CHEECH & CHONG'S LAST MOVIE (2025)

I grew up a fan of the stoner comedy albums of Cheech & Chong, years before I ever inhaled of the sacred sweetleaf, enjoying their work because it was basically old school-style radio comedy for the then-modern era. The success of the humor had nothing to do with having experienced being stoned. It was simply about the misadventures of two hapless stoners and other characters in their daily lives, so it was highly relatable. Their movies, which is where they made their real money, were a mixed bag, with, in my opinion, only UP IN SMOKE and CHEECH & CHONG'S NEXT MOVIE being legitimate classics, and NICE DREAMS and THINGS ARE TOUGH ALL OVER being entertaining enough, if not particularly inspired. Which brings us to CHEECH & CHONG'S LAST MOVIE. 

 Man (Tommy Chong) and Pedro DePacas (Cheech Marin) during their 1970's heyday.

The film is a bit of a misnomer, in that it isn't a narrative comedy, and is instead a bittersweet career memoir framed within an aimless road trip by Cheech & Chong as their old man selves. Those of us who are fans and who have researched their history will be aware of the behind the scenes details, but it serves as a solid history lesson for newcomers. Cheech & Chong's comedy was very much of its post-hippie era and might not translate well to today's sensibilities, but back then they were HUGE, literally the comedy equivalent of rock superstars.

                                                  The '70's comedy legends in the 21st century.

CHEECH & CHONG'S LAST MOVIE is recommended for comedy historians and fans who want to see our heroes one final times before the inevitable meet the reaper, a time that's sadly growing ever closer.

31 DAYS OF HORROR 2018-Day 12: GOING TO PIECES: The Rise and Fall of the Slasher Film (2006)

Those of us who came of age in the 1980's can tell you all about the era's generation-defining explosion of slasher films, but there's a lot of ground to cover and it's sometimes difficult to get across  to today's younger horror fans just how impactful the craze was on American culture and world cinema. This documentary takes a very good stab (pun intended) at providing a comprehensive history and overview of the fascination with graphic violence as an entertainment form, going back as far as France's live Le Théâtre du Grand-Guignol stage productions staring at the end of the 19th century, and rightfully citing PEEPING TOM and PSYCHO, both released in 1960, as the progenitors of the cinematic slasher genre. It then skips ahead to the impact of HALLOWEEN in 1978, which inspired the making of the surprise hit that was FRIDAY THE 13th (1980), the film whose success was what truly opened the bloody floodgates of the slasher genre as we came to know it.

Featuring commentary and observances by filmmakers and cast members of the iconic films from the genre, the documentary does as much as it can to examine slasher movies both as populist entertainment and suss out exactly why they were so big during their heyday. It traces the deluge that began with FRIDAY THE 13th, calls bullshit on the parental watchdog controversy over SILENT NIGHT, DEADLY NIGHT (1984), marks the end of the first wave with the release of FRIDAY THE 13th: THE FINAL CHAPTER (1984) and the start of the second wave with A NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET (1985), notes the decline and dormancy leading into the 1990's and the rekindling of the general public's interest in horror with the mainstream acclaim and success of THE SILENCE OF THE LAMBS (1991) before the rebirth of the genre proper with the knowing and comedic meta-commentary of SCREAM (1996). So, what we have here is an attempt to dissect a genre that contains  seemingly hundreds of films spanning a nearly three-decade period, and for the most part it does the job quite nicely, but due to the sheer volume of content, it at times reads as a Crib Notes version of what could easily fill out a whole semester in a college film studies course. Even so, it's a fun trip down Memory lane for those of us who were there, and it's definitely recommended as a good starting point/primer for curious newcomers. 

JODOROWSKY'S DUNE (2013)

If it plays at a schmancy art theater anywhere near you, run, don't walk, to see JODOROWSKY'S DUNE, a documentary on the ultra-psychedelic director's abortive attempt to get his vision of Frank Herbert's science-fiction classic to the screen, with collaborators Moebius, Chris Foss, Dan O'Bannon, Salvador Dali, Pink Floyd, Magma, and H.R. Giger. I'm a huge fan of his movies — especially THE HOLY MOUNTAIN and SANTA SANGRE — but the documentary was not at all what I expected, because it is hands down the funniest account of the making of a film that I have ever seen. First of all, Jodorwsky hadn't even bothered to read the book when he launched the project, and at one point he describes his process as "raping Frank Herbert...but with love." A compelling look at what happens when an ambitious artist seeks to craft a project that will utterly change the horizons of film while granting its audience some form of enlightenment through a movie that sought to emulate the effects of an LSD trip without actual hallucinogens, viewers will find themselves rooting for the director's utterly bonkers plan, though it's obvious that no Hollywood studio in 1975 would have funded a 20-hour (!!!) film that would obviously cause a tidal wave of hemorrhaging cash. I could say more — a LOT more — but this documentary is best seen with as little foreknowledge of its content as possible. It's complete madness, thoroughly entertaining, fucking hilarious, and it gets my HIGHEST RECOMMENDATION.

ANNIE SPRINKLE'S HERSTORY OF PORN: REEL TO REAL (1999)

WARNING!!! If the frank discussion of some of the grottier elements that can be found in porno offends you or grosses you out, you are strongly advised to give this entry a miss. And bear in mind that this warning is coming from me, so take that for what it's worth.

"Pornography is the mirror in which we can see our reflections. The same image may appear beautiful one day, and ugly the next, be liberating one year, and offensive later. How wonderful to have the opportunity to take a look. To learn and, perchance, to dream. Making porn is a lot harder than you might think. I've never even come close to capturing the magnificence of my best sexual experiences. One thing is for sure: in just twenty-five years, we have come a long way. The answer to really bad porn is not no porn, but to try to make better porn. No matter where we stand, pornography reflects us all."-Annie Sprinkle

Annie Sprinkle: benevolent goddess of sexual/pornographic honesty.

As is probably apparent to my regular readers, I am unashamedly fascinated by pornography, not merely as a means to a solo orgasmic end, but mostly as an earthy, fleshly reflection of who and what we are as sexual human animals. And while I have been known to enjoy such material for its most obvious intended use from time to time, I’m always interested in learning about the history of the medium, a form that goes back as far as the moment when the first cave-person fashioned a curvy goddess statue from crude earth or put pigment to cave wall to depict primitive images of copulation.

So anyway, about a week back I stopped by a kiosk in Manhattan's Union Square where a couple of guys sell assorted "gray market" DVDs, and the more erudite of the two, remembering my interest in documentaries on the history of porn, offered me what he believed to be an overview of American tenderloin cinema as hosted/narrated by veteran porn star Annie Sprinkle. I accepted the disc, ANNIE SPRINKLE'S HERSTORY OF PORN, and took it home, allowing it to sit atop a "to be watched" stack for a few days before I threw it into my player for a late-night screening. (And it really was a screening and not a moment of "relaxing the gentleman's way;" I was on the phone with my equally-insomniac friend, Daisy, as I watched the first half of it, so there was no five-knuckle shuffling going on.)

Our humble raconteur and documentary subject, Annie Sprinkle (née Ellen Steinberg).

For those of you out there who have no idea who Annie Sprinkle is, she's a notorious bisexual porn star/prostitute/stripper/performance artist who was born Ellen Steinberg in Philadelphia and has re-invented herself several times throughout her career, now enriching the world with performance pieces and other works that disseminate perhaps the most sex-positive vibes in American society's hypocritically puritanical sexual landscape. For what it's worth, I really like Annie's sweet and adorable persona and the joy and utterly shameless happiness in sex that she merrily espouses like some kind of bubbly and lewd Yoda with big ol' titties, so I was totally down with her acting as a guide through the history of American porno's golden age.

Such a journey, however, was not what I got when I started watching ANNIE SPRINKLE'S HERSTORY OF PORN. It instead turned out to be a very thorough and hearftelt video autobiography/career retrospective beginning with Annie's time in assorted porn that began as conventional beast-with-two-backs reels and going up through her then-current role as a DIY sex-educator/sexual shamaness-goddess, and I could have dealt with that just fine if it had not been comprehensive enough to include footage from some of Sprinkle's more, er, "specialized" efforts. To be fair, Sprinkle herself does warn the viewer that if there's anything onscreen that they may not want to see, they can simply "cover your eyes and it'll pass, and please try to keep an open mind until the very, very end," and it's advice I wish I'd heeded in more than one instance. You see, Sprinkle's work in straight porno was already rather raunchy even by the somewhat nebulously-defined standards of the genre, and some of it could be considered "nasty" in terms of her very game willingness to do just about anything on camera, but as of the late-1970's she adventurously veered waaaaay into fetish stuff that Sprinkle claimed led to most mainstream porno directors no longer hiring her because she'd gained a rep as being "too kinky." Featured during the fetish overview are segments including the following:

• Sprinkle's signature golden shower antics
• dwarf-fucking (the guy in that equation, Luis De Jesus, played the vile Ralphus in the "classic" grindhouse gore opus BLOOD-SUCKING FREAKS)
• Annie shoving a toothbrush into the orifices not found on her head (don't worry, it wasn't the brushy end)
• Annie getting seriously rodgered with a hefty kielbasa
• heavy-duty bondage and rape-fantasy stuff
• Annie getting fisted (stumped?) by an amputee
• close-up removal of swamped, bloody feminine hygiene products
• Annie being graphically fisted herself and then graphically fisting some splayed-out skinny guy with her mitt lodged up him well past her wrist, after which she introduced his sundered butthole to an enormous dildo at least two feet in length and about as wide around as a can of Chock Full O' Nuts coffee
• an absolutely revolting "rainbow shower" segment in which our girl pukes all over some scruffy meth-addict-looking dude, barfing into his open mouth and jerking him off with fresh hurl as a lubricant (Sprinkle somewhat defuses that last bit by stating that they actually used canned soup, which is apparent when one goes back and really examines the footage, but nonetheless yecch...)

Maybe I'm just too "vanilla" but none of the stuff on that list strikes me as erotic in any way, which is not to say I wouldn't have watched it for its curiosity value if I had been truly forewarned. And, to tell the truth, I had already seen examples of all of that kind of stuff since I hit college, so none of it was new to me. (Though I had avoided the menstrually-related material; I'm not squeamed-out by period stuff thanks to the realities encountered when involved with girlfriends and also due to most of my friends being female and very candid about their "lady business" — there is nothing in that department that I have not heard about firsthand and in medically-graphic detail — but I don't find such stuff appealing as my porn fodder of choice.)

Anyway, following that overwhelming fetish-pummeling, Sprinkle's focus mercifully shifts to 1982's DEEP INSIDE ANNIE SPRINKLE, which she claims was the first porno film conceived from a woman's point of view, and from which she moved into crafting a more female-centric pornographic experience. Then, as the 1980's got going and the era of "new age" healing and philosophy dawned (which, if you ask me, was little more than a re-discovery of the Eastern stuff the '60's counter-culture dabbled in, only now seasoned with dashes of neo-paganism), Sprinkle hooked up with a Tantric adept who guided her into her first deeply spiritual experience with sex and sexuality. She emerged from her time with him a woman energized and transformed, who sought to share her epiphany with all whose hearts and minds were open to it, as well as seeking to educate the people on safer sex so awareness would be raised and the very act of loving would not continue to be a sensually-disguised Grim Reaper in the age of AIDS. That era in Sprinkle's development can be seen as akin to a narrative in which the protagonist, having undergone the assorted tests that would forge them into a hero that rang true to Campbell's theories on "the heroic journey," comes back to the world they left behind in search of adventure and learning imparted through said trials, returning with a beatific sense of wisdom and self. Some would find such espousing of these sentiments to be just so much self-serving hippy-dippy bullshit but I definitely get where Sprinkle's coming from when she discusses it, and my buying into what she has to say on the subject goes back as far as when I read her excellent and highly recommended book, POST-PORN MODERNIST (1991).

From there, Sprinkle expanded her horizons by identifying as a lesbian and becoming an artist who appeared in pornographic "art" films and performance art pieces, such as the now-infamous "Public Cervix Announcement," in which she would appear seated onstage, sans undergarments, schlamp a speculum up herself and let intrigued audience members check out her cervix, up close and personal (which is unfortunately not covered in this documentary). She then addresses the fact that she's getting older (she was forty-four at the time) and approaches that aspect of life as another avenue for exploration and the gaining of wisdom and self-understanding. There's even a "how to make a porno" fantasy sequence in which Sprinkle appears as an aging mermaid who initiates a younger mermaid into the pleasures of the flesh and eventually dies, but not before happily passing the torch on to the younger generation, secure in the knowledge that those who succeed her will only expand upon what she has imparted. Though kind of goofily presented, that coda was actually quite beautiful and filled with more genuine meaning than anything found in any three-thousand garden variety porno flicks that one could provide as counter-examples.

This career retrospective/gentle manifesto could not possibly be more sexually explicit if it tried, and some of its content will most likely be objectionable to some members of the audience, but I, for one, greatly appreciate and admire the efforts of this porn icon who used her position as a "sacred whore" of the media to enlighten and inform. What some would condemn as a sordid career path can be seen here by the open-minded as a celebration and exploration of the limits – or rather the non-limits — of human sexuality and the positive power of self-reinvention, and if anyone is going to be a guide through those waters, I'm glad it was Annie Sprinkle (with the genuinely brilliant and far less kinky Nina Hartley coming in second). Armed with a cheery, sunshiney sense of humor and an air of earthy, womanly sweetness, I can't help but find her utterly appealing and quite adorable, and in every way the welcome antithesis to the faceless, emotionless replicants who infest the porn landscape and render it so largely joyless. If only there were more individuals with her warmth involved, maybe the porn industry would not be as reviled of an entity as it unfortunately is.

THE BEST OF SEX AND VIOLENCE (1982)

I love how the guy representing "Violence" resembles a post-apocalyptic Tommy Chong.

Back in the days of my misspent youth I had a friend named Kenny who was the one kid I could always count on for tales of outrageous movies that he'd somehow stumbled across in whitebread Westport, CT. in the pre-VHS days (some of the moneyed families we knew had such luxury items, but the likes of Kenny and myself didn't get properly hooked up in that department until around 1984). The most memorable film he ever described was a little charmer entitled OLD MacDONALD'S FARM, a rather eye-opening selection from his dad's incorrectly-presumed-hidden library of 8mm hardcore pornography that was Kenny's first exposure to the magical world of grainy bestiality, and when Kenny recounted its grimy highlights all the kids in our junior high art class paid rapt attention and sat there in sheer shock. Our mutual pal Matt backed up Kenny's claims and since everyone knew Matt was a source to be trusted we bought Kenny's impromptu film review and from then on gave ear whenever he'd say, "I saw the most fucked-up movie the other day..."

At some point during our high school years Kenny mentioned some movie he'd seen at the local combination art house/grindhouse movie theater, Norwalk's Sono Cinema, and though he could not recall its title I was intrigued by his recounting of it. The nameless film in question was apparently a collection of "coming attractions for movies that never come," hosted by a nearly dead and visibly-crippled-by-arthritis John Carradine (a very respected character actor from the golden age of Hollywood, for all you young 'uns what don't know), and packed to the rafters with an avalanche of unforgettable trailer come-on copy of the kind they simply can't replicate nowadays. I'd heard of a handful of the films Kenny described as being represented, but the majority of them made me scratch my head and wonder if he was making up most of them (Matt had by this time moved a few towns away and was no longer on hand to verify Kenny's cinematic education). Since Kenny couldn't remember the film's title and none of my friends who worked at the Sono were there for the one-shot midnight show when it ran I had no verification if this alleged cornucopia of sleaze even existed, so for once I wrote it off as Kenny bullshitting me for the sake of spinning an entertaining story and soon forgot all about it.

Then came college and a few years of drunk and utterly stoned VHS movie-watching, and at some point during that time a fellow sleaze film junkie, a freshman who would later go on to be known as "Selwyn Harris" (one of the undisputed experts on the grindhouse pleasures of the Deuce in its heyday), invited me to watch a tape of trailers provided by his roommate. The tape was entitled THE BEST OF SEX AND VIOLENCE and as I watched it it seemed familiar, miraculously battering through my damaged brain cells to get to the memory of Kenny's yarn from five years prior. When I realized what I was watching I let out a scream of recognition and explained the Kenny connection to my fellow viewers, both of whom where shocked that it had actually received a theatrical run. As soon as possible I obtained a copy for myself and over the next several years dragged any who were willing to sit through it into its squalid depths, eventually yielding a fiercely loyal audience among my friends who were still in Westport as we made the transition from college to the world of grownup life and responsibilities.

THE BEST OF SEX AND VIOLENCE is by no means a particularly good trailer compilation but it is indeed entertaining, and for every dreary coming attraction like THE WORKING GIRLS or THE MANHANDLERS, there's a FAIRY TALES or EBONY, IVORY & JADE to be had. With the exception of 1980's THE BOOGEYMAN and TANYA'S ISLAND, all the films included hail from the late 1960's and the 1970's, covering several genres, including biker sleaze, Euro sexploitation, blaxploitation, women in prison T & A epics, softcore (and not-so-softcore) porn comedies, and of course horror. Perhaps 95% of the films represented are outright shit, but THE BEST OF SEX AND VIOLENCE is where I first heard of the now legendary DOLEMITE and its sublime sequel, THE HUMAN TORNADO, so it was well worth sitting through more than once.

This cheapjack pseudo-documentary opens with a shot of an attractive blonde walking down the street in broad daylight as an ominous Casio-generated tune is heard on the soundtrack to suggest menace. She looks around nervously and soon begins to run as an unseen attacker gives chase. Then for no apparent reason she's seen running full tilt, only now she's clad in naught but a pair of panties as her breasts flop all over the goddamned place, mere seconds before the camera shifts to show a masculine arm driving a switchblade into the lens as the woman's scream is heard. It is at that moment that the titles appear, accompanied by some clearly disinterested offscreen singers belting out "Sex...and Vi-Oh-Lence!!!" and we're off to the races.

The film includes the following trailers, supplemented by truly awful jokes croaked forth by John Carradine and a bizarre segment in which his sons David (he of KUNG FU television fame and later the KILL BILL films and death by auto-erotic asphyxiation) and Keith flank him and do nothing but look into the camera with faces filled with embarrassment for a few seconds before the next coming attraction kicks in:

• BURY ME AN ANGEL (1972)

A rock-bottom-cheap biker movie starring Dixie Peabody (Who???) as a biker chick described as "a howling hellcat, humping a hot steel hog an a roaring rampage of revenge." Cheap-looking though the trailer is, it doesn't even begin to communicate just how poverty row the movie is, to say nothing of giving any hint as to its extraordinarily high boredom factor. I'll spare you seeing the film with this capsule synopsis: Biker chick seeks revenge on the murderer of her brother, who, at the end of the film, is revealed to have been her lover.

• THE DOBERMAN GANG (1972)

One of a couple of boring heist movies involving the title dog breed.

• TUNNEL VISION (1975)

An occasionally brilliant series of TV-related gags revolving about the programming on an all-uncensored television network in the future year of 1985. The funny bits in the movie itself are hilarious, but you have to wade through a lot of crap to get to the gems, plus the trailer does absolutely zero to get one interested in seeing the film.

• THE SIN OF ADAM AND EVE (1969)

A boring-looking Mexican nudie flick about Adam and Eve, in which Adam has an unusually greasy ass and fights a number of wild animals before putting the bone to Eve (and her happenin' high maintenance hairdo).

• BILL OSCO'S ALICE IN WONDERLAND (1976)

A mildly pornographic and incredibly annoying musical version of the Lewis Carroll classic. I recall seeing newspaper ads for this while visiting my dad in Washington, D.C. when this came out, and I was amazed the paper was able to get away with an illustration of Alice sitting on what was quite clearly a mushroom-penis.

• CINDERELLA (1977)

A softcore fairy tale sendup, of note solely for starring exploitation mainstay Cheryl "Rainbeaux" Smith and the black dude who played Lyte in REPO MAN as her cross-dressing fairy godmother.

• FAIRY TALES (1978)

Another musical adult fairy tale sendup that has a few truly funny segments including a terrific ode to the joys of female-empowered S&M and a jaw-dropping bit in which Snow White (see above) sings about "the seven little wonders" of her world as a gaggle of dwarves with shit-eating grins merrily undress her prior to simultaneously jumping her. Those highlights are both thankfully seen in the trailer.

• EMANUELLE AROUND THE WORLD (1977)

One of the seeming legion of turgid (and not in a good way) softcore flicks starring the sexually inquisitive Emanuelle character.

• TANYA'S ISLAND (1980)

In which former girlfriend of Prince and future Vanity 6 frontwoman Vanity (appearing as "D.D. Winters") gets boned up the ass by a guy in an ape suit (which is in the trailer). NOTE: said ass-raunchin' ape guy was Rob Bottin, the makeup effects genius behind THE HOWLING (1981) and John Carpenter's THE THING (1982).

• I SPIT ON YOUR GRAVE (1978)

Almost unwatchably nasty, love it or hate it, this is one of the undisputed classics of the rape/revenge genre and all I have to say on this one can be found here.

• TOURIST TRAP (1979)

A decent shocker that played endlessly on the Tri-State Area's Channel 9 for much of the 1980's.

• THE BOOGEYMAN (1980)

An Italian-made slasher entry about shards of a haunted mirror that cause gory havoc.

• ZOMBIE (1979)

Perhaps the best-known of the many Italian DAWN OF THE DEAD ripoffs, and definitely one of the dullest.

• THE SINGLE GIRLS (1974)

Boring sexploitation fodder.

• THE WORKING GIRLS (1974)

See above (although Cassandra "Elvira" Peterson is in it with her natural red hair, though that's little consolation).

• THE MANHANDLERS (1975)

See above (only minus Cassandra Peterson).

• DR. MINX (1975)

A really boring sexploitationer, of note only because it stars Edy (BEYOND THE VALLEY OF THE DOLLS) Williams, who was once married to legendary big-titty maven Russ Meyer.

• TRUCK STOP WOMEN (1974)

C.B.-era tomfoolery starring the late and super-hot Claudia (GATOR BAIT) Jennings.

• THE TWILIGHT PEOPLE (1973)

An unimaginably boring ISLAND OF DR. MOREAU knockoff featuring a young Pam Grier as a human/panther hybrid.

• BEYOND ATLANTIS (1973)

Dull crap about scantily-clad undersea cavegirl types.

• THE DEVIL'S WEDDING NIGHT (1973)

Dull Euro-horror.

• SWEET SUGAR (1972)

Mediocre women in prison antics set at a sugar cane plantation.

• TERMINAL ISLAND (1973)

A terrific trailer featuring a heavily-guarded penal island where the co-ed prisoners make their own laws (in other words the strong horribly subjugate the weak; you do the math), with Marta Kristen (formerly Judy Robinson on LOST IN SPACE) and a pre-MAGNUM P.I. Tom Selleck and Roger E. Mosley.

• EBONY, IVORY & JADE (1976)

An outstanding trailer that completely disguises what a boring piece of shit the movie actually is.

• DR. BLACK & MR. HYDE (1976)

In which kindly inner city doctor Bernie Casey injects himself with a serum that turns him into a homicidal white man (by "white" I mean it looks like somebody dumped liberal amounts of flour all over him. Seriously!). This ran forever on Channel 9 during the pre-cable days, only in a version that edited out all the violence and naked women, much of which can thankfully be found in the trailer.

• DOLEMITE (1975)

The movie itself may be a study in artistic incompetence, but the trailer for DOLEMITE is a tour de force on how to sell a turd to unsuspecting audiences. This now-legendary example of pimpalicious blaxploitation comedy is shilled with incredibly over-the-top tag lines and clips of ludicrous action and profanity that instantly make all who see it want to immediately watch the movie. I saw the trailer on the VHS tape of THE BEST OF SEX AND VIOLENCE in 1987and since DOLEMITE was still quite obscure to mainstream audiences at the time, it took me another three years to finally see the movie and let me tell you that it was not worth the wait.

• THE HUMAN TORNADO (1976)

The direct sequel to DOLEMITE, THE HUMAN TORNADO is everything its predecessor was not (even though it's still strictly amateur hour film-making) and has gone on to become one of my all-time favorite movies. The trailer, though fun, does not even begin to do it justice, so I strongly urge you to track it down for yourself.

• DISCO GODFATHER (1979)

Now known for some inexplicable reason as AVENGING DISCO GODFATHER on DVD, this was the last gasp of the features turned out by DOLEMITE creator Rudy ray Moore and when one sees the film for oneself there's little wonder why. Released at the ass end of the disco craze, it's the story of a deejay who takes on evil PCP pushers with his feeble fat-assed karate stylings when not spinning platters at a roller disco while punctuating every sentence with loud exhortations to "put some weight on it." The trailer shows you all you'll ever need to know about the movie, so its brevity is less a sales pitch than an act of kindness.

When the trailer for DISCO GODFATHER ends, Carradine states that the only thing that could keep him from hosting THE BEST OF SEX AND VIOLENCE PART 2 would be the end of the world, so of course the camera immediately cuts to a cheap globe prop that explodes as we're treated to a reprise of "Sex...and Vi-Oh-Lence!!!"

The bottom line on this one is that THE BEST OF SEX AND VIOLENCE is a surefire winner if put on during a boozy late-night gathering of like-minded sleaze addicts, especially those who have not yet seen it. If nothing else, it's likely to spur the uninitiated to track down grindhouse movies for their own edification, and the preservation of that now-extinct in-theater genre and indelible part of this nation's cinematic history is a noble pursuit.

URGH! A MUSIC WAR RETURNS TO THE (RELATIVELY) BIG SCREEN!!!

A few weeks ago I was over the moon because I finally had the opportunity to see one of the screen’s most spectacular achievements, BEN-HUR, projected on the big screen, but that event pales in comparison to an upcoming screening that I never, ever imagined I would witness. Still unavailable on non-bootleg DVD, 1981’s cult classic international concert documentary URGH! A MUSIC WAR is getting a rarer-than-tits-on-a-trout screening at the Brooklyn Academy of Music on November 29th, and if I have my way I’ll be dragging as many of my friends as possible. To those of us who came of age in the early 1980’s and had a taste for the results of the tail end of the punk rock movement and the early fruits of “new wave” music, URGH! A MUSIC WAR was kind of our generation’s answer to WOODSTOCK. A bizarre, somewhat obnoxious, gaudily colored answer that made one forget whatever the fuck the initial question was.

Clocking in at a very packed two hours, URGH! was the ultimate punk/new wave sampler film, highlighting some 32 bands, several of whom would later go on to achieve lasting fame. Using the pre-“Ghost In The Machine” Police as the “name” draw, the film quickly makes the viewer forget all about Sting and friends as it rolls out a cornucopia of bands that would make the uninitiated stop dead in their tracks and ask a heartfelt “What the fuck was that?” Since punk never really caught on as such in the States much of what was on display in the film was quite a shock, both musically and visually, and with the exception of a couple of performances the whole package is simply riveting.

The Police’s “Driven To Tears” sets the stage and then the film jumps all over the globe, taking the audience to venues ranging from huge stadiums to small, grimy clubs, and while the whole film is certainly worth your time, the following — in no particular order — are the performances that made me a rabid fan of this film for life:

"Back In Flesh"-Wall of Voodoo

If you thought their 1982 hit "Mexican Radio" was weirder than pistachio-flavored bat shit, then you are in no way ready to handle "Back In Flesh," a tune that sounds like a Devo cast-off. It's like something you'd hear if David Lynch had opted against filmmaking and had become the late night programming director of an independent radio station.

“Enola Gay”-Orchestral Maneouvres In the Dark

The most simultaneously fey and powerful song about nuclear horror ever, this isn't quite as good as the studio version but it's definitely engaging.

"I’m on Fire"-Chelsea

A buzzsaw blast of distinctly British punk at its best, and a vast improvement over the studio version of this tune. The singer, Gene October, seems so tightly wound that you half expect him to attack the audience without warning, diving into the crowd feet-first and wielding the mic stand like a Claymore.

"Ain’t This the Life"-Oingo Boingo

Electrifying proof of just how energetic and tight this band was when performing live, with the delightful added bonus of front man Danny Elfman — yes, that Danny Elfman — looking like the bastard son of the Joker.

"The Puppet"-Echo & the Bunnymen

Nasal as hell and featuring a terrific beat, how can you not like a song with the lyric “I practice my fall ‘cause practice makes perfect?”

"Foolish I Know"-Jools Holland

Squeeze’s keyboard jock, busting loose with a solo old-fashioned ditty that offers a complete one-eighty from the rest of the film’s musical stylings.

"Respectable Street"-XTC

One of this band’s finest songs, rendered with Andy Partridge’s customary nervous edge. The bouncy beat attached to this tale of nosy and snooty neighbors will have you fighting hard to stay in your seat rather than getting up and dancing like you're baked out of your mind (a state of mind I recommend for this film, BTW).

“Valium”-Invisible Sex

By far the goofiest act in the film — although there is a good case to be made for the Surf Punks — this cadre of silver-jumpsuited and bemasked loons caper about the stage wielding guitars crafted from what appears to be brown construction paper. Obscure beyond belief, I have never found mention of this group anywhere other than in conjunction with this documentary.

"Total Eclipse"-Klaus Nomi

Hands down the single most bizarre thing in the entire movie, this bit may be the moment when I realized I was watching a classic. Klaus Nomi was a weird little German dude who sang shattering classically-trained falsetto arias applied to old standards, and his music fell into the new wave classification by default because it was simply impossible to pigeonhole anywhere else. Resembling a middle-aged Astro Boy decked out in an angular plastic tuxedo, Nomi will leave your jaw on the ground with his sheer "what the fuck?"-ness. One of the first entertainers to perish from the scythe of AIDS, Nomi's death was a tragic waste of a true original, and his story is eloquently told in the excellent documentary THE NOMI SONG (2004).

"Where’s Captain Kirk?"-Athletico Spizz 80

This energetic ode to STAR TREK and the Enterprise crew is a shitload of fun, plus it teaches us the possibilities of Silly String as an offensive weapon.

"We Got the Beat"-The Go-Go’s

The most rockin' version of this song that you'll ever hear, this performance comes in about a year before the band's first album, "Beauty and the Beat," was released and gives us the sight of a far more punky and chunky Belinda Carlisle than the dangerously thin, well-groomed cover girl of the years that followed.

"Bleed for Me"-Dead Kennedys

From the days before their sense of humor sort of overtook their uncomfortable and in-your-face early efforts, this terrifying description of third world torture and murder is ominous and scary as hell, reminding one of just why this most intelligent of American punk bands was once considered dangerous by the U.S. government and unfairly expunged during a bullshit distribution of pornography charge.

"Bad Reputation"-Joan Jett and the Blackhearts

The definitive performance of the pre-"I Love Rock 'N' Roll" classic, with a young and chunky Joan belting it out for all she was worth, which was a lot.

"Model Worker"-Magazine

One of my favorite songs during my third year of college — aka the year when I spent as much time as possible doing bonghits and O.D.ing on untranslated Japanese cartoons — this is a terrific tune that actually features a lyric in which the word "hegemony" is not awkward in the least. You've got to give any song that can accomplish that feat extra points, and former Buzzcock Howard Devoto's vocals are far better than one could hope for in the punk arena of the time.

"Tear It Up"-The Cramps

Coming in at number two on my list of all-time favorite bands, the Cramps are not so much heard as they are experienced, and this performance captures their insane, no-frills psychobilly to great effect. Upon hearing this on the film's soundtrack back in 1981 I became a fan for life, later going on to buy all of their albums and see them live in concert more than any other group (up to the time of this writing, that is). This cover of Johnny Burnette's rockabilly classic must be seen to be believed, and you will stare in mesmerized anticipation as you wonder whether singer Lux Interior's dick will flop out of his way-too-tight pants. Guitarist Poison Ivy, the other mainstay throughout the band's many lineup changes, is also on hand, providing her ultra-sexy trademark disdainful sneer.

"Uncontrollable Urge"-Devo

Most people think I'm crazy when they find out Devo's my favorite band of all time, but I let those people slide because the only Devo the average listener has heard is stuff like "Whipit" and "Beautiful World," both of which are a lot more airplay/MTV accessible than the real meat of their edgy and once-unique work. This performance of "Uncontrollable Urge" is from just before the Akron spudboys hit it big, and it totally kicks ass. Friends of mine who hate Devo have seen this segment and unanimously agree it's excellent, and even hardcore Devo fans, including Yer Bunche, think this version blows away the one on the band's debut studio album. Thank the gods that this was captured for posterity!

"Nothing Means Nothing Anymore"-The Alley Cats

Working in the same territory as Vince Taylor & His Playboys' fifties classic "Brand New Cadillac" — better known to most rock fans via the Clash's excellent cover of it on "London Calling" — this guitar-driven tune gives off a real sense of foreboding. Too bad these guys didn't last long.

"Cheryl’s Going Home"-John Otway

One of the most anguished performances you'll ever see, this strange fusion of a rock tune and a spoken word/acted piece about a guy arriving too late at the train station to stop his girlfriend from leaving him is just plain great, and you will be riveted from the second Otway vocally explodes with "The thunder CRACKS against the night!"

"Homicide"-999

When I first saw this film and heard the opening lyric of "I believe...in homicide!" I nearly pissed myself while laughing my ass off. The tune rocks hard, but what makes this is the sheer energy emanating both from the band and the audience, and I defy you not to want to sing along.

"Beyond and Back"-X

One of the truly great Californian punk bands, X ruled for a million reasons, but you really have to give it up for their unique front woman, Exene Cervenka, a gal who simply did not give a flying fuck about appeasing audience members who expected women in rock groups to be sexy masturbation fantasies brought to life, or at the very least visually appealing (well, in the band's early days at least). Exene belts this one out with a yowl like a drunken, diseased cat and takes the stage with a hairdo so monumentally fucked-up that you'd swear she'd just boiled her own head. When all factors are weighed, her look comes off as a junkie version of the Wicked Witch of the West gene-spliced with Jayne County, only possessing an all-natural vagina (unlike Jayne).

"Sign of the Cross"-Skafish

The first album by Skafish was one of my favorites during high school for such lyrically biting and painful songs as "Joan Fan Club," "Disgracing the Family Name," "We'll See A Psychiatrist" and the excellent ode to unrequited love and the frustration thereof, "Obsessions of You," but nothing could have prepared me for the full-scale assault of lapsed Catholic absurdity that was "Sign of the Cross." Jim Skafish — my vote for the ugliest rock 'n' roll front man in history — stalks the stage, incense-burner merrily fuming, and exhorts the audience to join him in doing the "brand new dance craze" the Sign of the Cross, in which the dancer stands stiff as a board and holds out his arms in imitation of the crucified Jesus. Blasphemous as a motherfucker and funny as hell, this one's a real showstopper that's guaranteed to piss off the faithful in the audience.

“Two Little Boys”-Splodgenessabounds

A delightfully out of control cover of Rolf Harris' tale of childhood loyalty performed by the geniuses behind "Simon Templar" (a protest of Ian Ogilvy's portrayal of the Saint), "Blown Away Like A Fart In A Thunderstorm," "I've Got Lots Of Famous People Living Under the Floorboards," "Whiffy Smells," and the immortal "Michael Booth's Talking Bum."

There are a couple of quite good reggae numbers by UB40 and Steel Pulse and many more wacko bands, so I beg of you not to miss this ultra-rare screening at the Brooklyn Academy of Music on Saturday, November 29th. I'll post a reminder shortly before then, but mark the date on your calendars immediately!

NOTE: all images respectfully cribbed from the excellent "Official/Unofficial" URGH! fan site.