Film Reviews

Joe Bob Briggs

Have you ever noticed that, every time they do a survey of sex in America, it always looks something like this:

Guys who have cheated on their wives at least once: 75 percent. Gals who have cheated on their husbands at least once: 20 percent.

Guys who have had sex with 10 women or more: 80 percent. Gals who have had sex with 10 men or more: 10 percent.

Are they trying to tell me all the guys are having sex with the same woman? I mean, it seems to me that, if all these guys are engaging in illicit proboscis-scarfing, there's got to be at least a buffalo herd's worth of gals who are also cranking up the old Rhumba Pumper. You might get me to believe that there was a 10 percent difference--75 percent guys, 65 percent gals. But even those numbers would require at least a battalion of good-time girls who spend all day making the Sign of the Merry Mustache with wranglers lined up like Turkish sailors in a Bangkok opium den.

I say it's LIES. The question is, Who's lying? It could be the guys. "Oh yeah, I've had soooo many women, I can't even count 'em." It could be the gals. "Oh no, just my husband and maybe two others. And I was in love with both of them. Nothing like my husband, of course."

Have you ever noticed how sometimes a woman will be married for 14 years before she'll even admit that she was technically not a virgin when she met her husband, but that was only because she was young and foolish--but if you get into the details of exactly how she was young and foolish, and who she was young and foolish with, her memory gets hazy. And what's even more remarkable is that most husbands believe this.

Or it could be that the actual researchers are lying. Because it makes people feel better to say that, well, our men are wild but our women are sweet. If the numbers came out dead even, we might have to conclude that we've just gone hog wild and little things like marriage certificates don't mean diddly squat anymore. And if the female numbers ever got to be BIGGER than the male numbers--if we found out that women cheat more, but they're better at covering it up--I'm afraid the story would just be too much for the collective cardiovascular system of this Newnited States.

That's why they cook the numbers. 'Cause nobody's wearing any pants. Nobody's even wearing any miniskirts. If you know what I mean, and I think you do.

And speaking of oversexed outer-space aliens, we have another great Jersey movie this week--Invasion for Flesh andBlood. It's the sensitive story of a 200-pound white-trash blonde with a shotgun who takes on giant lizard-head aliens who like to chomp heads and bite off the private parts of unsuspecting NewJersey lowlifes. Thanks to deadpan scientists, she gets turned into a golden metalhead cyborg. Then she teams up with a foul-mouthed, beer-guzzlin' Jersey guy and they cruise the Turnpike pasting alien hiney.

Two things about this movie. Some of the most inventive death scenes in ultra-low-budget history, with gouts of goo. And genuinely funny dialogue, thanks toWarren F. Disbrow, who wrote, directed, produced, photographed, edited, cast his dad in one of the lead parts, and dished out the lasagna during production. Warren is the kinda guy who lovingly films the alien eating a security guard head-first and slicing him in half right at the belt line. Warren has one character who claws her own eyes out but still finishes the movie.

Obviously my kinda guy.
Thirty-six dead bodies. Eight breasts. Multiple heart-ripping.
Head twisted off. Thirty-seven gallons of blood. Multiple whangdoodle-ripping. (Don't ask.) Head-eating. Neck-slashing.

Sleazeball-shotgunning. Throat-slitting. Razor blade to the nose. Machete to the head. Tree limb through the torso.

Brain-bashing. Alien autopsy.
Security-guard Benihana dinner. Alien neck-crunching. Arm-chewing. Redneck pancake. Heads roll. Arms roll.

Drive-In Academy Award nominations for:
*Warren Disbrow Sr., who fights the aliens from his secret laboratory, for saying, "Those fools actually found the egg chamber."

*Kathy Monks, as the trailer-trash vigilante who wants to "stop the slaughter that's about to happen."

*Kenneth J. Arotin, as the Jersey kid who becomes the hero, for saying, "If there's any alien head-bashing, I want in."

*And Warren F. Disbrow, the drive-in genius filmmaker.
Four stars.
Joe Bob says check it out.

Joe Bob's Find That Flick
This week's cerebellum-slammer comes from Robert Cook of Anacortes, Washington:

"It's an '80s film about a policeman's hunt for a vampire serial-killer, set in El Lay. It turns out at the end that the bloodsucker is a crazy hypnotist who just thinks he's a vampire. The villain is a tall, thin, balding, weird-looking dude who sleeps on a stone slab in his basement. (The actor might be the same person who played the serial killer in the TV movie Manhunter. They look a lot alike.)

"Two scenes I remember are: the villain lying on his slab, with the movie's (hypnotized) heroine sleeping on the floor nearby, and at the end, when the hypnotist almost gets two cops to shoot each other after he's been arrested."

A video will be awarded to the correct answer. In the event of a tie, a drawing will be held. Send "Find That Flick" questions and solutions to Joe Bob Briggs, P.O. Box 2002, Dallas, Texas 75221. You can also fax them to 213-462-5982 or e-mail them to Joe Bob on the Internet: [email protected]. (E-mail entries must include a postal mailing address.)

1997 Joe Bob Briggs (Distributed by NYT Special Features?)

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Joe Bob Briggs