A recent upgrade to our cable service has given us 3 free months of Cinemax. At first, we were unsure how much of a bonus this would be, but last week we realized that we've been given temporary access to a treasure trove of badly made, incompetent, non-arousing softcore porn. Now, some of you may be saying, "Hey, but it's still porn... ish. How bad could it be?" But what if there was no nudity and you had to watch the scenes of dialog and plot? Well, wonder no more! I've compiled the non-porn scenes from Busty Cops 2: More Cops, Bigger Busts. And it's mind-blowingly awesome.
The TV guide gave the following summary for the film: "Three voluptuous women use time travel to fight injustice." We giddily prepared for costumes of stunning historical inaccuracy (and crotchlessness), bad accents bleated in a nasal tone, vacant expressions and nary an original hooter in sight.
We open with footage of what I think is an above-ground subway car pulling into a station. Then we go to what I dearly hope is not a passenger conveyance currently in operation, 'cause it's just gross.
A person whose name, occupation and relation to the plot are never specified enters the frame and walks shakily toward the back of the car.
Another person whose name, occupation and relation to the plot are never specified comes out of the car's back area. Mention is made of "the money" and "Miss Wilder" is called. And then they start having sex.
"What, already? That wasn't even a minute!" I'm a bit startled by the abruptness with which the movie gets down to business. (And, in fact, it wasn't a minute. The scene lasted 50 seconds.)
"And on that filthy-ass subway car," shudders J. "Man, there's no way that's hygienic."
Then we both start giggling over the utterly bored face made by the ... well, I can't rightly call her an actress, but I guess that's what her contract says.
Lest you think we just caught her at a bad moment...
Before too long, we're done, although I don't see any evidence that either party... finished. And back to dialog!
The closed-captioning informs us that Evil Blonde has a "British accent." I think that's either extremely generous or totally off-base or both. Evil Blonde demands "the money."
This is "the money." And continuing in the theme of no-expense-spared accoutrements, music from a $26.95 Casio keyboard tells us we're going into the credits after a whopping 1:03 of dialogue.
And I think that tells us all we need to know about the credits. Well, not quite.
This scene isn't totally random; it ends with the redhead's phone ringing.
She talks to this guy (who, mercifully, is fully clothed throughout the film) and learns that there's a case afoot for the Busty Cops. Some "money" has been stolen from a moving "train." (Scene length: 21 seconds.)
Suddenly, we're in what appears to be a ghost town. Are we in the Old West? Er... no. A bland blonde appears, wearing only leather pants, bolt-on tits and an unzipped leather jacket.
She gazes out from the front porch and sees...
Ah, but one of the chosen cannot see the symbol, for she is locked away.
We're never given any reason for her incarceration, but eventually "Taggert" (the dude on the phone in the previous scene) posts her bail.
The three of them meet up at some random SoCal mansion.
Oh, good lord, the little one is dressed like a pack of 5-flavor Life Savers.
They are introduced to their new partner, whom I'll call simply "the tall one." Taggert says he'll have to re-qualify them for service, and for a moment I fear that I won't be able to sit through this, but it turns out he's just asking them a bunch of dumb questions to prove how stupid they are.
The little one seems to be the brightest, but by that I simply mean that there might actually be someone home. A sample question and answer from the re-qualifying session: "You load 16 tons and what do you get?" "Hemmorhoids."
Thank God. After that scene -- a grueling marathon at 3:52 -- I need a shower, too.
Alone, thank you.
The busty cops arrive at the abandoned train where Taggert called the redhead. I'm having trouble picking out a worst outfit here.
The redhead and the vapid one split off to question a witness, while the little one and the tall one say they'll question Miss Wilder, the woman who inherited the railroad from her late husband. But first, the little one says she needs to seek guidance from "the dally lammy." Oh, dear.
A spectacularly unfunny scene ensues, with the llama giving the little one information and innuendo in a voice like Droopy the Dog on helium. You know what the most tragic thing about this is? Llamas are inherently funny. But not here.
Meanwhile, the witness is apparently leaving the church in the wildwood (why? who knows!). The redhead and the vapid one ask her about the robbery but she didn't have her contacts in, so she can't be too sure about what she saw.
She feels just awful about not being more useful, but suggests that the three of them go under a tree (?) to help jog her memory. Well, it has been a whopping 3:12 since we've had nudity, so I guess we're due.
The sexual activity here is really, really vague. They keep half-heartedly rubbing each other the way you stroke a cat while you're reading a book.
The little one and the -- good God, was she always that tall?! The little one and Gigantress meet Miss Wilder to discuss any potential enemies the railroad or its owners might have had. "Hey, that's the same house they met their boss in!" I protest. J explains, "They could probably only shoot there for one day while the actual homeowner was out of town." And yes, this movie does seem to have been made by career housesitters.
Particularly her. I've seen better acting in preschool pageants. Miss Wilder introduces them to her accountant, Pembroke (apparently, such a star in the accounting world that he only needs the one name).
I honestly can't tell if this is the same guy from the first scene or not. Porno dudes tend to look alike, you know? Miss Wilder goes off to talk with the little one, while Pembroke goes off to talk with Gigantress. (Scene length -- 2:11.)
Oh, okay. No wonder she looks so tall. I'm not sure she realizes that those shoes aren't meant to be worn standing up. That problem is, of course, soon solved.
Oh, put it away, dude.
Meanwhile, Miss Wilder is "massaging" an anxious-looking little one while talking about the railroad.
"That's not even a massager, that's a hair thing!" J laughs. And sure enough, it appears to be a flat iron or crimping iron of some sort. You know, if they had just forgone the hooker stilt shoes in the previous scene, they could have gotten some actual props here. Dear lord, I'm actually critiquing the craftsmanship of a Skinemax film. I might need to lie down.
The busty cops join Taggert at a nightclub before it opens; he ogles them and reminds them that the outfits he bought them will be coming out of their paychecks. This strikes me as a combination of two really, really gross male fantasies. Then to add to the vileness, the club owner enters, yelling at someone offscreen.
He's apparently in a jam because the dancers he'd hired for the club's opening had demanded extra money after seeing the crowds. Oh, the nerve of those capitalists. Figuring that any woman is a potential stripper, he asks the busty cops if they'd do him a favor and dance at the club.
They agree when he offers to pay them in "really expensive shoes." This is the most emotion any character ever shows in this film. I gaze at the screen with unmitigated loathing. "When the revolution comes, the streets will run with your blood," I inform the club owner character. This 3:11 scene has made me want to break out my armband and my hatchet.
Then hot-tubbing ensues.
Then bad dialog ensues, when Taggert calls the busty cops the next morning.
J mocks Taggert: "I'm at Ocean World. Or I'm standing in front of the aquarium at the Red Lobster."
Apparently, Taboo the whale was stolen in transit on one of Miss Wilder's trains. Let's just pretend we understand how and why such a thing could occur. Speaking of aquatic life, let's focus on the pool boy instead, as the vapid one is doing.
Apparently, he keeps putting chocolate bars in the pool so he can come over and scoop them back out again.
To her, this is the most romantic courtship idea ever. And after 1:44 of clothed time, it's back to the races.
He seems confused. That's not a good sign. Remember, son, just ask yourself: What Would Karl Hungus Do?
After hosing off, the vapid one meets with a marine biologist who had worked with Taboo the whale.
J and I both physically recoil when she talks about massaging the whale's prostate. (Damn, you type some weird shit when you blog.) Then she offers the vapid one a massage and here we go again after a minute and 39 seconds.
She's like the Lon Chaney of softcore; she's got 1000 faces and all of them are truly, profoundly stupid.
We abruptly switch from nonacting to overacting as Miss Wilder proclaims her loathing for the busty cops. (The great thing is that although her face is screaming, her voice never goes above 70 decibels.)
Her companion is bursting with concern. Equally convincing nookie ensues.
"How long was that? Was that even half a minute?!" J wonders. It was a full 41 seconds, the second-shortest scene of the bunch. Here's a fun fact: the dialog scenes in this 81-minute movie total 23 minutes and 38 seconds. That means that a version of Busty Cops 2 that showed only the dialog would technically be eligible to be nominated for an Oscar for short film. Something to dream on!
Then we're back in the bar with the marine biologist, whose boyfriend is trying to soothe her worry over Taboo (for a full 1:15, until the music starts up again).
Suddenly it occurs to me that this whole mess has been set in the present day. "Where's the damn time travel?" I demand. "We were promised time travel!" Well, we won't get time travel, but we do get the Voyage to the Bottom of the IQ Scale.
Wow. I think we have met the male equivalent of the vapid blonde. I know it's too much to hope that they haven't mated, but I do hope they won't reproduce.
Back to the train we go. The busty cops find a whale turd -- which looks suspiciously cowpatty-like -- and decide to split up and meet at Lost Lake.
The guitar strains that open this segment sound a bit like "Folsom Prison Blues." I start singing, "I hear this movie blowin'..."
Oh, dial it down, Miss Wilder. (1:16, folks.)
I'm not completely certain what's going on here, based on the eyelines and body positions. And I'm okay with that.
Finally, we conclude our exercise in ineptitude in an epic 4:23 scene. But it asks more questions than it answers.
Where'd the vapid one go? Who's shooting? What happens to the tall one after this scene?
What if her face freezes like that?
What was with the "dyke" slur considering the various all-girl scenes in this movie? Is that a silver cow skull on her belt buckle?
What are they going to do with the whale now? Why did they even bother stringing together the pornish business with the trappings of a movie when they made it this badly?
And most importantly: didn't cigar jokes go out in 1999?
Ah, hell, I need to quit thinking so hard. After all, look how blissful a perpendicular vegetative state can be.
(With any luck, I'll have a couple more installments of "X-Rated and Expurgated" before the summer -- and our free Skinemax -- ends.)