Bad Inclination (Pierfrancesco Campanella, 2003)

Don't you just hate it when you're trying to make out with your new girlfriend–on, where else, your orange avante garde sofa–and your pet kitty cat won't stop staring at you? I can't speak for you, or even you–yeah, you, the guy jacking it on the fire escape in nothing but a slightly charred  pair of teal oven mitts, or I should say, teal oven mitt–but there's nothing creepier than pets who like to watch when you engage in lustful activities. Nothing creepier, eh? You have obviously never been stabbed to death by an attractive Italian woman wielding a large set square. I'm going to have to respectively disagree. Watching a cat mimic my pelvic thrusts out of the corner of my eye like it was sitting centre court at a tennis match is creepy. Being stabbed by an attractive Italian woman, on the other hand, is a dream come true. Add the fact that she is wielding, what did you say she was wielding? A what? A set square?!? Good gravy, don't people stab one another with knives anymore? Anyway, add the fact that she was wielding something you might find lying around the offices of your average architectural firm only makes matters that more dreamier. Now, I don't want to cause you to lose too much of your metaphorical shit, but I'm about to add something to the mix that might provoke you to engage in some mild celebratory gesticulation followed by a pre-planned joy-based conniption fit. The attractive Italian woman wielding the set square was born with a cock. Hello? Are you still there? Oh, hey. I'm sorry, I must have passed out or something. Did you just say there's a giallo floating around out there that boasts an attractive Italian transgender woman wielding a set square as a weapon? Why haven't I watched this movie? Oh, but you have. I have? When? Take a look at the title of the movie your currently typing words about. You mean, Bad Inclination, a.k.a. Cattive Inclinazioni? Remember the look on Chazz Palminteri's face when he realizes who Keyser Söze is in The Usual Suspects? Well, that's the look I'm currently sporting at the moment.

Except, instead of feeling royally duped. I'm rolling around on the floor like a giddy school girl who just found out that Jonathan Taylor Thomas is going to be signing autographs at the mall this weekend. After the film, a stylish ode to the Italian giallo thrillers of days gone past directed by Pierfrancesco Campanella, had finished, I was already meticulously planning a lavishly verbose tribute to Eva Robin's's Nicole Cardente, a pop star; fashion-forward lesbian; a walking, talking fabulous dispensary; and camp icon all rolled into one. Let's just say, my plans went into overdrive when I finished reading Eva Robin's's bio.

In a bizarre twist of fate, I initially had this almost sane scenario bouncing around in my head that involved me wishing that the gorgeous/leggy Elisabetta Cavalotti had a cock.

Who needs to fantasize about being penetrated by Elisabetta Cavalotti's imaginary cock, when I can have Eva Robin's's real cock resting in my hands lickety-split. Am I right, fellas? Fellas? Where are you going?

Anyway, don't let Gianna Paola Scaffidi's beige blouse and equally beige curtains lull you into thinking you're about to watch a drab melodrama about a school teacher with womanly hips. Uh-uh, baby, this film has something to say. And it does so in a highly intelligent manner. Okay, maybe that's pushing it a bit. Nonetheless, the film is good. In fact, I'd go as far as to call it, Creatures from the Abyss good. Whoa, is it that good? You better believe it is.

Keep your panties affixed to your undercarriage, I'm gonna get to Eva Robin's in a minute. What I'm doing right now is laying the groundwork. At any rate, as I was saying earlier, Gianna Paola Scaffidi is wearing a beige blouse in her Italian apartment, when, out of the blue, a gloved hand knocks her unconscious with a karate chop to the head; which is ironic since she had just finished chopping veggies in her Italian kitchen. Waking up on the floor of her living room, she can't help but notice that the mysterious gloved figure is currently investigating her garter belt region with a series of invasive groping actions. Somewhat relieved that the mysterious gloved figure only wants to inspect her lingerie, Gianna seems to relax for a moment. Unfortunately, the lingerie inspection turns deadly when the mysterious gloved figure stabs her with a set square in the area located just above her frilly garter belt.

Except for being brunette, Detective Rita (Mirca Viola) has nothing really going for her in terms of pizazz. Which is a shame, really, as I thought her struggle to work within a system that is run by a bunch of incompetent boobs–I'm looking in your general direction, Chief Visconti (Antonio Petrocelli)–was on the cusp of being interesting.

The other tenants of the building where Gianna was murdered are obviously on edge. Well, all except Mirta Valenti (Florinda Bolkan), an artist who is dressed in the kind of clothes a fortune teller might wear on their day off. You mean, fortune teller casual? Yeah, I like that. The way her red embroidered vest offset the harshness of her yellow shirt was quite ingenious. She looked like a giant canary, one, of course, that had just been run over by a gay tractor.

The reason she doesn't seem bothered by what happened in her building is because she sees the murder as an opportunity to promote her artwork, which, judging from what I've seen so far, is quite morbid in nature. And not only that, she sells fake artifacts to naive collectors; which upsets Gabriella (Rosaria De Cicco), Mirta's live-in maid; or at least I think she was her maid. Whatever, take special note of Gabriella when she's dipping into the cooking cherry, as I'm sure it will pay off later on down the road.

While collecting a suitcase filled with cash for the fake artifacts she sold earlier in the day, Mirta catches one of her former students (she apparently used to teach an art class) trying to steal a bunch of stuff from her mini-van. Telling Mirta that she needs the money, Donatella (Elisabetta Rocchetti) has supposedly had it rough since they last met. While appearing sympathetic, you just know that Mirta is thinking of ways to exploit the wide-eyed wretch, who, like, Detective Rita, has got nothing going on in the pizazz department.

You know who does have pizazz? (Please say, Eva Robin's.) The gorgeous/leggy Elisabetta Cavallotti, a slinky drink of confident water who walks with the swagger of a young milf. Approaching the now infamous apartment (it's all over the trashy tabloid television talk shows) with the aforementioned swagger I just alluded to, Elisabetta, who plays Otilia, bumps into Premio (Guido Berti), a handsome new tenant. I'm no body language expert, but it's obvious that Otilia and Premio have the hots for one another.

After she's finished flirting with Premio, Otilia enters the apartment. What does she find when she gets inside? No, not another woman who was stabbed with a set square, but one of the most beautiful women on the planet. Don't you mean one of the most beautiful women in the greater Rome area? Uh-uh, I'm talking about the entire planet. Lying on her bed in a corset, Nicole Cardente (Eva Robin's) is Otilia's "friend." Oh, wait, they just shared a passionate kiss. In other words, they're more than just friends. Judging by their conversation, Otilia is helping plan Nicole's comeback. You see, Nicole, on top of being my new style hero, is a pop star who's career could use a firm kick in the underpants.

While Otilia plans Nicole's comeback, Mirta is already well on her way to exploiting the murder that occurred in her apartment. Painting a picture of a naked woman with a set square through her neck, Mirta is hoping her proximity to the murder scene will increase the value of her art. If you thought Mirta was going to limit her exploitation to the art world, think again. She's got murder on her mind, and plans to use Donatella as her weapon. Of course, all she needs to do now is head down to the set square store to pick up set square and  she should be good to go.

Quick question, won't the police being monitoring all purchases of set squares that take place at the set square store? You would think so. But you have got to remember, the police in Bad Inclination are idiots.

Meanwhile, over dinner, Otilia and Nicole start to hatch their own plan to exploit the set square murder. Only problem being, Otilia has a thing for Primio. And Nicole, judging by the size of her hair and her demented disposition, doesn't look like the type of person to let something like this slide.

It's doesn't matter, 'cause in the next scene, Primio is demanding that Otilia dig her heels into his hairy Italian calves. Ooh, baby, pierce those hairy calves, you leggy vixen. Pierce them with your heels!

Even though she doesn't know about the calve piercing incident, you can tell Nicole thinks something is fishy when she spots Primio crouching next to his motorcycle.

Whether walking her cat in pink pantyhose or relaxing with her cat in taupe pantyhose, Eva Robin's is camp personified in this movie. Playing a high maintenance pop singer, lesbian murderess, Eva Robin's injects the proceedings with the correct amount of crazy.

You would think that a movie filled with so many duplicitous characters, that it would be hard to find someone to root for. Well, I don't care what anyone says, I was rooting for Eva Robin's's Nicole. Besides, if you found out that your leggy girlfriend was having an affair with a man with hairy calves, wouldn't you want to murder her with a set square and then try to pin it on said man with hairy calves? If you said yes, you're obviously my kind of people. If you said no, well, it's clear your taste in fashion-forward chicks with dicks is not as impeccable as I thought it was.

A parody of our murder as entertainment-obsessed society (and by "our," I mean the nation of Italy), Bad Inclination is a smart giallo that will definitely appeal to fans of Faceless and Strip Nude for Your Killer. And, yes, I realize that this film is best known in some circles for being the one Franco Nero briefly appears in as a "vagrant." But if I'm watching a movie that features Eva Robin's and Franco Nero, the former will always receive the bulk of my attention, it's just the way I was raised.

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Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Next Generation (Kim Henkel, 1994)

Watching drab damsels in distress running away from equally drab psychopaths for ninety minutes straight is not my idea of fun. I don't care if the latter is wielding a chainsaw, I need something with a little more pizazz, a little more pep, if I'm expected to raise my fist in the air and heartily declare what I'm currently looking at to be awesome. What if I told you there's a film out there where both the damsel in distress and the power tool enthusiast wear lipstick? On their lips? On their lips, baby. At the same time? What do you think? Well, if that's case, colour me intrigued. You know how you're always telling me how you can't stand it when the so-called "damsel in distress" dresses like a twelve year-old boy? I don't know if I'm always telling you that. But it's true, the defeminization of horror heroines is one of my least favourite things to happen to the horror genre. In fact, I'd put it up there with CGI gore/monsters, found footage, torture and grainy cinematography as things that repeatedly fail to churn my proverbial guacamole. Oh, and don't get me started on the recent spate of remakes, reboots, and reimaginings. Now, I'm not declaring Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Next Generation to be some kind of groundbreaking example of horror done right; it does a lot of things wrong, very wrong. I'm just saying that I appreciated the weird little unexpected quirks it throws our way every now and then. Of course, some people might not appreciate these "weird little unexpected quirks," as they will be too busy complaining about the film's lack of gore. But if memory serves me correctly, the original 1974 film by Tobe Hooper had no gore whatsoever. Besides, who needs gore when you have transvestitism? Transvesti-what? You know, cross-dressing.
 

 

It only makes sense that Leatherface (Robert Jacks) dress up pretty if he's going to chase women who are wearing prom dresses. Actually, I'm not sure if that makes sense at all. Think it about. I don't want to think about it. C'mon. Think. Okay, I'm thinking. Nope, I still don't get it. All right, I'll explain what I mean. If you're a reclusive cannibal with low-esteem, and all your masks are made out of skin that used to be attached to fine upstanding ladies, wouldn't you slowly start to manifest feminine attributes and characteristics over time? Judging by the blank expression on your face, I'll take it you're still not following.
 

 

You see, female skin is less coarse than male skin. And wouldn't you want the rest of your ensemble to match this new-found dermatological smoothness? Of course you would. You would be an idiot not to. If you got a vaginoplasty, you wouldn't wear men's trousers on your first post-op trip to the grocery store, you would wear a pleated teal skirt with matching pumps. Well, the same logic can be applied to people who perform amateur facelifts on themselves using the skin from the faces of the women who were unfortunate enough to stumble upon your den of  brainsick degenerates.
 

 

After opening with an unnecessary forward, we get a close-up shot of Leatherface's new face. Only, his new face is still stuck on the old face, which just happens to belong to a bespectacled gal named Jenny (Renée Zellweger), a Texas teen who is getting ready for the prom. Deciding to remove the lipstick she had been fastidiously applying to her pout perfect lips (I guess she thought it was too much for rural Texas to handle), Jenny slips into her white prom dress, and waits for Sean (John Harrison), her date, to arrive.
 

 

It wouldn't be prom night without some domestic distress, so Jenny is groped and threatened with sexual violence by her sleazy ass stepfather (David Laurence) before she leaves. The problem with this scene is that it makes Jenny's multiple attempts to not get killed by a family of mentally unstable cannibals seem fruitless, as her family is just as dysfunctional. Okay, maybe they're not as psychotic as the Slaughter clan, but at least they're more out in the open about their lack of sanity.  

 

Speaking of lacking sanity, let's all hail Carmen Nogales as "Girl in Red Dress," as her glorified cameo is a beautifully bizarre sight to behold. Appearing briefly in a scene that takes place in the hallway outside the gym where the prom is being held, Carmen Nogales treats us to some first-class crazy. Talking to her friend Heather (Lisa Marie Newmyer) about something that is clearly bothering her, Carmen puts her hand to her temple in, what I can only guess, was a veiled attempt to contain the batshit that was about to start leaking from her feverish brain, and launches into this incoherent tirade. And just like that, Carmen Nogales earns her place in the pantheon of off-kilter film performances that inexplicably make me giggle and shout.
 

 

I'm not sure if Carmen Nogales, a.k.a. The Girl in the Red Dress from Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Next Generation, already has a cult following or not. If she doesn't, I'd like to be the first to sign up as a member of the Carmen Nogales, a.k.a. The Girl in the Red Dress from Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Next Generation, Appreciation Society.
 

 

Don't worry, even though that's last we see of Carmen Nogales, another actress is about to come along to fill the Carmen Nogales void. In fact, here she comes right now. Remember that friend Carmen Nogalas was talking to outside the prom? Yeah, Heather. Well, she's going to blow your sock garters off. Really? Oh, you better believe it. Blackish stockings? Check. Tight dress? You know it. Gloves? That's an affirmative, good buddy. Is a volumizing scrunchie too much to ask? Don't be ridiculous, Heather will gladly wear a scrunchie that causes her hair to seem bigger than it really is. Wow, this Heather chick sounds amazing.
 

 

I have to ask, though. If this Heather chick is so "amazing," why is her boyfriend Barry (Tyler Cone) making out that other girl? Good question. On top of sounding exactly like Kenny Powers from Eastbound and Down, this Barry fella is what we like to call a "cad." Realizing this, Heather, after she catches Barry kissing another girl, hops in his car and tears out of the parking lot. Managing to get into the car before she leaves, Barry pleads with Heather to forgive him. When Barry starts trying to explain to Heather that he needs to have sex with other girls or else he'll get cancer, Jenny and Sean reveal themselves. I don't know why they chose the back of Barry's car to smoke pot, but it would seem that this prom has become a mobile affair.
 

 

Due to her frazzled state, and the narrow nature of the dirt road she turned onto, Heather winds up colliding with another car. Despite the fact that the driver of the other car  insists that he is not hurt, he falls to the ground like a bag of dirt. Stranded on a road in the middle of the woods, Jenny, Heather, and Barry decide to go look for help, while Sean stays with the car and the unconscious teen. It's during Jenny, Heather, and Barry's hike through the spooky woods that I really began to take a liking to Lisa Marie Newmyer's Heather. Not as a dumb as we originally thought, and saying what everyone else is thinking, she tells her friends that "we're all going to die," Heather manages to maintain her sex appeal even with a cut on the bridge of her nose. If anything, I thought the cut made her even sexier.
 

 

Already boasting two memorable characters (Carmen Nogales' "Girl in Red Dress and Lisa Marie Newmyer's Heather), you wouldn't think that Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Next Generation would have enough room to fit in one more. Well, think again. After successfully traversing the woods, the teen trio stumble upon the office of Darla Slaughter, a woman with legs for miles and a chichi sense of style. Played by the alluring Tonie Perensky, Darla, who is rocking a tight purple skirt with black stockings and a matching blazer (I think she's in the real estate business), warmly welcomes the wayward teens into her bosomy fold and calls them a tow truck. 
 

 

While that sounds like a kind gesture, as we'll soon find out, Vilmer Slaughter (Matthew McConaughey) isn't your average tow truck driver. For starters, one of his legs is in some kind of remote control leg brace, one that causes him to sound like a robot when he walks. And secondly, he is clearly insane.
 

 

In an effort to get back some of the thunder that was siphoned slightly by Darla, Heather tries to re-establish her status as the film's primary hottie. Declaring that she is not stupid but in fact a "bitch," Heather, who, unlike Jenny, has chosen to keep her heels on for the duration of this ordeal, accompanies Barry to a secluded house in the woods. Ditching Jenny a couple miles back, Heather and Barry wander towards the house totally unaware of the horrors that await them inside.  
 

 

Sitting on the swinging bench located near the front door, Heather, in addition to providing us with a mild upskirt, finally comes face-to-face with the horror legend that is Leatherface. Now, long time fans of the world's most famous chainsaw-wielding cannibal will probably be appalled by what this film has turned Leatherface into. I, on the other hand, could have been more pleased by Leatherface's transformation from a mindless killer to a skittish transvestite. You can tell right away that this isn't your grandfather's Leatherface when we see how transfixed he is by the sparkly nature of Heather's bejeweled scrunchie. He may have been reduced to a preening drag queen, but knows a first-rate scrunchie when he sees it.
 

 

Meanwhile, around the back of the house, Barry meets W.E. Slaughter (Joe Stevens), a John Hawkes look-alike holding a shotgun. While he ain't no Chop Top from The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2 in terms of entertainment value, W.E.'s habit of quoting famous people and his cattle prod abuse are at least something to latch onto. People quoted by W.E. in this movie: Ulysses S. Grant, Niccolò Machiavelli, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Voltaire, William Shakespeare, John Paul Jones, and Franklin Delano Roosevelt.
 

 

The best thing about Renée Zellweger's performance is her ability to run in a prom dress. Actually, prom dress or not, Renée is quite the athlete in this flick. Seriously, no one will ever accuse her of "running like a girl." Which reminds me, why doesn't she run more often in movies? The only film I can think of that properly exploits Renée's athleticism is Chicago. Anyway, I'd be interested to know if Renée Zellweger and Matthew McConaughey ever run into one another at fancy Hollywood parties or pompous award shows. And if they do, I wonder if they're still on speaking terms. I mean, the amount of abuse they inflict on each other is off the charts.
 

 

My favourite Renée/Matthew abuse moment is when Vilmer mocks the wheezing sound Jenny makes when she cries. And judging by the genuinely annoyed look on Renée's face while Matthew is imitating her crying technique, I'd say his mocking was improvised. But then again, Renée's face always looks like it's genuinely annoyed. Zing!
 

 

It's a misguided dream of mine to make, or watch (I like to dream small some times), a movie that stars Carmen Nogales. The only catch being, she has to act the way she does for the twenty or so seconds she's in the Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Next Generation. How no one on the set of this film saw the weird energy Carmen was exuding is beyond me. The second she appeared onscreen and started ranting and raving in a red prom dress should have been the moment the writers/producers began making her part bigger. Just think about the amount of nonsensical chaos Carmen Nogales could have caused if she had been given carte blanche in this flick. Pretty amazing, right? Okay, now imagine if she was paired with Lisa Marie Newmyer's Heather (a.k.a. the girl who can't be killed) and Tonie Perensky's Darla Slaughter (a.k.a. Mrs. Black Pantyhose 1994). Judging by your silence, I'll just go ahead and assume that your head just exploded and are currently in the process of picking up the gooey pieces.

American Nightmare (Don McBrearty, 1983)

Let's get this out of the way first, shall we? The only thing American about this cinematic nightmare is that crumpled wad of American cash resting on the nightstand of the wonderfully flat-chested prostitute played by Alexandra Paul; who is American herself, so let's say, there are two things American in this film (money and small tits). And both are nowhere to be found after the five minute mark; well, there are plenty of small tits after the five minute mark, just not American small tits. Everything else is pure 100% Toronto-reared sleaze (mmm, slice it thick, ma). Since "Toronto Nightmare" isn't nearly as catchy, they went with American Nightmare. And you can't really blame them for that, as the film will probably do much better in international markets with a title like that. However, to someone who knows the streets depicted in this Don McBrearty-directed slasher flick all too well, this film is hands down one of the greatest tributes to the city of Toronto I think I've ever seen. Of course, I'm talking about the Toronto of yesteryear, as the Toronto featured in this film does not exist anymore. Oh, sure, the Zanzibar is still there in all its perverted glory, but everything that was scum-laden and beautiful that used to surround it has long since disappeared. If, by the way, I'm starting to sound like a nostalgic New Yorker bemoaning the gentrification of their precious Times Square. That's good, as that's the sound I'm going for. Sick of waxing poetically about the changes that have occurred over the years in city's I've never lived in, it was refreshing to watch a movie–a gritty, sexy, violent movie with incest, cross-dressing and pimps–that boasted locations that I've actually been to. And what was cool about the way the locations were filmed in American Nightmare was that nothing, as far as I could see, was altered in order to make the various locals seem more grimy. In other words, everything in this film looked authentic.
 

 

Well, authentic to a point. I mean, would an adult bookstore/porno theatre (all adult bookstores, all the decent ones, anyways, had a porno theatre in the back) really carry Crescendo Magazine?!? If you look closely, you can see that the magazine is clearly in the miscellaneous section. Still, a magazine geared toward lovers of classical music does seem out of place in a shop that carries, or, hopefully carries, the latest issues of Razzle, Pleasure, Escort, and Whitehouse.
 

 

Opening on a pair of white panties lying in a heap on the floor of a cheap motel, American Nightmare makes an impression almost immediately. Slowly the camera moves off the panties and shows us that the panties are not alone. Resting near a some taupe pantyhose and a white bra, the panties, before they were tossed on the floor, were once wrapped snugly around the barely eighteen undercarriage that belongs to Tanya Kelly (Alexandra Paul), a prostitute with small breasts.
 

 

The reason the panties are not furnishing her crotch and buttocks with the coverage they were engineered to provide is because she needs those areas to be free of artificial barriers. Why's that, you ask? She needs them to be uncovered so that her clients, like the one who is currently in the bathroom, can enter her without there being any obstructions. 
 

 

As Tanya waits on the bed in a leggy manner for her client to finish up in the bathroom, you'll notice that the television on the fritz. I have no idea if the decision to make the television's picture quality poor was on purpose or not. Nevertheless, I thought it was the correct decision. I'm not sure if I said this before, but a television with a fuzzy picture is much more interesting, from a visual point-of-view, than a television that is transmitting a clear picture. 
 

 

Returning from the bathroom, the man, who is wearing nothing but a towel and a pair of surgical gloves, walks toward Tanya and... Hold on. Did you say, surgical gloves? Yeah, so? I don't have access to the hooker handbook at the moment, but surgical gloves have got to be listed as a red flag. They might be, but you've got to remember, Tanya is a young prostitute. Meaning, she probably hasn't gotten that far in the handbook yet. Well, it's not going to help her now, as the guy in the towel is slicing her neck with a razor.
 

 

What's most tragic about Tanya's death is the fact her brother, Eric Blake (Lawrence Day), a concert pianist, spends most of the movie looking for her. What I mean is, we know Tanya Kelly, who's real name is Isabelle Blake, though, I prefer to call her Tanya since she died as Tanya, is dead, but Eric doesn't. And that gives the film a real sense of hopelessness.
 

 

Despite what we know, Eric continues to look for Isabelle/Tanya. He even manages to find the apartment building (a real dump) her sister's been living for the past two years. The only person he finds is Dolly (Larry Aubrey), her Friend of Dorothy-aligned neighbour from across the hall; I loved the way Dolly played with his necklace as he chatted with Eric, as it was so flamboyantly creepy.
 

 

All Eric gets out of Dolly is that he hasn't seen her for at least two days. This leads him to reluctantly visit his father, Hamilton Blake (Tom Harvey), the owner of Uni-Save, a successful television station he runs with his right hand man Tony (Neil Dainard). Unfortunately, his father hasn't seen Isabelle/Tanya in over two years. Oh, and the reason he was reluctant to turn to his father is because he can't stand him. I'd even go as far as to say that he hates him with a fiery passion.
 

 

The reason no one was home when Eric knocked on the door is because Louise (Lora Staley) and Andrea (Claudia Udy),  Isabelle/Tanya's roommates, are all down at the Zanzibar taking their clothes off for money. Actually, before we meet Louise and Andrea, we're introduced to a stripper named Tina (Lenore Zann), who is talking with her boyfriend Mark (Page Fletcher), a guy who doesn't like the fact that his girlfriend is a stripper. What I think they were trying to do with this scene is establish Mark's dislike for the stripping profession. And, in turn, make us believe that he might start killing strippers, or small-breasted prostitutes for that matter. Either way, I like the idea that Lenore Zann works at a strip club called the Zanzibar.
 

 

At first, I was impressed by the Scorchy poster the ladies had on the wall of their dressing room. But then I saw something on the wall that impressed me even more. Wait, something more impressive than a Scorchy poster? Way more impressive. Are you ready? A Marlene Willoughby poster!!! Yikes! That is impressive.
 

 

How come I don't have a Marlene Willoughby poster on my wall? It's not fair. I'm stupid enough to actually go down to the Zanzibar, which, like I said, is still in business, and ask them if the Marlene Willoughby poster featured in the early '80s slasher film American Nightmare is for sale. Hell, I'm not even sure if the interior scenes were filmed inside the actual club. Nonetheless, that still doesn't change the fact that I want that poster.
 

 

Convincing Louise that Isabelle/Tanya is in fact her brother by showing her a picture of them together, Eric manages to finally get inside her apartment. Much to Eric's disappointment, however, Louise, despite her legginess (she has the legs of a dancer), is not much help.
 

 

If you're wondering why Eric hasn't gone to the police. Wonder no more, as he heads down to the police station to inform Sgt. Skylar (Michael Ironside, yeah, baby... this guy rocks) that his sister is missing.
 

 

To make Lora Staley's Louise more likable, the writers, including John Sheppard (Flying), give her a pill addiction. I know, how does one become more likable by being addicted to pills. Trust me, it just does. It's hard to explain, but just knowing that Louise has a pill habit on the side made her more appealing to me. At any rate, she gets her pills from a pimp/drug dealer named Fixer (Michael Copeman), who "works" out of the porno theatre located in the back of an adult bookstore.
 

 

As she's buying her pills, she tries to help Eric out by asking Fixer where Isabelle/Tanya might be. But scumbags named "Fixer," one's who push pills for a living, aren't exactly the most helpful people in the world. While leaving, she notices that Eric is on the cover of Crescendo Magazine. Like I explained earlier, I thought it was strange that a place like this would carry such a classy-looking magazine.
 

 

Just a second. I know, a killer is targeting strippers and prostitutes. But Lenore Zann is about to go on. Like most strippers in the '70s and '80s, Lenore Zann's Tina has a gimmick, and hers is a devil motif. Carrying a red pitchfork (don't worry, the points have been neutralized) and wearing devilish lingerie, Lenore, with the help of a feather boa, manages to turn the wrinkled crotch meat festooned to the members of the unwashed rabble at the Zanzibar into rigid no-fly zones with minimal effort. Huh? Her innate sexiness made their cocks hard. Oh.   
 

 

As she's dancing, Sgt. Skylar informs Louise that one of her friends has been murdered. With one friend missing and one friend dead, Louise turns to Eric for help. Only problem is, Eric is not that experienced when it comes to dealing with distraught strippers, and pretty much bungles the situation. Needing comfort, Louise looks to Dolly, who, as we have since learned, is a cross-dressing sex worker.
 

 

Since her apartment isn't the safest place to be at the moment (not only was her friend killer there, but she was almost killed there herself), Louise decides to forgive Eric. And just like that, the two of them become quite the effective crime-fighting team. The streetwise stripper uses her connections to the city's unsavoury underworld, while Eric uses his brawn to further their cause. Um, I thought you said Eric was a concert pianist? Yeah, well, that's because he is. Okay, it's just that the words "brawn" and "concert pianist" don't really go together. You're right, they don't. But you've got to remember, Eric isn't your average pianist.
 

 

He might be pegged to be the next Glenn Gould, but he's got a little Charles Bronson in him as well. Don't believe me, just ask the mugger who confronts Louise and Eric in an alleyway. Oh, and when asking him, make sure to fire your question toward his right ear, as Eric, the pianist, ripped off his left one when he tried to mug him and his stripper girlfriend.
 

 

Girlfriend?!? Well, not yet. But things are getting there. The sight of Louise dancing at the Zanzibar definitely showed Eric a different side to her. Which, no doubt, did a lot to speed up the wooing process. Oh, and by "different side," I'm talking about her thong-ensnared ass being thrown across the dimly lit stage in a frenzied attempt to arouse and titillate total strangers.
 

 

After a great sex scene, Eric heads over to the Sundown Motel to shakedown the manager. Now, the only reason I'm mentioning this scene is because the motel manager is played Paul Bradley of Goin' Down the Road fame. And, as most people know, that film is a Canadian classic. Which, of course, was famously parodied in an SCTV sketch called "Garth and Gord and Fiona and Alice." And what's the line most people remember from the SCTV parody? That's right, "Yonge Street!!!" It's where John Candy and Joe Flaherty would go whenever their characters would get depressed.
 

 

Both American Nightmare and the SCTV sketch capture Yonge Street when it was, for good or bad, the city's cultural epicentre. Nowadays, however, there's no real point of walking up or down Yonge Street. Unless getting a deal on a cellphone is your idea of fun. I mean, without the tawdriness, the street has lost what made it so charming in the first place. For example, the fact that no one has asked me if I want to buy drugs on Yonge Street in years is downright depressing. With no record stores, no video arcades, no porn, and no army surplus stores, Yonge Street has ceased to be the centre of the universe.
 

 

Anyway, enough of my nostalgia-based whining, if you want to see Yonge Street in all its sleazy glory check out American Nightmare, it's a  well-acted slasher movie that involves strippers in peril.