Red Lips (1995)

REVIEWS - Movie Reviews

About once a week somebody begs me to write a letter or march down Pennsylvania Avenue or carry a sandwich board for The Arts.

The government is killing The Arts.

The Romney's of the world are trying to get rid of the National Endowment.

It's a dark day for The Arts. Or at least this is what people claim.

Look. I'm gonna say this one time and one time only.

I DON'T GIVE A FLYING FRITO ABOUT THE ARTS.

Take that money and build a playground with it. Hire some more trash collectors for the Washington Mall--it was a dang MESS the last time I was there. Hire a few extra cops. But don't be flinging money around for The Arts.

I've seen this stuff. I've seen the weirdbeard performance art, and the Mapplethorpe whangdoodle photos, and the Womb Goddess lesbian ballet troupes, and most of it is just plain boring. But even if it wasn't boring--even if it was the greatest art since Michelangelo sculpted King David with his pants down--it still doesn't have diddly squat to do with federal taxes.

Everybody knows that if you took a poll of the people on this, they would vote at least 97 per cent to STOP GIVING OUT THIS MONEY.

And they don't care about art, and they don't care about artists. They just flat don't like welfare--but ESPECIALLY welfare for guys with bad nose rings who live in the East Village and paint neon stripes on rocks all day.

I know plenty of writers, and artists, and filmmakers, and theatre people, and I wouldn't loan ANY of em twenty bucks. The ones who really know what they're doing don't even NEED my twenty bucks, and they don't need the government's money either.

Look. There's a very simple way for artists to make money.

Charge admission.

Sell the dang painting.

Get a corporation to commission the sculpture.

Give an investor a percentage of your film.

Make a royalty deal with a publisher.

In other words, BE A GROWNUP.

But please stop asking Jesse Helms to give you money. It makes the REAL artists look bad.

I'm surprised I have to explain this.

Speaking of a guy who will never be funded by the NEA, exploitation cheapie-meister Donald Farmer, the one-man film industry of Cookeville, Tennessee, has a new one out called "Red Lips," and I don't know what kind of film Don's been experimenting with, but this thing looks like it was made with a Low-8 camcorder and taped over an old episode of "The Cajun Chef."

Fortunately, it stars the luscious Michelle Bauer, busting out of her Japanese kimono as she falls in love with a stringy-haired bloodsucking lesbian vampire with a pierced eyebrow and a one-neck-a-day habit. Yes, you've guessed it by now. It's the immortal Ghetty Chasun, last scene as the corpse-loving bustier-wearing party girl in "Gorotica." This girl is making a whole career of flicks never seen outside underground punk clubs.

This is the old story of the innocent street girl who goes to the clinic to sell her blood and ends up getting lured into a program to test a secret virus. One scene later, she's sucking the blood off her leg. Two scenes after that, it's Jugular Mainlining Time.

Fortunately, the luckless vampiress meets up with foxy babe Michelle Bauer, who's just broken up with her girlfriend, Kitten Natividad. Yes, I said Kitten Natividad. Yes, the famous stripper and star of Russ Meyer films in the sixties. Yes, she of the humongo supremos.

I know what you're wondering: How does Kitten look thirty years later?

Don't ask.

The bathtub scene is TOUGH.

Nine dead bodies. Twenty-six breasts. Multiple lesbo aardvarking. Blood-coughing. Multiple neck-ripping, in closeup. Corpse-carving. Hand rolls. Gratuitous shower scene. Fang Fu. Drive-In Academy Award nominations for Bill Randolph, as the carpet salesman who lures young girls to his hotel room with promises of free Boone's Farm; Francesca (Kitten) Natividad, as the spurned lesbo girlfriend, for taking that bath and springing those babies out of the chute, even at her age; Michelle Bauer, still Queen of the B's, for loving the vampire so much she helps her shop for sunglasses and troll for musicians she can devour, and for saying "It's not your fault--we'll get through this together"; and Ghetty Chasun, as the vampire, for piercing every available part of her body (that we know of), and for screaming "You don't know what I am!"

Two stars.

Joe Bob says check it out.