Day of the Warrior (Andy Sidaris, 1996)

Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in. Except, "they" aren't The Mob (or the D-Mob, for you all acid heads out there) or The Church of Satan (or The Church of Extacy, for all you acid heads out there who didn't hear me the first time). Nope, in an act of pure desperation, I'm back suckling at the on the wonky nipple attached to the fake, disproportionately large tit that is your average Andy Sidaris film; and believe me, it's average, all right. How this came about, I'm not exactly sure. But I know one thing–and I can't believe I'm about to say this–I sure do miss Dona Speir (Click: The Calendar Girl Killer) and Roberta Vasquez (Picasso Trigger). The first film directed by Andy Sidaris to not star Dona Speir... Wait, let me rephrase that. The first film directed by Andy Sidaris since Hard Ticket to Hawaii to not star Dona Speir, Day of the Warrior features a brand new bevy of untalented actresses with suspect boobies for us to ogle and gawk at. Oh, sure, actual talented people like, Julie Strain (Fit to Kill), Rodrigo Obregón (Savage Beach), Gerald Okamura (Samurai Cop) and Richard Cansino (Guns) are back to make go of it. But everyone else is seriously lacking when it comes displaying the basic properties that make up charisma. Actually, that's not entirely true, there are some bright spots sprinkled here and there. And just because I like you, I'll try to isolate the few of the film's bright spots.

For the most part, however, the so-called "babes" who have been saddled with the task of providing this film with the prerequisite eye candy fail to achieve their primary goal.

And what, pray tell, you might be thinking, is that goal? It's simple, really, their goal is to give men erections. Anyone who tries to convince you otherwise is kidding themselves. Sadly, there won't be many erections unfurled during this film. Unless, of course, you're into skinny women with fake tits. If that's the case, you'll be unfurling untoward unicorn horns in your frontal trouser area until the cows come home.

Speaking of cows, check out the cow-print briefcase Cobra (Julie K. Smith) is carrying through chichi Beverly Hills, it's so tacky/awesome (and a nice subtle shout out  to Malibu Express - the protagonist in that film also carried a cow-print briefcase). What isn't tacky in the slightest, however, are the awesome black stockings currently holding her not-so shapely legs hostage. I didn't think it was possible, but the black stockings attached to Julie K. Smith's gams are having zero effect on the outward appearance of said gams. Meaning, her gams are not receiving a dramatic upturn in their sex appeal.

Don't look so stunned, I'm as shocked as you are. Like the true professional that he is, Andy Sidaris tries his best to film her black stocking-sheathed legs from every possible angle. But even that can't change the fact that Julie K. Smith looks like she's walking on a pair of shapeless stilts, all the while, trying to smuggle two comically large balloons underneath her pink jacket.

While I could sit here and trash Julie K. Smith's lack of legginess, I would really like to... You know what? Let's stick with this subject. Not to be cruel, but since Julie K. Smith stripping in a Beverly Hills strip club is the first thing we see in this film, we might as well start there.

Question: Is this supposed to be erotic? I mean, the sight of Julie K. Smith hurling her body across the strip club stage is doing nothing for me. Where's Sally Farb when you need her. (Sally who?) You know, Sally Farb, from The Curse of Her Flesh. Now there's a woman who knows a thing or about the art of burlesque. What Julie K. Smith is doing is basically a variation of that angry twitchy gyration thing Elizabeth Berkley does in Showgirls. In other words, it's not hot.

Welcome to the headquarters of L.E.T.H.A.L. (Legion to Ensure Total Harmony and Law). Sitting at her computer, Tiger (Shae Marks) is surprised to find out that the L.E.T.H.A.L. computer system has been violated by a criminal mastermind named "Warrior" (Marcus Bagwell). Realizing that the identities of all the L.E.T.H.A.L. agents currently in the field could be compromised, Tiger brings the news to Commander Willow Black (Julie Strain), who is exercising in her office in a skimpy leopard-print leotard.

Unable to warn the agents without blowing their cover, Willow sends Tiger into the field to get the word out. Assigned to work with a pilot named Tyler (Christian Letelier), Tiger is eager to go on an assignment, as it's been two years since... Holy crap! How does she walk around with those things? (What things?) What things?!? Those huge things sticking out of her chest. (Oh, you mean her tits.) No, no, no, those aren't tits. Those things are beyond tits.

Anyway, after recovering from the sight of Tiger's ginormous boobies (they're, like, totally out of proportion with the rest of her body), I was able to properly gauge the quality of Christian Letelier's acting. And, after thoroughly checking my instruments, I can safely say that he is in fact terrible.

In charge of bringing Doc Austin (Kevin Light)–who is working for a couple of the Warrior's underlings, Manuel (Rodrigo Obregón) and Kym (Raye Hollitt)–"in from the cold" (it's spy lingo), Tiger and Tyler head down to Southern Texas.

It would seem that the Warrior has some competition in the being buff in public department. No, not Kevin Light, silly. I'm talking about Raye Hollitt, who's built like a linebacker. Which is ironic since Kevin Light reminded me a little of linebacker Brian Bosworth circa his days with the Seattle Seahawks; and I do mean "days," as his NFL career lasted barely two seasons. Nonetheless, add Raye Hollitt's name to the vast list of women in this movie that I find unappealing.

In order to "take care" of L.E.T.H.A.L. agents Shark (Darren Wise) and Scorpion (Tammy Parks), the Warrior sends two stockbrokers/hitmen–who are currently posing as surfers in Malibu–to Las Vegas. Fans of Andy Sidaris, and the people who watch his films simply because there's nothing else on, will recognize one of the stockbroker-hitmen, as he is played by Sidaris regular Richard Cansino. Unfortunately, he's not paired with his long time partner Chu Chu Malave; who's been replaced by Cassidy Phillips. Sure, they're still bumbling and incompetent as ever, but it's just not the same.

The good news is, the stockbroker/hitmen go on a date with two sexy stock analysts before heading to Las Vegas. Granted, we don't actually see them go on a date, but we do get to see the leggy as all get out Christiva Turner and the silky smooth contours belonging to Carolyn Liu lounging by the pool.

And thus, breaking the film's streak of there of only being unattractive women onscreen up until this point.

Wait, what am I saying? Julie Strain has been onscreen several times already, and she's exceedingly attractive. And not someone you want to make angry, as she will straight up knock your dick in the dirt.

I'm sorry, but Julie K. Smith and Shae Marks aren't doing it for me. Yet, judging by the way Andy Sidaris' camera film's them, you'd think they were the most beautiful women on the face of the earth. His mind has obviously been conditioned to equate attractiveness with big tits. Which is fine, if that's your thing. But somewhere down the road he forget to equate a little thing called "personality." Something that Julie K. Smith and Shae Marks clearly don't have.

After watching her get dressed, we follow Julie K. Smith's Cobra, complete with her own theme music ("She's a cobra!"), as she heads to a shop on Rodeo Dr. to pick up some stolen diamonds from a guy who looks like the stuntman they would have hired if Skeet Ulrich had landed the lead role in The Ninth Gate. Again, not to sound cruel, but her clothes make her look like a 75 year-old woman. Not that there's anything wrong with being 75, it's just that Julie K. Smith clearly isn't 75.

While confidence is a quality I usually admire in a person, the confidence the characters exude in these films is especially off-putting. Just once I'd see a character in an Andy Sidaris/Arlene Sidaris/Christian Drew Sidaris production experience a moment of self-doubt. You could say the Sidaris' are mocking, in their own unique way, the tenets of American exceptional-ism. But even I'll admit, that's a bit of a stretch.

Coming close to experiencing a moment of self-doubt is Gerald Okamura's Fu, who headlines the Cloud 9 Lounge in Las Vegas under the name "Elvis Fu." Yet, despite the lackluster attendance of his show, Fu still seems to think he's doing great. Nonetheless, the teaming up of Julie Strain and Gerald Okamura is the best thing this film has to offer in terms of entertainment value.

As each L.E.T.H.A.L. agent gets their cover blown, the L.E.T.H.A.L. ladies must work extra hard to prevent their colleagues from being assassinated by the Warrior, who, despite having a cool look, is a pretty lame villain (he spends the bulk of the film inside a wrestling ring, while Rodrigo Obregón and the musclebound Raye Hollitt end up doing the lion's share of the legwork, villainy-wise).

If you're interested in micro mini-dresses, fake tits, old cellphones, piss poor shoot-outs (the one involving a bulldozer was sort of well-done, though), zebra-print stockings worn underneath PVC trousers...

Hold up, what the hell was that? I mean, we see Julie K. Smith in her room putting on zebra-print stockings, but seconds later she can be seen leaving in a pair of PVC trousers. Are we expected to believe that Julie is wearing zebra-print stockings underneath her PVC trousers? Um, I don't think so.

Okay, where was I? Oh, yeah... If you're interested in the stuff I just mentioned, and, not to mention, red leather skirts with zippers located in the front, films that feature plenty of third act acts of treachery, female finger pointing at board meetings, Ted Prior from Deadly Prey, and instances where muscular chicks shoot owls with shotguns, I don't know what to say. But if you're like me, and have seen way too many Andy Sidaris films than you'd care to admit, you might as well watch this one. Seriously, one more ain't going to kill you.