My Tutor (George Bowers, 1983)

Who knew Katt Shea, the writer-director of Stripped to Kill and its sequel Stripped to Kill II: Live Girls, had such long, luxurious legs? Oh, you did know that. Well aren't we special. Just to let you know, I'm fully aware that this isn't the most conventional way to start off a review for a film about a dark-haired student who has sex with his blonde-haired tutor. I'm just trying stall long enough until the film's annoyingly catchy theme song leaves my head. Wait a second, shouldn't the fact that the film's theme song is stuck in your head make it easier to type words pertaining to the film in question? You would think that, wouldn't you? But, no. It's actually having the opposite effect. It's true, I don't know who sings the song, but I do know that Webster Lewis and Arthur Hamilton were the one's responsible for writing the music and lyrics. In other words, most of the blame/credit should be hurled in their general direction. One of the main reasons the song that opens My Tutor is so irritating is because it causes me to hum it whenever I think about the bounty of leotard-adorned female crotches heaving and thrusting their way to fitter selves that greet us at the beginning of this Crown International Pictures release. Now, this may come as a shock to you, but not every movie made during the 1980s had an aerobics montage. And that's why, when I do come across a film that does boast an aerobics montage, I have a tendency to hold it against my bosom with a little more gusto than usual. Wow, I had no idea you were so fond of chicks in leotards. Yeah, it's kind of my thing. If that's the case, get ready to smother this film with kisses, because it has not one, but two montages where physically attractive women perform aerobics in an environment that is conducive to stretching, bending, jumping and lunging in tight-fitting clothing. I don't want to sound greedy, but why couldn't they have given us a third aerobics montage? I think most people will agree that the film's finale third could have used an aerobics montage.
 

 

Don't you think a third aerobics montage would have been somewhat redundant? You better be playing devil's advocate, because that's one of the most egregious things I've ever heard. No, hear me out. How many times do you need to see a woman's sweaty crotch being strangled by a thin layer of spandex? It's doesn't make sense, from a storytelling point-of-view, for the filmmaker's to go to the aerobics well a third time. In fact, the second aerobics montage was pushing it a bit. I don't know how to put this, but I think you have lost your mind. And, not only that, you're coming off as a tad square. Square, eh? Yeah, only a real square would openly refuse an extra helping of spandex-ensnared resplendence.
 

 

Speaking of ensnaring things, is Katt Shea's crotch at anytime smothered by a thin layer of spandex during this film? First of all, why do you keep mentioning Katt Shea? She's a director, not an actress. And secondly... Holy crap! It says here that Katt Shea is in this movie. And get this, she apparently plays a mud wrestler. You're obsession is slowly starting to make sense. Anyway, I'll tell you what is pressing against Katt Shea's crotch in a minute. In the meantime, let's pretend this is a normal movie review, written by a normal person.
 

 

What's strange about "You're My Tutor," the song that opens My Tutor, is how disco-friendly it sounds. Call me out of touch, but I didn't think anything that smacked of disco was allowed to be an American movie after it was declared dead sometime in 1980. Nevertheless... Actually, disco, while shunned by mainstream society, was still popular in nightclubs, and, of course, played an important role in the aerobics craze that was sweeping the nation at the time. And since California is in the nation I'm referring to, it makes perfect sense that Terry Green (Caren Kaye) can be seen working up a sweat in a striped leotard in the film's disco-friendly opening scene.
 

 

An opening scene that mixes chicks in headbands doing jumping jacks with shots of Bobby Chrystal (Matt Lattanzi) struggling to finish a French exam.
 

 

I know what you're thinking, aerobics and French exams don't exactly go together. But don't they? Hear me out. One involves a group who have gathered together in a room to improve their bodies, while the other involves a group who seem determined to better themselves as well. Except the latter involves the mind. However, and most people probably don't know this, but the mind is part of the body. And like any muscle, if you don't use every so often, it will become weak and feeble. In other words, you could say Terry and Bobby are both striving to obtain the same thing.
 

 

The only difference being, Bobby fails his French exam. This, as you might expect, causes Bobby much grief, as a high score was needed for him to gain acceptance into Yale. Comforted by his friend Jack (Crispin Glover), Bobby tries to look on the bright... What the hell! Crispin Glover is in this movie! And one of the first things out of his mouth is the line, "Kick out the jams! It's time for summertime fun!" Do you mind? You're interrupting my flow. He may have flunked French, but at least he has Bonnie (Amber Denyse Austin) to confide in. What do you mean they're not dating? Are you telling me that Bonnie isn't interested in Bobby? That doesn't make sense. This problem comes up a lot over the course of My Tutor, and I place the blame squarely on the shoulders of Matt Lattanzi. Why? Look at him. I'm supposed to believe that Matt Lattanzi is a socially awkward teen who's best friends with Crispin Glover? Have you seen this guy without a shirt? He's an Adonis.
 

 

To make matters even more ridiculous, Crispin Glover and his brother Billy (Clark Brandon) decide to take Bobby to a brothel to get, as the kids say, "laid." Why would Matt Lattanzi need to be taken to a whorehouse?!? It doesn't make any sense. He should be beating them off with a stick. On the other hand, maybe he is, after all, socially awkward. I mean, how else can you explain the fact that he falls asleep on Kitten Natividad's breasts? I guess you can be handsome and socially awkward. It's not something I've ever seen, but I guess it could happen.
 

 

It doesn't help that Crispin Glover is his best friend, as he is the king of socially awkward. Though, I was a tad surprised by how Crispin Glover reacted to being tied up and whipped by Louisa (Shelley Tayor Morgan), a blonde dominatrix. Instead of enjoying the experience, Crispin freaks out and runs screaming from the room. Yep, you heard right: Crispin Hellion Glover's character in My Tutor isn't into sadomasochism. So, let me get this straight. The über-gorgeous Matt Lattanzi, that's right, I said "über," plays a dork who likes astronomy, and Crispin Glover, the future king of the echo people, plays a guy (one who wears sock garters in the late 20th century) who's not into being whipped by sexy blondes in black stockings? It looks that way. 
 

 

Since the movie is actually about Bobby's relationship with Terry Green, the freelance French teacher. It's about time we met her, don't you think? Hired by Bobby's father, Mr. Chrystal (Kevin McCarthy), Terry is told that she will get a 10,000 dollar bonus if she succeeds at getting Bobby's French grade up into the mid-80s. Of course, Bobby doesn't know about this so-called bonus, which will probably cause some drama down the road.
 

 

Did anyone else notice they way Mr. Chrystal looked at Terry's crossed legs as she was being interviewed for the tutoring job? No? Well, I did. Actually, it's not that hard to spot.
 

 

To say that Terry has her work cut out for her is a bit of an understatement, as her first pool side French lesson does not go all that well; Bobby seems more interested in Terry's social life than French verbs.    
 

 

If you thought Jack and Billy were going to let the debacle at the brothel stop them from trying to get laid, you obviously know nothing about teenage boys. Taking Bobby to see Sylvia (Graem McGavin), a woman who works at a nearby burger joint, the plan is to have sex with her in the parking lot while she's on her break. I thought it was nice of Sylvia to rent out her vagina to a trio of down of their luck teens. Only problem is, Sylvia's boyfriend is in a bike gang, and they're rumbling into the burger joint parking lot as we speak.
 

 

Having failed to penetrate the pussies belonging to Kitten Natividad and Graem McGavin over the course of the two subsequent nights, Bobby is clearly itching for some poontang. Don't be crude. Uh, I mean, Bobby currently possesses a profound desire to experience a raucous bout of tasteful coitus with a willing member of the opposite sex. And you know who's a member of the opposite sex? That's right, Terry Green. And just like her interview with Mr. Chrystal, Terry induces hardness via the sight of her legs crossed. Except, instead of deploying them in a stuffy office with the aid of a modest white dress, Terry unleashes her gams pool side with the backing of a pair of pink shorts. The sight of her legs crossed causes Bobby, in a veiled attempt to cool off his inflamed genitals, to jump in the pool.
 

 

You can tell that Bobby that is more focused on his French lessons after dampening his erection in the pool. And this new-found focus can be seen in his grade (his test score went from a 55 to an 80 in under two weeks). However, as most people know, teenage boys have trouble focusing on multiple things at once, and Bobby's focus is also squarely on Terry herself. Whether watching her take midnight swims or doing aerobics down at the local health club, Bobby is obsessed with Terry.
 

 

If he's so obsessed with Terry, why is Bobby fantasizing about having sex with Jewel Shepard? Playing "Girl in Phone Booth," Jewel briefly appears in a fantasy sequence, where Bobby pulls over to the side of the road (on his red Vespa), to watch her talk on the phone. In all honesty, I can't really explain the purpose of this scene; I guess it's supposed to remind us that Bobby is still a horny teenager. Either way, as a Jewel Shepard fan, I appreciated its inclusion.
 

 

Just because Bobby's focus is elsewhere, that doesn't mean Jack and Billy are going to stop trying to get laid. And they think they have found the surefire way to achieve this goal: Exotic All-Female Mud Wrestlin'. To the surprise of virtually no one, their attempt to woo two female mud wrestlers by jumping in the ring with them doesn't exactly go as planned. The great thing about the mud wrestlin' sequence is the appearance of filmmaker Katt Shea as one of the mud wrestlers; she's the one with the insanely longs legs wearing the leopard print bathing suit.
 

 

Someone should tell Katt Shea's mud wrestler character that she's not naked, as she is clearly wearing a pair of red panties. Huh? After Billy tears off her blue dress, Katt Shea starts screaming, "I'm naked, I'm naked!" over and over again.
 

 

In a shout out to The Graduate, the film that started the whole older woman, younger man trend, a business partner of Mr. Chrystal pulls Bobby aside during his elaborate birthday party (so elaborate, that his mom, the alluring Arlene Golonka, booked a new wave band who sound like Devo and look like Spandau Ballet), to tell him the future is in "computer chips."
 

 

As expected, Bobby and Terry eventually develop feelings for one another. But, like I said, how will Bobby react when he finds out that Terry is being paid 10,000 dollars to teach him French? Nonetheless, I thought Matt Lattanzi and Caren Kaye had excellent chemistry together as the proponents of this film's non-existent agenda. Lighthearted and innocuous, My Tutor harkens back to a time when we could sympathize with the privileged son of a super-rich businessman who is too handsome for words.

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.

uploaded by fredhogarth