Evil Toons (Fred Olen Ray, 1992)

A normal person, someone who doesn't live their life a quarter mile at a time, will look at the lack of animated monsters in Evil Toons (a.k.a. Qui a peur du diable?) and declare it to be a dismal failure. Others, however, those who approach obstacles with a decidedly different brand of gusto, will see the film's animation deficiency as a blessing in disguise. Whoa, wait a minute. What kind of freak would view this mess as a blessing, disguised or otherwise? I mean, the film has the word "toons" in its title. In other words, where are the fucking toons? First off, this film, written and directed by Fred Olen Ray (Hollywood Chainsaw Hookers) and photographed by the late great Gary Carver (Private Teacher), was made, judging by the quality of the special effects and the skimpiness of the sets, for practically no money. Using more otherworldly words, what did you expect, Cool World? (If you're not familiar with that particular film, think: Who Framed Roger Rabbit or Space Jam.) Secondly, why would anyone bother to insert cartoon characters into a live action movie, a process that's probably expensive and quite time consuming, when you have the luminous Madison (Party Doll A Go-Go!) at your disposal? Who the fuck is Madison, you ask? Well, if you must know, she the fuck is only one of the finest actresses ever to grace the silver screen. And if that wasn't enough, she also happens to possess the temperament of a living, breathing cartoon character. In fact, you could, if you were so inclined, rename the film Evil Madison, or Evil Roxanne (the name of the character she plays), and it wouldn't lose a single ounce of its tawdry appeal.

 
Four young-ish women: Jan (Barbara Dare credited as Stacey Nix), black bicycle shorts/micromanaged big hair; Terry (Suzanne Ager), cut-off jean shorts/micromanaged big hair; Megan (Monique Gabrielle), glasses/braided ponytail; and Roxanne (Madison), neon green tank top/black hair affixed with a neon green scrunchie, are dropped off in a white van in front of a large house by a guy in a pink work shirt named Burt (Dick Miller). Told that they need to...I'm sorry to interrupt you, but did you just say that Burt was being played by the ubiquitous Dick Miller? Yeah. I thought you did. Anyway, instructed to clean the spacious residence as some sort of punishment, the ladies have to stay in the house for the entire weekend.    

 
Starting off in the basement, two of the gals come across a mysterious trunk containing an old shawl and a weird-looking dagger.

 
It's was a minor shame that Roxanne had to relinquish her neon green tank top during an impromptu striptease performed for the benefit of her three friends, because the sight of her constantly adjusting her brightly-coloured garment's wayward arm straps (they kept falling off her lusty shoulders) was my favourite aspect of the movie up until this point. Even though the purpose of her fireside burlesque show was primarily titillation-based, the reason she starts to undress seductively to rock music was to accelerate the loosing up process within a certain member of their shapely party. You see, Megan, the girl in the glasses, she's a tad on the reserved side, and all Roxanne wanted to accomplish by shaking her thong-affixed undercarriage was to show her that the female body is something to be revered, not feared. 

 
Suddenly, there's a knock at the door. Why, it's David Carradine, and judging by the perturbed expression on his face, he's here to collect his paycheck. Unfortunately, there is no paycheck to be collected. Apparently, his character, Gideon Fisk, a mysterious man who hung himself in the seventeenth century against the wishes of a talking book, has to lurk ominously in the shadows a little while longer before he can get paid.
 

 
At any rate, back to the knock at the door, delivering a book to the ladies, yeah, that's right, the very book Gideon was holding when he committed suicide three hundred or so years ago, three of the girls reluctantly decided to open it. Puzzled by the language used in the book and horrified by the pornographic illustrations, the ladies call on Megan (who is currently ruminating over the largeness of her nipples in the mirror) to help translate the strange text; after all, she wears glasses, and, as most people know, shy girls with large breasts, who, of course, wear glasses, are experts when it comes to deciphering obscure languages.

 
After reading the aloud the section that clearly states that this section should not be read aloud, Megan and the others grow bored of the sinister-looking book and agree that it's time to go to sleep.

 
Good riddance, I say, as we're treated to the stellar facial work of Madison. Stellar facial work?!? Oh, haven't you heard? Her face is alive. I know, we all have faces that are technically "alive." But Madison's face is different. She uses it to convey a wide range of emotions by squinting, smirking, rolling her eyes, and, of course, by scrunching her nose. While most actors stare blanking into space, reciting lines of dialogue when it's there turn to speak, Madison is always expressing herself.

 
Now, you might be surprised to learn that film's most entertaining scene has nothing to do with evil toons or naked breasts. Hold on there, buddy. What could possibly be more entertaining than those things? Have you ever watched Madison try to open a difficult to open bottle of wine? 'Nuff said.

 
As she's waiting for her boyfriend Biff to arrive in man's shirt (don't worry, she has frilly purple lingerie on underneath it) with a freshly opened bottle of wine, Madison flips her hair, rolls her eyes, and scrunches the fuck out of her face. Instead of Biff, however, Madison is confronted by a cartoon; in fact, you could say it's an evil toon. Even though she screams for help (the cartoon beast is straddling her on the floor), her friends upstairs think it's just her having rough sex with Biff on the sofa.

 
While Madison is coming to grips with her new personality (less flippant hair flipping, more sinister glaring), we're treated to a long (and I mean, long) clip from Bucket of Blood and cameo by Michelle Bauer (Café Flesh) and a Seattle Seahawks trashcan. (You know a movie is floundering when I take the time to point out a trashcan.)

 
Comfortable in the knowledge that I have, up until now, done an okay job extolling the virtues of Madison Stone in Evil Toons, I still feel as if her many virtues could be extolled in further. Unfortunately, no-one else in the film's cast or crew comes close to the level of awesomeness Madison repeatedly puts out there in this cinematic atrocity. Actually, composer Chuck Cirino (Chopping Mall and Weird TV) does an excellent job with the music, as his synths at the top of their game, so it's not completely one-sided. But for all intents and purposes, Evil Toons is the Madison show. There's a reason writer-director Fred Olen Ray chose her to be the one who gets possessed by an evil toon. And, no, not just because she was the only one willing to get her top licked off by an animated demon hound. It was because she was the only one with anything close to resembling a functioning personality.
 

 
The first time I became aware of Madison wasn't in Party Doll A Go-Go! or its sequel Party Doll A Go-Go! Part 2, but in The Last Resort, a XXX feature from 1990. While the exact details of the plot escape me at the moment, I do recall a scene where she talks incessantly throughout a kitchen set sex scene with Joey Silvera (who is wearing a chef's hat). And, at the time, I remember thinking, damn, this is chick is funny.

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Party Doll A Go-Go!: Part 2 (Rinse Dream, 1991)

What must have the stained raincoat crowd thought when they inadvertently stepped in front of this chatty smorgasbord in 1991. It's not the clearest vision I've ever had, but I can almost make out their broken little faces crumbling under the sheer of weight of the weirdness transpiring on-screen. No fooling around, the operational integrity of their masturbatory instincts must have been severely compromised by this salacious enterprise. In that, the rapid fire manner in which it belittles the audience's erotic comfort zone is just as prominent as it was in the first chapter. Besides, given the fact that the radioactive lingerie, freeze-dried ornamental grasses, toxic space flowers, rustic fence materials, dangling clumps of rope, and the chain-adorned mattresses from the first film were probably still lying around the no doubt gamy-as-fuck set, and since the cast's genitals were already percolating with a lustful hunger, you'd be totally insane not to make Party Doll A Go-Go! Part 2. Taking what worked from the first chapter, jiggling it ever so slightly and not expanding on it one bit, all Stephen "Rinse Dream" Sayadian (the genius who brought us Dr. Caligari, Nightdreams, and Café Flesh) does is switch up the penetration pairings, change the licking order, move around the excellent music of Double Vision, and, boom, just like that, you've got yourself an equally unwell sequel.

If the first telecast celebrated irregular insertion, then part two downright glorifies it. Behold, as a wide array of avant-garde items are willfully jammed into crevices big and small. This cranny packing is made possible thanks to the generous assistance of the non-unionized members of a demented crew of sentient female persons: Jezabel, the mysterious one; Lannie, the lascivious one; Roxi, the kinky one; Vivian, the seductive one; Tantrum, the hippest one; Vera, the lubricious one; and Echo, the troubled one. All their rambunctious girl biscuits are hungry for firm boy jerky. Well, some are itching for the taste of a special kind of secret secretion. Which just goes to show that one should never assume what one might desire to temporarily have placed/inserted inside a body cavity.

You know you're watching a Rinse Dream project the moment Jezabel (Jeanna Fine) says, "I know you're watching me," just as Randy Spears is about to orally ravage her labia and surrounding girl-area. This paranoid statement is a reoccurring slice of dialogue that permeates most of Mr. Sayadian's work. A sentence that is an obvious a dig at the voyeuristic temperament of pornography, the judgmental way Miss Fine stares directly at the camera, spouting non-sequiturs like a banshee, is meant to be a direct challenge to the audience.

The second coupling features Lannie (Patricia Kennedy) and Roxi (Nikki Wilde), and is all about utilizing your mouth as a weapon for sex. The expression "girl homo" (a Nikki Wilde holdover from part one) is used with a freewheeling wantonness in this segment. In fact, Nikki takes a second to utter the two words just as her entire face is about to become muffled by the crumpled flesh of Patricia's damp expanse; an "artificial man-thing" is implemented when Nikki's face grows tired of being muffled.

A securely built Vivian (Raven) is the next party doll to get her tender places tinkered with. And I say, "tinkered," because this probing sequence is all about using sexual metaphors of an automotive nature. Sporting slicked back hair this time around, Tom Byron goes through the pounding motions, laying into Raven's finely tuned organic structure, as Tantrum and Echo dance wildly in their day-glo underwear, periodically shouting out the names of car models from the 1960s.

Exhausted from all that boogieing, Tantrum (Madison) relaxes against an erratic hodgepodge made out of metal and lace, and proceeds to allow Vera (Bionca) to vigorously lick the appetizing viscosity out of her consecrated cookie juice. The spunky Madison, still the sexiest party doll on call, has the off-kilter vibe down perfectly. I mean, not once does she resort to spouting the hackneyed, "fuck me," "pound my pussy," or the classic, "don't you dare draw energy from my squirting mess, you glorified hat rack!" Even when Bionca is attempting to cram one of her pointer-than-usual nipples into her gaping sex maw, the angelic sex kitten keeps it together like a bitter butler on his last day of closeted homosexual servitude.

The closest thing Party Doll A Go-Go! Part 2 has to a conventional plot is the situation concerning Echo (Tianna) and her inability to stop "The Wiggle." This strange, yet immensely groovy affliction was acquired by the short-haired blonde with the wonderfully circular backside during the encounter with Tantrum and Vera. The other party dolls try to snap her out of it by suggesting that she ingest the contents lying in wait somewhere inside Peter North's purposeful ball sack. I'm no scientist (obviously), but the milky man-medicine seemed to do the trick. Sure, none of it is actually ingested, but only a major tool would deny the healing power of Mr. North's Halifax-reared cock.

At any rate, I'm surprised they didn't make a PDAGG part three. They're fun movies with endless possibilities for crotch-based mayhem. Hello, you've reached Party Doll A Go-Go! Uh-huh.

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Party Doll A Go-Go! (Rinse Dream, 1991)

The prospect of watching people vigorously collide with one another in a veiled attempt to uncork fluid has never appealed to me. I mean, unless these fluids are going to be used by two married individuals in order to manufacture a baby in the near future, I don't want any part of it. Seriously, the idea of my precious eyeballs devouring the indecent image of strangers jabbing at each other with their respective holes makes my skin crawl. However, if the impeccably brained Rinse Dream (a.k.a. Stephen Sayadian) is in charge of the filming the fornication of fancy-free fissure sniffers in a gaudy environment, then my liquid paper/personality/inner Men Without Hats groupie would gladly allow itself to be corrupted by this strangely erotic display. This earth-born figure, a director who helped reinvent on-screen intercourse with the surreal Nightdreams and the post-apocalyptic Café Flesh, attacks our sexual synapses yet again with the wonderfully loquacious Party Doll A Go-Go!, a nonsensical ode to repetitious yakety-yak, neon lingerie, and that special kind of tingle. Moving from one act of tender copulation to another with the speed of a goofy yogurt salesmen, the debased production feverishly splices stream of consciousness dialogue with scenes of customary and uncustomary penetration. The forcible ejection of semen is a standard indicator as to when a scene is over, yet there's a free flowing, almost tongue-in-cheek attitude when it comes to structure. Ignoring the normal constructs that constitute your standard fuck film, Rinse Dream hates your erection, thinks your moist undercarriage is stupid, and has no interest in soothing your loneliness. It's obvious that he despises couch-based pornography, as the wacky words being uttered and the abstract pelvic thrusting are constantly at odds with one another.

The first scene has the bubbly Madison and the forthright Tianna double-teaming Tom Byron's already unfurled penis on a bed made out of what looks to be chains and barbed wire. Well, actually, Tianna spends most of her time mock consuming the thankfully nonexistent contents of Madison's attractive asshole (I've memorized every groove and every contour of her delicious anus). At first, I was a little put off by this display (it appeared unseemly and a tad uncouth), but the more she lapped it up, the more appealing it became.

Spouting the ridiculous dialogue with a surprising amount of flair and a giddy brand of self-possession, Madison and Tianna make a terrific pair of gyrating tart-bunnies. I loved Madison's enthusiasm when it came to tilting her head and spewing nonsensical gobbly-gook, and Tianna's perfectly round backside and coital mantra, "Ride that stranger like a rocket 88," had me reaching for my head medicine.

Scene number two involves the aptly named Raven and a wide-eyed Nikki Wilde tasting each other's clitorises for a solid ten minutes. Since this is a so-called girl-on-girl scene, the editing is a little more subdued. Boasting the cool audio art by Double Vision , which throbs effectively on the soundtrack (it's a delightful mishmash of surf rock and new wave), the scene also features Madison and Tianna, who appear sporadically to interject the proceedings with whimsy and verve.

Oh, and don't be alarmed by the fact that Miss Wilde says "girl homo" every once and awhile; it's her thing. Anyway, call me crazy, but the manner in which Raven dined on Nikki's young lady speckle reminded me of a neglected soup tin lid. Hear me out, finally getting the mouth-based attention it so justly deserves, the lid moans seductively in response to each forceful lick. (In case there's any confusion, I'm referring to the side of the lid that's been living a solitary existence in the dark ever since the consommé was consummated.)

A redheaded Patricia Kennedy, who is "hotter than a Kansas City barbeque," brings a significant quantity of supple resplendence to Party Doll A Go-Go! with her brave portrayal of a youngish woman who gets properly poked and prodded on a weird-looking mattress. Performing the prodding is Randy Spears, an actor who gets to say various sentences that end with the word "unhinged" over and over again (though, he probably just said it the one time and they put it on a loop). While his member ain't exactly a "spear" (it's more like a vein-covered hammer handle sporting a protective helmet), he nevertheless wields it with an unsubtle grace.

While it's obvious that I have a soft spot for Madison and her animated proclamations, box cover star Jeanna Fine does an ultra-groovy job lashing out at Peter North's temporarily brick-like appendage. I was deeply impressed by how the gorgeous thespian was able to recite the Rinse Dream dialogue in such a brilliantly deadpan fashion. Judging by the way she carried herself in this film, you'd think her main talent was more in tune with the realm of Wendy Wasserstein, not making vein-covered dicks disappear. I'd go into further detail about her oral prowess, but describing acts of a sexual nature make me uncomfortable.

The proceedings go into overdrive when Bionca (attired in yellow opera gloves and bright pink stockings) and Peter North hook up for the final encounter. The editing has an extra hint of kookiness about it, the word "Bosco" is said a lot, and all the random nonsense from the earlier scenes is inserted liberally throughout Bionca and North's straightforward screwing. Culminating in a manner you'd expect, lot's of semen, but there's more going on than that. You see, Party Doll A Go-Go! is subversive cinema at its most frenzied, and unlike most directors in this field, Rinse Dream knows he's languishing in a cesspool. And the fact that he knows this, makes the viewing of his films all the more pleasurable.

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