Friday, January 25, 2013

Bad Girls From Mars: A Typically bad film from Fred Olen Ray


Director: Fred Olen Ray (under pseudonym Sherman Scott)
Year: 1991
Review by: Vincent Daemon

This piece of shit opens with a silly "warning" about explicit scenes, wherein a squeak toy or cartoon sound effect will be used to alert the viewer to nudity/sex and/or violence. Sigh. This is the kind of film I loathe. Really a waste of my goddamned time.

It's about a film crew making a film called Bad Girls From Mars, and someone has been killing all the actresses. So the hire a world famour prostitute-writer (an obvious nod to/bust on Xaviera Hollander of the Happy Hooker fame) to be the new lead. And that's it. That's the plot.

From here on out the film is essentially a nonstop bombardment of breast, sex, and dick jokes, awful one liners, and a constant flux of nudity. I really would have enjoyed the nudity at, say, 12, but I really find it just kinda eh. In fact its so overwhelming that the nudity is more desensitizing than titilating. But that could just be me. I watch a lot of porn and am fairly jaded, so to me it just seems kind of pointless. As for the dialogue, there's a small chuckle here or there, a bunch of Ed Wood jokes that are far too self-referential and not funny in the least. Oh, and of course there is the inevitable cat fight and the big twist ending.

I'm fairly certain I've lost IQ points just by watching this piece of trash. I can't afford to lose any more of those, damnit!

The director is none other than that chronic shit peddler Fred Olen Ray, directing under the pseudonym Sherman Scott. Look, I wouldn't want my real name associated with this loathesome waste of time either. For those who don't know, Mr. Ray is responsible for tons of  unwatchable cinema (Christ do I use that word, cinema, fast and loose in this instance), and has just been crankin' out the crap like bad runny loads since 1977. In fact, while looking over the entirety of his work, I can't find one goddamned movie he's made that I like. The Alien Dead from 1980, maybe, but I haven't seen it since about 1985 and probably am not recollecting it right. I'm sure if I watched it now it would merely bring me boredom and disappointment. I know there was (is?) a market for this drivel, and I am not now, nor never have been, part of that market.

I am fairly certain that some 22 years ago this ran on the USA Networks Up All Night, and I kept waiting for Rhonda Shear or GIlbert Godfried to interject with some unfunny witicism and a commercial break but, alas, twas not to be. Hell, I would've taken a lil Gilbert Godfried stand-up over this crapola any day. Really.

I can't recommend this on any level, unless you are a fan of near unwatchable, mega-cheap comedy-sex romps rife with lil coke-bodied no talent scream queens. Heh, no talent scream queen, that's like saying the same thing twice. It was only 80 minutes, but that was time I could have spent writing, masterbating, or just staring blankly at a wall or the ceiling and waiting for the damned Lords Of Salem to hurry up and come the fukk out. Pass.

Stay Sick,

Vincent Daemon

---- Vincent Daemon's short fiction has appeared in over 24 publications, and he just put his first short story collection, Bury Me In A Nameless Grave: A Collection Of 11, together to eventually be published. He is also editor of the annual Grave Demand magazine, as well as a freelance editor for hire in his down time. He can be found on facebook, and at his blog The Writings Of A Depraved Mind , and contacted at ----

No comments:

Post a Comment