BIKINI BLOODBATH CHRISTMAS (2009)
FUCKED UP FRIDAY
HH HOLIDAY HORROR CENTRAL
How do you like us now? Hopefully you have been enjoying our irreverent & hilarious tribute to the Horror films of Christmas. This very well might become an annual tradition around here.
Writing this review I found myself immersed in an underground, low budget, critically overlooked, soft-core, breast celebratory, amateurish, silly, goofy world of films that are out there for the sole purpose of looking at tits. Now,around here, we are good with that; probably part of our mantra, something we love to promulgate.
I was a little surprised to find the venerable sources of research, IMDB & Rotten Tomatoes nearly barren of data regarding this film. I was able to ferret out some images from the film, but the whole situation reminded me of similar films that caught my eye coming out of high school in 1962; & one director stood out from the rest–Russ Meyer.
Meyer was a tit-man of the first magnitude, always casting his outrageous silly soft-core movies with women who had wasp waists & abnormally large breasts.
He was, though, an excellent cameraman & photographer, shooting some of the early centerfolds for PLAYBOY. He loved to tell the story about Ernest Hemingway taking him to his first whorehouse in France during WWII. I remember that his movies were considered pornographic in the early 60’s; oh how naive & prudish & up-tight we all were, damn.
THE IMMORTAL MR. TEAS (1959) put him on the map, gave him his spotlight. For those of you too young to remember him, check out some of his flicks, like THE NAKED CAMERA (1961), WILD GALS OF THE NAKED WEST (1962), MUDHONEY (1965), FASTER, PUSSYCAT! KILL! KILL! (1965), VIXEN (1968), & BEYOND THE VALLEY OF THE DOLLS (1970).
Russ Meyer said, “There is a thin edge separating evil & humor.”
But, of course, I digress; this is a fucking review of BIKINI BLOODBATH CHRISTMAS, not a discourse on tittie-films, or the history of them, & how that has influenced Horror films from forever. HAMMER studios in England proved that clearly with their incredible re-makes of all the classic horror films of the past, adding tits to the mix.
Speaking of TITS, have any of you ever considered how many synonyms there are for them? Well, I have. This is the kind of thing that keeps me up at night. Following is a well thought out partial list of terms used by many of us to describe women’s glorious breasts. Feel free to add to it if you like, or can.
Abbott & Costello, airbags, all day suckers.
B1 & B2, babaloos, baby feeders, badoinkees, balloons, baloobas, baps,
bazookas, bazooms, bazoomas, bazoombas, bee stings, bappers, Ben & Jerry, Bert & Ernie, Berthas, bijongas, billbongs, blinkers, Bob & Ray, bombs, Bonnie & Clyde, boobs, boobies, boobles, boobsters, boops, bosoms, buxom buddies, boobsters, bottles, boulders, Brad Pitts, bristols, bumpers.
Cans, cantaloupes, cha-chas, chee-chees, chesticles, chubbies, chubbawumbas,
coconuts, cupcakes, cushions, chest sugar.
Dairy pillows, Danny de Vitos, David & Goliath, devil’s dumplings, dinglebobbers,
dingleboobs, dugs, delicious dumplings, Durantes, dick pillows.
Eartha Kitts, Eisenhowers.
Flapdoodles, Fred & Ethel, fried eggs, funbags, face friends, face warmers.
Gazongas, God’s milk bottles, Godzillas, gorgeous gobs, George & Gracie,
the girls, gobstoppers, Goodyears, goombas, grillwork, globes, gloobs.
Headlamps, headlights, high beams, Holmes & Watson, honkers, hooters,
hood ornaments, hubcaps, hummers, hillocks, hi-lights.
Issac Newtons, insulated head rests.
Jahoobies, jouncers, John & Paul, jugs, jimmies, juicers.
Kagemushas, kawangas, knockers, kowaboobers, kowabongas.
Lewinskis, Lilo & Stich, lip glossers, lip-lockers.
Magambos, Mahatmas, mammeries, mau-maus, melons, Mickey & Minnie, Mike & Ike, milk bombs, milkers, milk jugs, milk wagons, milkmakers., milkshakes, mobutus, mo-betters, mounds, muffins, Mulligans, Murphys, Mommy yum-yums.
Nay-nays, naughty nubbs, nubs, neeners, nibbs, nibblers, ninniesk, norks, num-nums.
Pair, palookas, Pia Zadoras, pillows, puppies, pushmatahas.
Rack, rib bumpers, rib grill, rivets, rotors.
Shabba-dos, Shlobes, shmozobs, sisters, snow tires, soombas, speed bumps, splazoingas, squatchies, squeezers,
ta-tas, tee-tees, Thelma & Louise, tishies, tishomingos, tits, titties, torpedoes,Tweeledee & Tweedledum, tweeters, tweekers.
Udders, underwire sisters.
Volvos, volksbumps, va-voomers.
Wah-wahs, whimwhams, windshield wipers, Wilsons, wonderbags Winnebagos, whiplashers, wopboppers, wopaboobs, wopbopaloobas, wop-boobaloos, wopbopaloobops.
Yahoos, yazoos, yiminey crickets, yum-yums, ying-yangs.
But seriously though, this review is all about titties. The fact that a couple of crazy underground dude directors made some BIKINI movies, & I am attempting to review one does not alter the fact the images from the film are almost indistinguishable from the BABE GALLERY, just tits, tits, & more fucking tits; just saying.
This movie sprouts up third in a proud lexicon of films done by the terrific team of Jonathan Gorman & Thomas Edward Seymour, who have presented us with BIKINI BLOODBATH (2006), BIKINI BLOODBATH CAR WASH (2008), BIKINI BLOODBATH CHRISTMAS (2009), & BIKINI BLOODBATH SHAKESPEARE (2013).
BIKINI BLOODBATH CHRISTMAS runs 71 minutes, & more than 15 minutes of it are out takes from the two previous films to provide cushion or padding. It was filmed in New Haven, Connecticut. There is no trivia, dialogue, budget, or profanity/nudity data available–primarily because it probably had a budget smaller than the cost of sports car, & the critics just felt it was beneath their fucking dignity to review something of this shoddy caliber–not that is worse than hundreds of other Titty-films out there, but this review, yes this very damn confab of sentences & opinions will constitute the most critical coverage this movie ever received; just imagine the fucking irony of that. In some sense or other, this movie is a virginal cherry bitch, & it becomes my job to deflower it.
Taglines: Awfully good.
Jenny & Sharon get stalked again by the Killer Chef–but this time it’s Christmas!
Loaded with lots of topless girls to fill your stocking!
Thomas Edward Seymour seems to be the main Dude in this directorial duo. He is considered on of the top 20 Contemporary Underground Filmmakers in the United States; no shit. Besides the BIKINI quartet of films he has directed 10 films, including LONDON BETTY (2009), THRILL KILL JACK IN HALE MANOR (2000), & MARK OF THE BEAST (2013).
Jonathan Gorman is more an actor, producer type it seems; not that he is only a hanger-on for the four BIKINI movies & MARK OF THE BEAST, but his credits are slim beyond that–the fucking Coen Brothers of Titville these guys aren’t. In the opening trailer for this movie, a stupid trailer, with flashing tits, several hairy butts, & prop turds with candy corn in them, had the banner: From the makers of BIKINI BLOODBATH, BIKINI BLOODBATH CAR WASH–the stupidest fucking trilogy ever filmed! Then under the Director credit, it said WHO THE FUCK CARES?
IMDb did not list any cinematographer, so at first I assumed the director(s) functioned uncredited in that role, but after more investigation I found out that Mike Anderson & Todd Reynolds were credited with it. Reynolds also edited the film.
The musical score is credited to Glen Gabriel, who seems to be a legitimate composer & writer, except in some of the data, he is listed as “Glen Gabriel Janson–which then might be the equivalent of seeing John Wayne Gacey’s name in the credits of BACK IN THE SADDLE. On line Gabriel’s Bio states, “His music sounds like Hans Zimmer, John Williams, James Newton Howard, & Danny Elfman.” Christ, whose music doesn’t?
In addition there were some songs done by WHITE LIGER, an almost unknown struggling rock band; though I must say that the actual non-rock music for this piece of trash was probably the best thing in it.
BIKINI BLOODBATH BABE GALLERY:
Debbie Rochon played Ms. Johnson.
A veteran of the two previous BIKINI movies.
Rachael Robbins was Jenny;
the obligatory big-titted blond for this opus.
Nikki Notrarile was Sharon.
Monica Dupree has the Russ Meyer Monster tits,
& she played Dungaree.
Sarah Dauber was Sapphire.
Dana Fey Ensalata played CrabCakes.
As mentioned, there is no actual plot, just a series of stuck together episodes, many of them making no sense, or obvious out takes from the first two BIKINI films. It opens with the punk rock band that no one has ever heard of, WHITE LIGER, blasting some inane schreechy-assed noise while we watch five minutes of out takes, bitches undressing & putting on bikinis, many of which are not actually cast in this movie, bitches in a shared shower room scrubbing their ta-ta’s, bitches screaming, bitches being stabbed & cleavered (poor effects for sure), bitches shoving their tits &/or nipples directly onto, into the camera lens, with several tit-munching fake muff-diving scenes of Lesbonics thrown in. Truthfully, I do not know if this tramp-stamped tuna show ever screened in a real, legitimate theater; if it was decade ago it would have been at a drive-in perhaps.
The opening credits are one of the best things in the film, as a butcher is cutting up steaks, livers, & roasts in Macro-close ups, getting real blood all over his hands, then he wraps packages of meat, & the tape labels hold the Credits; cool shots of bloody wrapping paper, & bloody fingerprints all over it.
What is regarded as the first scene is a CU of a store called THE SNOT-TRACKER, a head shop loaded with bongs, dildos, & old stacks of used mags like JUGS, HOT BITCHES, & SNATCH BITERS.
Cut to some Saturday Morning Fever disco rip-off a we see four young women heading to work at the store; lots of extra time for them to sway their hips, shake their booties, & bounce their boobies.
Cut to them arriving at work, & we meet the boss/manager, Mrs. Johnson; not to be confused with Ms. Johnson, her younger sister who owns the store, now in a coma for over a year after tangling with Chef Death at end of BIKINI BLOODBATH CAR WASH. She is played as an overweight drag queen by actor Dick Boland. Prior to that scene we are introduced to her wearing a training bra & wig in bed, waking from the flashbacks used in the out takes. He/she uses a heavy British accent, which is not too bad actually, like listening to Helen Mirren saying words like, cow, cunt, shit, fuck, tits, penis, blowjob, cornholers, child molesters, etc.
She send the girls to the back room to change into their bikinis, giving us another chance to enjoy a tit feast.
The tits cover the breast spectrum from double G cups on Monique Dupree, to big jugs on Rachel Robbins, to nice tits on a couple more, down to bee stings & fried eggs on a couple more.
Cut to a scene where they all line up for their pep talk, joined by the dude playing their Santa; Rameriz. Mrs. Johnson curses at them non-stop, calling them stupid cunts & warty whores, telling them that this is the Christmas season, & by God they need to shake their tits & asses & sell some fucking Merk. “If you have to suck dick to make a sale, go for it, bitches.
He mercilessly picks on Sharon, hot perky brunette; calling her a pregnant cow cunt, that she needs to get the poundage under control; which turns into a running gag since Sharon is in perfect sexy shape, & the drag queen looks like a truck driver in a mini-skirt & dollar store wig; like Divine dressed from Goodwill.
Cut to dressing room s Chef Death attacks Dungaree,
slashing her neck; a waste of big tits, I say!
Cut to the manager of the Deli across the street, Geena Davis, waking up after an erotic dream where he is getting a blow job from Jesus, who looks up at the camera with cream cheese on his lips; I know it was cream cheese because dick cheese is never than white. Jesus is played by Jon Gorman, one of the directors. Davis is horrified by his ecclesiastical erotic imagination, crossing himself as he gets ready for work.
Cut to the Deli, where Geena, wearing a huge silver cross, dressed all in black like a lay minister, has his four bikini girls lined up, with his black bearded tattooed Santa, telling them that Jesus hates whores, but they need to use their womanly wiles to sell hot pastrami, & stale tongue sandwiches.
They go to the back where their changing rooms are, & all undress, & get into their bikinis. Most of them are super skinny horse-faced flat chested skanks that would not sprout wood on a 15 year old, but the hottest bitch calls herself Willem Dafoe, & she speaks in the most God-awful French accent you could imagine.
Cut to the Head Shop where we hear canned music over miming scenes where the bikini girls are selling drug & porno paraphernalia; doing a lot of cleavage shots & up-shirt pantie shots; WTF are they doing wearing short skirts over their bikini bottoms for; oh, yes, for the bend over shots.
Enter the Deli skanks calling for a tit-off, or a Santa fight match, or even better yet, did the head shop bitches have the balls to meet them at the cemetery where Chef Death was buried at midnight. They accept the cemetery challenge.
Cut to the exterior of a HOSPITAL, to a room where Mrs. Johnson is crying the fucking blues to her comatose sister, complaining about the bikini staff–with them in the room.
Cut to the office of Dr. O’Masterblaster, played by Troma veteran, Lloyd Kaufman, & as he walks toward the room where Ms. Johnson is staying, the camera dollies backward for 4 minutes, an eternity of him smirking & WHITE LIGER lyrics blasting on the soundtrack–talk about piss-poor editing, & crass padding; shit.
The Doctor, with a Yiddish flair, does a burlesque gig, where he grabs Ms. Johnson’s tits to check her temperature, then grabs Jenny’s big jugs, & finally the falsies on Dick Boland before pronouncing the temp is normal.
Cut to Jenny & the head shop girls heading to the cemetery dance fight, walking in afternoon light, pretending it is night; with Jenny, one of the only survivors from CAR WASH mayhem talks about how blood thirsty Chef Death was, with out take flashbacks of his kills.
They arrive on a very cheesy set with styrofoam tombstones, & picket fence Popsicle stick crosses all around. The word CEMETERY flashes on the scene; which gave me a chuckle. Jenny on a dare walks up to Chef Death’s tombstone, & places her hand on it. Immediately the Chef stands up from behind it, & meat cleavers one of the Deli skanks. The rest all start screaming & run away. I guess Chef Death was somehow brought back to life with the mere touch of Jenny’s hand; makes me wonder what kind of pud-pulling that hand has been up to.
Cut to the next morning, as the head shop girls set up their Santa in his recliner, surrounded by them, while the Deli girls set up their druggie black bearded tattooed Santa on a folding chair. The girls call each other fucking sluts & anal riders, until one of them announces the the Great Santa Fight.
They whip off their shirts, stick out their fat guts & lock in mock combat in the middle of the sidewalk, wrestling, grunting, groaning, while the bikini girls jump up & down shaking their tits, clapping, & screaming “kill that mother fucker, Nick!”
Finally the fight ends in a kiddy wading pool, with the Head Shop Santa, Rameriz, the big winner. Ms. Johnson is elated, reminding everyone to come to her house that night for the office Christmas party. Enter two salesmen selling KRULL products; one of them is a Cyclops, the other is wearing a cheap ratty mullet wig; played by the other director, Thom Seymour; getting a lot of screen time with a nothing character.
Cut to the Deli druggie Santa at a sink in a filthy bathroom. Chef Death sneaks up behind him, & stabs the shit out of him, disemboweling him. (the F/X effects are sub-standard unimaginative bits that most junior high film makers could have improved on).
Cut to Rameriz, the head shop Santa in another filthy bathroom, in front of another mirror, being strangled by Chef Death with a string of Christmas bulbs; which was a neat trick since actor Matt Ford played both Chef Death Rameriz. It is hard to recall exactly, but I think a couple of the girls, one from each store, is killed by the Chef by now. The kills are jump cut edited, with no real gore being seen, except as cheesy bratwurst & ketchup after shots.
Cut to the Office Christmas party. Ms. Johnson is sitting on the couch, with her bare feet soaking in a kiddy pool. She offers others some egg nog, which she dips out of the pool around her ankles; gag. Jenny is making some kind of pink pussy drinks with a mixer, using Long Dick Vodka & grapefruit juice.
Cut to Geena Davis heading to the party with Willem Dafoe & a couple of the other bikini skanks. They talk for several minutes about how they want to get drunk on egg nog, & get laid, “Yeah, we want to swill some fucking nog, & get fucking laid!”
When they arrive at the party, Willem Dafoe, a lesbo-bitch of the first magnitude, takes Jenny into the bedroom, where they flirt, get undressed, put on their bikinis, & head outside to a hot tub; that never has steam rising off its tepid looking water.
Geena has brought a tray of shit sandwiches, which grosses out everyone but Sharon who munches on one, since, after all who turns down free sandwiches, right?
Cut to Chef Death, now dressed as Santa Claus, heading toward the party carrying a bloody hammer. Who the fuck told him where it was?
Cut to several of the girls playing strip poker. Ms. Johnson, & the egg nog kiddy pool are just MIA; left out. The girls giggle & strip to their panties & bras, but no tittie-shots; WTF kind of rip-off lack of story-boarding is that? It was a perfect time for all them to flash their bazoomas.
Geena Davis sits on the love seat, next to Sapphire, cutting killer farts. Several of the girls move away, fanning their noses. Then there is this scene where Sapphire is sitting a the dining room table with Ms. Johnson. They stare into space as the girl plays with her hair. They do not move or say anything for several indeterminable minutes. Stupid, funny only if you are shit-faced. Suddenly the drag queen tosses his egg nog on her; now that’s funny. She announces that she is now going to have to take a shower.
Cut back to the hot tub, where Willem & Jenny still have their tops on; what’s up with that? Geena Davis joins them, taking off his clothes, flashing his male genitalia as he crawls into the tub; God save me from flaccid dick shots, damn.
He talks about Jesus as he is farting under the water; large green fart bubbles are rising to the top. Geena splits, & Jenny says she needs to go pee. Just pee in the hot tub, it’s fun. I’ve been doing it; shitting too–& with that he holds up a mock turd made from peanut butter & brownie mix.
Cut to Sapphire in the upstairs bathroom. She takes her top off, & unsnaps her bra, showing off perky big nippled nub-nubs,
but then puts on a fresh T-shirt, does not take a shower, & instead sits on the toilet to take a shit.
We hear her asshole snorting, then are treated to an inside the bowl shot as a huge turd drops, followed by cascades of piss; high caliber humor. Suddenly Chef Death appears, stabbing her in the stomach, & cutting her throat with a butcher knife.
Cut to Geena now having to shit in the worst way, as he heads upstairs for a crap festival. He sees Sapphire dead on the toilet, but has to rush down stairs to the second bathroom. But once there he sees some bitch has clogged the toilet with a bloody tampex. So he opens the window drops trow, & hangs his ass out the window. We hear his buck butt snorts & then are treated to a close-up of his hairy ass, with runny black stools cascading from the blow hole.
Then, of course, Chef Death shows up, ramming a claw hammer into his sphincter, & tearing out his lower intestine. Cut to two of the Deli skanks in one of the bedrooms, being attacked by Chef Death, using a meat cleaver & butcher knife on them, before covering the with a blanket.
Still in their bikinis, Willem & Jenny go into the bedroom, get into bed together, not noticing the corpses under the covers. The other head shop girls come in, & inquire about the “extra pairs of feet” sticking out of the blanket; pulling back the covers & discovering the bloody dead chicks. Willem, Sharon, Jenny, & Ms. Johnson run off screaming, finding Sapphire & Geena dead, one on each toilet.
They rush downstairs, open the front door, & Chef Death kills Willem, then Sharon, as Jenny & Ms. Johnson run outside.
The drag queen trips & falls & Chef Death is on her, straddling her, holding up a bloody hammer; but then he pulls off his black charred mask, & reveals that it is really Ms. Johnson, who was never in coma, & had been pretending to be the Chef of Death for the whole movie. The drag queen screams that she really has a tiny dick which has ruined her life, the hammer comes down on his/her face, & I guess Jenny gets away again–the fucking End.
Roll the end credits.
ROTTEN TOMATOES lists the film, but they recorded that ZERO critics reviewed it, & ZERO audiences gave feedback approval on it, plus there were ZERO images included from the movie–& fucking yet, they did state that of the potential audience that was contacted, 100% of them stated they “wanted to go see it immediately” So WTF is the rest of the story?
Zilch feedback on IMDb, although it did use 71 viewers to come up with a 5.5 star rating.
On AMAZON, one lone viewer wrote, “I think I had a mental breakdown while watching this piece of crap.”
Another viewer wrote, “This more of a comedy than a horror film anyway, & I think it was pretty damn funny too, despite its flaws & abrupt ending.”
Holy Christ on a crutch, what the hell can one say? As a film, it had to be the absolute worst piece of dog shit I have ever sat through; made for a couple grand by assholes who could barely use cameras, who could not write a coherent screenplay, who cast simply insisting, Show me your fucking tits.
And yet, as a comedic spoof, a black humored tit-show, it had its moments. I could just imagine the casting calls, & script conferences; Let’s show a claw hammer tearing out a guy’s ass hole, put in turds, say fuck every fourth word, & use any excuse to show some tits.”
But then I remembered that some of the HH criteria were “best seen very drunk” or “not enough booze in the world”. It is a drunk-on-your-ass to be appreciated kind of film, a be in the mood for some really outrageous stupid shit kind of a movie.
My favorite line:
Mrs. Johnson: Tell it to God while you’re sucking his dick.
Geena Davis: I wouldn’t be able to, my mouth would be too full.
Considering that, & not wanting to come off as a stuck up esthetic prick, or a prudish movie purist, & after carefully weighing all of the HH factor within our movie reviews, I rate it twice. As a film, I would have to rate it as a –2.00 on our HH scale of ten stars, but as an outrageous piece of “horror comedic entertainment”, only to be seen high or shit-faced, I have to rate it as 4.5 stars; a kind of a TEAM AMERICA without the puppet sex scenes.
Categories: Boobs, Christmas Horror, cult horror, Drinking Game, Event Coverage, Fucked up Fridays, HH Events, Horror on Screen, If you're already drunk, Indie horror, Low Budget, sober or otherwise, There isn't enough liquor in the world, titties, Torture porn, We're gonna need a bigger bottle, Worth watching drunk