The Lady in the Car with Glasses and a Gun (Joann Sfar, 2015)

First off, how about a round of applause for Freya Mavor's freckles? If you thought Natalya Rudakova's freckles were off the hook in The Transporter 3, you'll love Freya Mavor's freckles in The Lady in the Car with Glasses and a Gun... (Hold your horses, that's the name of the movie? And secondly, do people still say, "off the hook"?)  Yes, that's the name of the movie. As for "off the hook." Fuck these so-called "people." Besides, who still says, "hold your horses"? Talk about lame. Anyway, as of writing this, I have purchased a total of six dresses at my favourite thrift store (it's on Bloor St. and it's the only place I feel comfortable shopping for clothes). Now, given that I'm rather new to buying dresses, I'm still trying to figure what my size is. At first I thought I was in the 9-10 range. Then I started to think I was more of a 7-8 kind of creature (edit: 3-4 seems about right). Either way, deep down I feel as if the garments I'm getting all a tad on the small side. That is until I saw what Freya Mavor wears as Dany Dorémus is this strange retro road movie from France. Even though she mainly wears the same outfit from start to finish, every outfit she does wear is pretty skimpy. And given that Freya and I are both 5' 9", I was thinking that maybe the dresses I'm buying were in fact the correct size. Oh, and it's not that they don't fit, it's that they seem a little short. However, since Freya and I, like I said, are both 5' 9", and we both have great legs, I've decided to conclude it would a crime for us to not wear short dresses and skirts.

As for the quality of this movie. Now, that's a different story all-together. Of course, only someone who is completely dense in the appreciating beautiful women department would deny that Freya Mavor, a Scottish-born actress who is fluent in French, is gorgeous. That being said, the movie itself doesn't quite live up to lofty standards put forth by Miss Mavor (the lady). Neither does it live up to the blue Ford Thunderbird (the car). As for the her trademark glasses. Hmm, I'd say it's a tie. Everything is better than the gun. Seriously, the movie becomes a huge chore to sit through when the gun finally appears on-screen.

Traditionally, the gun is supposed to represent action and danger, but all it does in this movie is elicit yawns and/or groans. For one thing, it's a rifle. Yet it sounds like a pistol. To make matters even more aggravating, they keep referring to it as a shotgun.

Enough about the gun, let's talk about Freya Mavor and that car of hers. Well, it's not really her car. Uh, I'll get to that in a minute. Nevertheless, the pairing of Freya Mavor and that blue Thunderbird is an intoxicating combination. Add the fact that she's wearing glasses and a short light beige dress, and the combination gets even more potent.

The decision to set the film during unspecific time period was also rather ingenious. There's not a single item, phrase uttered or object that betrays what year the film takes place in. It also helped that phones are never used in the film, as nothing dates a movie faster than a phone, especially a mobile phone.

The car is timeless, the clothes are timeless, the John Carpenter-esque soundtrack is kinda of timeless, hell, even the typewriter is timeless, I loved the film's overall vagueness when it came to style. Parts of the film screamed the 1960s, while others had a 1970s vibe. Even the film's protracted title has a certain 1970s exploitation hint to it.

It's too bad the film doesn't really earn its title. I mean, those expecting to see a sleazy revenge movie along the lines of Thriller: They Called Her One-Eye or I Spit On Your Grave are going to be severely disappointed.

While I'll don't normally care about revealing plot points. Since this movie is relatively new, I'll refrain from doing so. I will say this, Freya Mavor, a tall, lanky drink of leggy water, plays Dany Dorémus, the secretary of a business named Michel Caravaille (Benjamin Biolay). After completing some important typing for Michel, Dany is asked to drive her boss, and his wife and daughter to the airport, and then drive the car back to their house.

 

However, instead of driving it, a blue Thunderbird, to their house, Dany decides to go on a bit of a joy ride and heads toward the sea. Of course, this decision has unintended consequences, as things get more and more stressful for Dany and her long, slender legs.

Unsure as to why all this weird shit is happening to Dany, the audience is left to figure out... No, wait. All the film's mysteries are explained in, what felt like, a twenty minute plot wrap up sequence at the end of the movie. This may sound harsh, but the final twenty minutes are terrible. As the film's unique flavour is basically flushed down the toilet. (Wow, that was harsh.) Well, the film up until this point had a sort of surreal vibe about it that was quite appealing.

Add the fact that it had a sexy chick, a cool car and a some times synthy soundtrack, it had the potential of becoming a future cult classic alongside the likes of The Duke of Burgundy and It Follows. But it doesn't... (Don't forget the killer shopping/dress-up montage.) Oh, yeah. There's a shopping/dress-up montage. Of course, Dany doesn't wear any of the clothes she ends up purchasing (the skimpy beige dress that may or may not be two sizes to small for her is what she wears from start to finish). But still, you gotta love the fact she takes the time to try on clothes. Or you don't. Either way, the movie is... all right, I guess.

Sexandroide (Michel Ricaud, 1987)

You remember when a leggy and wonderfully muscular-armed Angela Bassett lip-syncs Tina Turner's "What's Love Got to Do With It" as Tina Turner at the end of the movie of the same name? Well, that's what most normal people think of when they hear that song playing, oh, let's say, while browsing the frozen food aisle at their local corporate supermarket. Us abnormal people (a.k.a. cult movie fans), however, whether we want it to or not, have to contend with the dizzying image of a naked, belly chain-sporting, recently turned female vampire dancing up a storm to the song immediately popping into our heads whenever the classic '80s jam decides to make its presence felt (while, of course, we're out buying frozen peas). Unfortunately, most folks won't be able to enjoy the sight I just described as they probably won't make it to the end of the ultra-strange Sexandroide, come for the scantily clad torture, stay... as far as away from this movie as you possibly can. Seriously, no good can come from you watching it. The way I see it, the Tina Turner/"What's Love Got to Do With It" sequence that ends the film is the reward for those who were able to slog through such a heinous exercise. (It can't be that be that bad, can it?) Trust me, it can. For starters, two pairs of stockings, one red, one black, are torn asunder in this flick. (Oh, I thought you were going to mention the nipple piercing scene.) Yeah, that's pretty awful. But seeing two perfectly good pairs of stockings ruined was too much for me.

The Michel Ricaud-directed film, which is, thankfully, barely fifty minutes long, opens with a faceless man/woman/creature of unknown origin opening an envelope that contains a photo of a blonde woman. Without wasting any time, the faceless individual starts abusing the photo. Meanwhile, a blonde women (who looks like the blonde woman from the photo) in red stockings is sitting (with her legs crossed) at a bar...

(What kind of dress is she wearing?)

It's a simple dress, but the colour is nothing but. If I had to describe it, I would call it red hot poker-esque, as it mixes yellow and red in a similar manner as the flower of the same name.

While in the ladies room, the woman suddenly feels sick and vomits in the sink.

After she's done throwing up, she suddenly feels a force tearing at her clothes. While I was somewhat saddened to see her red stockings and matching garter-belt removed in such a violent manner, the sequence itself is kind of awesome. In fact, if the entire film had been a series erotic vignettes involving lingerie-clad women struggling to prevent their clothes from being torn off by an unseen entity, I would have no choice but to declare Sexandroide to be one of the greatest films of all-time.

In a way, the film does adhere to that basic principal. But the middle "vignette" is so disgusting that... Though, I have to say, it's only vignette where the stockings make out pretty much unscathed. And the twist ending was a pleasant surprise... Actually, now that I think about it, the film isn't all that bad.

Note to self: Try to decide whether or not you like a film before you start reviewing it, not during.

Anyway, where was I? Oh, yeah, the blonde in the washroom was being tortured by an unseen individual wielding some kind of voodoo-style power. After they're finished with the photo, the unseen individual starts poking a doll with needles. As expected, the blonde, whose sexy legs used to be sheathed in red stockings, begins to bleed from the places that are being poked on the doll.

I don't know why this happening to her, or why I'm watching it for that matter, but I have to give it up to the actress portraying the washroom blonde. She had me convinced an invisible presence was fucking up her shit big time. Kudos to you, unnamed actress from the opening scene of Sexandroide, your unorthodox thespian skills did not go unnoticed by this viewer.

If you thought the blonde's thespian skills were unorthodox, the lithe brunette in the black hold-up thigh-high stockings takes unorthodox acting to the next level.

After descending a staircase in a dramatic, unorthodox fashion, the lithe brunette stumbles upon a red carpeted room. Wait, why did she shoot that hooded figure and why is she setting her hands on fire? This movie has taken a bizarre turn. Oh, sure, it was bizarre before. But this is ridiculous. Whatever, um. Removing her black dress, the lithe brunette (who is sporting a bob-style haircut) begins to whip herself with a cat o' nine tails.

Interrupted by a ghastly man-thing in Frankenstein leisurewear, the lithe brunette finds her skinny ass in serious danger, as the ghastly man ties her to a chair. Sticking nails in her nipples and tongue, the ghastly man removes one of her eyes and eats it... Ugh... this is disgusting.

(Yeah, it's fucking gross. But look at her stockings... there's not a scratch on them.) It's true, the fact that her stockings make it through this unspeakable nightmare unsullied was worthy of a smidgen of uncut giddiness. But still...

Again, I have to ask: Why is this happening to her and why am I watching it? Never mind that. The twist ending is surprisingly romantic. Yeah, I know, how can eyeball-eating and self-disembowelment be romantic? If anyone knows how to make those things seem romantic, it's the makers of Sexandroide.

The final vignette contains the same amount of garment-tearing and general unpleasantness as the previous two chapters in the Sexandroide saga. But alas, this one features the infamous "What's Love Got to Do With It" dance number.

It starts off with (yet another) a lithe brunette in sexy goth funeral clothes mourning over a casket that contains what looks like a vampire. Suddenly, without warning, the vampire springs from the casket and begins to rip off the lithe brunette's clothes. Damn, those were some nice black stockings. But just like that, they're gone. It's a fucking shame, I tell ya.

Biting her on the neck, the lithe brunette collapses against the coffin, the end. Oh, wait. The lithe brunette is a vampire now. Which makes sense, I guess. What doesn't make sense is why is the lithe brunette vampire chick dancing to Tina Turner's "What's Love Got to Do With It"? Or maybe it does... make sense. Either way, Sexandroide is, to put it mildly, a fucked up movie. Sure it's gory and sleazy, like hundreds of other films. But there's just something off about it that I can't quite put my finger on. And it's this "off-ness" that makes the film sort of worth watching. SORT OF.

Marquis (Henri Xhonneux, 1989)

Talking penises named "Colin," stocking clad claymation spider legs and craw-fish anal sex. Damn you, Marquis. Damn you for being so awesome. And it's no wonder, you were made by Belgians. (It says the film is a Belgium-France co-production.) Whatever, the director, and some of the cast and crew are Belgian, and that's all that really matters. Anyway, I don't know what's weirder, the fact that this film, by Belgian director, Henri Xhonneux, depicts the Marquis de Sade as having a talking penis or the fact that his name is "Colin." Call me blissfully unaware and junk, but the Marquis de Sade's penis doesn't strike me as a "Colin." No, I think René or Jean would more appropriate names for the chatty cock attached the Marquis de Sade. And therein lies the rub. If this movie did what was appropriate, it would lose a large amount of its appeal. Hell, just the mere thought of something transpiring in this film in an everyday manner makes me nauseous. Did I mention that all the actors wear animatronic animal masks and have had their voices dubbed by other actors? That's odd, as it should have been the first thing out of my mouth. Hold on. Everyone knows that it's mandatory that all reviews of Marquis start off by mentioning the talking penis. And, as you can clearly see, that's what I did. On the other hand, there isn't really any wrong way to begin a review of Marquis, as the film gives you so many options to choose from.

My favourite options, of course, are, Colin (Valérie Kling), the Marquis de Sade's talkative trouser companion, the stocking clad claymation spider and the craw-fish anal sex scene. Embrace these three things, and you should be well on your way to fashioning yourself a pretty entertaining review of Marquis, the best film to boast garrulous genitalia since Chatterbox. However, unlike the loquacious labia in that film, this wordy wang has a face and everything. 

It should be noted, before I continue, that the reason Bastille guard Ambert (Michel Robin) is being fucked in the ass by a craw-fish instead of something less crustacean-like is because Colin, the Marquis de Sade's dick, doesn't want to be inserted into Ambert's foie gras-stained anus. I know, you're thinking to yourself: Didn't the Marquis (François Marthouret) and Colin have a deal? One that stated: If you hump the crack in the wall, I'll allow you to put me in Ambert's poop-chute so that Lupino (Roger Crouzet), an imprisoned revolutionary, and Pigonou (Bob Morel), a pig-man charged with pork fraud, may escape. Well, it would seem that the Marquis and Colin have different ideas when it comes to fucking holes.

You would think that Colin, being a cock and all, would be willing to penetrate anything as long as it contained a cavity of some kind. But he doesn't. And you would think that the Marquis, being a man and all, would be just willing, even more so (men love holes). But that's not the case at all.

While Colin is a pragmatist, the Marquis prefers to let his imagination run wild. And he's going to need it, as the Marquis and Colin are currently locked in the Bastille, the infamous prison run by Louis XVI of France.

Charged with "undermining religion and society" (i.e. defecating on crucifixes), the Marquis spends the bulk of his time writing, talking to Colin (who thinks the Marquis uses too many verbs) and shunning the advances of the aforementioned Ambert, who finds the Marquis to be "hard and lithe." This routine is threatened when a fellow prisoner, Lupino (the former chief of police who busted the Marquis), asks the Marquis to help him escape.

His routine gets threatened even more so when the rooster-esque Gaetan De Preaubois (the governor of the Bastille) and camel-headed Don Pompero (the Bastille's confessor) try to pin the rape of Justine, a naive cow-woman who insists she was raped/impregnated by the king, on the Marquis.

Speaking of cow-woman, Juliette, an attractive cow-woman, who is secretly a member of the outlawed Patriotic Citizen's Club, is having a femdom relationship with Gaetan De Preaubois. But don't worry, she doesn't really like him. She's just yanking on his wattle for political purposes. Who among us hasn't yanked on the wattle of a 6' 4" rooster for the greater good?

In the film's most disturbing scene, the Marquis muzzles Colin with his foreskin so that he can tell Justine a story without being interrupted. As you might expect, Colin nearly suffocates. And even though Justine manages to revive him with mouth-to-mouth (a.k.a. a blow-job), Colin is pissed.

People who own penises will be able to relate to the turbulent relationship between the Marquis and Colin in this film. In a constant tug of war over almost every aspect of their day-to-day lives, the Marquis and Colin must learn to live with one another. Or maybe they don't have to. I mean, Colin does threaten to leave the Marquis on several occasions. Either way, I hope these two kooky kids can't work things out. For one thing, it would be a shame if the Marquis missed out on using Colin to penetrate Juliette's creamy cow vagina. Seriously, the sight of Juliette storming the Bastille in kinky black lingerie (we're talking tons of straps) would make even the most jaded of penises hard as a rock.

It should go without saying, but Marquis is a weird ass movie. And if I was, oh, let's say, a seven year-old Albanian boy named Pëllumb, those freaky animatronic animal masks would have scared the Albanac crap out of me. [Special thanks to Sam Arshawsky for recommending this movie.]