Hollywood Chainsaw Hookers (Fred Olen Ray, 1988)

The consistency of the arterial spray may have been erratic at times, the sets sparsely decorated, and the sexual innuendo was not even close to being indiscreet, yet Hollywood Chainsaw Hookers somehow manages to live up to its righteous name. Brilliantly combining the seedy, neon-tinted netherworld that is Hollywood, the cutting efficiency of a gas powered chainsaw, and the compassionate functionality of your average hooker, writer/director/schlockmeister Fred Olen Ray warmly embraces his low budget and lurid premise with an overly medicated brand of gusto. Casting aside pesky little things like refinement and dignity, the surprisingly competent production has a straightforward ambition: Show as many topless women wielding chainsaws as humanly possible without seeming too unsavoury in process. Now, do they succeed in this regard? It's hard to say. I mean, as far as crossing the line in terms of unsavouriness goes, I have no idea. (I lost the ability to distinguish between tasteful and distasteful years ago.) However, the fact that Michelle Bauer, Linnea Quigley, and Esther Elise all appear unclothed while using chainsaws in a non-brush clearing capacity is irrefutable proof that this film delivers on its promise. Which is something that not all cinematic yarns about prostitutes who commit ritualistic murder with chainsaws in Hollywood can attest.

Proudly wearing its debased premise on its freshly shaved bikini area like an itchier than usual rash, you'd think the film would be about chainsaw hookers from Hollywood. Of course, people who think that are naive and a tad decelerated in the intelligence department. On the surface, the film is essentially a detective story about a 1940s-style private dick named Jack Chandler (Jay Richardson) who is hired to locate a runaway teen named Samantha (Linnea Quigley) but ends up sidestepping the creaky chainsaw blades of a chainsaw worshiping cult along the way.

Digging deeper though, one won't find anything else, so don't bother digging, there's nothing down there. That being said, if looked upon utilizing my not-renowned cockeyed point of view, the riches to be found in this deceptively moronic film are galactic in their immenseness. When visually serviced using my untreated brain, the film's outlandish mix of shameless nudity, strange violence, and smart ass dialogue all coalesce to create a powerful elixir, one that somehow renders all the images that dance before you on the screen profound and illuminating.

This unforeseen profundity and illumination is best observed during the film's opening salvo in which the gorgeous Mercedes (Michelle Bauer) seduces a barfly named Bo (Jimmy Williams) and proceeds to take him back to her minimally furnished place of residence. Humorously disgusting, yet playfully erotic at the same time, Mercedes entices Bo with the first-rate shapeliness of her astounding physical structure. This genuinely serene moment gives the rosy-cheeked Mercedes a chance to showcase her wittiness (lot's of saucy comments directed towards his imminent ejaculation). This barrage of drollery lets the enchantress unveil her regulation-size chainsaw without alarming her not-yet dismembered date.

I also liked how Mercedes took the time to cover her painting of Elvis with a plastic sheet and offered her victim a shower cap (to shield his hair from the intensity of his splattering blood). The absurd courtesy of this gesture had me thinking about rolling around on the floor in laugh-fueled stupor for a solid five seconds.

It should go without saying, but I think Michelle Bauer (Café Flesh) is the bee's knees when it comes to being facetious while naked and crazy. Whether she's calling herself Michelle McLellan or Pia Snow, Miss Bauer manages to ooze a well-groomed form of levelheadedness no matter what role she happens to be inhabiting at the time.

Making lacy ankle socks with high heels and a blue micro-mini skirt seem like the sexiest thing on the planet, horror movie veteran Linnea Quigley (Savage Streets) literally emits sparks and billowing smoke as Samantha, a teen runaway who gets caught up with a cult of chainsaw enthusiasts run by a mysterious man in a beard (Gunnar Hansen). Sure, the sparks and smoke were mostly as a result of her chainsaw antics during the unbelievably hot virgin dance of the double chainsaws, but everything else was pure Quigley-based awesomeness. I adored her small scale approach to being sexy (she uses her smallness to great effect) and the off-kilter chemistry she has with Jay Richardson's wisecracking gumshoe.

Adding to the deranged appeal of Hollywood Chainsaw Hookers is the presence of Fox Harris as a baseball bat fetishist named Hermie. The actor best known for Repo Man and, in some circles, Dr. Caligari, does a tremendous job selling his unique perversion to the audience. Employing the toothsomely legged services of a woman named Lisa (Esther Elise and her effervescent eyebrows), Fox demands that she pose sexily whilst holding a brand-new baseball bat, so that he may photograph her. Of course, he doesn't know that his model is a chainsaw hooker, but like majority of the citizens that populate this tawdry world, the last thing they expect is to be killed by an attractive woman wielding a chainsaw. Which, I must say, pretty much sums up the overall appeal of this unpolished turd/endeavour.

Ritualistic Body Paint + Chainsaws = Hesitant Drool.


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