenburg (Private Lessons) and Suzanne O'Malley, in its correct aspect ratio. Now, I'm not one who usually cares about such technical nonsense, but seeing the film for the very first time in "anamorphic widescreen" was a real eye-opener. Of course, we're not talking about Lawrence of Arabia or Doctor Zhivago, where every inch of sand and snow needs to be seen in order to obtain maximum enjoyment. However, many subtle nuances are revealed in this restored version. Most importantly, the shower scene seems more, oh, how should I put this? Okay, I got it. The infamous shower scene seemed more robust this time around. Yeah, robust. I like that. Let's be blunt, you get more tits and ass in the widescreen version. Anyway, using my newfound, less pompous perspective, I jumped head first into this film's juvenile morass with a more pronounced vigor. Grabbing it by the haunches with the fullness of my grasp, I put aside my nonexistent inhibitions and prepared to revel in the underage hijinks of the graduating class of Cherryvale Academy for Women with a lustful brand of enthusiasm. Alright, we get it. You sound like you're ready for some early '80s-style debauchery.
 

 
Some people say that the film opens with the principal characters sitting up straight in class as their teacher comes in, but it actually begins with four students in white knee socks and grey skirts smoking outside. What's weird is that I've seen Private School dozens of times, and this was the first instance I'm aware of that I noticed the girls smoking in their school uniforms.
 

 
Nonetheless, the opening credits are set to a song that features the straightforward lyrics, "You're breakin' my heart / You're tearing it apart, so fuck you." No matter how many times I hear this song, "You're Breakin' My Heart" by Harry Nilsson, open the movie, I'm always taken aback. Not by the song's saucy language, but the fact that a Hollywood movie would allow such a cynical ditty to kick start a major motion picture.
 

 
The film's bold, okay, maybe it's not "bold," but it is on the cusp of being interesting, use of music continues onto the next scene as we watch Jim Green (Matthew Modine), Bubba Beauregard (Michael Zorek), and Roy (Jonathan Prince) hop the fence that surrounds the main sorority house at Cherryvale Academy for Women set to the strains of "Rock This Town" by The Stray Cats. At first, I thought all the young ladies were getting ready for bed. But then it dawned on me, women don't usually put on stockings or apply eye makeup before going to bed. No, what these women are doing is preparing to go out for the evening. And Jim, Bubba, Roy have shown up to watch them. Or, more specifically, watch a goddess named Jordan Leigh-Jenson (Betsy Russell) take a shower.
 

 
Since they didn't bring a ladder, the boys improvise by standing on each other's shoulders. This technique, while ingenious, only allows for one voyeur to peep at a time. I thought it was strange that Bubba, the heaviest one in the group, got to stand on top. But then I realized that that's what made the situation so humourous.
 

 
Noticing Bubba in the mirror, Jordan decides to have a little fun with the boys at the expense of Christine Ramsey (Phoebe Cates), who is reading aloud from an erotic paperback ("Stories of Passion") to her roommate Betsy (Kathleen Wilhoite) in the next room. Pretending to borrow some gaudy nail polish ("naked pink") from Chris and Betsy, Jordan purposefully stands near the window so that Bubba could remove her towel. Now, how did Jordan know Bubba would try to remove her towel? Are you serious? As we will soon find out, it doesn't take much for Bubba to tap into his inner-pervert. And besides, if Betsy Russell is wearing a towel in the vicinity of just about anyone, the urge to remove said towel will be intense no matter what your genitals look like.   
 

 
In order to get back at Jordan for the towel incident, Chris and Betsy leave a flaming bag of horseshit outside Jordan's door. And guess who steps in it? No, not Rita (Kari Lizer), the stepee's blonde roommate, but Jordan herself.
 

 
She better hurry up and clean all the molten poop off her shoes, 'cause it's dance time. It would be seem that Roy is the only one from the trio of guys who  peeped on Jordan who doesn't have a steady girlfriend. Though, he does ask an attractive tall woman to dance. What makes this situation so comical is that Roy isn't tall. At any rate, the other guys from Freemount Academy, a nearby school for men, quickly meet up with their girlfriends. Who, of course, are Chris and Betsy.
 

 
Wait, if Jim and Bubba have girlfriends, why were trying so hard to see Jordan without any clothes on? Man, I can't believe you just asked that question. It's Betsy Russell they were trying to see naked. Girlfriend or no girlfriend, the desire to see Betsy Russell in any capacity, whether she be clothed or not clothed, is something that lies within each and everyone of us.
 

 
Despite the fact that I'm the one who put that way, I have to say, I couldn't have put it better myself. The desire to see Betsy Russell naked is something were all born with. It doesn't matter if you're a man or a woman, gay or straight, Latvian or Estonian, the sight of Betsy Russell without clothes on is what we all long for. You could say, Betsy Russell brings us all together. But I won't say that, even though I sort of just did. No, you know what? I will say that. You want to know why? It's because Betsy Russell is more than just an actress. She's a beacon of truth. Soothing the troubles of humanity for most of her adult life, Betsy Russell's innate gorgeousness has the power to mend fences. And that's not just some crude way of saying that she gives us guys boners. I'm convinced that if you let your child watch any of the handful movies Betsy made during the 1980s, they will grow up to be special.
 

 
While I would love to pontificate about the rejuvenating powers of Betsy Russell, I think I should get back to the movie for a second. At the dance, Jordan, who is wearing a blue blouse with a black collar, and her friend Rita notice Jim and Chris slow dancing together. After making an offhand comment about how she could easily sway Jim to dump Chris, Rita challenges Jordan to do exactly that. And when she says, "Let the games begin," Jordan has officially started her campaign to lure Jim away from Chris. Little does she know, but Jim and Chris have just agreed to have sexual intercourse for the very first time while slow dancing to Bill Wray's "Just One Touch."  
 

 
I know, you're thinking to yourself, this should be no trouble at all. I mean, all Jordan has to do is look in Jim's general direction, and he'll be hers for the taking. Yeah, but, don't underestimate the power of love. Fuck that noise. This Betsy Russell were talking about.
 

 
Quirk fun-fact: Students at both Cherryvale and Freemount affectionately call Miss Dutchbok (Fran Ryan), the former's principal, "Miss Douchbag."
 

 
After a Paula Abdul-choreographed aerobics montage, set to the hokey strains of "The American Girl" by Rick Springfield, has finished doing its crotch compromising thing and the sex-ed class being taught by Ms. Regina Copoletta (Sylvia Kristel) has ended, it's time for the games to begin.
 

 
The opening move is actually performed by Chris, who doesn't even know she's playing a game. She starts things off by making a reservation at the D'Amour Hotel (it's where Chris and Jim plan on having sex). However, the real first move is implemented by Jordan, who flashes one of her tits at Jim while participating at some sort of horse jumping class. Realizing what she's up to, Betsy, not Betsy Russell, but Kathleen Wilhoite's character, rips Jordan's top off. As expected, Betsy's plan to humiliate Jordan backfires, as the sight of Betsy Russell riding topless atop a mighty steed is the stuff of perversion legend.
 

 
Ask people what they remember most about Private School, and I guarantee that the majority of them won't say the scene where Matthew Modine and Phoebe Cates try to buy condoms from Martin Mull. No, what they will say is, the scene where Betsy Russell rides a horse topless to the sound of "How Do I Let You Know," which is, ironically, sung by Phoebe Cates.
 

 
How is that ironic? Thinks about it. Phoebe Cates gets top billing, is featured prominently on the film's poster, and sings on two songs on the film's soundtrack. Yet, the thing we remember most about the film is a topless Betsy Russell riding a horse. And that particular scene just happens to feature one of Phoebe's songs. The other Phoebe song, "Just One Touch," a duet with Bill Wray, can be heard later in the film during a sad montage.
 

 
What would have to happen for there to be a "sad montage" in a movie like this? It's somewhat complicated. But let's just say, it involves Jim, Bubba and Roy storming the Cherryvale dorm in drag. In drag, you say? Tell me more. My pleasure, as the so-called drag sequence features two of my favourite moments from the entire film. And that is, Bestsy Russell's playful attempt to seduce Matthew Modine in drag, and Michael Zorek's foray into the women's shower.  
 

 
The scene where Betsy Russell rides a horse without a top might be the most memorable, but the scene where Betsy Russell shows off her cellulite-free thighs is the sexiest. Turning up the heat, and I mean, literally (she turns up the thermostat in her dorm room), Betsy toys with the sweaty mound that is Matthew Modine in drag. Asking him, "Why wouldn't men like my legs?" Betsy proceeds to instruct Matthew to feel her calves, which, according to her, are as "tight as a drum." And you know what? I believe her. Oh, and if things couldn't get any hotter, "Nasty Girl" by Vanity 6 is playing on the soundtrack.
 

 
During the previous eight or so times I watched this film, the women in the shower scene (set to "I Want Candy" by Bow Wow Wow) were just faceless extras. Well, now that I have a little more experience under my belt when it comes to exploitation cinema, the women in the shower scene are more than merely extras. In fact, one of them, the one with the amazing ass, is none other than Lynda Wiesmeier (Malibu Express). And if you look even closer, and believe me I have, you'll notice the gorgeous Brinke Stevens is in the shower scene as well.  
 

 
Will Chris and Jim's relationship be able to recover from the thermostat/calve inspection debacle? Honestly, I couldn't careless. There's just too much going on to worry about those bland fucks. I mean, when a scene-stealing Richard Stahl shows up as Rita's perpetually intoxicated dad, you'll be saying Chris and Jim who? It doesn't help Chris and Jim's cause when Julie Payne (she plays a gym coach) decides to get drunk. Other actors like, Ray Walston (he plays a chauffeur), Karen Chase, Frances Bay, Steve Levitt, and Frank Aletter all give stellar supporting performances, leaving Chris and Jim by the side of the road wondering, who's movie is this?
 

 
Even the producers probably thought that Chris and Jim's relationship wasn't that interesting. How else can you explain the fact that they edited Chris and Jim's hotel tryst together with a scene involving Bubba trying to get Jordan out of that blue jumpsuit and into nothing but a pair of zebra-print panties? In other words, to answer Chris and Jim's roadside question, this is Betsy Russell's movie, and don't you forget it.

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