Las Vegas Movies

Here is a link to an article i wrote for the July 2012 issue of Desert Companion about films set in Las Vegas. Featuring best heist, best road trip and best high-roller experience with films like One From the Heart, Corvette Summer and Dark City.

Jive Turkey

Yes, the title would make you pick it out of a big box of fifty "Drive-In Movie Classics." Well, right after The Werewolf vs.Vampire Women and Voodoo Black Exorcist. And maybe Slave of the Cannibal God. Anyway, Jive Turkey opens with the admonition that "THIS IS A TRUE STORY" and then some nice footage of city streets and guys in very loud suits as a sub-Curtis Mayfield/low-rent Isaac Hayes/D-grade James Brown number about "the numbers game" warbles on the soundtrack.

And right to the heart of the conflict: The Italian mob and the Black mob are duking it out for control of the rackets. The two heads of their organizations meet in some cheap Chianti joint and tell us pretty much all of the plot you need to know. The other important part about this intro is that it introduces us to one of our most important characters -- really, for our purposes the most important character because Serene is a stunning transvestite hit man. Hit woman. Hit person. Whatever. She dresses like a moonlighting Supreme and kills with her jewelry and her shoes and her Vodka. This glorious bitch is one of the unsung heroes of 70's 'splotation cinema and this film does not have nearly enough of her. Hell, Serene -- played by a queen named Tawny Tan, who may or may not have worked at a drag bar called the Purple Cow with Elvira -- should have had her own sequel and they do set her up for it...

One other point: This film is supposedly set in 1956 -- we know this because it says so on one of the strobe-lit disco-font instruction cards at the beginning. Otherwise we would not, as attention to period detail is somewhere several notches below lacksadasical. The cars are a mix of 50's fishtails and bullet lights with a steady background of early-seventies pussywagons -- which is fine with me, really, as it multiplies the opportunities for looking at some fine automobiles. The characters dress mostly in 70's style and barely any attention is paid to the female wardrobe anyway. However, the men wear a dashing array of wallpaper-print suits with suede pocket flaps or fur-collared coats with wide-brimmed fedoras and high-contrast houndstooth sportcoats with coordinating ascots.

The Black Mob's main office seems to be in a sort of low-level ad agency, while the Italian Mob seems to occupy the real estate of a mildly unsuccessful insurance office. There is lots of footage of people making lists on chalkboards and talking on phones and passing money back and forth. I think this is supposed to teach us about the internal workings of the numbers racket but, given that there's little dialogue over these parts, it just comes across as dull montage (Casino, it ain't). The N-word is used frequently by all sides of the dispute, but this is one of those "no good guys" gigs common to the time. Along the way toward our bloody finale, we have a protracted interlude of sassy Black ladies talking about what they're gonna do when their numbers come up, a game of Russian roulette played in a room whose couch seems specifically chose to hide blood spatter and a psychedelic "Is it over?" opium den climax.

Jive Turkey is far from the top level of blaxploitation movies -- i'd place it somewhere in the mid range. But this movie does have some beautiful cars, some excellent suits and, of course, that glorious bitch of a killer queen who murders with her accessories and her booze.

Wild, Wild Planet

When it comes to Italian cinema of the 60's and 70's, you gotta hand it to 'em: The cats had style. Incoherent scripts, disinterested direction, uneven acting and the notorious dubbing, but they always had style. Sets that were part Jetsons, part Mondrian, part David Hicks. Women with voluminous hair, graphic eyeliner and outfits that combine Cardin, Courreges and Chanel. Sleek sportscars -- even the spacepods of the future were sportscars. It was a vision of style hiding the cluelessness of the substance. Wild, Wild Planet is s neither a Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom special nor a Jayne Mansfield travelogue, but a prime example of this principle, a hokey space operetta greatly improved by an aesthetic that combines the sublime and the ridiculous.

Wild, Wild Planet opens with plenty of obviously fake shots of a miniature space colony, but the tiny city is so mod and groovily designed, the cheapness is forgivable. You should see the part where they launch the itty bitty red rocket with the sparklers! It's so nifty they show it again in reverse when they land!

Once inside, we got straight to a lab, where the hero and the villain are chatting about morality over some rubber lungs in a terrarium. You can tell the hero is the hero because he's "Commander" and he's wearing a big man-girdle outside his uniform. (Captain Kirk used to wear his on the inside, so this cat is brave.)  You can tell the villain is the villain because he works for "the corporation" and has a British accent and evil goatee. "The corporation" is working on something that involves synthetic organs and tissue harvesting in space -- and that's about all we know. If you've seen District 9, Prometheus, The Fifth Element or any of the Resident Evil movies, you know that "the corporation" is always bad news.

Soon the villain meets the hero's girlfriend, Lieutenant Gomez, who is teaching judo is a red catsuit and Bond Girl hair. Villain takes shine to her, invites her to dinner, then invites her to the space colony, courtesy of "the corporation." Girlfriend gets drunk, hero is stoic, villain is smug.

Ah, finally! No Italian sci-fi/spy/horror flick is complete without its army of babes and here they are! A roomful of girls in sherbert-toned outfits and azure eyeshadow. The lead one (in orange Jackie Kennedy suit and cowpie beehive) is accompanied by a large, creepy guy who looks kind of like Sid Haig in Trent Reznor's wardrobe with Terminator shades. She gives orders about their "mission" and all of the girls head out... somewhere. Incoherent script and all that....

Okay, hero and Lieutenant Gomez argue in her hybrid, as more fashionably-clad robot women wander around space city accompanied by their totally inconspicuous seven-foot-tall albino assistants.The schtick seems to be that sherbet-clad fembot accosts some guy, then pasty giant wraps the guy in his leather trenchcoat and he diasappears, leaving a pile of clothes that the woman then scoops up and runs off with. It's kind of like rolling a john, but without the hassle of actually having to go anywhere with him. In the meantime, hero and villain go to some board meetings, yadda yadda. People keep disappearing -- wow, look at our awesome high-tech surveillance system with P.A.s and old tube televisions! More fembots -- they have the most amazing silver go-go boots -- and their lurching chaperones.

When one of the duos is stopped in mid coat-swoop, the intended victim is left not only in a coma, but turned him into a midget. (If you wish to stop right now and sing a few bars of "Midget in a Coma" to the tune of "Girlfriend in a Coma," i'll wait.) This gives hero and his pals something to investigate, which seems to involve a lot of dicking around the obvious. In the meantime, Lieutenant Gomez has gone up to the space station to visit the evil guy and "the corporation" -- after all, if the guy you're dating now is a patronizing douchebag, why not kick it up a notch and go for the psychopath who wants to take over/destroy the earth/galaxy? No half-steppin' and all... But, of course, she soon finds things are not as they seem up in Spacelab. Eventually, hero finally figures out the answers to what's going on with sherbert fembots and coma midgets and that ponce with the foofy accent who's moving in on his girl.

I won't tell you what the final objective of the evil plan is, but i will hint that it involves taking a Ken doll out of the microwave and putting it on a tanning bed (I think that's what they're doing). And gender-reassignment surgery. (I guess that's what it is). Also, the distraction provided by people in giant butterfly costumes doing interpretative dance is crucial to his plan to take over the Earth. (I'm assuming that's why he's doing this but i'm not sure.)

In the meantime, the villain gives the hero a very, very long tour of his evil lair. It's like: This is where I park my fleet of space rockets... Here's the foyer -- that's a genuine Chihuly... and here's my evil lab full of body parts... and this is the squash court, just had the floor redone... and here's my evil lab for experimenting on your girlfriend... Down here is the screening room... and over there is a room full of zombies I keep around just to remind myself how evil I am.... You wanna see the elevator I just had put into the garage?

Overall, Wild, Wild Planet is inane but enjoyable. It's brightly colored and enough stuff happens to hold your interest, but not so much happens that you'll miss a lot if you need to go make tacos or put the laundry in the dryer. And whatever leaps of logic you might make up to explain what Lieutenant Gomez is throwing a bitch fit about or why there's suddenly an ocean of blood flooding the space station will be just as sensible and realistic as the actual plot.

Shakes the Clown

This movie has a special, special place in my heart. I wondered even if i had the right to put it on a site dedicated to films of questionable quality, so staunch am i in my belief in the greatness of Shakes the Clown. How staunch? Earlier this year i had a Shakes the Clown-themed Oscar party. Here's is the meatcake i made for the occasion. Two layers of the finest three-meat meatloaf (beef, pork and sausage), frosted with homemade garlic mashed potatoes, filled with red pepper-onion relish and lovingly garnished with a depiction of our hero (crafted of hard-boiled eggs, horseradish sauce, bacon-cheddar squeezy cheese and two kinds of ketchup) and one of his greatest of many great lines.

You can almost taste my passion, can you not?

Anyway, Shakes the Clown was once described as the "Citizen Kane of alcoholic clown movies," largely due to the Orson Welles-like triple threat provided by writer/director/star Bobcat Goldthwait. The film is about the triumphs and tribulations of a party clown with a gift for laughter, but a problem with brown liquor.

The supporting cast in this movie is interesting. Adam Sandler makes his first film appearance (fresh from playing "Drug Dealer" in an after-school special) as one of Shakes' sidekicks and i think we can all agree that it's pretty much been downhill from there for him. Less offensively, Kathy Griffin also make an early-career appearance as the fellow waitress pal of Shakes' girl, played by former MTV starlet Julie Brown -- no, not the black one with the British accent, the funny one with the tutus. Also clocking in splendidly are legends LaWanda Page and Milton Berle as a pair of drunk barfly clowns who can always be found sucking down shots at the Twisted Balloon, the local clown bar. There's quite a few more, including Robin Williams making an unannounced and unhinged cameo as a tyrannical mime -- why is Williams so often at his best in moves where he's not listed in the credits...?

Shakes the Clown has one of the greatest openings in the history of motion pictures. Up there with that unbroken crane shot that opens Touch of Evil or the beatdown from a bald hooker that starts The Naked Kiss. I will not go into detail, but let's just say it involves broken records, exploding cigars, people getting their heads pissed on and Florence Henderson with hickeys.

Then Shakes cruises through Palookaville -- a mildly surrealistic place of fedora-ed cops, lady bowlers and, of course, clowns. At first, it's all golden, with Shakes wowing 'em at kids' parties and looking forward to his own jokin', jugglin', cartoon-announcin', balloon-animal-makin' kiddie TV show, poundin' beers and beatin' up mimes with his buddies. But, due to the machinations of asshole clown Binky (played by Powerpuff Girls voiceover master Tom Kenny) and Shakes' own over-fondness for the bottle, shit goes south.

Can Shakes defeat his addiction to the bottle and, if not, survive a booze-soaked terrorist rampage through a kiddie party? Can Shakes win back the love of Judy the Bowler, despite ignoring everything she says? Can Shakes pass as an undercover mime? Can Shakes defeat the evil, coke-dealing rodeo clowns? Can he make it though the DTs? AA?

Shakes does have its weak points: Some bits go on too long, the cop subplot is dull and slows the film. Sometimes what's going on in the background or with a minor character may seem more interesting that what's supposed to be the main idea of a scene. But there's an inspired lunacy and a weird, half-magic realism, half proto-Farrely vibe and it beats the soft, stinky shit out of most other mildly depraved comedies these days. Kenny makes a memorable villain -- weird to think this sleazy, line-huffing bully is actually Spongebob. (What is it with clowns and cocaine anyway? Maybe this is where Dr. Rockzo came from.) It is also full of great quotes -- the Page/Berle interactions are filthy, inspired and worth memorizing, if for no other reason to make yourself laugh in the future, during long drives or moments when you find youself inexplicably (or not) sobbing on the way to work. The line about the little dog will help you much then.

Many people just don't get Shakes the Clown.  But some of us do. I haven't seen Mr. Goldthwait's latest work, God Bless America -- terminally ill man gets together with nihilistic teen, goes on spree-kill of bigots, reality TV show stars and assorted assholes. It sounds awesome but i don't think it can possibly top Shakes the Clown.

(This is the whole table. I also made Kahlua-frosted brownies and bourbon-glazed mini-franks to keep with the theme, among other things...)

Hausu

Somewhere between the Powerpuff Girls and Evil Dead is Hausu.

It opens as one would expect:  With a bunch of Japanese teenage girls dressed up in their Sailor Moon uniforms taking Polaroid photos of each other. Yes, i know it's not Instagram, but bear with me. We start with Gorgeous and her friend Fantasy discussing the end of the school year.

Here they are with their teacher. There is something kinda Wonder Woman about these outfits. Gorgeous goes home to where she lives with her father in an apartment furnished with astroturf, wicker, a luridly painted backdrop of a sunset and a tape loop of nature noises. Her father is home from doing a soundtrack for Sergio Leone. No, literally. I did not make that up. "He said I was better than Morricone." Daddy introduces her to her new stepmother, who is apparently some kind of Melissa Manchester impersonator who is constantly accompanied by a wind machine.

Gorgeous now hates daddy. Into lusciously wallpapered teenage girl bedroom and photo-burning pouting fit. Back to school, where we meet her other friends, Melody, Kung Fu, Sweet and Mac, as in "Big --" or "-- Out." All of the girls are supposed to go to "Training Camp," but somehow can't go, so Gorgeous invites them all to her house. Then, suddenly a big, white cat appears. This happens sometimes. See,  Gorgeous:

And Bubbles:

And Blofeld:

And Diddley, the fluffy white kitten that i suddenly acquired by accident. ("I found this cat. Want it?") In this photo it is deceptively small, but now it is giant and loud and and indestructible and can change genders but, fortunately it is not smart enough to be dangerous to humans:

Well, where was i?


The girls take a cartoonish trip to Gorgeous' aunt's house. Cartoonish is the best way to describe this film and its directorial aesthetic. This was his directorial debit of Nobuhiko Ohbiyashi. His aesthetic is kinda Hello Kitty, kinda Henry Darger, kinda Dario Argento. He likes overblown colors, overdramatic action and overcranked soundtracks -- imagine Douglas Sirk directing Pinky Violence. The names that sum up the characters, the silly music, the backdrops so obvious that you can even see the line above where they hang in some shots. Apparently his pre-teen daughter wrote the story for Hausu, which makes sense -- actually, i would've though she'd be younger.

 We stop for the girls to watch an old movie and coo over their (unseen) (male) teacher. Then it's creepy train station, walk through forest, watermelon of evil portent, psycho caretaker and here we are at wheelchair-bound auntie's house. We're treated to more silly backdrops, more fluffy white kitty, more irrational dialogue and inexplicable visual effects. Mac complains of being hungry. Sweet dresses up as Holly Hobbie and cleans like Joan Crawford. Kung Fu flies about with some nice wire fu while wearing hotpants. Auntie grins enigmatically.

But gradually the girls begin disappearing. Not only does one girl find her friend's severed head, but then it flies around, bites her on the ass and throws up -- and we're off! There seems to be no explanation for the sudden attacks and random dismemberments. Then the animation kicks in and shit goes utterly, completely stone-cold bananas.Attacked by a mattress! Eaten by a piano! Drowned by a clock! Parodied in the style of an Asian soap opera! Forced to move in slow motion and juggle nonexistent objects! Hassled by giant disembodied lips!

The story makes no sense. The cinematography makes no sense. The editing makes no sense. The sets make no sense. The sound design makes no sense. And i say none of this like it's a bad thing: Commitment to insanity gives Hausu a full-blown otherworldliness that gives both Eraserhead and Alice in Wonderland (any version) a challenge. A deranged, violent, romantic, fluffy, pink challenge.

Lisa and the Devil

Actually, this movie was a gift, but i'm pretty sure it's dollar store, or at least Big Lots -- and, if you can still find a Big Lots, they are still among the finest places to pick up your cheapie videos. Anyway, Lisa and the Devil. Obvious why it was given to me. Anyway, this is one of those Italian spooky-house horror flicks. It's an entire genre unto itself -- abundantly false-eyelashed young woman is stranded in an Italian villa or palazzo or castel where various occult/paranormal/spooooky things go on. Promisingly, it's directed by Italian horror master Mario Bava, starring Telly Savalas as the Devil.

Sounds good, doesn't it? Well, it's not. Sure, Telly is loads of fun, alternately imperious and obsequious moving smoothy along the edges of camp -- although i don't understand why he's got the Kojak lollipop. And the decaying baroque palazzo setting is fantastic with cinematography that does it full justice and bodies turn up with a neat regularity.

But not a whole lot happens and what does happen is totally incoherent. Heroine Britt Ekland seems to be brain-dead, even by horror-movie Euro-bimbo standards. She is hypnotized by a music box that causes her to have lengthy, slow-motion dream sequences where she gets a perm and dresses up as Stevie Nicks. Signs, portents, inarticulateness, poorly dubbed dialogue. There's also standard hostile old beady-eyed countess, the mandatory leather-jacketed gigolo with freshly plucked unibrow, the regulation few random nymphos for the offing -- none of them interesting in the least. Even softcore necrophilia can't save Lisa and the Devil. However, this does provide me with the opportunity to share this most awesome screencap with you...

Never Too Young to Die

Wow. Now here is one that treads that fine line of good-bad and bad-bad. In the former category, we have masterpieces like Howling II: Your Sister Is a Werewolf, She-Devils on Wheels and Drive Angry. Cheesy, cheap, stupid, derivative -- sure, all those movies are that, but they're all entertaining. You will enjoy yourself as you watch them. The second category contains about 500 times as many films as the first, I Know Who Killed Me, Leonard Part 6, Lifetime made-for-TV movies, most of the later work of Adam Sandler. You don't have fun there. Never Too Young to Die, i'm still not sure about.

John Stamos and his big poufy head of hair play Lance Stargrove, a high-school gymnast who wears either creepily tight jeans or scarily semi-transparent white Z. Cavaricci pants. His dad--played by George "I was James Bond once. Once." Lazenby--was some spy who got whacked for some computer disc that can contaminate! The city's entire! Water supply! Forever! (I guess it has some kind of water-soluble virus on it.) Vanity plays his dad's former partner or something, in a lot of spandex and bronze makeup and the two of them have to get dad's killer and find the disc.

So, anyway, who was it that whacked Papa Stamos Bond for the disc of dampness? None other than Gene Simmons. In drag. Yes, you read that right. Gene Simmons stole one of Cher's old wigs and a few of her cheesier outfits (There is a moment when you will indeed scream "Turn back time!" at the screen and then wonder whether Cher laughed or punched him in the nutsack. Or both.) to play a transsexual or transvestite or hermaphrodite or something--the plot is vague on this, as it is with many things. Now, we all know that Gene Simmons has no shame and this was during the Lick It Up era but, still, really? Now, Stamos is supposedly a nice guy, like a vampire does not age and, lord knows, from General Hospital to Glee, the man is always working. And i really liked Vanity's other film, The Last Dragon, the Berry Gordy kung fu movie. But this flick, well...

Actually, this entire film feels as though it was generated by Mad Lib. And Gene Simmons -- sorry, Velvet Von Ragnar -- has an army of Road Warrior-rejects to do his bidding, all done up in the best "punk" attire the crack-addled, clinically insane and underpaid wardrobe lady could come up with, including that ubiquitous spike/shag synthetic "punk" wig that appeared (usually with wraparound sunglasses) in every "punk" crowd scene during the 80's. (And I say underpaid because she had to measure Stamos for those pants. And Simmons for the gold lame corset. Let us shy away from Vanity's buckskin fringed bikini altogether.) As if all this weren't disturbing enough, Robert "Freddy Kreuger" Englund appears as Simmons' lackey. And sometimes they touch each other. In unsettling ways.

 

Other disturbing events? How about the seemingly endless and definitely pointless scene in which Vanity strips, hoses herself down, takes her top off and hoses herself down more while Stamos chomps down on a variety of apples and bananas and you cannot tell whether this is supposed to be some kind of parody or the folks who engineered this masterpiece were just that dumb. How about the scene where Simmons stars flouncing around in full pink feather showgirl drag? And then unfurls the tongue that once rocked Detroit City and sticks it down the throat of Stamos? The array of really bad fake facial hair inexplicably sported by various characters throughout? Did someone involved in this flick own an off-price wig shop that was going out of business? 

No wonder Vanity left the entertainment industry and turned Christian: After watching Never too Young to Die, I felt like I should spend the next three years praying for forgiveness.

Conan the Barbarian

No, no, not the first one, the one where Arnold Schwarzenegger is more awesome than he has been in any film with the possible exception of the other Conan movie. If i spoke of that film i would not be acquainting you with anything new -- and if i would be, stop reading this right now and go watch the first Conan the Barbarian. I'll wait.

So, why did we need this remake? Well, i could give you some spiel about how the movie industry is bereft of new ideas or the parade of comic book movies is so hyperextended they're reaching for anything that's ever been done in color panels with a biff and a pow and a fanbase, hence Conan. Sure, that's the real reason. But there's another reason they made it and it's the reason i'm watching it.

Yeah, that's right. Beefcake. Khal Drogo himself. Beloved baby daddy of Daenerys Targaryen and Lisa Bonet. (Seriously, Cosby or not, that woman can pick 'em: Lenny Kravitz and Khal Drogo. If it ever comes up, don't even bother with the menu, just have who she's having.) And how is Jason Momona as Conan?  Good, actually. At least i think so. Too bad that the people who made this movie apparently didn't because this is a Conan movie with the bare minimum of Conan.

First of all, we spend a good quarter of it with Conan's dad, the Conan family and their rustic village. Listen, Ron Perlman is great. Hellboy, Ice Pirates, Sons of Anarchy, a whole mess of Justice League, Animaniacs and Scooby-Doo cartoons, he adds to everything. We just needed less Papa Conan and the unwashed warriors. Although  there is a bodacious, quick-paced sequences in which Papa Conan sends a herd of kids off into the woods to do some kind of  human fox hunt/Outward Bound/speed-rate visionquest/ stuff with a lengthy monologue (one of several lengthy monologues he delivers) and robins' eggs in their mouths. The juveniles encounter a herd of hostile tribesmen who look like a cross between Last of the Mochicans and that guy in Sigue Sigue Sputnik. Pre-Teen Conan goes all rabid wolverine, breaks kneecaps, crushes skulls, chops off heads. All without breaking the egg in his mouth.

Then more monologues, a lotta crap about swords. Finally, more of the evil guys show up, villagers die, Head Evil Guy and Papa Conan exchange a few more monologues while Head Evil Guy's creepy goth daughter with her Edward Scissorhands nails skulks around, sword gets stolen, Papa Conan dies.

Why, hello...

Finally, at 26:52, Conan finally shows up. Looks over a pile of skulls, smirks and immediately attacks a conveniently passing slave caravan. Frees all the slaves, then takes them all to to the local tavern to get drunk. Not only is Conan terribly attractive, but he is clearly a man who believes in direct, monologue-free action and, thus, very fucking welcome in this film.

Then Conan sees an Evil Guy. He allows himself to be hauled off to their prison. Most of us might be off-put awaking in a torture chamber surrounded by dozens of guards, but Conan barely even blinks, much less asks for a cigarette, a glass of water and a cab.

No, he just stands up and stars whipping the shit out of everyone between him and the door, then everyone in the hallway, everyone in the next room... god help the [pseudo-Medieval-equivalent of] redshirts in the men's room if he needs to take a piss. Conan, you are awesome. You have been on the screen for twelve minutes and we have already had three major fight sequences. And Momona does them well, strangling people with chains and hurling them into walls and casually chopping off a leg and an arm with a single swing, all with a sort of amused implacability. Which is as it should be: A Conan who does not enjoy most in life ripping out the entrails of those who would fuck with him, is no Conan at all.

Did you expect a Werner Herzog reference about now? Because i sure didn't. Regardless, bunch of Evil Guys led by Head Evil Guy appear, whipping a bunch of slaves to pull a giant ship up a mountain. Alas, Klaus Kinski in an ice cream suit is not accompanying them. But there is Edward Scissorhands sulky teen, who has now grown up into full Kabuki Rose McGowan, who overacts wildly and appropriately throughout out the whole film. They are apparently in search of some "pure blood" for some sacrifice or some bullshit... you know, standard drill in one of these movies. Cut to a yoga retreat/all-organic spa somewhere in the hills above Malibu.

And here we meet our heroine, she of the "pure blood," whom i will heretofore refer to as Yoga Spa Princess. This is Conan's love interest and co-fighter. Now, the mighty Sandahl Bergman in the original set the standard for sword-and-sorcery heroines of her era. She was Bad. Ass. When she cut a man in half with a broadsword, you believed it. When she growled "who wants to live forever" before beckoning Conan to follow her into James Earl Jones' Demoniac Lair of Snakegoddery, you believed it. When she fought off a whole lotta creepy ghosts and death itself to save Conan, you believed it. She and Conan had a great relationship because the enjoyed the same things: Traveling the world and killing assholes. This cannot be said for the Zooey Deschanel knockoff they recruited to damsel-in-distress this gig.

Conan and Yoga Spa Princess run off somewhere with Head Evil Guy and Kabuki McGowan in hot pursuit. However, the pursuit is not so hot that Kabuki McGowan has not brought plenty of costume changes, from her Norma Desmond/Nikki Sixx peignoir to her Dorothy Lamour/Siouxsie Sioux beachside ensemble. There's some boring exposition, but finally Conan captures an evil guy and builds a catapult to launch him several miles directly into Head Evil Guy and Kabuki McGowan's bedroom. (Yes, i know, ew.)

The mean Road Warrior-fixated club kids have come to fuck up your Alma-Tadema pseudo-classical bullshit.

Seriously, once Yoga Spa Princess gets into this, though, it goes south again. There's a nice bit where Conan battles some sort of dust demons and leaps around some scaffolding and then blows something up. But they keep getting on pirate ships and Conan just sits around while this Fremont Street Jack Sparrow mugs and Yoga Spa Princess and Rasta Pirate deliver more pointless exposition. Kabuki McGowan finally manages to kidnap Yoga Spa Princess, who apparently has "pure blood" so she can be sacrificed. (Seriously, you say "pure blood" one more time and i'm gonna start making fun of your plastic surgery.) But even Kabuki McGowan is not immune to Yoga Spa Princess' magical power to totally stop a film cold and cause all of those around her to deliver meaningless monologues. Although she does at least get Yoga Spa Princess out of her History of the World Part I Miriam-the-Vestal-Virgin schmatte and into something a little more Hot Topic. I guess Kabuki McGowan did this 'cause y'know her mom died when she was a baby and her dad moved around a lot and she's never had any real friends so it's total BFF slumber party time with makeovers and blood sacrifice!

Thank god this releases Conan to actually do stuff elsewhere. Jesus, this man is good at striding boldly through the city of thieves and threatening people. Then there's a bit where Conan and Fremont Street Jack Sparrow get trapped in a dungeon with a giant and his giant octopus and a bunch of cages on chains with people to feed to the octopus in them and Conan just smiles and is all like "Hey, never fought a giant and his giant octopus before, bitchin!" and makes fast and festive work of that shit. Seriously, just back off and let the man slaughter his enemies.

He just pulled a broadsword outta some guy's chest. See how happy he looks!


We get to the mandatory interrupted sacrifice and then a whole fucking ton of tedious CGI as Conan and Head Evil Guy have long fucking pointless bad swordfights because somehow Conan who can vanquish a dozen men with a toothpick and pocket change cannot beat a chicken-legged senior citizen in a toga with a lizard on his head. Can i also add that, along with the raging inadequacy of Yoga Spa Princess, Head Evil Guy is pretty lame as well. Sure, he got a somewhat British-y accent and vaguely skull-like physiognomy, but exudes no menace at all. I mean Kabuki McGowan is clearly game (She also has a great silver chainmail stalking-the-virgin outfit that's based on a Galliano/Dior (spring/summer 1998) that was based on a costume of the Marchesa Casati's that was based on the armor of Cesare Borgia. Or i could just be reading way too much into this.) but most of the actors in this just don't get it. Only Conan may underact. The rest of the SAG members on set better get to work chomping that scenery like a bulimic tearing into a pastrami platter with a side of onion rings and eggs benedict back at Canter's.

So, yeah, dumb CGI, people falling though flaming bluescreen floors and bullshit bullshit abysses and crap. This movie could have worked. It has the two essential ingredients: A good Conan and good fight scenes. Unfortunately surrounded by boring dialogue and bland actors and lame computer effects. The ending leaves open a sequel, which probably won't happen. Too bad -- i'd like to see a good Conan movie. Few effects, lots of shirtless broadsword-swinging. Keep Jason Momona and get actors who understand what this kind of movie requires, which is cray-cray. I dunno, get Sharon Stone in Lana Turner Prodigal drag to play the villain or, even better, see if you can catch Tilda Swinton in a wacky mood and promise her some fabulous couture and maybe a lapdance from Conan.... actually, that's pretty much what La Stone will ask for. More offbeat sidekicks. Imagine the fun of casting crazy old drunken wizard -- Rutger Hauer? David Thewilis? Busey? Maybe Sharon Needles or Pandora Boxx as some sort of genderfuck tranny master thief. Get a believable female warrior like Michelle Rodriguez or Noomi Rapace or that chick who does stunts for Tarantino. Maybe find a cameo for Flea or Lucy Liu or Shaquille O'Neil in there somewhere! Sheesh!

Queen of Outer Space

It has Zsa Zsa Gabor. And crappy special effects. And ridiculous dialogue. And strangely fabulous outfits. And terrible acting. And lame monsters. And Zsa Zsa Gabor. Eric and i did some furious texting during the film, some of which i am passing on here, for his comments are too good not to share and i would never dream of stealing material from Mr. Diva.

So, here we go. These three fellows are going into space. They wanted to go to Mars, but they have to give this scientist cat in the brown pajamas a ride to the space station. Bitching and moaning ensues. Note the Star Trek logo in the right-side background. Note the 70's phones. Note the costumes hijacked from Forbidden Planet.

"But, Larry, spaceships are dangerous! What if you blew up or something?"
Hey, it's Sinatra/Welles playmate and James Ellroy fetish object Joi Lansing! Nice to see her here. But why is she wearing an evening gown made of lettuce and gloves from the "Razzle Dazzle" number of a touring company of Chicago?
Zsa Zsa Gabor and Joi Lansing actually co-starred in another film. Touch of Evil. Oh how the not particularly mighty have fallen...

So, off we go into space, with stock footage and Joi Lansing blowing kisses the whole way.
Mr. Diva: Kudos to the set decorator. That is the smoothest aluminum foil wallpaper I've ever seen.
What i want to know is why the scientist is lying down? And why is he strapped  into bed like Christopher Crawford?

So before our heroes -- and i use that word tenuously, because these guys are kinda douchey -- arrive at the space station, a cartoon line seems to attack their cartoon space station and blow up some kind of plastic model under a red lightbulb. Zoinks!
Mr. Diva: Like the space station built by dudes is a vadge and the lasers fired by the women of Planet Player are sperm?
Oh. So i wasn't the only one who immediately thought that. Good.
Mr. Diva: No. John and I said it simultaneously. Then Little Mildred shushed us.

Mr. Diva: Isn't this the one where Spock gets attacked by a flying Stilton cheese sandwich and a redshirt dies?
Why are they all carrying yoga mats?  First, if i could take one thing with me while exploring an unknown planet that would not be it. Two, these are not yoga type of guys. I bet they've never even been to Park Slope.

Ladies and gentlemen, the Mandrell Sisters!
Finally, the Venusian militia and their cool little dresses and their groovy plastic shoes and metallic leather holsters show up and arrest these assholes. I am telling you, if Alexander McQueen had ever seen this film, that would've been a collection right there. Keep that in mind as we watch further...

And so they are whisked off to the capital city of Venus. Or i assume that's what's happening while we look at this leftover Arabian Nights backdrop. If you took all of the stock footage out of this film, it'd be a good 15 minutes shorter...

The running of the estrogen gauntlet doesn't involve any vintage NYPD-style ultraviolence, but i'll settle for ogling that fab turquoise sparkle wall finish and the groovy frocks. Dig the neckline on the chick on the left.

Ah, the Queen of Outer Space. Or at least of Venus. It's nice that the Venusians are such a classless society that even their monarch isn't afraid to get down with the glitter and pipe cleaners on planetwide craft night. Perhaps Etsy is the fourth largest business on Venus. Would make sense.
Anyway, the Queen thinks the Earthlings have come to destroy her planet. They say that's not true, but she's sticking with her thesis.

Mr. Diva: TITS IN SPACE!
If Zsa Zsa Gabor is their greatest scientific mind, this planet is doomed. She sets aside her beakers of colored water  and stops fiddling around with her plant to "go see if they can be trusted." The douchebags. Are they trustworthy?
Also, i believe that Anne Francis wore the dress on the right in Forbidden Planet. I guess we know where they money they saved by not having a decent script or special effects that might fool a toddler wasn't wasted in the costume department either.

"Why don't you girls knock off all this Gestapo stuff and try to be a little friendly?"
Yep. He just said that. The condescending idot comments are only really beginning. I guess i shouldn't have been calling them douchebags until i got everyone caught up to the fact that they were.
Mr. Diva: Are you joining me in hoping these jerks wind up castrated?
I always wear intergalactic couture when i cut off balls.
Mr. Diva: And eyeliner.
Anyway, the Queen still thinks they're going to invade, so she's going to torture them until the confess to the plot that exists only in her mind. In other words, she's following the Bush/Cheney military policy. Go, go Gitmo!

  So, the scientist and the Fake Leslie Neilsen speculate on whether it was the ladies of Venus who operated that laser that took them out. Which provokes this reponse from Douchey and Dopey...
"How could a bunch of women invent a gizmo like that?"
"And even if they invented it, how could they aim it? You know how women drivers are."
Yes. They just said that. See: I told you they were douchebags! Seriously, these women blew up your space station, fucked up your rocket and have you locked up and awaiting torture and you're still talking smack about them? Okay, maybe the comfortable-if-minimalist mid-century decor of your cell seems a little soft but, still, don't push it.

And here comes Zsa Zsa in an evening gown bearing cocktails. You can tell this is a planet ruled by women because the drinks match her dress. She offers to help the douchebags escape, even as one leers at her and calls her "baby."  Seriously, i'd be all, "Go ahead, see how your chauvinist ass feels after a few hours of waterboarding."

Anyway, Zsa Zsa provides some exposition (men had a war with another planet, blah blah,vast destruction, blah blah, the Queen of Outer Space led a revolt, blah blah, men dead or in prison, blah blah, Queen of Outer Space wants to destroy the Earth now since she thinks it's a threat, blah blah) until the queen sends some minions to round up Fake Lloyd Bridges and bring him to her quarters. As Scientist says, "You know there's a certain irony in the fact that our lives and the lives of everyone on Earth may depend on Captain Fake Lex Barker's sex appeal."

Said quarters are, decorated quite stylishly in the Hollywood regency manner. Let's take a moment to appreciate before we get back to the torn scrap of cocktail napkin that constitutes a plot....

So, anyway, he comes on to her, she comes on back. Then she ups the flirtatious ante by showing off the Beta Disintegrator! Her planet-destroying machine, or at least that's what she says the big sparkly box with chicks in miniskirts wandering around it is. Apparently it destroyed the space station.

Yes, the Beta Disintegrator! is impressive indeed. You know what's even more impressive? The gold-plated flatscreen she uses to show it to Fake Guy Madison.

Also, when you have armed guards bring someone to your room, you can't complain that they came unwillingly. Anyway, blah blah, full of hate, blah blah, you need a man's love, blah blah, let me see your face -- WHOA!

... and so did I until I found Proactiv!

Anyway, yeah, radiation burns, blah blah, caused by men and their wars, blah blah, you must pay, blah blah...

She has him hauled back to the game room or wherever it is they're staying. Then two more chicks come in and bring them to the lab, where Zsa Zsa awaits...

You know, maybe pushing the "you get to wear evening gowns to work" angle would help get more little girls interested in science. Also, what the hell kind of science is she doing in there, with her leaves and sponges and colored water? Please don't tell me that the most advanced scientist on the planet of women is a cosmetologist.

So, as they make good their escape, let's review our main characters

Douchey & Horny

Bashful &  Dopey

Zsa Zsa Gabor and two motherfuckers who better not get anywhere near her goddamn key light.

So, after being chased around by armed miniskirts, the ladies and their assholes flee into a cave. No, this still did not just catch Zsa Zsa posing like she's at a Palm Springs cocktail party and Rubirosa is on the prowl: She does the whole film like this. Also, note the streaks of spray paint on the walls. That's supposed to be "gold." Because all alien planets are always made of gold or diamonds or iPhones or whatever. Also, note that the douchey-est of the douchebags is not depicted. And you're thinking, "Gee, i hope something shitty happened to him, like a zombie bit him or a spider ate him or a dragon burned him or that big angry redhead worked him over but good..."

YAY!!!

 BOO!!!

So, he lives. And learns nothing from his near-death experience. Everyone hangs out in the cave some more, despite it being the home of giant rubber attack spiders. We are treated to pillow talk between Zsa Zsa and Fake Jeff Chandler during which she points out that "I zink if a girl vants a man, she zhould tell him zo." I'm not sure if she's laying down the Venusian credo, but it sounds suspiciously like the philosophy of a woman who has been married nine times.  A woman like Zsa Zsa Gabor. And the lovebirds continue...
"You're very beautiful."
"I'm glat you noticed. It took you zuch a longk time." Ah, so i'll see you your misogynistic douchebag and raise you my narcissistc bitch. I think these crazy kids may have a future together after all.

What?  No trim for the doctor? Or are we supposed to ascertain that he'd rather they'd landed on Mars...

Anyway, the miniskirts finally catch up with them, the ladies decide to pretend they've captured the assholes are are going to turn them over to the Queen of Outer Space. It finally dawns on me the the Queen of Outer Space has been doing a big ol' scenery-chomping Norma Desmond impersonation this whole time...

Except that even i have to admit that "We had faces then!" is not quite as intimidating as "I'm going to allow myself the exquisite pleasure of watching you while I obliterate the Earth. Then you'll be executed."
 

Although breaking into hysterical, repentant sobs on your satin sheets just so you can distract the fools while you grab the firearm hidden underneath a silken pillow is very Sunset Boulevard...

But, of course, the Queen of Outer Space is overpowered and Zsa  Zsa steals her mask in order to impersonate her in order to turn off the Beta Disintegrator!  But, before that can happen, the troops still loyal to the Queen of Outer Space find her behind the small paper screen where she has been inadequately hidden... blah blah, i'm going to destroy the Earth, blah blah, you're all gonna watch, blah blah....

... but first...

... yeah, not even the ones on her own team thought that was cool.  You know what, though, upon surveying these last three images, i finally figured out what they spent the budget on. This flick has more sequins and glitter per square inch than a Liberace biopic. The costumes, the walls, the curtains, the furniture, the burn victim masks -- all encrusted with sparkle. I guess that accounts for a few hundred bucks, anyway....

Regardless, on to the Beta Disintegrator!

Work the runway, ladies. Work it! Show me fierce! I'm telling you, Marc by Marc Jacobs Spring 2013.

"One touch of a tiny red button and Earth will become a wasteland!"

  "It'll be destroyed in a matter of seconds! Watch it!"

Nope, still there.

Now we hear a funny noise and begin looking around for IT.

I think they're off today. Actually i think you sent the IT guy to that prison planet you put all of the men on. During the blah blah part.

In the meantime, the Venusians loyal to Zsa Zsa have gathered at the doorway. Apparently in the Rebel forces, you can choose your own outfit and are not restricted to the solid color minidresses of the Royalists. I mean, it still has to be a minidress (only Zsa Zsa may wear evening gowns; only the Queen may wear metallic toreador pants). Still, being able to have options like sequins or color-blocking or a scalloped hem would certainly help recruit me for the side of liberty.... Anyway, as the Queen looks frantically for a techie or a fire extinguisher, the Rebels attack the Royalists. And that means... GIRLFIGHT!

In the meantime, the Queen tries to save her machine, fails, perishes in a hail of sequins, glitter and cake-topper sparklers.

So, after all that, we return to the throne room to find that Zsa Zsa has donned the Imperial lame. (I actually really like Bashful's black minidress with hint of silver sparkle and Angry Redhead's boho draped mini. Those are wearable....) We wait eagerly for her to pronounce something like , "Ah, ze foolish, foolish men. You have helped me deestroy ze Queen and now I am Queen. Zee broken machine waz just a trick. Now, ve vill deestroy ze Earth! HA HA HA HA!" But, no, Zsa Zsa is benevolent and merciful and so, so sad that the menfolk have to return to Earth.

But then Earth calls on the skype and says the guys have another year to dawdle around while Earth sends a shuttle. Joy!

Joy also in the many new embellished neckline styles permitted by the Gabor regime.

I guess old dick is better than no dick.

And that's our film. For those of you who sense a certain chauvinism in the film, let me remind you that it was the fifties. And also perhaps the backstory is in order here. Legendary producer Walter Wanger made films such as Cleopatra, Joan of Arc and I Want to Live! He married movie star Joan Bennett (of Little Women, Scarlet Street and Father of the Bride) Bennett had an affair with agent Jennings Lang. Wanger shot Lang in the groin. After Wanger got out of prison (not a long sentence; he was a Hollywood producer after all), he could only get work with lowball outfits such as Allied Artists. Wanger brought them a story by Ben Hecht (of His Girl Friday, The Front Page and Scarface) about an all-female planet. Several years passed, Wanger and Hecht dropped off of the project to be replaced by people known more for their work with the Bowery Boys and the Three Stooges. Finally, after this convoluted history of violence, betrayal and failure, Queen of Outer Space was made!

But that's just backstory. What do you really need to know about Queen of Outer Space?  Just this...