Click: The Calendar Girl Killer (1990)

You've heard the expression: Don't judge a book by its cover, right? Well, in the case of Click: The Calendar Girl Killer, it's more like: Don't judge a movie by its screencaps. If you were, you would no doubt conclude that Click was the greatest film ever made. Let me tell you right off the bat, it's definitely not the greatest film ever made. In fact, it's barely a film. Oh, sure, it's got images that move and human actors can be heard reciting scripted dialogue every now and then. But make no mistake, it repeatedly teeters on the brink of non-existence. I know, you're thinking to yourself: How can a movie that has six different writers and two directors not exist? It's quite simple, really. You can't have so many disparate ideas floating around at one time and somehow expect the results to be coherent. I mean, six writers?!? It's a nonstarter. In a shocking twist, however, this film is the place to go to see what is hands down the best performance of Dona Speir's career. Yep, the same actress who stunk up the joint in so many Andy Sidaris films gives a rich and nuanced performance as a fashion model named Nancy Johnson. And get this, she looks better than ever. If you remember correctly, I thought Dona looked tired and slightly mannish in the Andy Sidaris films. Not here, though. In this film, directed by actor Ross Hagen and stuntman John Stewart, she looks fresh, feminine and fabulous.

I'll admit, though, I was, to not put it mildly, horrified when I found out Dona Speir was in this film. Appearing in the opening credits sequence, one that features bikini-clad models wielding various weapons for a photo shoot, Dona can be seen aiming a bow and arrow in a yellow bikini. When I saw her I was like: Noooo! Anyone but her. But, as the film progressed, I slowly began to realize that it was her character in the Andy Sidaris films that I disliked so much, not Dona Speir.

The Dona Speir who appears in this film, even though she's only in a handful of scenes, is quite different than the humour-challenged Special Agent Donna Hamilton from, let's say, Savage Beach. No, this Dona Speir sits like a lady, gets pushed into hot tubs, sports more than one facial expression, is spurned by her boyfriend (played by Andy Sidaris regular Michael J. Shane), drinks booze straight from the bottle and participates in two fashion photo shoots. In other words, things Donna Hamilton would never do.

It's true, I could sit here and gush about the new and improved Dona Speir all day long. But that doesn't change the fact that this movie still sucks some serious ass.

Did you know that you will have to wait an entire hour for someone to get killed? Yeah, bet you didn't know that. And this has nothing to do with some misguided bloodlust on my part. The fact that no one is killed for so long actually dragged the story to a complete halt. What I mean is, with no real threat, there's no real tension, and with no real tension, you haven't got yourself much of a thriller.

What did you expect? It was obvious right from the get-go that Ross Hagen and John Stewart have no idea how to make a horror movie.

When the so-called "calendar girl killer" does finally show up, I was so disinterested, that I actually nearly dozed off at one point. Which is rare for me, as I hardly ever fall asleep while watching movies. In fact, I don't think I have ever fallen asleep during a movie. So, kudos, Click: The Calendar Girl Killer, you caused me to nearly break my no sleeping during movies streak.

In fairness, after the bikini chicks wielding guns and knives photo shoot is over, we do get a quick origin story pertaining to why the little kid sitting on the floor in a flashback sequence became the calendar girl killer. Which is something. However, to have to wait a whole hour for someone to die is unacceptable. In fairness again, after the flashback origin story is over we do see a faceless man, one wearing lipstick and a nurse's uniform, stab a mirror in anger. Which, I have to say, is also something.

(Hold on, it sounds like you're starting to like this film.) No, I'm just pointing some of the things that didn't annoy me. (Nah, I know you, you're trying to somehow spin this into a positive review.) So what if I am? Is it a crime to like this movie? I mean, the photo shoots are pretty fucking amazing. (Pretty fucking amazing, eh? Can you hear yourself? You sound like a dumbass.) I don't care, this movie is staring to grow on me.

Does anyone know the name of the goth-metal all-girl band who play the patio party? I didn't think so. Anyway, Dona Speir's Nancy Johnson, who's dressed in all-white, and her date arrive at said patio party. Introduced to Alan (Troy Donahue), the assistant to a big shot photographer, it doesn't take long for Nancy to piss him off. Like I said, this version of Dona Speir doesn't take crap from anyone, as she puts this "assistant" in his place in record time.

Sitting alone by the hot tub, Nancy notices that her date is flirting with another woman. Due to faulty heels, the woman he's flirting with slips out of her shoes and knocks Nancy into the hot tub. In a strange twist, Dona's character seems angry that she was pushed into a hot tub. How is that strange, you ask? Well, in the Andy Sidaris films, Dona spends most of her time happily submerged in hot tubs. So, to see her upset to be in a hot tub was somewhat atypical.

Humiliated by the hot tub incident, Nancy allows Alan to comfort her. This leads to Nancy getting a private photo shoot with Jack Akerman (Ross Hagen), one of the most sought after photographers in the business. Starting off in a fur coat, the shoot gradually leads to Nancy taking off all her clothes to saxophone music. My favourite points of the shoot was when Dona Speir is wearing nothing but a gold lamé top and when Jack tells her to "burn my camera."

In the next scene, we see Jack cruising Chinatown for models. I guess he needed one more, cause the woman he picked in Chinatown can be seen in participating in an elaborate photo shoot involving guns.

If this is all beginning to sound a little like Eyes of Laura Mars, you're absolutely right, it is. Interviewing a model named Cindy (Keely Sims), Jack tells her his latest project is a calendar called "Deadly Weapons," and that he wants her to be a part of it. "Is there any nudity," she asks him reluctantly. To which he responds, "Only your legs." I dig this guy's style.

The plan is to make a calendar the world will never forget. And who wouldn't want to be a part of that? Shit! Here comes Johnny (Gregory Scott Cummins) right on time. (Who's Johnny?) Oh, you know, he's the boyfriend who disapproves that is his girlfriend is a model. (Ewww, he's one of those?) Yeah, and get this, he rides a motorbike. In other words, there's no way he'll understand Jack's work, which he basically dismisses as trashy pornography.

I don't think Johnny deserves a girlfriend like Cindy, especially one who wears an orange skirt with a white belt and a baggy jean jacket. I'm just saying.

The three minute long scene where Cindy poses for Jack wielding a chainsaw is actually better than the entirety of Hollywood Chainsaw Hookers. (Okay, now you're talking crazy.) You're right, that was crazy-talk. But still, the sight of Keely Sims with a chainsaw is quite the show-stopper.

Does anyone know what happened to Dona Speir's character? She disappears after the fur coat/gold lamé top photo shoot. Was she killed? Did she quit modeling? Land a role on All My Children? Where is she?

At any rate, Johnny follows Jack and Cindy to a super-secret photo shoot out in the sticks. This, of course, causes some friction between Johnny and Cindy, and not the fun kind. Actually, that's not entirely true; Johnny and Cindy do engage in some angry, split-second make up sex at one point. Friction or not, Johnny seems determined to ruin Cindy's modeling career. Realizing this, Jack decides to use Johnny's expertise when it comes to motorcycles to his advantage by asking to participate in the photo shoots. Yawn.

As Jack doing a private shoot with Cindy (one that includes a heavy metal wig and a shotgun), fellow models Rhonda (an uncredited Juliette Cummins) and Lisa (Susan Jennifer Sullivan) are fighting over Johnny by the pool. If the names of the actresses who play the other models sound familiar, that's because Juliette's in Slumber Party Massacre II and Susan's in Friday the 13th Part VII: The New Blood. In an out of left field plot development, Lisa pussyblocks Rhonda big time. That's right, just as Rhonda, utilizing her amazing legs, was about to seal the deal with Johnny, Lisa swoops in and bungles her chances. In other words, no cock for Rhonda.

Instead, Rhonda will have to contend with being mock raped by a couple of cavemen. (Huh?) The photo shoot Jack has planned for the day involves all sorts of violent acts. And one of them features Rhonda dressed as a cavegirl being violated by a couple of cavemen. Other motifs include: Big haired blonde with a pistol, Asian model with a sword, Lisa in a zebra-print leotard, a flamenco dancer, and a pirate.

The next day's photo shoot is even wilder, as it takes place outdoors and involves wrecked cars and large machine guns.

If you look carefully, you'll see Juliette Cummins sitting by the pool drinking a can of Coors beer at one point. So, you say? Well, the expression on her face during this particular sequence, one that involves a jealous boyfriend getting in a fight with a male model, pretty much sums up my attitude toward this film. Don't get me wrong, I'm totally down with the premise, it's just that the execution leaves little to be desired.

Warning: When the killing finally gets underway, there's a murder sequence that takes place in a bedroom that employs a strobe light for an extended period of time. You might want to shield your eyes or fast-forward past this scene as it could cause unwanted seizures,

Cavegirl (David Oliver, 1985)

The last thing I expected to hear at the beginning of a film produced by Crown International Pictures was the synth-tastic sounds of SSQ's "Synthicide" blasting on the soundtrack. Another thing I didn't expect was the sight of a helicopter zipping across the sky. I mean, since when did films produced by Crown International be able to afford helicopters? And I'm assuming they had more than one helicopter since the helicopter in the opening scene is being filmed from what looks like another helicopter. Complicated aerial photography and the music of SSQ?!? Something does not compute. You think that doesn't compute, eh? Wait until I tell you the name of the movie I'm currently writing about. What's that? Oh, you say you already know the name of the movie I'm writing about. Well, anyway, for those who don't, it's Cavegirl. It's been a dream of mine to watch a film that features nothing but SSQ songs on the soundtrack, and it looks like Cavegirl is the film that has decided step up to the plate to fulfill that dream. I repeat, Cavegirl is the film that has made my wish to hear non-stop SSQ music in a motion picture finally come true. Cavegirl. Sure, you can hear SSQ's music in The Return of the Living Dead. You can even hear it at the end of Beyond the Black Rainbow. Yeah, but Cavegirl is not only wall-to-wall SSQ, the film's score is by Jon St. James, and even Stacey herself has a small post-prehistoric role as the enabling girlfriend of a bully/asshole.

In case you're wondering, SSQ (who started off just as "Q") was a music group who produced high-quality synth-pop in the mid-1980s. The band renamed itself Stacey Q shortly afterward, and released the worldwide smash "Two of Hearts." Of course, the focus had shifted to Stacey Swain at this point, but Jon St. James continued to write and produce her music.

In fact, Stacey Swain and Jon St. James recently collaborated on a new Stacey Q album called "Color Me Cinnamon" (an obvious allusion to the name of Stacey's character from the television show The Facts of Life). I've listened to some of the new songs, and, I must say, they're pretty good; I'm partial to "Euphoria" and "Pandora's Box."

I'm no behavioural expert, but you don't sound too pleased. What are you talking about? I was just giving you a brief refresher course on the history of Q/SSQ/Stacey Q. No, you don't seem too thrilled about the idea of watching a movie that is basically about a dork in a fedora who falls for a prehistoric blonde. I'll admit, it wasn't exactly what I was hoping for. I mean, synth-pop and prehistoric times don't really go together; they're not a natural fit.

However, any movie that kicks things off to synthy sounds of SSQ's "Synthicide" is okay in my book. Besides, I like prehistoric blondes. As Stacey is singing about her digital fix ("I gotta have my digital fix today"), we follow a helicopter flying over an arid landscape. Communicating with a nearby computer truck, the helicopter seems to be testing some sort of missile system. I don't know how this all fits into the plot a film called "Cavegirl," but I am somewhat intrigued to find out.

Meanwhile, an anthropology student named Rex (Daniel Roebuck) is clumsily making his way to school on his bike. As he's doing this, you'll notice that a slowed down instrumental version of "Synthicide" is playing in the background.

If you thought Rex's attempt to get to school was clumsy, you should see his attempt to ask Karen (Syndi King) out on a date. Let's just say, it doesn't go all that well. Instead of stammering nervously about food, Rex should have complimented Karen on the white scarf she had in her hair. Chicks dig it when you notice their accessories.

In order to meet his obligation to Crown International Pictures, writer-director-cinematographer David Oliver has Rex accidentally wander into the women's locker room. How did he mange that, you ask? One of Rex's primary tormentors removes the 'wo' from the women only sign on the door. How he got in there doesn't matter. What does matter is what he saw once he got in there. Removing her top almost immediately, Michelle Bauer and a bunch of her soon to be topless friends enter the locker room with a girlish glee. When they discover that a doofus named Rex in their midst, they proceed to chase him around the locker room; if you look closely, you'll notice that Michelle Bauer is brandishing a tennis racket during the chase.

Even though he survived the attack of the topless coeds, Rex isn't out of the woods yet. While attending his favourite class, anthropology, more pranks are pulled on him. What is this, Prank Week? I think the reason we're being inundated with scenes that feature Rex being humiliated is to show that humanity hasn't evolved much over the past 25,000 years, and to make us understand Rex's reluctance to want to go back to 1985.

The pranks continue as Rex, his fellow students, and their professor go on a field trip. Visiting a mine/cave complex, Hank (Chris Noble), doesn't waste any time as he instigates a multitude of pranks on Rex seconds after they arrive. One involves putting a stink bomb in a portable toilet (while Rex is inside, of course) and another has to do with replacing the contents of Rex's backpack with rocks.

Keep an eye out for Stacey Swain during the portable toilet mischief/backpack tampering sequence as it's the most time she spends onscreen. You mean to say that Stacey Swain isn't the cavegirl? I already said she plays the girlfriend of one of the bullies who gives Rex such a hard time. I know, I was just expressing my dissatisfaction regarding the puniness of her role. Are you good? Yep, I think my dissatisfaction has been properly expressed. So, I can continue? Yeah, go ahead.

Remember that helicopter? Yeah, well, the missile test it was conducting, and some weird crystal, cause Rex to be transported back to prehistoric times. If I sound a tad nonchalant about all this, I'm not alone, as Rex seems to take his relocation in stride. Oh, sure, he seems concerned, but not to the agree I expected. After being chased through the brush by some cave people, Rex takes some time to reflect on his unique situation. Wondering if this all a dream, Rex stares at the sky, which is gorgeous (nice work, David Oliver), before falling asleep by a rock.

The cave people during this period must have had a pretty sweat dental plan, because the cave woman, or "cavegirl," who wakes Rex up is sporting perfect teeth. You were looking at her teeth? Huh? Never mind. If you want to nitpick, I don't think cave people had perms, either. Okay, so Eba (Cynthia Thompson), a.k.a. "cavegirl," doesn't look like your average cave person. But remember, this isn't a documentary (there were apparently no humans in North America during this period as well). Though, I must say, the location of Twin Oaks, California had an authentic, prehistoric quality about it.

Stuck in prehistoric times with a leggy blonde who doesn't speak English, Rex must learn to survive in an environment that is foreign to him. Luckily, his trusty backpack is filled with everything one could possibly need to survive in the wilderness; deodorant, Animal Crackers, a Walkman, a tarp, waterproof matches, a bear-shaped bottle of honey (or, as Eba might called it, "bincha-shaped"), and a can of shaving cream.

The shaving cream actually comes in handy in a way that doesn't involve shaving. You won't believe this, but Rex uses it to bond with the other cave people; the inquisitive Argh (Jeff Chayette), the chubby Aka (Cynthia Rullo), the perpetually dumbfounded Char (Charles Mitchell), and, of course, the Patti Smith-esque Saba (Saba Moor-Doucette). It also gives David Oliver an excuse to use "Walkman On" by SSQ, as the song goes perfectly with the sight of three cave people and a socially awkward dingus in a fedora spraying shaving cream on one another in a playful manner. Giving up trying to teach Eba to say, "May I sit on your face," Rex tries to woo the cave-residing cutie using more traditional means. He might have succeeded had it not been for Dar (Darren Young), the nosy leader of this small band of cave people.

A love story for the ages, Cavegirl managed to reaffirm my belief in the healing power of love. Call me mentally unwell, but the moments when Rex and Eba are apart were some of the most agonizing scenes to watch. This, I think, is a testament to not only Daniel Roebuck and Cynthia Thompson, who give career defining performances, but to visionary writer-director David Oliver who allows their relationship to build slowly over the time. And because he used this patient approach, the scene where Rex eventually has to decide which century he wants to spend the rest of life in is so gut-wrenching. As "Anonymous" by SSQ plays over the end credits, I think most people in the audience will agree that Rex made the right decision. And the same can be said for my decision to watch this underrated exploration into the jagged nooks and crannies of the human heart.

Hunk (Lawrence Bassoff, 1987)

You don't hear about yuppies, or, as they're sometimes called, "yuppie scum," that much nowadays. Why is that? Is it because they're called hipsters now? Nah, hipsters are descendents of Duckie, yuppies are actually descendents of Blaine. The influence of the yuppie, and, to a lesser extent, their European cousins, "Euro-trash," has always been a contentious issue in the West. Causing those who view themselves as cool to fly into fits of rage, yuppies have always been seen as vile creatures that need to be destroyed on sight. Of course, I can make an incendiary statement like that without fear of reprisals because no one has ever admitted to being a yuppie. In other words, I won't be getting a sternly worded note from the anti-yuppie defamation league telling me to curb my disdain for everything they stand for. You want to know why? There is no such organization. And one of the main reasons there is no such organization is a movie from 1987 called simply, Hunk. I was beginning to wonder what all this yuppie talk had to do with this movie. Briefly touching on the nascent yuppie phenomenon in Weekend Pass, writer-director Lawrence Bassoff obviously saw the insidious impact they were having on society and decided to do something about it. You'll notice that Mr. Bassoff has only two directorial credits to his name. The reason Hunk would be the last film he ever made was because the yuppie scum that ran Hollywood in the 1980s were so alarmed by the anti-materialism, anti-superficiality, anti-war message his film was putting out there, that they probably had him blacklisted. Wait a minute, Hunk is anti-war?!? I can see the others, but anti-war? You're crazy.

Crazy, eh? Name another movie where a socially awkward computer programmer is given the choice between being a hunk with killer pecs or an everyday slob with mediocre pecs? What's that? You say that sounds like the plot of every movie in existence? Aw, crap, I forget to mention if he picks the latter, the world will be engulfed by violence and destruction. Oh, and before you say: Isn't the world already engulfed by violence and destruction? I meant to say, more violence and destruction than usual. We're pretty much talking World War III up in this cinematic cubbyhole.

On top of having the weight of the world on his muscular and sometimes not-so muscular shoulders (depending on which guise he is currently taking), the hunky/dorky protagonist at the centre of this surprisingly profound undertaking ("surprisingly," because it was produced by none other than Crown International Pictures) has to deal with issues of a supernatural nature.

What actor do you hire when you need someone to represent the most powerful force in the known universe? I don't know, how 'bout, Charlton Heston? No? Okay, James Earl Jones, perhaps? Not even close, eh? I got it, James Hong? Nice try. First of all, he's a she. And secondly...actually, there's no need for "secondly." Her name is Deborah Shelton (Body Double), and, mark my words, she will convince you to do her bidding. How does she do that exactly? How does she do that?!? You're kidding, right? She's Deborah Shelton. Doing her bidding is her middle name. Well, it's not actually her middle name. But it totally could be - you know, if she went down to the name-changing place and filled out a form or something, and waited six to eight weeks.

If the first thought to cross your mind when you start watching Hunk is: Did I accidentally put in a gay porno into my video player? Don't worry, you're not alone. Incorrectly thinking that Hunk is gay porno is a common mistake. Oh, don't get me wrong, it's gay all right. It's just that a lot of people might not be able to handle the in your face masculinity that the film unleashes on the viewer right out of the gate.

Shot from every angle imaginable, the film opens with a faceless man getting ready to go out. After watching him lather up in the shower, shave, and blow dry his hair, the man gets in his red convertible and leaves his swanky beach house. You'll notice that as he's driving, all the women on street stop and stare at him with a pussy moistening awe.

Walking into a building, the faceless man, a muscular man with blonde hair, enters the office of Dr. Susan Graves, PhD. (Rebecca Bush). Hold up, why does this guy need to see a shrink? It's funny you should ask that, as we're about to find out.

You see, he's not who he says is. Apparently, he's not a hunky blonde, but a nerdy computer programmer named Bradly Brinkman (Steve Levitt). Pretty unbelievable, right? Well, sit back and relax, because the hunky blonde is about to tell Dr. Graves, "Sunny," to her friends, the bizarre story of how Bradly Brinkman ceased to exist.

Working as a computer programmer for Constantine Constapopolis (Avery Schreiber), the owner of Constapopolis Computers, Bradly Brinkman spends most of his time writing computer code and daydreaming about being a hunk. Caught doing the latter one day by his Mr. Constapopolis, Bradly is told to come up with a new computer program by tomorrow morning or else he'll end up working at his boss's father's Greek restaurant Cyclops West.

Due to unexplained circumstances, "The Yuppie Program," a how-to guide for fledgling yuppies, miraculously appears on Bradly's desk. His boss is so pleased by this program, that he gives Bradly a big fat royalty check and the rest of the summer off. Renting a beach house in the exclusive community of Sea Spray, Bradly plans on relaxing for the rest of the summer.

He's barely had time to get settled in when he's confronted by Polly Clutter, a.k.a. Chachka (Cynthia Szigeti), a garrulous busybody along the lines of Marlene Willoughby's Frannie Grudkow from A Woman's Torment. Giving him a tour of the area, Chachka introduces Bradly to the so-called heavy-hitters of the Sea Spray social circle, who are, of course, playing beach Trivial Pursuit when he meets them. And they are: Coaster Royce (Page Mosely), Laurel Springs (Melanie Vincz), Skeet Mecklenburger (Doug Shanklin), and Alexis Cash (Hilary Shepard).

"Igor Stravinsky? Wrong!" And with that line, we're introduced to the comedic genius that is Hilary Shepard. What the fuck? Comedic genius? I didn't see that coming. Whatever do you mean? I thought you were going to start talking about her legs or something. Don't get me wrong, her legs are amazing. It's just that I was quite taken with Hilary's abilities as a comedian in this movie. In fact, one of the few pleasures I got from Hunk was watching her various facial expressions. I was particularly impressed with her eye-rolling technique; I have no doubt that she could go eye-roll-o-eye-roll with Winona Ryder, the queen of the unimpressed eye-roll.

While Hilary is putting on an eye-rolling clinic, you will notice Brad Pitt chilling on an inflatable beach chair sipping on a mai tai in the background whenever Skeet is onscreen. The only reason I mention this is because Brad Pitt is now a well-known actor/perfume shill.

Unimpressed with the heavy-hitters, especially their "aura of arrogance," Bradly still wants them to except him. Shunned by Alexis and Coaster at the Sand Castle, a local yuppie bar, and completely ignoring his housewarming party, the residents of Sea Spray seem to want nothing to do with Bradly Brinkman. What if he changed his name to Hunk Golden? Still not enough, you say? Okay, how about if he made a pact with a witch with a Class B sorcery license? You're getting warmer.

What if I told you the pact was made with a brunette demon goddess named O'Brien (Deborah Shelton), and the trial offer involved acquiring the thighs of Sylvester Stallone, the pelvis of Elvis Presley, the navel of Arnold Schwarzenegger, the nipples of Robert Redford, the eyes of Paul Newman, and the schlong of King King overnight? Well, first of all, getting the eyes of Paul Newman is the only one of those things that makes any sense. I mean, Robert Redford's nipples? King Kong's schlong? Ugh.

When Brady Brinkman wakes up the following morning, he discovers that he's been magically transformed into Hunk Golden (John Allen Nelson), a musclebound blonde with a killer bod. It should be noted that most guys would kill to have Bradly Brinkman's body. Nevertheless, John Allen Nelson's body is a work of art; it's no wonder Hunk is considered a minor classic throughout certain segments of the gay population.

As expected, the superficial yuppies who shunned Bradly Brinkman earlier in the film, fully embrace Hunk Golden; some, in fact, take it one step further (I'm looking at you, Laurel Springs - you gold digging whore - oops, did I say that out loud?). You could say, Hunk Golden becomes the toast of Sea Spray, as every time he walks down the beach in his Speedo becomes an event; hell, even mermaids want to have sexual relations with him.

While I enjoyed the scenes where Deborah Shelton's O'Brien would check up on Bradly/Hunk, the performance by James Coco as Dr. D (a.k.a. The Devil), who usually shows up during these "check up" scenes, was, let's just say, lackluster at best. Hampered by cheesy costumes, I felt the Dr. D character was completely unnecessary. That being said, John Allen Nelson and Steve Levitt (previously best known to me as the bellboy from Private School) both give excellent performances. Yeah, you heard right, excellent. Of course, they're nowhere near as compelling as Hilary Shepard. But then again, not that many people are.