Friday, February 20, 2009

I Don't Feel So Super, Superchick

We are back to the subject of being misled. It happens. Someone makes a simple comment with one thing in mind, but the wording suggests something completely different. There is no intention to mislead you, but it happened just the same. When I was a kid, we were at my grandmother's house, and we were bored senseless. Rain outside and nowhere to go except the living room. My cousin is looking through the TV listings and he suddenly shouts, "Iron Man comes on in ten minutes!" We were giddy with anticipation. We tuned the station in and waited. The movie started. We were treated to boxing. I had no idea that Iron Man started out as a boxer. I just wanted him to turn into a superhero and start kicking some butt. After nearly 30 minutes of talking heads and boxing, we knew we had been had. Yes, the movie was called Iron Man but it had nothing to do with the comic book. What a let down.

When you find a movie called Superchick, you kinda have some expectations. But I had seen the trailer, so I wasn't utterly uninformed. She wore this tight black outfit. She knew what passed for martial arts and kicked the snot of three guys. She flashed her ample assets in bikinis and funky 70's style clothes. She has a secret identity. Okay. That pretty much sets the tone for me. I mean, really, this simply cannot as lame as Phenomenal. Right?

I must have read the messages from the trailer all wrong. No superhero. As this little film unspooled, I had no idea WHAT the hell I was watching. Okay, so I'm not the most reliable person when it comes to understanding things. I had a woman ask me back to her apartment in the middle of the day, and I told her I wanted to go to a used bookstore. D'oh!!

See what you make of this. Superchick is known as Tara B. True. I'm not kidding. As an airline stewardess, she is a mousy brunette who wouldn't mumble "Crap" if someone squirted a pile in her mouth. She leaves the plane without the slightest hint of recognition from her crew mates. Once inside the terminal, she slips into the ladies room, and seconds later, the mousy lady is gone and we have the buxom, sexually-potent, blonde bombshell we paid our money with shaking, sweaty palms to see. She is confident. Her shapely legs stride proudly as her lovingly curved hips sway from side to side. Both men and women stop and watch her pass. She is stunning. She is incredible. She IS Superchick.

Do we see her dashing about saving the world, the downtrodden, or, at least, some kittens stranded in a tree? Nope. She is met by her East Coast lover who never touches her due to a phobia, but still manages orgasms by talking himself into a frenzy. Then she is back to the plane as Ms. Mousy, jetting away to her next lover, a pop idol who is doubting himself and sees Superchick as his Muse. Then it is back into the air to her next fling with a guy who lives on a boat and is financially in debt to a shady character.

Between juggling these three bozos, she manages to hang out at a pot party, beat up Dan Haggerty and his biker buddies, helps a young Marine raise his flag pole and finds her open-minded morals tested by a dirty-minded John Carradine. All this while keeping her two identities in their own little worlds. So, yeah, that would take a super chick. Now you can sit there and analyze the implications of what you are seeing. You could suggest that it is about the development of women's sexual identity, or the real world versus empowering fantasy. I think it was just a case of the producers attempting to throw enough crap at the walls with the hope that something might stick.

The movie has potential, but it never seems to figure out what it is and so the whole thing ultimately just sort of lays there. It's appealing enough. Face it, Joyce Jillson, for all of her bleached blond hair, is rather cute, and though there isn't much nudity on her part, she does flash enough to make you keep your eyes on the screen. It is fun to watch for the direct references to the fact you are watching a movie, and no one seems to take the thing very seriously. Neither should you. Just let it play and kiss your money goodbye. You could have done worse; you could have bought a movie with Mariah Carey in it.

To save yourself money, I recommend buying the 20-movie set called "The Exploitation Cinema Collection" sold at Best Buy. No, I'm not advertising for them, but if you buy this on it's own (well, you get a double feature with "Policewomen"), you're gonna spend 10 bucks and the 20 movie set is only $20. Do the math. Even if you only watch half of the 20-movie set, you've spent less.

(I offer a humble apologies to XTC for borrowing a line from one of their songs for the title of today's review. I love your music, lads.)

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