Sorority House Massacre II (Jim Wynorski, 1990)

I'll admit, after the mini-debacle that was the first Sorority House Massacre, I wasn't all that thrilled with the prospect of watching the same exact movie again. What's that? How do I know the sequel is going to be exactly the same as the first one? That's easy. Fresh ideas are hard to come by and I doubt the makers of Sorority House Massacre II are going to be the one's stumbling upon any anytime soon. Hold up, it says here that part two was directed by Jim Wynorski (Demolition High). Which means... Actually, this does not bode well, either. As Mr. Wynorski's track record when it comes to delivering the goods is a tad sketchy at best. For every 976-EVIL II and Chopping Mall, there are dozens of stinkers. While not exactly his best, this film is the forerunner to his Hard to Die (a.k.a. Sorority House Massacre III). Meaning, we should expect to see scantily clad bimbos running up and down stairs in bad lingerie. I know, what is exactly constitutes "bad lingerie"? I mean, how can lingerie ever be bad? Right, that's pure, unadulterated kooky-talk. Well, I have news for ya, fellas. The lingerie in this film pretty god awful. Though, I shouldn't be surprised, as I distinctly recall the lingerie in Hard to Die being pretty god awful as well.

For one thing, none of the women are wearing nylons. Seriously, there's not a single pair of stockings in the entire film. We do, however, get two jean skirts, one pair of jean shorts and a single pair of jeans. (Wow, that's a lot denim.) You got that right. And I'm still shaking my head over it. I can sort of see two of the women wearing denim of some kind, but four out of five? That's ridiculous.

What do we want? Less denim in Sorority House Massacre II! When do we want it? Um, now would be nice.

Since Dana Bentley's "Janey," is the only co-ed not wearing denim during pre-lingerie stage of the film, I immediately gravitated towards her. Of course, she's probably going to be the first to die. But I don't care. I'll take a gothy brunette dressed in all-black over four denim-slathered blondes any day of the motherfuckin' week. To make matters worse, when she does die, it will most likely be done off-screen, as I don't think this film was given much to work with as far gore budgets go.

Anyway, just like in Hard to Die, we're told the story of the Hockstatter murders that took place in Slumber Party Massacre. Yeah, I'm confused, too. After watching an entire scene from Slumber Party Massacre (narrated by one of the girls), the girls come face-to-face with Orville Ketchum (Peter Spellos), the large (creepy) man who lives next-door. Oh, and before you ask if Orville is the killer. Remember this, this is Jim Wynorski we're talking about, not Fred Olen Ray. In other words, expect the unexpected.

Other than Gail Harris' first-rate panties and Dana Bentley's shunning of denim, I would say that Orville Ketchum is the best thing about this movie. Yeah, that's right. The scary-looking fat guy who enjoys lurking and eating raw meat. He gives, believe it or not, a nuanced performance as the neighbour who can't be killed.

It's a shame the same can't be said about the rest of the cast, who all give the same variation of your typical stupid and confused late '80s co-ed.

You might have noticed that before I singled out Dana Bentley's denim snub, that I alluded to Gail Harris' first-rate panties. Which might seem odd, as you might recall, I pretty much dismissed every stitch of lingerie that appears in this film.

Well, I'm making an exception for Gail Harris' panties. Now, some of you might be thinking yourself: You only liked her panties because they wore you out. What I mean is, they were onscreen for such extended period of time, you grew to tolerate them.

While, yes, it's true. Gail Harris' panties, and, I suppose, her crotch and buttocks region, are featured quite heavily throughout this movie. I did fall madly in love with them the moment they appeared onscreen. But make no mistake, this was purely a pantie anomaly. Everything else is an abomination. (Even the black one-piece Dana Bentley puts on during the film's lingerie phase?) If it had been paired with stockings, I might have given it a pass. But black lingerie without stockings is unacceptable in my book.

I'm currently in love with a woman who has a port-wine stain on the left side of her face. She's beautiful and fierce as fuck. (I'm happy for you. But what's this got to do with the movie you're currently reviewing?) Oh, sorry 'bout that. If you look closely, you'll notice that Gail's panties have a port-wine bloodstain on them at one point. And I say, "at one point," as the bloodstain seems to change in-between shots. In one of the shots, her panties appear completely devoid of blood. Did she wash them while going from the living room to the kitchen? I doubt it.

I wonder who was Gail's pantie wrangler on this flick. Now, that's what I call a dream job. Although, I bet a large part of the job involves keeping the cross-dressing crew members from trying them on in-between takes (I hear precum stains are a nightmare to get out, especially on white panties). Oh, and who am I kidding, this film didn't employ "takes." If it did. Wow, that's pretty sad. No, this film looks like it was shot over a couple of days. The only one who seemed to put in any real effort was Chuck Cirino, whose score is top-notch, as usual.

Samurai Cop (Amir Shervan, 1989)

Using my unique power to look at stuff and combining it with my not-so unique ability to remember the stuff I just looked at with some degree of accuracy, I would say roughly around thirty henchmen are killed in Samurai Cop, the movie so awesome, it's comes with its own body bag. Wait, I don't like that. Let me try that again. ...in Samurai Cop, the movie so awesome, it watches you. Neither of them make any sense, but I prefer the latter. I like the idea of a movie that watches you, and believe me, this is one movie you don't want watching you, or maybe you do. Again, I don't know what that means exactly. Either way, who is going to pay for all those funerals? That's what I'd like to know. What funerals, you ask? The henchmen. Haven't you heard? Los Angeles is replete with dead henchmen. And to add insult to dead henchmen, their deaths were primarily the handy work of some long-haired no dick from San Diego. Why this Fabio wannabe in the jet black banana hammock felt the need to drive all the way up to L.A. to destroy the city's most precious resource is anyone's guess. But don't think for a San Diego minute the more jawed than usual residents of this fair city are going to sit idly by and let some namby-pamby Japonophile ruin everyone lives. You wanna know why? 'Cause they won't...sit idly by, that is. (First of all, since when has L.A.'s most precious resource been henchmen? I always thought it was spineless sycophants. And secondly, "more jawed than usual"? What the fuck does that mean?)

Oh, you're so naive. There's only one person on this earth that fits that jowl-centric description, and that is, the one, the only, Robert Z'Dar. Taking henching to a whole nother level, Robert Z'Dar is the ultimate henchman as Yamashita, the loyal warrior who carries out his orders using the samurai code.
  

Whether instructing lesser henchmen to attack his foes, riddling said lesser henchmen's bodies with bullets fired from an Uzi after they fail to attack said foes with the necessary fortitude, or engaging in sexual intercourse with female henchmen with red hair, Yamashita does everything with an exuberant brand of gusto.
  

(I'm curious, does it take Robert Z'Dar longer to shave than everybody else?) Don't be stupid, he clearly has a beard in this movie. (Okay, let me rephrase that. Does it take longer for Robert Z'Dar longer to trim his beard than everybody else?) While not as bad as your first question, it's still somewhat stupid. Therefore, I refuse to answer it.

Just to let you know, there are four sex scenes in this movie. Okay, before you start giving each other frat boy-style high fives, I feel I should warn you that I could have sworn I saw a hint of anus in at least three of them. (Boy anus or girl anus?) Girl anus. Don't look so relieved, you know you wanna see some or all of the Samurai Cop's smouldering butthole.
  

Now, you could say this was a direct result of lackluster filmmaking on the part of director Amir Shervan, but there's no way I'm saying that. A hint of anus is a part of everyday life. Take it away and what are you left with? (Less anus?!?) Exactly. And who wants to live in a world with less anus? (Not me?!?) You know it.
  

Here's a bold statement: Samurai Cop is better than every Andy Sidaris film combined. The women are hotter (strong, forthright feminists without an ounce of silicon), the action is more exciting, the music is synthier (the score reminded me of A Split Second, the Belgian band, not the Rutger Hauer movie), and the dialogue is definitely more crisp. (Wait, more crisp? Are you sure you're not talking about a head of lettuce?) No, I'm talking about dialogue.

They might not be an established gang yet, but Fujiyama, the leader of Katana (which means "Japanese sword"), plans to change all that when he sends his favourite henchmen, Yamashita (Robert Z'Dar), to meet with the leader of a rival Chinese gang in Chinatown. And by "meet with," I mean, he straight-up kills his ass.
  

If the scene that introduces us to Katana, a gang that also includes karate expert Okamura (Gerald Okamura) and the sultry yet dangerous Cameron (Krista Lane), seems to fly by at a sprinter's pace, the scene that introduces us to their primary adversaries seems like an epic slog by comparison. Two cops, who could be on the edge (the status of where they're standing edge-wise is not known to us when the film gets underway), named Joe Marshall (Matt Hannon) and Frank Washington (Mark Frazer), are in pursuit of a van that is purportedly transporting a shitload of cocaine.
  

Utilizing the help of Peggy Lee Thomas (Melissa Moore), a sexually aggressive police helicopter pilot (if you're about to chop off a big black cock, make sure to send it her way before you do so, as she doesn't like to see big black cocks go to waste), Joe and Frank chase down the cocaine van (in a scene that is reminiscent of the classic car chase in To Live and Die in L.A.), dispatching a couple of henchmen along the way.
  

After capturing the driver of the van (who was badly burned at the end of the chase), Joe points up at Peggy, as if to say, I'll see your pretty little anus later. And since their encounter is filmed, we get to see her pretty little anus as well.
  

I think the main reason we see so much anus in this film is because people often overestimate the capacity of the thong to keep your anus covered at all times. While it might provide the coverage our anus shy society requires whilst the thong-ensnared individual is standing in the upright position. However, once the person starts moving around in a manner the engineers at the thong laboratories had not foreseen, that's when things could get a tad rectal, if you know what I mean.
  

Exposed anus or not, I couldn't help but cheer Peggy on as she rode Joe's cock to Pleasuretown, Population: Her orgasm. I think I might have even yelled, "Ride that Samurai Cop, you horny bint!" at one point.
  

(Hold on, Joe's the "Samurai Cop" in Samurai Cop? Am I crazy, or does he not look Japanese?) Ah, you see, according to Yamashita, who is also not Japanese, Joe, while technically not Japanese, was trained by a martial arts master in Japan, is fluent in Japanese, and was sent to L.A. from San Diego to fight Katana.
  

Oh, he's from San Diego all right, but there's no fucking way he's fluent in Japanese. I mean, he can barely speak English. Anyway, after Yamashita is finished telling his boss all about this Joe fella, Fujiyama, his thick Japanese mullet fluttering with mullet-fueled rage, demands that the van driver's head be placed on his piano, so that all can see what happens to the Katana members who get captured (Katana have a strict "don't get captured or else" policy).

And guess who's in charge of retrieving his head, that's right, Yamashita. But how is Yamashita going to get past the security at the hospital? Don't worry, Cameron is going to pretend to be a nurse and wheel Yamashita in a cart covered with a white sheet. Keep on an eye of Krista Lane's legs as she and Z'Dar are leaving the hospital with the van driver's head in tow, her white stockings turn to taupe stockings in an instant.
  

Speaking of keeping an eye on things, make sure to take special note of Mark Frazer's acting as a sexy nurse mocks Joe's lack of cock when it comes to the size of his cock. His style of acting, if you can call it "acting," reminded me of Dean Learner from Garth Marenghi's Darkplace, in that he's not putting on an act, he's telling truth.
  

After one set back after another, Captain Roma  (Dale Cummings) finally tells Frank that he's had enough of this "moron from San Diego." (Did he just call the "Samurai Cop" a "moron" right in front of the "Samurai Cop"?) He sure did. (Damn, I like this guy's style. But why is he so grumpy?) Well, for starters, he's got this club up his ass, and he's having the darndest time trying to figure a way to get it out. Nonetheless, Frank manages to sweet talk the captain, giving them some more time to achieve the desired result. And that is, take down the Katana gang.

You wouldn't think it was possible given the garments dire reputation in the fashion world, but Melissa Moore is somehow able to make lady police pants look good.
  

Getting a tip that Fujiyama likes to hang out at The Blue Lagoon restaurant, Joe and Frank stop by to annoy him–you know, let him know where they stand. And it's during this stand knowing session that Joe gets his first look at Jennifer (Jannis Farley), the actual owner of The Blue Lagoon. It's clear by the way they smile at one another that Joe is going to woo the living crap out of her.
  

It should go without saying, but I'm going to to say it anyway, the sight of Robert Z'Dar reloading his Uzi is a beautiful thing. Oh, and the reason he needs to reload his Uzi is because he needs to spray The Blue Lagoon parking lot with copious amounts of hot lead. The flunkies he instructed to kick Joe's ass failed to do just that, so, he had no choice but to kill them.
  

The fact that the giant lion head on the wall in Jennifer's office does not come up once during Joe and Jennifer's conversation ("Hey, what's with the lion head?" or "Nice lion head.") is one of the reasons this film rules so hard.
  

As Joe, Frank and Peggy lay siege to Gerald Okamura's house, you'll notice two things: 1) We get another glimpse of a woman's anus; and 2) A bored Peggy asks a fellow officer he wants to "fuck." I can sort of understand the slight anus, as accidental anus is par for the course in this film, but why would Peggy ask a fellow officer to "fuck" right as they're about to take out an important henchmen's home? That's simple really, she likes sexual intercourse.
 

Out of all the funerals that are going to be held over the coming weeks for the dozens of henchmen and flunkies killed throughout this film, the one I would like to attend would have to be one for the "Go Watch the Other Door" henchman. What can I say, I really dug his style. The other cool thing about not only the "Go Watch the Other Door" henchman, but the other henchmen as well, was how each henchman died (i.e. fell to the ground after being shot) in a manner that was entirely unique.
 

The biggest mystery surrounding Samurai Cop was not the excessive amount of anal generosity, or the identity of the actress who plays "Sally," the leggy wife of a cop Z'Dar and the boys terrorize to learn the location of the "Samuari Cop," but the bandage on Melissa Moore's leg. Was the bandage part of her character's arc (a sex-related injury, perhaps?), or did Melissa Moore really cut her leg? If anyone runs into Melissa Moore, please tell her I'm concerned about her leg. Being that's it's not the 1980s anymore, I'm sure the cut has healed by now. But still, it makes you think.

Did I mention that Samurai Cop is better than every Andy Sidaris film combined? Oh, I did, eh? Well then, that's all you really need know. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to pretend that I'm about to attend a henchmen's funeral.

Hard to Die (Jim Wynorski, 1990)

It's a dilemma that every director must face: How do I get my female characters into skimpy lingerie? You can't just have them walking down the street at the start of the film in nothing but their bras and panties, you need come up with a reason that will satisfy the people in the audience who require their entertainment to be based in reality. If I was directing, I would have said to hell with realism, let's get these women into some filly panties, stat! Unfortunately, I'm not directing. But luckily, Jim Wynorski (Chopping Mall) is, and if anyone knows how to get a bunch of leggy women trapped in a high rise office building to wear impractical clothing, it's him. Bringing his unique perspective to the proceedings, Mr. Wynorski somehow manages to find away to get the five actresses who appear in Hard to Die (a.k.a. Nighty Nightmare II and Sorority House Massacre 3) to sheath their luscious bodies in lingerie in a manner that will appease both pragmatists and perverts alike. It's quite the remarkable feat, if you think about it. If you don't think about it, well, I can't help you, because I'm only down with people who think about such things. There's no logical reason why the women who frolicked, romped, cavorted, blasted, and occasionally cowered their way through this film's low budget universe should have ended up dressed like that; it baffles the mind and tickles the tip of Ernest Borgnine's penis. It's a testament to the tireless effort put forth by everyone involved with this seemingly innocuous production that the film was able to soar to higher than any lingerie-based thriller has ever soared.
 

 

The answer to the question I posed earlier–you know, the one that pertained to the methods a director should use to get their characters to wear clothing that conflicts with their environment–is easy: Have your film take place at the headquarters of a company that produces lingerie. Done, and done. Okay, that's all fine and good, but that still doesn't explain how the women go from wearing their street clothes (jean shorts and little black dresses) to changing into lingerie. Don't worry, the makers of Hard to Die have a plan, a deceptively simple plan. 
 

 

First thing you need to do is sully the clothes they're currently wearing, the logic being they're not gonna change out of their clothes for nothing. Yeah, but how do you ruin the clothes of five characters simultaneously? You want all of them in lingerie, not just some of them. The best way achieve this is to have all your characters gather in the same room. When you've done that, utilize a fire sprinkler system. Just have it go off or something. Soaked with water and mildly annoyed, have your characters take a shower (the CEO should have one in his office). Instead waiting for their clothes to dry, have one of the characters suggest that they should wear lingerie in the meantime (it being a company that makes lingerie, finding some to wear shouldn't be a problem).
 

 

Learning who's who in a film like Hard to Die poses an even bigger quandary than getting your cast in lingerie, as the brain energy required to keep track of five scantily clad white women will no doubt sap the strength of even the most ardent of deviants. As luck would have it, each cast member had a unique quality about them that helped me distinguish one from the other. For starters, Shayna (Bridget Carney), street clothes: white cowboy boots - lingerie: purple nightie, had a Latino vibe about her, and Dawn Grant (Gail Harris), street clothes: jean shorts with red boots - lingerie: red panties, who sounded English, were easy pick out of the crowd.
 

 

The statuesque Tess (Melissa Moore), street clothes: black dress - lingerie: black nightie, was the only blonde in the group (plus, she had curves in all the right places), Diana (Karen Mayo-Chandler), street clothes: blue dress with titillation holes on the side - lingerie: blue nightie, was the ubiquitous tall brunette, and Jackie (Deborah Dutch) street clothes: short black skirt with matching pumps - lingerie: black panties paired with a red and black top, had the distinction of being the film's leggiest gal.
 

 

I just remembered that Diana, the tall, well, tall compared to Deborah Dutch, who couldn't have been taller than 5' 2", brunette actually didn't get sprayed with sprinkler water, because she was busy moving boxes marked "Acme Lingerie." The reason she takes a shower was because she was so sweaty from all that heavy lifting.
 

 

Lifting boxes?!? Yeah, that's right. The five women I just mentioned have been instructed to move boxes from the basement of a high rise office building for Acme Lingerie. Four of the ladies, while waiting for the elevator, are told the story of a sorority house massacre by a creepy janitor named Orville Ketchum (Peter Spellos) and handed a mysterious package.
 

 

After meeting up with the fifth member of their party (a tall brunette who's shtupping the guy who runs Acme Lingerie), the women decide to open the crazy-looking box that was inside the mysterious package. A demonic force shoots out of the box, and proceeds to fly around the room. The ladies shrug it off the supernatural weirdness that just transpired and decide to take showers, wear lingerie (Dawn requests a top that will compliment her red panties), and order Chinese food. 
 

 

The order in which the women take their respective showers will probably be the order in which they meet their inevitable demise at the hands with the ghost of a crazed killer. Which is a shame really, because I was content with just watching the women move boxes while wearing lingerie. But I guess some of them have to die, it's the way horror movies work.
 

 

Surprisingly, the first woman to be killed just happens to the one whose character is developed the most. Check this out, not only do we learn that she's trying to get an agent, we also find out that she hurt her back skiing the previous year. Other than the colour of their panties, I can't tell you much about the other women.
 

 

Speaking of panties, keep an eye on the red panties worn by Gail Harris as she makes her way up the stairs. Why would I want do something like that? Trust me, look at her red panties. If you do, you'll notice there's tag is sticking out of the back of her red panties as she climbs one flight of stairs. But as she tackles the next flight, the tag is missing. What happened between flights? Did the tag manage to tuck itself back inside her red panties thanks to the duress caused by the vigorous stair climbing or did Gail tuck it back in herself? Fascinating stuff.  
 

 

This is probably way off base, but I wonder if the other actresses in the cast were jealous of Deborah Dutch's shapely legs. The only reason I bring this up is because a lot of the shots in the film require the actresses to stand beside each other for extended periods of time, and while they were doing all this standing around, all I could think about was the sight of Gail Harris and Karen Mayo-Chandler growing increasingly angry between takes over the fact that had to stand next to Deborah Dutch, whose legs are pretty much perfect in terms of shapeliness.
 

 

Yeah, but can Deborah Dutch operate a telephone, fire an assault rifle, stab a janitor, use a trash can lid as a weapon, and recite dialogue in a semi-convincing manner? Yeah, well...okay, no, she can't do any of those things. But do you know who can? You're way ahead of me. The spunky Gail Harris, that's who. Saddled with the unenviable task of being the one responsible for moving the ridiculous plot forward, Gail, a former Page 3 girl from Batley, England, does the majority of the film's story-centric heavy lifting.
 

 

Sure, fellow Brit, Surrey's Karen Mayo-Chandler (Stripped to Kill II: Live Girls), lifts stuff as well, but Gail's lifting was way more important. I mean, if it wasn't for Gail's tireless commitment acting and junk, there would be no movie. All you would have is a series of lame kills and a dead on arrival police investigation subplot. 
 

 

Um, hello? You forgot about the lingerie. Did I? Oh yeah, I guess I did. To tell you the truth, the lingerie wasn't all that great. Seriously, if you're gonna make a movie about five leggy women trapped in a lingerie factory, you should at least have one of them wear a pair of stockings. You mean to tell me none of the women wear stockings?!? What the fuck? What the fuck, indeed. The people in the costume and wardrobe department should be ashamed of themselves for this nylon-based oversight.   
 

 

While somewhat better than Evil Toons (both feature a group of scantily clad women who are forced to perform manual labour in an enclosed space to the music of Chuck Cirino), Hard to Die still manages to come up short as a slice of undercooked schlock. You have to admit, the decision to kill off the characters in relation to their lack of talent (the less adept thespians are mercifully dispatched in the early going) was an admirable one. But I'll never forgive the film's mishandling of the lingerie. If only Jim Wynorski had consulted Jess Franco (Faceless) or Tinto Brass (All Ladies Do It), directors who know a thing or two about titillation and eroticism (his idea of sexy is to insert funny sound effects while the women wash their boobies in the shower), then you might have had something. Instead, what we're left with is a mildly amusing flick that is saved by a leggy gal from Titusville, New Jersey and a plucky chick from Yorkshire.

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