Tiptoes (Matthew Bright, 2003)

Okay, I've stalled long enough. It's time to talk about Tiptoes. (You were stalling?) Wasn't I? Think about it. (Aw, man, don't make us think. It's not a good look for us.) No, hear me out. Call it aught-phobia, call it achondroplasiaphobia, call it a nice greasy pork sandwich served in a dirty ashtray, but I always avoided this movie like it were the plague or The Big Bang Theory. Everyone once and a while, I would come across the film's poster and think: This looks like a giant piece of shit. To add insult to injury, the way the film's poster combined the colour green and Matthew McConaughey reminded me of The Wedding Planner. However, upon further inspection, I noticed that something weird was going on with Patricia Arquette and Kate Beckinsale's hair. The former's hair was in braids and the latter's hair had this Gary Oldman in Bram Stoker's Dracula vibe about it; to make matters even weirder, Kate was standing next to what looked like a regular-size Gary Oldman. More on Oldman's size in a minute. Either way, their respective kooky hairstyles caused me to do a little research. Well, it turns out, this movie, which, like I said, is called "Tiptoes," was directed by Matthew Bright, that's right, Squeezit/Rene from the Forbidden Zone and the guy responsible for Freeway and Freeway 2: Confessions of a Trickbaby . (How does that explain Patricia Arquette and Kate Beckinsale's hair?) If you have listened to director's commentary track on the DVD for the first Freeway movie, like I have, you're well aware that Matthew Bright had a hand in creating the various hairstyles seen throughout that now classic movie. And using my keen powers of observation, I can only assume that Matthew Bright was just as hands on when it came to the hairstyles in this movie as well.

Armed with the knowledge that Matthew Bright was the person who oversaw the follicle direction of this decidedly off-kilter project, I dove straight into its freckled coin slot with just the right amount of gusto. I know, the film probably had a team of hairstylists on the payroll (it even says here that Kate Beckinsale had her own personal hairstylist). But nothing gets put on film unless the director approves it first. In other words, I like to think that Matthew Bright had the final say when it came to hair.

Remember that big ass word I used earlier? (Achondroplasiaphobia?) Yeah, that's the ticket. It means the fear of little people. I don't have it, and I don't know anyone who has it, but apparently it's a real thing. Do you recall when I said that Gary Oldman looked "regular-size" on the film's poster? Yeah, well, how should I put this? He ain't so "regular-size" in the actual movie. That's right. The man who brought to life: Lee Harvey Oswald, Count Dracula, Sid Vicious, and Ludwig Van Beethoven is Rolfe, Matthew McConaughey's twin brother who penetrates Bridget The Midget's irregular pussy with his regular-size cock on a semi-regular basis.

I know, there's nothing "irregular" about little people pussy. In fact, I've been told it's the complete opposite of irregular. I was just being...What was I being again? Oh, yeah. I was being a dick; a dick, by the way, that is seemingly always on the outside when it comes to little people pussy.

While on their way to a meeting being held by the Little People Defense League, two little people, Rolfe (Gary Oldman), a normal-size actor wearing little-people-face, and Maurice (Peter Dinklage) a French Marxist with a grudge against society, stop to pick up a hitchhiker named Lucy (Patricia Arquette), a leggy free spirit, who, from the looks of it, was recently kicked off a bus. Hopping on the back of Maurice's trike chopper (Rolfe is driving one as well), the newly christened threesome continue on their way.

Meanwhile... You know what? I need to get something off my chest before I continue. I just want to say that I loved Patricia Arquette's overall look in this movie. Now, I might expand on these feelings later on down the road, but I just wanted to make it clear that Patricia Arquette's overall look in Tiptoes was a breathtaking sight to behold.

As I was saying, meanwhile, over at the loft where an artist named Carol (Kate Beckinsale) and Steven (Matthew McConaughey), a guy who trains firefighters, live together, a family secret is about to be revealed.

Well, the family secret in question is not going to be revealed to any of film's characters as of yet. However, we soon learn that Steven's entire family is made up of little people. Oh, and unlike Gary Oldman, Matthew McConaughey is playing his own height. I don't know why I felt the need to point that out, as Gary Oldman is the only actor not playing his own height. I guess I just didn't want people to think that all the actors were playing heights that weren't their own. (So, you say, Matthew McConaughey's family is little, eh? And by "little," I mean in stature, not in the size of the actual family.) No, I would say the family's size is quite normal in that regard. Not to imply that being little is somehow abnormal.

Anyway, judging by the way he interacts with the folks at the meeting of the Little People Defense League, hosted by Jerry Robin Jr. (David Alan Grier), he seems, despite the obvious height difference, to get along with everyone, including his parents, Bruno (Michael J. Anderson - The Man from Another Place) and Kathleen (Marcia de Rousse), and his siblings.

I would crawl across the muscled expanse that is Matthew McConaughey's acne-free shoulder blades to get the chance the chat up Tiffany (Cherub Freed), his smoking hot sister. I know, the Goldie Hawn-esque (Lucy's description, not mine) Kitty Katz (Debbie Lee Carrington) thinks she's the hottest little person in the room, even Bobby (Ed Gale), the guy who runs the Little People Defense League, seems to think so. But I have to say, I found myself drawn to the teenage angst bullshit Tiffany was putting out there. Oh, and like all the female characters in this movie, she has amazing hair.

"The asshole is the strongest muscle in the human body," and with that nugget of wisdom, Lucy, along with Rolfe and Maurice, arrives at the L.P.D.L. meeting. While Lucy and Maurice go inside, Steven and Rolfe, who walks with the aide of a cane, get reacquainted in the parking lot. I guess the people who the run the L.P.D.L. didn't approve of Lucy and Maurice's plan to steel their weight in food, as they are kicked out almost immediately.

"People just explode. Natural causes."

(What is this film actually about? I mean, other than the fact that Matthew McConaughey's shoulder blades are free of acne and that Cherub Freed is freaking adorable, you haven't done a very good explaining why this film exists.) First of all, since when do films need to justify their existence. And secondly, you sound like a "film critic" when you talk like that. (Ewww, I think I'm going to puke.)

You see, Carol–you remember, Kate Beckinsale's character–doesn't know that Steven's family is made up of little people, or, as she calls them, "midgets." So, when Carol tells Steven that she might be pregnant, his reaction to the news isn't exactly positive. You could say, he's downright hostile to the news. As you can imagine, things get even more complicated when Carol finds out Steven's little secret (get it, "little secret"). Neither of them want their baby to grow up to be a little person.

However, that all changes when Carol immerse herself in the little person scene. (Wait, there's a little person scene?) Sure, why not? It's tough being little. While Carol is open to idea of having a little person baby, Steven remains against it. You would think that Steven would the one open to idea, as he's spent his whole life around little people. Whereas, Carol was using the word "midget" just a couple of days ago. That's the brilliance of Tiptoes, it... (Stop! "The brilliance of Tiptoes"?!? What are you nuts? Gary Oldman is acting on his fucking knees. Peter Dinklage's French accent is a joke. And... Again, you're starting to sound like a "film critic.") Why can't a movie where Gary Oldman plays a little person and Peter Dinklage sounds like Pepé Le Pew be brilliant? (You're right. Carry on.)

Actually, I think I'm about done. In terms of having the best hair. I'm gong to say Kate Beckinsale's little person party look was the best -- you know, the one with the two large buns tied with a black ribbon. (Wow, I thought for sure you would have said Patricia Arquette's blonde braid look.) While I dug the braids, there was something about Kate's buns that sent me over the edge. On the other hand, I will give the denim/gold lamé outfit Patricia sports in the film my highest rating. Unfortunately, there's no director's commentary on the Tiptoes DVD, so we can't gain any insight into the making of this bizarre film. Nonetheless, I highly recommend listening to Matthew Bright's commentary Freeway DVD. I also recommend Matthew's commentary on the Fantoma Forbidden Zone DVD, the way he perves out every time Gisele Lindley appears onscreen is probably one of my favourite things in the world. Quirky fun-fact: The commentary track on the Fantoma Forbidden Zone DVD is the only commentary track I've listened to more than once.

Freeway II: Confessions of a Trickbaby (Matthew Bright, 1999)

Combining my misguided adoration for undrinkable liquids, spray paint-fueled road movies, women in prison flicks, public handjobs and prompt necrophilia, Freeway II: Confessions of a Trickbaby is another in a long line of films that seem to exist solely as nourishment for my increasingly debased cinematic desires and suspect proclivities. An extremely brash follow-up to the first chapter's skewered take on Little Red Riding Hood, writer-director Matthew Bright (Forbidden Zone) sets his cockeyed sights on the fairytale Hänsel und Gretel. Of course, I don't know much about the Germanic yarn beyond the title (and the non-German industrial duo - Hanzel und Gretyl), but I was able to pick out little details here and there. Like, for instance, a trail of crack cocaine replaces the classic trail of breadcrumbs, and the old witch is now a Mexican nun who may or may not have one of Vincent Gallo's penises positioned as her primary penis. In any case, prior knowledge of the original source material is completely unnecessary. Sure, it may give the thinkers in the audience a smug sense of satisfaction, but this film is more about not puking on the pussies of other people, than it is about children lost in a forest. An exquisite tribute to induced vomiting and the vaginal expanse, the film is a touchingly funny tale of a friendship between two young fugitives who love to barf and eat pussy. It's true, that the so-called "strange dick" referred to in the first film is fraudulently chased to a certain extent–especially when the action ends up in Tijuana, where lots of strange dick is not consumed. But its main mission is to follow White Girl (Natasha Lyonne) and Cyclona (María Celedonio) as they make their way through the unkind morass that is modern society.

The toilet bowl-loving White Girl just wants to find a quiet place to honk chunks in peace, while the psychopathic Cyclona desperately wants something, anything, to prod her melted candle in a loving manner. However, both their destinies seem to involve Sister Gomez (Vincent Gallo), a Mexican nun who Cyclona thinks can cure her of her "angry demon" (she likes to murder people and then have sex with them). White Girl, on the other hand, could stand to get ride of her "hungry demon" (she suffers from an profound case of Bulimia nervosa).

Bragging about the blondeness of her pubic region as if it were second nature, and exaggerating about the scrumptious flavour of the wet contents underneath her lightly shaded follicles like a seasoned professional ("It tastes just like candy"), Natasha Lyonne is a deranged angel in thigh-high hooker boots sent froth from some sort of magic kingdom of sleaziness to quell the aching souls of reprobates the world over.

Appearing bored and sounding more deadpan than usual, the oddly attractive actress is easy to connect with, not only because she would date you, but because her indifference seems sincere. The genuine nonchalance causes her to unwittingly ooze a rare form sex appeal, the kind that goes beyond the surface and comes at you on a more glandular level. And by repeatedly putting herself out there, Natasha makes White Girl seem like the ultimate accidental heroine.

Attacking the film's raunchy and slightly inappropriate dialogue with an elegant ease, María Celedonio's Mink Stole-esque performance is a deranged work of art. Always masturbating, and always advocating the wonders of female-owned genitalia, the svelte actress promotes her unhinged character's ludicrous philosophy with a truckload of gusto.

The sheer amount of reprehensible behaviour that Cyclona engages in during this film was shocking, yes, but somehow María managed to make her likable. Maybe it was her heartfelt enthusiasm for girl brisket, or maybe it was the manner in which unabashedly fed her addiction to spray paint. Well, what ever it was, María turned a serial killing necrophiliac into someone who looked adorable while prancing around Tijuana to the music of Juliana Hatfield and Veruca Salt.

The fact that Vincent Gallo's Sister Gomez, an androgynous spiritual leader, isn't the strangest character in the film is a testament to María's commitment to Matthew Bright's off-kilter fixations. However, that's not to say that Gallo is by any means sane. On the contrary, his performance is still pretty messed up. It's just that we've spent over hour with a paint huffing pussy fiend, and our tolerance for weird has become quite hardened. Which is pretty good way of summing up the experience of watching this film. Only difference being, I'm always hardened. In that, I possess the courage of a nail that is about to be struck.

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Freeway (Matthew Bright, 1996)

Unchecked lewdness, moments of excessive violence, scenes of abhorrent tastelessness, and most importantly of all, it's funny as hell...in a dark, "Oh, no, she didn't!" kinda way. The rambunctious Freeway is a film that not only celebrates the tawdrier aspects of society (underage prostitution, girl-on-girl roughhousing, bilingual solicitation), but also manages to be one of the funniest films I have seen in a long-ass time. Using the classic folktale Little Red Riding Hood as his foundation, writer-director Matthew Bright (Forbidden Zone) has taken the story of a hood-wearing picnic enthusiast with a Grandmother fixation and turned it into a modern day allegory about sexual abuse, serial killers and parental ineptitude. In this souped-up version of the old-timey children's fable we follow the messed up adventures of teenage hellion, Vanessa Lutz (Reese Witherspoon), an illiterate, shapely legged little terror, who enjoys locking whoremonger's in the trunks of cars and making shanks in her spare-time. The film starts off with Vanessa's streetwalker mom (a scrumptiously sleazy Amanda Plummer) and deviant stepfather (a twitchy Michael T. Weiss) being arrested on the same day. And, as you would expect, the foulmouthed scamp is quite despondent. So she ditches her parole officer and hatches a plan to stay with Grandma, who lives up in Stockton, California (the town where Fat City was filmed and the birthplace of Pavement). Only problem is, her lemon of a car breaks down on the freeway. Fortunately (and I use that word carefully), a kindly stranger named Bob Wolverton (Kiefer Sutherland) offers to give her a ride the rest of the way.

Sexy and full of spunk, Reese Witherspoon blew the hell out of me as Vanessa, the sassiest piece of jailbait this side of Flin Flon. The scrunchy-faced actress completely destroys my image of her in this movie.

Discharging a rapid fire barrage of hilariously filthy put-downs at anyone within earshot, Reese gives an impassioned and volatile performance that left me dumbfounded. In Vanessa Lutz, Miss Witherspoon has created a character so enchanting, so endearing, that I get all tingly just thinking about her. Whether she's gently pistol-whipping necrophiliacs in the back of the head or beating a fellow inmate with a pay-phone receiver, Vanessa trampled her way into the blackened recesses of my perverted heart.

Her interrogation scene with the always reliable Dan Heydaya and Wolfgang Bodison (I loved the way he seemed aroused by Lutz' descriptions of her past crimes) is the best example of Reese's acting mettle (wonderfully unselfconscious and feisty to the max). This particular scene is also a great example of the film's very un-PC dialogue. I also adored the fact her step dad taught her how to make a juvie-quality shank.

Oh, and the look Reese's face in that picture detectives show to Kiefer when he's in the hospital was the funniest thing I've seen in years.

A girl-loving Brittany Murphy is totally awesome as Rhonda (Reese's slightly unhinged bunk-mate while she's in prison). The way she said the lines, "I'm in here for huffin' paint" and "They found a gram of tar up my kooch" had me rolling near the floor.

The lover of tacky fashion in me thinks Brooke Shields' seafaring wardrobe and dangly jewelry deserves major kudos. On top of that, I thought Tara Subkoff's leg brace was a wonderfully odd character touch; the makeup used to create Kiefer's grotesque smile was well-crafted; and Alanna Ubach's strangling technique was absolutely splendid in its ghastliness. You know what they say, nothing beats getting strangled to death in a gas station restroom.

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Forbidden Zone (Richard Elfman, 1980)

Well zap my cornflakes, you dandified harlot! Is this film is the cosmic nuts or what? A royal flush of disturbed insanity, one that managed to somehow gently caress my primary pleasure patches, while at the same time, aggressively finger-bang my left eye socket, Richard Elfman's Forbidden Zone is the cinematic equivalent of a perfectly-timed pelvic thrust. A film so on target in its desire to thrill and traumatize, that I was literally poking the humid air with every extremity I could think of in a misguided attempt to express joy. In fact, I was so enraptured, that I immediately watched it again – something I've never done before. Now, I know what you're thinking: "Where does she find the time to watch surrealistic musicals made by an unorganized collection of mystic knights more than once"? Well, I don't know exactly. (What can I say? I'm not a big fan of finding out where time comes from.) However, if you must know, I actually had to cancel a speaking engagement at this hoity-toity quilting symposium in order to watch it again. But luckily for me, this annual event only exists inside my subconscious. In other words, I was able to view the film a second time. And, wow, does it ever come alive on the b-side.

Tantamount to being spat in the face by a bicephalic ragpicker circa 1902, the Forbidden Zone is a dicey jaunt through the inappropriate imagination of a mentally unwell Elfman.

Mining the stylistic credo of the Mystic Knights of the Oingo Boingo and utilizing the wonderfully strange music of his brother Danny, Richard Elfman has fashioned a film so bizarre, so idiotic, so tantalizing, so titillating, that typed words can't seem to do it justice. The "story" basically revolves the Hercules family and the mysterious doorway in the basement of their Venice, Los Angeles, California home.

The dark, orifice-like entree leads to a place called The Sixth Dimension (a.k.a. The Forbidden Zone), a torturous kingdom ruled by King Fausto (Hervé Villechaize), a diminutive Francophile, and Queen Doris (Susan Tyrrell), a tempestuous, pantyhose-wearing control freak. One by one, each family member stumbles through the door and comes face-to-face with myriad abnormalities.

However, since the members of the Hercules clan are freaks in their own right, the transition from one fucked up dimension to another is unsurprisingly smooth.

The weird sets (co-designed by Marie-Pascale Elfman), wobbly animation (John Muto) and catchy songs make Forbidden Zone a real treat for the senses. However, it's the can-do spirit of the eclectic cast that makes the film purr so orgasmically. For starters, Hervé and Susan make such a delicious royal couple. Seriously, I could watch King Fausto gently caress Queen Doris's nylon-covered leg for hours on end.

I loved the way Susan camped it up in this film, incessantly gyrating and singing songs about being hatched out of a witch's egg. Her highlight comes when she calls Hervé a "dumb fuck." Though, she could have said it to her frog butler (Jan Stuart Schwartz) – I know it for sure she didn't say it to the human chandelier (Kedric Wolfe). Whatever.

The statuesque Gisele Lindley is gorgeousness personified as the Sixth Dimension's obligatory princess. Her exquisite nipples (she doesn't believe in wearing tops), super-tight off-white panties, black opera gloves, black heels, and long (and I mean, long - let's call them "super-long"), slender legs will drive all the heterosexual men (and discerning lesbians) in the audience mad with lust-filled dementia. I adored the way she would scoff at everyone around her. In that, she knew she was the sexiest specimen in all the land.

Don't fret all you Friends of Dorothy out there, they're plenty of scenes involving scantily clad men wearing nothing but jockstraps. The dumpy duo of Phil Gordon and Hyman Diamond provide the physical comedy as Flash and Grampa Hercules. Their obsession with rear entry dry humping had me scratching my neck for days. I mean, I've never seen so much non-consensual rear entry dry humping in all my life. (To be fair, I'd say forty-five percent of the humping was consensual.)

My favourite performance by far was that of co-writer Matthew Bright (credited here as Toshiro Boloney). The future director of Freeway and Freeway 2: Confessions of a Trickbaby plays the duel role of Squeezeit Henderson, a shy guy with low-self esteem who seeks advice from chickens (they don't call him "Chicken Boy" for nothing), and René Henderson, a transgender masochist with a penchant for pseudo-menstrual cramps. His pitch perfect line delivery and fidgety facial expressions made me smile every time, and ended up giving the bizarre musical a demented, yet heartfelt sense of wonder.

video uploaded by Richard Elfman

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