Cat People (Paul Scrader, 1982)

Dare I fetishize thigh-high hip waders? (What are you talking about? You better fetishize thigh-high hip waders. I mean, I didn't click on your review of Paul Schrader's for you not to fetishize thigh-high hip waders.) Fine. I'll fetishize thigh-high hip waders. If the reason the name "Paul Schrader" sounds familiar, it's because he wrote Taxi Driver. (Hey, what do you think you're doing?) Um, hello? I'm writing about Cat People. (I can see that, but what about the thigh-high hip waders? I'm no brain doctor, but the thigh skin that periodically pokes out from the top of  Nastassja Kinski's thigh-high hip waders while fishing for some crawfish from a Louisina river ain't going to describe itself.) But I read somewhere that it's mandatory to mention the fact that Paul Schrader wrote Taxi Driver when doing a review of Cat People, or any other non-Taxi Driver-related Paul Schrader film for that matter. (Since when do you do what's mandatory? You're going to stand out from the crowd if you blather endlessly about the brief scene where the too luminous for words Nastassja Kinski wears thigh-high hip waders.) But won't I come off as perverted and weird if I do that? (Yeah, but you want to come off as perverted and weird.) I do? (You know it.) Okay, if you say so. All right, let me think, how does one craft a movie review that centres around thigh-high hip waders? (Well, first of all, you should stop calling them "thigh-high hip waders." Think about it, how can they be thigh-high and go up to your hip at the same time?) You mean I should call them thigh-high fishing boots instead? (Or better yet, just drop the "hip.")

You would think Paul Schrader was channeling Jess Franco by the way his camera focuses on Nastassja Kinski as she struggles to deposit some recently caught crawfish into a bucket. (Are you implying that Paul's decision to show Nastassja bending over with her back to the camera was gratuitous? 'Cause if you are, you would be dead wrong. The reason he does this is to show that the curator of the New Orleans Zoological Park is developing amorous feelings towards Miss Kinski.) Don't you think it's obvious that he's developing amorous feelings towards her? He did, after all, land her a sweet job at the zoo's gift shop. (That's true, but nothing sends prudish American men over the titillation edge more than the sight of an ambiguously European woman bending over in thigh-high fishing boots. It's science! Okay, maybe it's not an exact science; more like a loose collection of half-baked theories and asinine brain anomalies. But can you think of anything else that's sexier than the sight of Nastassja Kinski in thigh-high fishing boots?)

Oh, I don't know, how about the sight of Lynn Lowry (Score) in black stockings? (Holy crap, that is sexier.) Told you. And get this, I've always thought Lynn Lowry had a bit of a feline vibe about her. (But she doesn't play a cat person in Cat People.) I know, but she plays a prostitute who attracts a cat person. (I think I get it. She's not a cat person.) Right. (But cat people find her attractive.) Keep going. (Hence, she has a feline vibe about her.) Bingo! (I can't believe I'm about to say this, but that makes perfect sense.)

Cat people might find her attractive, but that doesn't mean they're not going to try to tear her apart. You see, cat people can only have sex with other cat people. No matter how appealing they may look in black lingerie, the desire to rip the flesh from their bones is unstoppable.

Now, someone, like, say, a cynical prostitute with a flat stomach, might have no trouble whatsoever deciding that it's probably a bad idea to get romantically involved with a cat person. But what if you're a mild-mannered curator of an old-timey zoo (one that stills uses cages with bars) who falls in love like it were bodily function, what advice would give them?

Step softly and always have enough rope on hand, as you never know when you might have to tie your cat girlfriend to a bed. (Yikes, that sounds kinky.) Yeah, I guess it sort of does. But then again, I was mildly turned on by the scene where Ruby Dee explains the origin of character's name, so, maybe I'm not the best person to decide what is kinky and what is not kinky.

(Don't worry, you're not in danger of losing your kink cred. The scene where a human male ties up his human/black leopard hybrid girlfriend so he can have sexual intercourse with her without having to worry about being torn apart during the post-coital aftermath is definitely kinky.) That's a relief, for a minute there I thought I was being a fuddy-duddy.

Just curious, am I the only one who thought Ruby Dee was smoking hot in this movie? Interesting, none of you have your hands raised, but I'm noticing some slight nodding here and there. Meaning, I wasn't the only one. Sure, her basement is filled with the half-eaten corpses of hookers and teenage runaways, but her accent is sexy and her bone structure is sublime.

Speaking of bone structure, Nastassja Kinski! Oh my god! Talk about sublime. I can't believe this is my first Nastassja Kinski film. (Are you sure about that? Maybe you should skim through her film credits.) Nah, I don't feel like doing that. Besides, this is definitely the first Nastassja Kinski film I've seen in the past ten years. Either way, I would have loved to have seen this film in theatre when it came out in the early '80s, as I would have loved to have heard the loud gasps coming from the audience the moment when Nastassja Kinski first appears onscreen. She is simply stunning.

Meeting her long lost brother Paul (Malcolm McDowell) at the airport in New Orleans, Irena (Nastassja Kinski) seems excited to start her new life in The Big Easy. Taking her to his fancy house on Weird French Name Street in the Gumbo District (Go Saints, Go!), Malcolm, I mean, Paul, introduces Irena to Ruby Dee's Female (pronounced "fee-molly"), a Renfield-esque woman who takes care of Paul's affairs when he's out busy doing cat stuff.

After some awkward brother-sister closeness (I totally thought they were going to kiss at one point), Irena goes to sleep. But does Paul go to sleep? I don't think so. Donning a black tank-top, Paul, after doing some awkward brother-sister lurking in Irena's bedroom, heads out for the evening.

Even though we don't see Malcolm McDowell for quite some time, I'll go ahead and assume that he has transformed into the black leopard that is currently resting underneath a bed in a cheap hotel. Sitting on said bed is Ruthie (Lynn Lowry), a sexy prostitute who is dressed exactly the way a prostitute is supposed to dress.

Let's give her hooker ensemble a quick once over, shall we? Black bra? Check. Black stockings held up with black suspenders? Check. Black garter belt? Check. Black heels? Check. You see, she's perfect.

(Wait, you forgot to ask if she has a nasty gash on her right ankle.) Why would I ask that? Hold on, the black leopard resting underneath the bed she is currently sitting on is starting to get grumpy. You know what that means? Nasty gash on her right ankle? Check.

Here's a fun-fact: It turns out the gooey residue cat people leave behind when they transform from humans to leopards is edible. Gooey residue, it's what's for dinner...after you have just torn apart the bubbly blonde chick who gives sage advice to not-so bubbly brunettes from The Beach Girls; I'm talking about Tessa Richarde, by the way, she plays Billie, a ditzy gal who comes face-to-face with Paul's inability to get hard when he's with women who are not his sister.

Also struggling to come to terms with the fact she can't have sex with humans without getting the urge to tear them apart afterwards is Irena, who takes a liking to Oliver (John Heard from C.H.U.D.), an easy-going zookeeper. Someone should tell Irena to look somewhere else, but Alice (Annette O'Toole), a fellow zookeeper, is going out with Oliver. Oh, and before you say: Who wouldn't dump someone in order to go on a sexual bender with Nastassja Kinski? Please remember, Alice is played by Annette O'Toole. Who's she, you ask? Um, she's a redhead. And no no bra-wearing piece of Euro-trash can tarnish the intrinsic allure of a well-moisturized redhead.

This "intrinsic allure" could be real, but Oliver is totally making a play for Irena (he got her a job at the zoo's gift shop). I wonder if he knows that she's the descendent of an ancient tribe of leopard people? I don't think it matters, these cat folks have a way about them that causes non-cat folks to lose their kitty litter.

I know someone else who might have a problem with this cross-species relationship, and his name is Paul. Oh, yeah, I forgot about him. Torn between the human world and the animal kingdom, Irena must decide which realm is for her. Actually, the choice is actually between BDSM and incest, if you think about it.

With help of Italians Ferdinando Scarfiotti ("visual consultant") and legendary electronic music producer Giorgo Moroder, Paul Schrader has made one of the sexiest American horror movies of all-time. (So, what you're saying is, if it wasn't for the two Italian men you just mentioned, the film wouldn't have been sexy?) Yeah, that's exactly what I'm saying. I mean, would someone who wasn't under the influence of Italians have Annette O'Toole wear mismatched bra and panties? I don't think so. Featuring vibrant colours and a great location, Cat People is a rarity: A glossy Hollywood movie with a wonderfully perverted European sensibility.

The Beach Girls (Bud Townsend, 1982)

Unencumbered rays of warm, invigorating California sunshine penetrate the unclothed nether regions of a brash throng of thong-less cupcakes strewn haphazardly across the unsullied sand; a bikini-top stealing canine, who unwittingly causes pruriency in passers-by, makes off with another skimpy yet vital piece of fabric; and an accident prone gardener (Bert Rosario) is about to find his genitalia engorged with his own blood. All of these things are in the process of infringing on each others personal space in the delightfully straightforward The Beach Girls (a.k.a. La Boum En Folie), a film, written by Phil Groves and Patrick Sheane Duncan and directed by Bud Townsend (Coach), that shamefully wears its heterosexual agenda on its sleeve at all times. Which is ironic, since nary a sleeve can be found in this film. Taking place on Paradise Beach, the well-bosomed and skittishly pedantic Sarah (Debra Blee) arrives at her spacious beach house blissfully unaware of the titillating firestorm that is heading her way. She's invited a couple of friends over to keep her company over the summer, but has no idea what the capriciously-named Ginger (Val Kline) and Ducky (Jeana Tomasina) have in store for her.

You see, these girls are the complete opposite to Sarah, the wide-eyed gal with braids in her hair. I mean, not only are they anti-intellectual in temperament, they're also not-as-well-bosomed. Which on the surface could be seen as a disadvantage, but Ginger and Ducky have such an untamed whimsicality about them, that it cause such trivialities to become inconsequential. Besides, both are blessed with long, slender legs. And, in the grand scheme of things, that's all you really need.

Anyway, the playful duo (their incessant giggling would disarm even the most ardent of assholes and asswipes) are immediately shocked by the lack of boys at the beach house–they brought along a chiseled boy-toy by the name of Scott (James Daughton), but he's taken a liking to Sarah–so the girls devise a strategy to acquire enough man-sustenance to satisfy their inflated carnal desire. As you would expect, much partying ensues when various members of the dick-wielding underclass start arriving at their door. Periodically upsetting their plans is Uncle Carl (the actual owner of the beachfront residence) and a ball-bearing obsessed Coast Guard Captain (Herbie Braha).

The jokes are corny, the plot is as thin as a piece of paper, and the film is definitely a tad wanting in the cerebral department. But what it lacks in those three areas, it more than makes up for it in the realm of naked flesh. Never in all my years of film watching have a seen a film so devoted to the brandishing of tits and ass (and yes, some untanned male crack is exposed).

It is also the perfect film for prepubescent children, in that it doesn't contain any pelvic thrusting whatsoever. (I have found that the sight of a penis barging into a vagina confuses more than it does illuminate.) There's such an artless innocence about it, that it's almost educational at times. Yeah, sure, rampant drug use (garbage bags full of marijuana wash ashore) and unchecked promiscuity aren't the most positive messages to send out into the cultural stratosphere. But then again, it's better than violence and apathy.

In terms of the aforementioned naked flesh, I would have to say the vivacious Val Kline was hands down my favourite scantily clad person in The Beach Girls. She plays the force of nature that is Ginger and gives a performance that transcends time and space. Employing her femaleness like it were an unsheathed sword of shapely aggression, the gorgeous Val attacks the apprehensive libido of Uncle Carl (Adam Roarke) like a ravenous beast. (He is threatening to curb their partying ways and she uses her untapped sexiness to convince him otherwise.)

The lovely Jeana Tomasina does a competent job assisting Val when it came time to win over of Carl as Ducky, a brunette whirlwind with a cheerful disposition. An actress/model who can be seen prancing around in the majority of those popular music videos ZZ Top made during their early '80s Eliminator period, it should be said that no one in the history of cinema has ever looked better in a pair of tight red trousers than Jeana does in the red trouser-friendly, non-beach-related scenes that are liberally sprinkled throughout this movie.

It should also be noted that the always awesome Corinne Bohrer (Vice Versa and Police Academy 4: Citizens on Patrol) shows up every now and then as the headband-sporting, purple bikini-top-wearing "Champagne Girl." (Who, I'm guessing, is so named because her character is always carrying, and occasionally drinking from, a large bottle of Champagne. And, of course, is female. Hence, the use of the word "girl.")

The bubbly Tessa Richarde as the kindhearted "Doreen"

Oh, and Catherine Mary Stewart (The Apple and Night of the Comet) appears onscreen for five seconds at a wienie roast as "The Surfer Girl" (a character who makes it abundantly clear that she'd rather be making out with her shirtless boyfriend than surfing).

video uploaded by cinemonter

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