The Toxic Avenger Part III: The Last Temptation of Toxie (1989)

While I haven't forgotten the leggy legacy that is Andree Maranda in the original The Toxic Avenger, it's impossible to deny the amount of girlish spunk, forthright sticktoitiveness and pure, unadulterated awesomeness that Phoebe Legere brings to the role of Claire, the extremely leggy blind girlfriend of Melvin Junko, a.k.a. The Toxie Avenger, or just plain, Toxie, in The Toxic Avenger Part III: The Last Temptation of Toxie, the third chapter in the epic saga about the hideously deformed creature of superhuman size and strength from New Jersey. It's hard to believe there was an actually moment in time when I thought Phoebe Legere couldn't fill Andree Maranda's red pumps. In fact, I may have even looked at Phoebe Legere with a scornful glare when she first appeared onscreen in The Toxic Avenger Part II. Nowadays, however, I look at Phoebe Legere with nothing but a childlike sense of wonder. If you can believe this, I was worried that Phoebe Legere's penchant for jerky head movements and frenzied eye-darting would be curtailed by a peskier than usual plot point. While I won't divulge what this pesky plot point entails exactly–at least not at this particular juncture–but let's just say I thought Phoebe Legere's innate creativity was going to be severely stymied by the events that this so-called pesky plot point could potentially set in motion. Let me assure you, not only does it not dampen the appeal of Phoebe Legere's outre performance, it actually enhances it. Enhances it how, you ask?

I thought you would never ask. What's that, you never did ask? Well, either way, I'm answering anyway. Even though Claire goes through serious changes in this film, it doesn't alter the fact that Pheobe Legere will bring the fullness of her unique brand of insanity to the toxic table.

You don't merely watch Phoebe Legere in The Toxic Avenger Part III: The Last Temptation of Toxie, you experience it. Have you ever heard the expression, "on the edge of your seat," used to denote something that is either thrilling or exciting? If you have, the act of sitting on edge-like surfaces is a great way to describe Phoebe Legare's performance, as you constantly feel like you're about to fall face first into her cotton-covered crotch every time she appears onscreen.

Seemingly teetering on the brink of madness from the moment she wakes up in the morning to the moment she goes to bed at night, the sheer volume of uncut brainsick Phoebe Legere is putting out there caused this viewer to pause the film on several occasions. That's right, I was so overwhelmed by the unending deluge of crazy being hurled in my not-so general direction, that I felt the need to take a breather every now and then.

Oh, and by the way, don't think for a minute that Phoebe Legere's unsoundness of mind is diminished just because she's asleep. Uh-uh, the insanity continues long after her pretty head hits the pillow. Are you ready? She sleeps in white stockings with her legs wide apart. If that doesn't sound unsound enough for you, she sleeps with an accordion between her legs. And don't forget, she lives in a shipping container in a toxic waste dump with her equally toxic boyfriend.

Welcome to Tromaville. After a brief recap of the events from the previous films, part three gets underway at Tromaville Video, where bikini-clad ladies are browsing the latest videotapes available to rent. When all of a sudden, the serenity of their tape browsing is interrupted by a gang of tattooed thugs wielding automatic weapons. Since Toxie's tromatons are still in working order, Melvin Junko: The Toxic Avenger (Ron Fazio/John Altamura) should be dropping by at any moment now. Oh, and in case you don't remember, tromatons are what Toxie uses to detect evil. Entering the video store, Toxie makes short work of the gang of tattooed thugs. Using the intestines of one unlucky tattooed thug to jump rope with and severing the hand of another with a VCR, it's obvious that Toxie hasn't lost his touch when it comes to dismembering criminals.

(Wait, I thought Toxie had ridden Tromaville of criminals?) He did. This is merely a flash-forward to the middle of the story. After the video store scene, we pick up where the last film ended. Peace and quiet has finally come to Tromaville. But what's a hideously deformed creature of superhuman size and strength supposed to do with no criminals destroy, no corruption to stamp out, and no toxic waste to clean up? (Hey, this sounds like the plot of part two?) You're right, it is similar. But get this, Toxie becomes a yuppie! I know, pretty gross, eh?

What we need to see right about now is a shot of Claire (Phoebe Legere), Toxie's non-seeing girlfriend, strutting her stuff down the center of Tromaville. And wouldn't you know it, the Troma gods have clearly been listening to my prayers, as we get a shot of Claire, who seems even more leggy than she does in part two (which is technically impossible since part two and three were filmed at the same time), walking down the street in the shortest skirt ever.

It should be noted that Phoebe Legere designed all the outfits she wears in both part two and part three. So, whenever you see Phoebe wearing nothing but white stockings and oven mitts, it was probably her idea.

When Toxie learns there's this new eye surgery available that can cure Claire's blindness, he seems genuinely excited. Unfortunately, it costs around 537,000 dollars. Since there's no money to made in crime-fighting, and even if there was, there's no crime to fight in Tromaville, Toxie gets a job at the IRS. When that doesn't work out, he works at the video store. And when that doesn't... well, you get the idea.

Unable to pay for Claire's surgery, Toxie goes into an even bigger funk; he even contemplates suicide at one point.

Meanwhile, across the river in New York, Apocalypse Inc., the unabashedly evil corporation, are having a very stimulating board meeting. A plan is hatched that involves convincing Toxie to work for them. (Hold on, why would Toxie sell out and work for Apocalypse Inc.?) Um, he can't afford to pay for Claire's surgery. And on top of that, it's 1989. Meaning, it was cool back then to jettison your principles. In other words, you can't blame Toxie for choosing to work for an evil corporation, he's just doing what society has told him and countless other to do, and that is, make as much money as you can no matter how it effects the world or those around you.

Clouded by his desire to make money, Toxie seems oblivious to the fact that he is about to become a cog in the wheel that is preparing to run over the soul of Tromaville.

Hmm, from the sounds it, you could say The Toxic Avenger Part III: The Last Temptation of Toxie is more than just a film about a hideously deformed creature of superhuman size and strength killing bad guys with a mop. Personally, I prefer to view the film as the best opportunity to bask in the not even close to being undue length of Phoebe Legere's long ass gams in a cinematic setting currently available. However, you could approach the film as a satire on the yuppification of modern society.

(Can't you view/approach the film as both?) What? (As a satire on the scourge that is yuppie scum and as a showcase for Phoebe Legere's mouth-watering stems?) I suppose you could do that. Even though it does sound like a lot of work.

Anyway, ignoring Claire's advice to put on a fresh tutu, Toxie starts his new job as a spokesmen for Apocalypse Inc.

You gotta hand it to Phoebe Legere, only she could make lying in a hospital bed seem sexy.

With his leggy girlfriend's eye operation a success (the scene where Claire sees Toxie for the very first time is very moving) and a new job that pays well, things are looking up for Toxie. Yeah, they're going great for Toxie, but what about Tromaville? The place is turning into a fascist hellhole.

Are things really all that great for Toxie? Sure, the money's nice, but the residents of Tromaville, even Phoebe, all hate this new Toxie (one who plays tennis and carries a briefcase). What will it take for Toxie to realize he's helping destroy his beloved Tromaville? He needs to see the Chairman of Apocalypse Inc. for what he really is. Now, I don't want to say who exactly the Chairman really is. But let's say he has horns and is tad on the slimy side.

A classic battle between good and evil ensues that uses the video game format (Toxie must pass five levels to attain victory). Some time around level five, Phoebe Legere wields a shotgun.

Speaking of wielding shotguns, Lisa Gaye, who plays Malfaire, an Apocalypse Inc. employee, does exactly that, wields a shotgun. But she's not as prominent as she was in part two. Which was mildly disappointing. She's got this Gina Gershon/Marica Karr/Fran Drescher vibe about her that is quite appealing.

Despite the lack of Lisa Gaye and the fact the film isn't all that gory (other than the video store scene, the film is surprisingly tame, gore-wise), The Toxic Avenger Part III is a passable chunk of filmed entertainment. Oh, and make sure to keep an eye on Phoebe Legere during Toxie's battle with the Chairman of Apocalypse Inc. as the amount of effort she puts into reacting to the events unfolding before her is off the charts as far as outré enthusiasm goes.

The Toxic Avenger Part II (1989)

Her name is different, yet she's still blind?!? I'm confused. I mean, am I supposed to believe that Melvin, a.k.a. The Toxic Avenger, or just plain Toxie, the first hideously deformed monster hero of superhuman size and strength to come from New Jersey, dumped one leggy blonde blind chick for another leggy blonde blind chick? 'Cause if that's what you're saying, I'm going to have a difficult time suspending belief while I watch The Toxic Avenger Part II, the wonderfully inevitable follow up to the first The Toxic Avenger. Seriously, where's Sara? And don't tell me Sara dumped Melvin, as there's no way she would do that. I don't have to tell you, but what Sara and Melvin had together was beyond special. (All right, before you head down to Troma headquarters with your "We Want Andree Maranda" and "Bring Back Sara" signs, I think I should tell you that Phoebe Legere plays Melvin's new girlfriend.) Is that supposed to mean something to me? We're not talking about replacing any old actress up in this here putrid toxic waste dump, we're talking about Andree Maranda, the actress voted Miss Jerky Head Movement Queen, 1983. (I don't know, "Jerky Head Movement Queen"? That sounds made-up.) You wanna know why it sounds "made-up"? Because I totally just made it up. I make things up, it's what I do (by the way, it's Miss Jerky Head Movement Queen, respect the crown, asswipe). However, unlike other people who make things up, when I make something up, it motivates those very same "other people" to achieve great things.

Now, where was I? Ah, yes. How can you replace Andree Maranda? (Well, hiring another actress is a start.) Very funny. Her jerky head movements were sublime, and the way her eyes bounced around in their sockets was truly inspirational. How do you replace that? (Well, I have two words for you: "Phoebe" and "Legere"?) Again, is that name supposed to mean something to me?

(Remember that kooky blonde in the black fishnet stockings in Mondo New York?) Oh, boy. How could I forget her. She was amazing. (Yeah, well, she's Melvin's new leggy blonde blind girlfriend. And get this, she lounges around Melvin's apartment in white lingerie for most of the movie.)

(Hello? Shouldn't you being picking your tongue off the floor right about now?) Well, you kind of expect Phoebe Legere to wear skimpy lingerie like they were regular clothes, it's a part of her schtick, so my tongue is currently where it usually is, in my mouth.

What I would really like to know is, how does her head move? (You mean does she jerk her head in a manner that was both decidedly off-kilter yet frightfully precise at time? Not only does she manage to capture the essence of Andree Maranda's award-wining jerky head movements, she adds some subtle touches of her own. Mainly, she adds body twitching and spastic convulsions to the mix.)

Body twitching and spastic convulsions?!? Have I died and gone to heaven? The only reason I ask is because jerky head movements combined with body twitching and spastic convulsions are what I live for. It's not even close to being sad, and it's 100% true.

Never quite sure which direction she was going to hurl herself next, I watched Phoebe with a sense of awe, wonder and concern. (I can understand the sense of awe and wonder, but why the concern?) It's simply, really, Phoebe Legere is so committed to acting twitchy and spastic in this film, that I thought she might hurt herself or someone around her.

Seriously, look at those legs! One errant kick to the face from one of her super-long, super-shapely appendages will guarantee an extended stay in the nearest hospital.

Anyway, after stamping out every single last trace of evil and corruption in Tromaville, Toxie (Ron Fazio/John Altamura) is basically left with no heads to crush. Oh, sure, seeing a Freudian psychiatrist and volunteering at the Tromaville Center for the Blind keeps him busy. But as we all know, Toxie excels at ripping the arms off evildoers, not helping old ladies cross the street.

With no criminals to destroy, what's a hideously deformed monster hero of superhuman size and strength to do? Don't worry, the Chairman of Apocalypse Inc. (Rick Collins) and his sultry sidekick Malfaire (Lisa Gaye) are here to fill the villain void. (I hope Toxie's happy, because a shitload of blind people had to die in order for him to get his purpose in life back.) Yeah, I guess that was rather unfortunate. On the bright side, Claire (Phoebe Legere), Toxie's gorgeous, prone to gesticulating girlfriend, didn't die in the explosion that leveled the Tomaville Center for the Blind.

When the Chairman of Apocalypse Inc. and Malfaire discover Toxie wasn't killed in the blast, they sick about a dozen or so henchmen on his charred tutu-wearing ass.

If you like gruesome kills and excessive gore you'll love the next scene; an extended fight sequence where Toxie battles a bunch of Apocalypse Inc. goons outside the ruins of the Tromaville Center for the Blind. However, if you're like me, and you would rather watch Phoebe Legere cower while in the crouched position, you'll be rewarded with a few shots of Phoebe cowering while crouching. But not enough to fully satisfy all your Phoebe Legere crouching while cowering needs. (Wait, I thought it was, "cowering while crouching," not "crouching while cowering"?) Either way, turning dwarves into basketballs supersedes anything that involves cowering or crouching or crouching or cowering over the next ten or so minutes.

After losing a ton of henchmen (their bodies ripped to shreds by Toxie), the not-so fine folks who run Apocalypse Inc. assemble to discuss their Toxie problem. You see, they're an evil corporation who want to take over Tromaville, yet they can't because, you guessed it, The Toxic Avenger won't let them. And since Lisa Gaye (her thighs, and I suppose the rest of her legs, smothered in jet black nylons) is the only actress in this film with the verbal fortitude to vomit out such an exceedingly large chunk of exposition with anything close to resembling verve, she delivers a lengthy monologue that explains the goals that Apocalypse Inc. hope to achieve over the course of this sequel.

If you listen to Malfaire's monologue, and why wouldn't you, she's only one talking when she delivers it, you will hear her describe Claire's legs as "long." I have no real point to make, I just wanted to make it known that I'm not the only one who noticed that Claire's legs are longer than usual.

On top of waxing poetically about the length of the legs attached to his girlfriend's torso, Malfaire lays out her plan to neutralize Toxie's "tromatons," the chemicals that cause Toxie to instinctively want to destroy evil. The plan involves getting Toxie to go Japan, where an anti-tromaton spray is being produced. (Couldn't they just bring the anti-tromaton spray to Tromaville?) Nah, it's too volatile. (All right. How are they going to get Toxie to travel all the way to Japan?) It's simple, really. Tell Toxie, via his shrink (who has long since sold out to Apocalypse Inc.), that his long lost father lives in Japan. Oh, and make sure to feed him some warmed-over gobbledygook about how he needs to reconcile with his father in order to attain spiritual harmony.

With Toxie busy windsurfing to Japan to find his father, Apocalypse Inc. take advantage of his absence to remake Tromaville in their own corporate image and crush all those who stand in their way.

(Did Toxie at least give Claire's aching pussy a good going away pounding with his radioactive penis before he left?) You bet he did. And not only that, Toxie and Claire had a going away picnic as well. (A going away radioactive penis pounding and a going away picnic? Is Toxie the best boyfriend or what?)

Well, Claire ain't no slouch, either. I mean, she serves up Chicken à la Clorox in white stockings for her deformed man like a pro.

Searching the Tokyo streets, with a little help from the adorable Masami (Mayako Katsugari), Toxie immerses himself in Japanese culture. In fact, he met Masami at a Taiyaki stand. He rescues her from a trio of reprobates, one has their nose turned into a Taiyaki-shaped monstrosity, another is tuned into a noodle dish in an overheated hot tub, and a demented/leggy Yôko Ohshima is transformed into a radio transmitter. More bizarre deaths occur as Toxie and Masami track down his father to a large fish market.

Anyone else notice the similarities between Masami's light blue two-piece number and the light blue two-piece Diana Barrows wears in Friday the 13th Part VII: The New Blood? No? It was just me, eh? Okay.

Meanwhile, in Tromaville, the Chairman of Apocalypse Inc. has a brief exchange with a homeless Tromavillian in the park. After being asked if he can spare any change, the Chairman tells her: "'Neither a borrower nor a lender be,' William Shakespeare." To which the homeless woman responds: "'Fuck you,' David Mamet." Classic.

In what could have been the film's greatest scene, but doesn't quite get there, Claire does battle with Malfaire in the cramped quarters of her shack. Wearing her trademark white stockings and playing the accordion when she arrives, Malfaire attempts to violate the leggy beauty with her probing hands. Egged on by smattering of "Bad Girls," including Helen Wheels, there's so much nylon and spandex in this scene, it will make your genitals spin. Ending with a sharp knee to the cunt, the "cat fight" scene is painfully short. Whereas the chase between Toxie and "The Dark Rider" seems to drag on forever.

Judging by the words I just typed, it would seem that The Toxic Avenger Part II was a mild success. And speaking of things that would seem, it would seem that my initial concerns regarding the whole Sara-Claire situation were completely unfounded. Kudos to Phoebe Legere for doing the impossible, making me briefly forget about Andree Maranda. And kudos to Lloyd Kaufamn for casting her. I would love to lavish more praise on Phoebe Legere, but it says here she's in The Toxic Avenger Part III. In other words, I don't want to use up all my Phoebe praise all in one go. How many of you want to bet that I use the word "leggy" more than once to describe Phoebe in part three?

Mondo New York (Harvey Keith, 1988)

Following the seductive line of enviable filth that snaked along her sturdy thighs with my finger as the muck made its way down the pale nooks and ashen crannies of her pronounced calve muscles was one of my favourite past times as a withdrawn, easily entertained youth. Held aloft in order that the guy from Foetus could pretend to probe her pulsating pussy with a certain degree of comfort, the sight of Lydia Lunch with her brawny legs in the air was a huge influence on me. Looking directly into the camera as she braced for the pelvic onslaught that was about to be unleashed onto her genital flight deck, it was almost as if Lydia's eyes were speaking directly to me as I stared at her lying spread-eagle on the back of the Stinkfist EP ("The push, the panic, the pain, the poison!"). I like to think that her eyes were trying to tell me something. Perhaps something like, stay true to yourself, and maybe, one day, you'll get to penetrate someone like me. People often never ask me, "What's the deal with your obsession with vulgar words and phrases?" Of course, I wouldn't classify my vocabulary that way at all; it's unrefined language expressed without fear. Anyway, hearing this half-crazed woman one night ranting about wanting to destroy the pathetic cock currently seeking shelter and warmth inside her dangerous vagina, I remember my ears perking up in a manner similar to the way they percolated when I first heard the menacing throb of a Skinny Puppy song on the radio. Well, I soon found out that the half-crazed woman spewing verbal diarrhea all over my tinny speakers was Karen Finley, and just like that, my linguistic outlook was changed forever. Oh, and the reason I used the word "dangerous" to describe Karen's second most popular opening had nothing to do with its appearance or reputation as an unstable structure, but because of the sheer conviction of the voice attached to the vagina led everyone who listened to it to respect its raw power.

What, may I ask, happened when you discovered that not all women are like Lydia Lunch and Karen Finley? Did you, like, freak out and stuff? Since my intense shyness has prevented me from meeting an insane amount of people over the years, it's entirely possible that I haven't met this profane angel yet. However, in a universe replete with delusional pop stars who ripoff Madonna for a living and highly paid morons who paint themselves orange for the amusement of smug mouth-breathers with low self-esteem, I'll admit, my chances of meeting an unhinged performance artist, one who is just waiting to slit my throat with human kindness, are pretty slim. In the meantime, I guess I'll have to settle for watching Mondo New York, the only cinematic travelogue to feature lanky drag queens, BDSM, angry poets, human trafficking, and, of course, Lydia Lunch, who looked absolutely gorgeous laying the groundwork for the weirdness about to unfold for the next eighty or so minutes, and Karen Finley, who spends most of her time doing what she does best: railing against yuppies while covered with animal by-products.

Wait a minute, back up the truck (a truck that is hopefully crammed super-tight with defective dildos), you mean to tell me that there's an actual movie out there that features both Lydia Lunch and Karen Finley?!? You better believe it. Sure, so one of the loquacious lovelies is only in the film for forty-five seconds, but forty-five seconds is still better than nothing. Okay, as far as justifications go for the lack of a person's screentime, that shit is pretty weak. But you have to understand, just because you wanna live in a world where the sight of Lydia Lunch slowing asphyxiating a bound Kate Hudson with the mouth-watering circumference of her unclothed derriere, while Karen Finley tries on irregular pantyhose in the background are daily occurrences, does not mean that world will ever exist. Take the scraps of Lydia and Karen you given and be grateful, you pompous prat.

Conceived by filmmaker Harvey Keith and Night Flight creator Stuart S. Shapiro, the film, a veritable hodgepodge of New York cool, focuses on a wide array of artists, poets, musicians, comedians, perverts, criminals, and drug users at a time when being any one of those things actually meant something. Our guide on this tour, a nameless blonde woman in denim (Shannah Laumeister), quietly walks from one unorthodox venue to another, soaking up the city's unique culture over the course of a single day. Yeah, that's right, she walks quietly. On top of having no name, our guide seems to go unnoticed wherever she ends up, despite the fact she also turns heads (her physical appearance meets many of the rigid standards held by those whose populate the male branch of the heterosexual realm of existence). This anonymous temperament, including the overtones that seem to contradict her anonymity at every turn, gave her presence a decidedly non-judgmental air. Of course, I don't mean to imply that she's some kind of mindless observer, on the contrary, our guide does express her feelings every now and then. But for the most part, she simply absorbs what's put in front of her like she were a sponge or a moldy piece of bread.

You'll notice that I mentioned "New York cool" as supposed to just plain "cool." Well, the reason I did that was to keep to the two distinct types of cool separate from another. My coolness, let's get one thing straight, has never been in doubt, yet the cool that existed in New York City circa, oh, let's say, the ten year period between 1978-1988, will intimidate even the most ardent of cool people. Let me put it this way, there's a reason no one has bothered to make a movie called Mondo Etobicoke.

We open on New York City's world famous skyline, it's around 4 or 5 A.M. in the morning, when, all of a sudden, Lydia Lunch enters the frame, which, by the way, is bathed in mist. She doesn't identify herself as a "Lydia Lunch," but we know who she is. Clutching her jean jacket with a feistier than usual brand of determination, Lydia proceeds to tell us all about the hopes and dreams of the residents of the fair city she stands before. You see, apparently there's this giant garbage pile, and the outcasts, misfits, rejects, loser pervert lunatics, gangsters, pranksters, and outlaws all want to claw their way to the top of it. Standing in their way, however, are bunch of neurotics, psychotics, maniacs, brainiacs, hippies, yippies, yuppies, flunkies, and even monkeys. In other words, it's a war zone out there. The very soul of Mondo New York is up for grabs, and only the most self-absorbed of citizens will be able to claim it.

After Lydia is finished with her prologue, we quickly hook up with our red sneaker-wearing guide. Making her way through a crowd of punks and freaks, our guide enters what looks like a concert venue, positions herself amidst the jaded audience, and watches Phoebe Legere writhe about in an erotic stupor while performing "Marilyn Monroe." Even though the lyrics of the song mostly involve singing the deceased movie star's name over and over again, Phoebe's ebullient stage presence more than makes up for the song's lack of lyrical diversity. Sporting one pink opera glove (dig the black frays, girlfriend), fishnet stockings (which were held up by narrow bands of dark fabric), a gold chain belt, and strumming a guitar with a leopard print strap (yeah, I noticed her guitar strap), Phoebe thrusts and heaves her body across the stage like a raving banshee with rag doll ambitions.

Leaving the concert (I guess she'd seen enough of Phoebe's protruding pubic hair for one day), our guide enters a church-like structure, takes a seat in one of the pews, and watches Joel Coleman, performance artist, Richard Speck fan and all round weird guy, bite the heads off two rodents, utter the phrase "syphilic cunt fossils," and lights the firecracker that was sewn into his poncho. Question: If our guide leaves during a performance (she got up and left just as the rodents were about to lose their heads) does that mean we should go as well? Obviously she wasn't that offended by Joel's mouse abuse, because we see her at his apartment moments later, but it does give the audience something to think about.

Animal lovers will want to avoid the aforementioned rodent decapitation scene, the cockfighting sequence (one rooster is killed by another rooster), and the voodoo ritual (a live chicken has its head bitten off). There's a scene that features the always beguiling Ann Magnuson beating a dead horse with a mattenklopper, but the horse she was pummeling was clearly fake. Fans human cruelty, on the other hand, will want to make sure they catch the scenes that show our intrepid guide peeking through a crack in a wall to catch a glimpse of nipples being clamped and asses being spanked and another where she spies on an illicit gathering where women are being sold at an auction. The former was just your average early morning S&M party (lots of leather and some mild heel sucking), it was the latter scene that threw me for a bit of a loop. At first I thought they selling cheongsams. But then it dawned on me, the body-hugging garments weren't for sale, it was the shapely women poured into them that were being sold.

Tired of whips and chains, our guide heads down some stairs to watch a mentally challenged individual, one who took blithering and twitching in a wheelchair took a whole new level of spasticity, get his special needs penis serviced by Veronica Vera (her womanly epicentre eventually wrapped in cellophane) and Annie Sprinkle (her lumpy, bumpy frame covered in body paint), as Sabine Reithmayer (or it could it been Linda Mac) recites poetry.

It's around noon, and our guide is about to get an earful from a random collection of the Lower East Side's most civic-minded residents. Some yell out the standard "I love New York," while others, like one angry-sounding woman, declare, "I will fight for the Lower East Side." A former East Londoner, who now lives in Alphabet City, thinks the fact that you can now get rap music on compact disc is a sign of the apocalypse. Which, of course, will manifest itself when the yuppies inevitably takeover. Walking into a junkyard, I mean, an outdoor art installation (it's hard to tell the difference sometimes), our guide runs into Joey Arias, who, while as dressed like a flamenco-inspired devil, serenades her with a song called "Fish Out Of Water."

Heading over to the fountain in Washington Square Park, our guide finds a seat on the steps and prepares herself for the ethnic comedy of Charlie Barnett (Miami Vice) and Rick Aviles (Ghost). Announcing that he loves a New York audience, Charlie's routine revolves around jokes based on racial stereotypes (white guys walk this, black guys walk like this), while Rick's schtick was...pretty much the same (black gay guys talk like this, white gay guys talk like this).

Since I've already alluded to the Ann Magnuson scene, which takes place in a pastoral field and has her reciting a poem about prime interest rates to a giant turkey (which, surprisingly, isn't brutally murdered), I'll just mention that I regret not including Ann in my opening bit about Lydia Lunch and Karen Finely. If anyone deserves to be drowned in lavish praise, it's Ann Magnuson, especially a pigtail-sporting Ann Magnuson. Quirky fun-fact: The only audible sound our guide makes in Mondo New York are the screams she lets out as a result of being chased by a carpet beater-wielding Ann Magnuson.

Sandwiched between Joey Arias' elegant, jazzy interpretation of "A Hard Days Night" (I loved the mid-song costume change) and an abridged version of "Hustle With My Muscle" by John Sex ("I'll cram your box 'til it's good and smelly"), is the enchanting Karen Finley, whose scathing spoken word piece was, in my opinion, the moment when the film's overall mission statement (the soulless chunks of yuppie scum who desperately want to corrupt the cultural integrity of our beloved neighbourhood must be stopped) was expressed in a succinct manner. In a work called "I Hate Yellow," Karen strips down to her panties (all good performance art involves nudity), covers her body with egg yolk and glitter, and begins to attack the yuppie mindset ("I'm not gonna let you gang rape me, yuppie!"). The gist of her diatribe is that yuppies and their pastel clothing are the bane of human existence. It's not exactly the most groundbreaking concept, but it's done in a such an entertaining manner, that you're willing look past its apparent banality. I liked the part where she scolds the yuppie's children who are, according to her, a bunch of "nine year-olds who only talk through their computers."

Fully enlightened, and probably hankering a pair of chocolate-covered yuppie balls, our guide observes a crowd slam dancing to "New York New York" by Manitoba's Wild Kingdom ("Everyone's an asshole, everyone's a creep!"), and, like most nights in New York City, ends her evening standing before a bald, long-legged drag queen. Unafraid to drink in every square inch of his fabulous frame, Harvey Keith's camera immortalizes Dean Johnson as he performs "Fuck You" with the Weenies. I can't think of a better way to end Mondo New York than to have a rawboned dandy in shades say "fuck you" to Union Carbide and Mary Tyler Moore, as it sums up the film's anarchistic attitude perfectly.

video uploaded by solidspace a.k.a. soviet

...