Breeders (Tim Kincaid, 1986)

Do virgins wear leopard-print skirts? Do virgins snort cocaine? Do virgins look like LeeAnne Baker? Breaking down the stereotypes of what constitutes a virgin in today's lackadaisical labiascape, Breeders is here to smash your preconceived notion of what female celibacy looks like. Yet, while it's doing all that, it also titillates, horrifies, and, most importantly, it entertains like a ten pound mothersbaugh. Cascading like a mucus-laden waterfall onto the crease-filled lower back of a dilapidated blonde, sci-fi horror/exploitation auteur extraordinaire Tim Kincaid (Bad Girls Dormitory, Mutant Hunt, Robot Holocaust, etc.) has decided to tackle the festering blight that is human reproduction. As an old-school Friend of Dorothy, Mr. Tim Kincaid (a.k.a. Joe Gage) views mating as that vulgar activity straight people like to engage in every so often. While he appreciates their tendency to make new gays, he finds the act itself to be obscene. Nowadays, though, that attitude has softened somewhat, as everyone, even Lance Bass and, N.P.H., seem to be using their sperm for reproductive purposes. But there are still those out there, the hardcore, the unflappably fabulous, who equate copulation with farm animals and white supremacists. And this film, made in, where else?, New York City circa 1986, encapsulates that anti-intercourse principle in the most succinct terms possible. Sure, on the surface, the film might seem like it's about a slimy alien life-form who collects virginal Manhattanites in order to mate with them. But having closely examined this film from every angle imaginable, it's obviously about much more than that. For starters, are there that many women in New York City who are still virgins? I doubt it. No, what Tim Kincaid has done is he's replaced the gay men–in other words, guys who rarely ever see the inside of a functioning vagina–with a bunch of straight women who have never seen the inside of a functioning cock–and by "inside," I'm referring to the seminal fluid it dispenses, not the blood and spongy tissue that keep the cock cock-like.
 

 

As far as theories go, that's probably one of the most intelligent things I have ever read. You think? Oh, yes. It's true, a mentally challenged unicorn could have figured out that a film called "Breeders," a film that was written and directed by the man who brought us Kansas City Trucking Co., El Paso Wrecking Corp. and L.A. Tool and Die, might possess a slightly negative stance when it comes to the subject of birthing and babies. However, you laid out your theory in a manner that was easy to digest. And for that, I salute you. Why, thank you. I appreciate that.
 

 

Even though I mentioned her right off the bat, it was hard for me not to go on a wordy tangent that lavished an insane amount of praise on the creamy shoulders of LeeAnne Baker, who plays Kathleen, the statuesque nurse who thinks something "spooky" is going on at the Manhattan hospital she works. Yeah, what was up with that? I mean, don't you usually start off your Tim Kincaid movie reviews with a creepy, yet mildly endearing tribute to LeeAnne Baker, the finest actress the video screen has ever seen? I guess. I don't know. It all depends on how big her part is. And in Breeders she's merely a supporting player.
 

 

The real star of Breeders, believe or not, is Tim Kincaid himself, as he has made, what I think, is his masterpiece. Teaming up with his go to makeup artist, Ed French, the guys who did the music for Mutant Hunt, Don Great and Thomas Milano (the so-called "theme from Mutant Hunt" is featured throughout this film), and his usual assortment of Tim Kincaid regulars, all the elements seem come together in this film.

One of those Tim Kincaid regulars I just alluded to appears in the opening scene as film's first victim. Getting out a taxi cab in disgust, Donna (Natalie O'Connell) turns toward the cab and starts yelling at her date. While I didn't quite catch every insult she hurled in his direction (he obviously did something to piss her off), I did hear her say something about a "second rate Italian restaurant." Either way, alone in a weird part of the city, with only her fishnet pantyhose to keep her warm, Donna finds herself in a precarious situation. Don't worry, though, a kindly old German man walking his dog will make sure she makes it home safely, or will he?

 

 

Just like the slit on her leopard-print skirt, kindly old German men are unpredictable. What the hell does that mean? Well, you see, when the wind hits the slit on Donna's leopard-print skirt, it causes it to flap haphazardly from side to side in a manner that can best be described as unpredictable.
 

 

I'm still not following. It would seem that the kindly old German man isn't as kindly as he initially lead on. Okay, I got it. Waking up in the hospital, Donna was apparently the victim of a bizarre rape; "bizarre" because her vagina was not filled to the brim with the sperm of a not-so kindly old German man, but with an organic matter of unknown origin. The doctor in her care, Dr. Gamble Pace (Teresa Farley), and the detective assigned to her case, Det. Dale Andriotti (Lance Lewman), are both at a loss. The doctor, who is wearing a white lab coat with a taupe skirt, is at a loss because she's never seen anything like this, and the detective, who is wearing a brown blazer, can't understand why Donna is having trouble remember anything about the attack.
 

 

Meanwhile, over in the fashion district, a slinky brunette is putting on a modeling clinic at a nearby loft. Posing in a variety of different bathing suits (my favourite being the black and white bikini), Karinsa (Frances Raines) is doing her best to make sure Gail (Amy Brentano), a fashion photographer, gets all the angles she needs; with a little help from Alec (Adriane Lee), a makeup artist, and Ted (Matt Mitler), a hair stylist.
 

 

It's one thing for me to believe that a woman who wears a leopard-print skirt with fishnet pantyhose is a virgin, it's another thing all together for me to believe that a fashion model who does cocaine and likes to do aerobics in the nude is a virgin as well. Oh, didn't I mention that Donna was a virgin before the attack? Well, she was. And so is Karinsa, a coked-up model/former gymnast from Wisconsin.
 

 

Popping a tape into her boombox, Karinsa snorts a couple of lines of her beloved cocaine and removes the blue bikini she was wearing when the photo shoot ended (Gail, Alec, and Ted have gone out for Thai food), and proceeds to stretch in the nude. Hey, look. Ted's back. How embarrassing. Covering herself up with a towel, Karinsa stands awkwardly to the side as Ted retrieves his wallet; oh, that Ted is a sly one, using the old forgotten wallet trick to get him a look-see at Karinsa's beautiful backside. Um, hello? Ted's a hair stylist who lives with his mother. Yeah, so, that doesn't mean he can't appreciate Frances Raine's rotund bum.

It doesn't look like Ted's in the mood to appreciate any ass today, as he has starts to convulse on the floor of Gail's studio. Looking on in horror, well, sort of, she looks more stunned than anything else, Karinsa finally begins to scream when blood starts erupting from his mouth and chest. And just like that, Karinsa is no longer in the presence of a wallet-forgetting hair stylist who lives with his mother, she is now face-to-face, at least I think it had a face, with a slimy creature covered in dark nipples.

 

 

Don't get me wrong, I love Frances Raines, she gorgeous to the max. And the deadpan style of acting that Teresa Farley is employing is, to put it mildly, off the charts in terms of being impassively matter-of-fact in a hospital setting. Oh, and I'm totally down with the leopard-print skirt-related antics of Natalie O'Connell; her New York accent is adorable. But we want LeeAnne Baker, and we want her now. Be patient. I'm sure she's gonna come along soon.
 

 

In the meantime. No! Fuck the meantime! We want LeeAnne Baker! You have given me no choice. What do we want? We want to see LeeAnne Baker's long legs encased in white stockings or pantyhose! When do we want it. Um, now? If it's not too much trouble. Fine. Towering over Dr. Gamble Pace on the roof of the hospital, Kathleen (LeeAnne Baker), a nurse who works at...yeah, yeah, she works at the hospital, get to the part where you tell us what she's wearing. Man, you're quite the...just do it! Wearing a dark coat over top her white nurses uniform, which includes a nurse's cap, a white shirt, a white skirt, white nylons, and a pair of white pumps, Kathleen tells Dr. Pace that she's afraid. Concerned about the recent spate of attacks on young women, Kathleen is clearly on edge.
 

 

In order to quell her fears, Dr. Pace tells Kathleen that she's a "big girl." In other words, stop being a baby and focus on the task at hand.
 

 

As Kathleen leaves the roof, we get a great shot of the back of LeeAnne Baker's white nylon-adorned legs in motion. Less importantly, we can't help but notice that the creature who attacked the leopard-print virgin and the coked-up virgin was lurking nearby as Kathleen and Gamble spoke. Since Donna (the leopard-print virgin) is still out of it, Dr. Pace and Det. Andriotti decide to interview Karinsa (the coked-up virgin). Unlike Donna, Karinsa remembers who attacked her. Yelling, "it was Ted," Karinsa's half-crazed outburst has given Det. Andriotti his first break in the case. But then again, most LeeAnne Baker fans probably didn't catch any of these plot developments, as they were probably too busy watching LeeAnne Baker, who was standing in the background for the duration of the scene. 
 

 

There's nothing to distract LeeAnne Baker fans in the upcoming scene, as Breeders becomes "The LeeAnne Baker Show" for the next ten or so minutes. If the sound of her white pumps hitting the pavement as she walked home wasn't exquisite enough, her walk gets its own music. As the music, which we'll call, "Kathleen's Walking Home Theme," plays while she walks, I could help but notice that she has one of the sexiest walks I have ever seen. Now, was her jaunt in white nylons as iconic as her black stockings stroll in Necropolis? Not quite. Nonetheless, LeeAnne Baker + Walking + Nylons = Cinematic Heaven.
 

 

After watching LeeAnne Baker walk in white nylons as seen from the front, the side, and the back, it's time to see them being taken off in a slow, deliberate fashion. Entering her kitchen, LeeAnne Baker/Kathleen grabs a giant pot from the fridge and places it on the counter. Having accomplished this feat with flying colours, LeeAnne Baker/Kathleen turns her attention to the removal of her nurse's uniform. And you what that means? We're about to find out what kind of hosiery she's wearing.
 

 

Removing her jacket first, then her nurse's hat, LeeAnne Baker/Kathleen pauses for a moment, before continuing to disrobe. Unfastening the buttons on her short sleeve nurse's shirt, LeeAnne Baker/Kathleen pauses yet again. It's obvious she senses something is wrong. Well, whatever it is, her skirt and nylons aren't going to remove themselves, so she rectifies this with an abrupt hiking motion.
 

 

And, if you ask me, it was a little too abrupt. In fact, it was so abrupt, that I didn't get a chance to see LeeAnne Baker's thighs being gripped by the tightness of her nylons.
 

 

Instead of getting angry about the abruptness of the hiking motion, I've decided to use my imagination. Okay, I'm imagining LeeAnne Baker. She's standing in her kitchen. The camera pans down to her feet (which still are adorned with white nylons and a pair of white pumps) to reveal a white skirt dropping to the floor around her ankles. Putting her right foot on top a chair, LeeAnne Baker proceeds to unattach, not before caressing her right legs with both hands, the suspenders that are keeping her white stockings up. After both stockings have been removed in this fashion, a naked LeeAnne Baker heads towards the bathroom.
 

 

Unlike the disrobing scene, LeeAnne Baker's artful profile filmed from every possible angle as she showers. Capturing her Lois Ayres-esque beauty in a manner that will satisfy even the most ardent of LeeAnne Baker fans, the soapy shower scene (lather those perky breasts, you svelte sex goddess), much like the kitchen scene, features many pauses. Does she have a reason to be skittish? I don't know, but LeeAnne Baker is now clean as whistle and sporting a towel.
 

 

Who am I kidding? You know something slimy and gross is coming her way. And I don't mean her boyfriend, Brett (Mark Legan), a real jackass who must have been standing on a milk crate when he stood next to the statuesque nurse wearing a towel, as there's no way he's taller than LeeAnne Baker; after all, she is, to quote Dr. Gamble Pace, "a big girl."
 

 

All women have something slimy and gross coming their way, and the six women, seven, if you include the bag lady (Rose Geffen), who appear in Breeders are no different. As expected, Gail, the photographer, and Alec, the makeup artist, are both visited by an alien sex fiend; the latter's encounter involves legginess (don't underestimate the intrinsic allure of a virginal makeup artist's gams) and the world's unluckiest rapist.

As the film goes underground (follow the red brick road), Breeders enters what I like to call, it's mucus pit phase. In other words, if you enjoyed watching adult female virgins wandering around naked, you're gonna love seeing them all together in a giant vat of mucus. And, yes, you know who is front and centre in the sticky nest. Actually, she was placed in the back of the giant vat. Remember kids, LeeAnne Baker is a big girl. Always place her at the back when filming a group of naked ladies writhing in a pit filled to the brim with mucus, as you don't want her to block the other women.

video uploaded by Yoko Rodriguez

Robot Holocaust (Tim Kincaid, 1986 )

Penetrating the pink mist with a homoerotic panache, humanities last hope for survival in a world controlled by robots is about to saunter down a flight of stairs. While he's taking his time doing that–I've heard sauntering down stairs isn't as easy as it sounds (it takes careful planning and a passing knowledge of proper foot placement)–is it okay if I show two men wrestling with one another in their post-apocalyptic underwear for an inordinate amount of time? Hey, Tim Kincaid. How's it going? Oh, and to answer your question: It's your movie. In other words, you can show as much man-on-man action as you want. You mean to tell me I can have a male character spend the entire film in nothing but a furry loincloth, and not have to worry about feeling the wrath of the straight mafia? What are you nuts? Guys who are purported to be sexually attracted to women love to watch musclebound fellas roll around on the floor together in a veiled attempt to achieve physical dominance over one another. Walk into any room that sports a man, or a group of men, sitting on a couch in front of a television set, and I guarantee the program they're watching on it will feature two scantily clad men breathing in the fetid air swirling around their unshaven taints. Unshackled by the flavourless constraints of heterosexual mediocrity, writer-director Tim Kincaid (Riot on 42nd Street) has finally  been allowed to embrace his three loves: 1) Unbridled masculinity; 2) Sycophantic villainesses; and 3) Man-hating warrior women. You could put wise-cracking robots and parasitic sewer worms on that list as well, but let's just focus on those three for now, as they're the things drive Robot Holocaust, an epic sci-fi adventure film that takes genre filmmaking to a whole new level of epicness. Of course, not before pushing it to the ground and then proceeding to kick the living shit out of it, but I digress. Probing the farthest reaches of his cornhole-adorned imagination, Tim Kincaid pulls out all the stops to bring us his bold vision of the future. Sparing almost every expense you could possibly imagine, the film uses the latest in non-state-of-the-art technology to recreate the robot takeover that is surely to come. And if that means driving around New York City looking for rundown locations that pass the calamity smell test, than so be it.    
 

 

Now, to some, the words, "written and directed by Tim Kincaid," will strike fear in the hearts of the sheepishly lame and the totally not gay. But not me, I'm one of the few people on earth, or in the entire galaxy, for that matter, who "gets" the Tim Kincaid aesthetic. And while Robot Holocaust isn't his best film, it is certainly his most ambitious. Like his European cousins, Bruno Mattei, Jess Franco, and Joe D'Amato, Tim Kincaid doesn't let the fact that he's got a miniscule budget to work with dampen his creative output. If anything, the lack of money only seems to motivate him to try harder as an artist. You really get the sense that a lot of extra effort was put into this project, as every frame seems to have been painstakingly rendered for optimum enjoyment.
 

 

The ambition I just alluded to is obvious right from the start when we quickly discover that Robot Holocaust has a narrator. Yeah, you heard right. This isn't your average cinematic anomaly. No way, man. This puppy is straight-up legit in terms of authenticity. Welcoming us to the last remaining city on New Terra, the narrator informs the audience that the robot rebellion of 33, the year a billion robots rose up against their human masters, is the reason the planet looks like a radioactive wasteland.
 

 

How's humanity doing now, you ask? Well, the robot rebellion hit them pretty hard, but a small group are eking out an existence as airslaves. I don't know, that doesn't sound like much of a life to me. I mean, for starters, the word airslave contains the word "slave." You're right, there's no positive way to spin this, but there are several reasons to remain hopeful. As two airslaves fight to death in a robot sanctioned death match, Neo (Norris Culf) approaches the makeshift arena (a smattering collection of fuel sacks) and blends in with the crowd that has assembled around the two combatants. Under the watchful eye of Torque (Rick Gianasi), a menacing-looking robot, the airslaves continue to pummel one another. However, he doesn't seem to notice that a robot named Klyton (J. Buzz Von Ornsteiner) is picking the pockets of various audience members, which is mostly made up of airslaves. Of course, when he tries to pick Neo's pocket, he is quickly thwarted. And not only that, Neo somehow manages to control Klyton; he is even able to communicate with him telepathically.
 

 

It's obvious from the get-go that Neo isn't an airslave; a point that becomes even clearer when the Dark One, the ruler of the Power Station, turns off the atmosphere and it seems to have zero effect on him. You see, the Dark One, a powerful super-computer who sees all, controls the air the airslaves breath. And whenever the Dark One is displeased with them, he simply switches it off. Yeah, but why doesn't it effect Neo? What makes him so special? He breathes air, doesn't he? The question you really should be asking is why aren't Jorn (Michael Downend) and his daughter Deeja (Nadine Hartstein) falling to ground and gasping for air? 
 

 

Someone who really wants to get to bottom of this atmosphere issue is Valaria (Angelika Jager), the Dark One's shapely, charismatic, fashion forward henchwoman. Trotting onscreen with a thunderous aplomb, Valaria enters the pink mist of the Power Station, and stops to ponder. "Something is wrong, I can sense it," she says to herself. And, for once, she's absolutely right. There is something wrong, and it's transpiring as we speak over at the airslave mines. Chanting "no winner" over and over again, the airslaves are upset that Torque has been instructed by the Dark One to rig the fight between the two airslaves by giving one of them a weapon. In order to prevent an insurrection, the Dark One turns off the atmosphere. Realizing that it would cause suspicion, Jorn tells Deeja to feign air sickness. Yet the fact Jorn seems to have acclimated himself to the poisonous air (he stands unaffected in defiance as the others choke around him) angers the Dark One, who is determined to get to bottom of this.
 

  

As Torque takes Jorn to the Power Station to be questioned in the aptly named "Room of Questions," Neo quickly organizes the others. Utilizing his calm, deliberate way of speaking, Neo convinces Deeja, and two warriors named Bray (George Grey) and Haim (Nicholas Reiner) to join him on his mission to destroy the Dark One. While four humans and one kleptomaniac robot doesn't exactly constitute a rebel force, I'm sure they will make do. Actually, they're gonna have to, as the film's budget probably won't allow them to bring along any extra muscle.

 

 

While traveling through the harsh wilderness that lies between the airslave farm and the Power Station, the rebels spot many mutants lurking in the undergrowth. Horrible as that may sound (there's nothing quite as terrifying as mutants who lurk behind bushes), they're the least of their worries, as the rebels are about to enter the She Zone. The She what? The She Zone: A leafy realm where no man is to be trusted. Stumbling upon a race of female warriors who wear animal print bikinis, the rebels are confronted by their leader Nyla (Jennifer Delora), who demands that Deeja, the lone woman in the rebel alliance, explain why she is consorting with "male scum."
 

 

On top of not trusting them, Nyla dislikes men because they "chatter so." Which is explains why they removed the tongue that used to flap around inside the mouth of the musclebound Kai (Andrew Howarth), the warrior women's primary provider of sperm (to prevent him from running away, they keep him tied to a tree). Anyway, in order to avert an all out war, Haim and Nyla decide to settle their differences the old fashion way. And so, as our pesky narrator informs us, "the battle of the warriors begins." Placing a knife in the ground, the two fight to death. Just when Haim is about to get the best of Nyla, Neo steps in to stop him. While Nyla would prefer death, she accepts Neo's terms; which are: to free Kai and for her to join them in their quest to destroy the Dark One.
 

 

The addition of the He-Man-esque Kai and the headstrong Nyla to the team now means that Neo and his merry band of sword-wielding mouthbreathers are a force to be reckon with. Should the Dark One be quaking in his non-existent boots? Maybe. But you have got to remember, they haven't even reached the Power Station yet. Meaning, they have got to get past the mutants, as you know they're tired of lurking and itching to attack (a cool battle scene between the rebels and the mutants takes place, one where even Deeja gets her stab on); a subterranean corridor filled with hungry sewage worms (a sequence where Neo saves Nyla from being eaten by a sewage worm is quickly turned on its head when Nyla saves Neo from a similar fate seconds later - Nyla is not one to dilly-dally when it comes to paying her debts); the beast of the web, as Klyton calls him, is no picnic, either; dozens of booby traps (in a thrilling scene, Neo helps talk through Kai in disarming a bomb); surveillance drones; guard-bots; and an electrified fence.
 

 

The sound of her black and white heels hitting the cold concrete, her black mesh shawl of villainy gently caressing her ankles as she moves, Valaria wanders the murky halls of the Power Station with a weird mix of confidence and trepidation. She relishes the fact that the Dark One depends on her to carry out his orders, but she also knows that she's expendable. Pushing her luck on an almost daily basis, we run into Valaria just as she's about to push it yet again. Entering the Pleasure Machine, a large orgasm machine bathed in pink mist and supervised by a couple of rejects from La La La Human Steps circa 1987, Valaria disobeys the Dark One with this act of corporeal self-indulgence. Scolded for her insolence (the Pleasure Machine is not a toy, it's meant to reward those who excel at toadying), Valaria responds in the only way she knows how: subservience glazed with a coat of no-nonsense nonchalance. 

       

 

 

Imbuing her character with the temperament that reminded me of a bored French prostitute who has just passed yet another in a long line of AIDS tests, Angelika Jager is indifference personified as Valaria, the coolest henchwoman the holocaust, robot or otherwise, has ever seen. Employing a style of acting that can best be described as detached malevolence, the reason Angelika was probably selected to do the majority of the heavy lifting when it came to delivering the film's adjective and noun-laden dialogue is because she's the only one who could it recite it without conviction. Think about it, most actors, if given the chance to utter lines with a piece of furniture, which is what the Dark One essentially is, would ham it up, Raul Julia in Street Fighter-style. But not Angelika Jager, she approaches the dialogue from a more measured, analytical point-of-view.
 

 

"Yes, Dark One," is Valaria's passive aggressive mantra, and Angelika never fails to deliver it with a saucy aloofness. In fact, it's the only thing she seems to say during the film's early going, as the Dark One is always hounding Valaria to do shit. It's no wonder that she begins to roll her eyes at certain point. You would to if you had this overbearing robot on your shapely ass 24/7; an ass, by the way, that was always ensnared in a pair of lace pantyhose.
 

 

When Valaria experiences an unexpected makeover during the film's final third, was anyone else reminded of that War Amps PSA from the '80s? You know the one: "I'm Astar, a robot. I can put my arm back on. You can't. Play safe." It's all I could think about as chaos reigned throughout the Power Station. In addition to her appearance, Valaria's voice also changes near the end as well. Yet, funny enough, the modulation change didn't affect the pitch of her performance one bit.
 

 

Appealing in almost every way imaginable, in that, it's got chiseled hunks for the gays, thoughtful heroes with sharp cheekbones for the ladies, Jennifer Delora (Bad Girls Dormitory) in furry white boots for the fellas, brash warrior women for the lesbians, clumsy robots for the kids, and deadpan henchwomen who sound like Julie Delpy, if she was a manic depressive, for weirdos like me, Robot Holocaust proves once and for all that all you really need in order to create a fully lived-in universe filled with mutants, sewage worms, and moments of shirtless suspense are some fireworks, about a half dozen sock puppets, and bunch of friends who are willing to run around Central Park swinging swords for very little to no money.
 

 

Call me someone who has spent way too much being tortured by Valaria and her robot goons in The Room of Questions, or someone who isn't afraid to admit that they were strangely turned by Jennifer Delora's extreme form of misandry, but this film had a soothing effect on me. Chalk it up to Angelika Jager's affected way of speaking, the fact that two of the airslaves had Brooklyn accents, or the knowledge that Rick Gianasi, Matt Riker from Mutant Hunt himself, was actually inside that bulky robot costume, but I felt at home in New Terra. In fact, if I could choose to live in any post-apocalyptic universe from popular fiction, it would be Blade Runner (flying cars, replicants that look like Sean Young). But my second choice would definitely be Logan's Run (rapid transit, half-naked Jenny Agutter's delivered straight to your door). What I think I'm trying to say is that I would, after much hand wringing, eventually get around to choosing the Robot Holocaust universe as the place to raise my ungrateful spawn; after all, it's where Valaria lives. I know. Yes, Dark One, indeed.

video uploaded by Xysmatascruff

Necropolis (Bruce Hickey, 1987)

The last sound you will ever hear is that of her high heel shoes hitting the floor as she walks away from your soon to be rotting corpse. Oh, and before you start accusing her of murder, remember this, she simply told you to kill yourself, which you did, without hesitation. Okay, maybe there was some hesitation, but not a lot. Either way, there's very little you can do once you have come face-to-face with the intoxicating allure of the platinum blonde demon goddess at the centre of Necropolis, the epic supernatural thriller from writer-director Bruce Hickey and producer Tim Kincaid (Riot on 42nd Street) about a three hundred year-old witch, one who, get this, uses her long, alabaster legs, which, of course, are sheathed in the blackest pair of black fully fashioned stockings money can buy, to persuade big haired and regular haired New Yorkers alike to do things they wouldn't normally do. Watching her slowly develop as an actress, a cameo in Bad Girls Dormitory, a bit part in Psychos in Love, and, who could forget, her scene-stealing turn as the forthright pleasure droid in Mutant Hunt, this is the film that proves once and for all that LeeAnne Baker is one of the greatest B-movie actresses of all-time. Hold up. Did you just say, "B-movie actresses"? Fuck that noise, LeeAnne Baker is simply one of the greatest actresses of all-time, period. At least from my unique perspective she is, and why wouldn't she be? You know how some people have shoe fetishes, or how some are obsessed with opera gloves? Well, I have a LeeAnne Baker fetish. Now, I know what you're thinking. What exactly does a LeeAnne Baker fetish entail? Excellent question. First things first, you'll need to watch all her movies. And you don't merely watch a LeeAnne Baker movie, you inject yourself into the film like a heroin user shoots up with a syringe. Except, in this case, LeeAnne Baker is the drug and your eyes are the addict.
 

 

Okay, now that I've cleared that up. What you need to do next is take what you have seen in her movies (it doesn't matter if she's in the movie for five seconds or is in it from start to finish), and write overlong passages that describe in exhaustive detail what Miss Baker did in each movie. And I'm talking about everything: the style of her hair (since LeeAnne only worked as an actress between years 1986 and 1987, her hair is usually short), the type of clothes she wore, the way she moves, the quality of her acting, etc.
 

 

Stealing individual scenes is one thing, but carrying an entire movie squarely on your creamy shoulders is quite a different story. And that's exactly what LeeAnne Baker has to do in Necropolis; a film that not only requires her to be the star (it's the first film where her character appears on the poster), she has to ride a motorcycle along the West Side Highway, grow four additional breasts right underneath her already existing pair, and dance in front of a pentagram in 17th century New Amsterdam.
 

 

History majors will probably notice right off the bat that the opening title "New Amsterdam, 1686" is somewhat erroneous (the name "New Amsterdam" was changed to New York in 1664). But don't let a minor detail like that ruin your appreciation for the scope of the storytelling employed throughout this classic tale of good vs. fabulous; I know I sure I didn't.
 

 

Speaking of things that are erroneous in nature, did they have "jazz hands" in 1686? I wonder. Anyway, in a misty forest on the outskirts of New Amsterdam circa 1686, a white woman is being followed by a mysterious black man. Why is a mysterious black man following a white woman? Judging by her long, platinum-coloured hair and equally long, black cloak, I'd say the woman in question likes to dabble in Satanism.
 

 

Dabble, you say?!? Hardly, she's the leader of a Satanic cult. And not only that, she's the leader of a Satanic cult during a time when being the leader of a Satanic cult actually meant something. Tell someone nowadays you're the leader of anything, let alone a Satanic cult, and they'll probably laugh in your face while they calmly call in a drone strike using the airstrike application on their smartphone. But back then, any extracurricular activities that didn't involve the Bible were usually greeted with an angry mob wielding torches.     
 

 

My instincts regarding the white woman with the white hair were right on the money, as we see her standing in front of giant pentagram (the official symbol of Satan). While it looks like she could be the opening act for a Ratt tribute band, don't be fooled, she's up to some seriously evil shit. After wowing the shifty-eyed rabble in attendance with her erotic, well, erotic for 1693, dance moves, she summons a bride away from a nearby wedding using her Satan-approved brand of telekinesis. The plan is to kill the virgin bride with a special knife in order to please her master. Unfortunately, the mysterious black man, and, not to mention, the entire wedding party, show up to ruin her ritual. Swearing to avenge this injustice, the cult leader vows to return.
 

 

When and where do you think she will return? Please return to New York City in the mid-to-late 1980s; I don't ask for much.
 

Panning up a leg encased in lace nylons that is attached to a torso sitting on a red motorcycle to the sound of "Rock & Rock" (yep, the same song used in both Valet Girls and Killer Workout), the next twenty minutes are easily the finest twenty minutes ever to be captured on film. Don't get me wrong, the stuff that happens after the twenty minutes are up is just as awesome. I'm just saying, this particular chunk of celluloid represents my aesthetic point of view like no other chunk has done before.

 

 

While that's great and all, let's get back to the camera panning up that leg. Sitting atop a red Yamaha XJ 400 Seca (thanks, IMCDb) motorcycle is a figure in lace and black leather. And you know what that means? That's right, Satan's girlfriend is back, baby! Removing her helmet, the first thing we notice is that her the long locks have been replaced with a shorter hairdo (the kind that would make Lois Ayres and Sharon Mitchell nod approvingly with a snotty grace). Looking around at her new surroundings, Eva (LeeAnne Baker), her eyes smeared with about five cans of black eye makeup, flashes a sly smile, and hits the road.
 

 

A close-up shot of her left hand revving her motorcycle's engine, her red fingernails juxtaposed nicely with her black, stud-covered leather fingerless gloves, is the epitome of cinematic cool as far as I'm concerned.
 

 

The first stop on her journey is an occult pawn shop run by a guy named Rudy (Gy Milano), a beer-drinking asthmatic who lost his hearing for a week when he was six years old. How do you know all that? Ah, yes. The thing about Necropolis that sets it apart from other films in the genre is that it takes the time to flesh out each character's backstory. You see, if Eva wants you to do something, but you, unwisely, decide to resist her, she'll poke around your subconscious until she finds a traumatic event from your past and use what she found to bend your will. In the case of Rudy the pawnbroker, she wants him to tell her who he sold "The Devil's Ring" to, as it possesses great power. And when he won't tell her (LeeAnne Baker's New York accent really shines through when she says, "You're Lying'!" in response to his floundering), Eva reminds him of the time when he lost his hearing as a child. The ringing sound in his ears drives Rudy mad, eventually kills him. But as he's dying, he tells Eva what she wanted to hear. And that is, the location of the ring.
 

 

Making her way to the youth outreach centre run by the Reverend Henry James (William K. Reed), who strangely looks exactly like the black man from the 1680s. It's during this scene when we get our first taste of Eva's menacing-sounding footsteps. Pretending to be a troubled teen, Eva confronts the reverend in the men's room. On top of being the first instance where we get a clear shot of the star earring dangling from Eva's left earlobe, it's also the scene I would submit to anyone out there who wants to learn a thing or two about the art of acting, as LeeAnne Baker is remarkable. Trading in her tough chick persona for a more vulnerable one, LeeAnne will melt your tear ducts with the range of emotions she displays during this particular scene.
 

 

Since her meeting with the reverend didn't get her any closer to her precious devil ring, Eva decides to use a different approach; one that involves psychological persuasion, and, of course, her raw sex appeal. When we hear a beat pumping, we know it's time for Eva to slip on her black stockings and attach them to the garter belt, which is no doubt lurking seductively somewhere underneath her short-as-can-be black leather skirt. Using the back room of Rudy's occult pawn shop as her temporary base of operations, Eva takes her black stockings for a test drive by dancing up a storm as "Say You Do" by Zoom Zoom throbs on the soundtrack.
 

 

Choreographed by Taunie Vrenon (Elaine from Mutant Hunt), what takes place next is probably the most alluringly staged dance number in film history. After she's done making sure there are no creases in her stockings (she does so by running hands, her black, stud-covered black fingerless glove-covered hands, over the surface of the stockings multiple times), and she finishes applying some more makeup, Eva dances erotically in front of the makeshift Satanic altar she has set up.
 

 

Hopping on her motorcycle, Eva arrives at the youth outreach centre just as a reporter in a red turtleneck dress named Dawn Phillips (Jacquie Fitz), a woman who looks like the virgin bride from the 1680s, is about to interview The Reverend and a troubled youth named Philly (George Anthony-Rayza) for some hard hitting piece for NPR. In order to break things up, Eva manipulates Philly (she's outside the centre) by causing him to go into withdrawal (he's a recovering drug addict). Since everyone with the exception one volunteer has gone to the hospital with Philly, Eva can get the key for the safe that contains the ring without as much hassle.  

 

 

All that stands in her way is a guy named Tony (Andrew Bausili), a man who looks like the preacher from Dawn's botched 1686 wedding. Luckily for Eva, Tony is no longer a puritan era preacher. He's now a man who is easily swayed by the sight of the exposed thigh skin languishing between two distinctly different textile realms.
 

 

Starting off with a close-up shot of the seams that run up and down the back of her stockings, Eva enters the youth outreach centre with a certain swagger.
 

 

Asking if he can help her, Eva replies, "Sure, Tony," even though they have never met (well, at least not in a couple of hundred years). Resting one of her legs on a chair, which purposely exposes a generous helping of ashen flesh thanks to the leg's placement and the zipper slit on her leather skirt, Eva toys with Tony in a way that can best be described as "cat and mouse." 

 

 

The sound of her footsteps echo through the office, as she circles his desk in a predatory manner.
 

 

Audible footsteps, brilliant streaks of rouge makeup, a dangling star-shaped earring, and exposed thigh skin inundate my psyche as Eva slowly approaches Tony's desk.
 

 

Grabbing a switchblade from one of Tony's drawers, Eva places it on his desk and tells him to kill himself. Using his suicidal tendencies against him, while, at same time, making sure his eyes remain focused on the first-rate absolute territory she was putting out there, Eva eggs him on by saying, "Do it," over and over again.
 

 

You have to wonder why Eva needed keys to open a safe in the first place. I mean, don't most safes use combination locks? And secondly, why couldn't she just zap it open using her witch powers like she did the lock on the fence? Well, to be fair, she did open the fence lock after she acquired the ring, so, she might not have had access to that witch function yet. At any rate, with the ring on her finger, Eva drives to her necropolis, a dilapidated warehouse up in The Bronx, which still contain the bodies of her long dead Satanic cult. After some great leggy shots of LeeAnne Baker walking through the warehouse are implemented, Eva summons her followers to arise.
 

 

Meanwhile, a no-nonsense cop named Billy (Michael Conte), a dead ringer for Alan Vega from Suicide ("America, America is killing its youth"), is trying to investigate Tony's death. What do you mean, "trying"? Well, even though Benny the medical examiner (Paul Ruben), a man who's on friendly terms with Dorothy, tells him, "it's a suicide, honey," Dawn and Reverend James are convinced that there's something strange going on in Tribeca tonight.
 

 

While Alan Vega's twin brother and the neck sensitive Dawn (seriously, don't touch her neck) make goo goo eyes with one another (the latter invites the former over to her Japanese themed apartment to drink wine and talk about reincarnation), Eva is out collecting souls in a pair of animal print leather pants with a matching bustier. The first soul she grabs belongs to a guy from Queens named Snake (Jett Julian), then she targets his big haired girlfriend Cat (Jennifer Stahl). Their souls are consumed as ectoplasm, which she later expels through her nipples so that her minions may grow stronger. Whoa, how is she supposed to feed an army of minions with only two nipples? Um, she develops four more breasts. Duh.
 

 

A rare instance where everything seems to be in perfect harmony with one another in terms of cohesion, Necropolis is a movie that works on so many levels, that it's not even funny. It's got homemade crosses used as weapons, a skeptical red meat advocate who looks like Alan Vega (a man who gets to fondle Eva's stockings at one point), it uses "On the Run From Whistler" from the Trancers soundtrack not once but twice, has a flamboyant M.E. ("That's 'Dr. Parker' to you, honey"), features scenes where a tall (LeeAnne Baker must be at least 5'10) blonde who looks like Anne Carlisle from every angle harasses a hooker named Candy (Nadine Hartstein), and sports a lead character whose clothes are styled by none other than Celeste Hines. Okay, I don't know who that is (Nancy Arons and Jeffrey Wallach are credited as the film's costume designers, and probably deserve most of the credit for Eva's many stunning ensembles), but I like the idea that LeeAnne Baker had her own stylist on this film. Anyway, capturing the nervous energy of New York City after dark, Necropolis is what cinema should be: A steaming wad of diaphanous nectar dripping from the nipples of a soul-sucking witch from the Lower East Side. 

uploaded by GoldEydLer

Special thanks to Thomas Duke, the beer-drinking dandy who runs the newly refurbished Cinema Gonzo (check it out, man, it's taint-tastic!), for doing me a solid and recommending that my Vorta-esque eyeballs make a date with this wonderfully crafted piece of filmed entertainment.