More of Love Goddesses of Blood Island. By more I mean more dance numbers, more pain, more self-incrimination, and more all around feeling that life is meaningless.
This is a film that really touched me!
Turning on the ladies tip: It helps to smell like Brute, chlorine, and roast pig.
So our hero starts doing his manly duty on the island, which is bedding all the babes. This seems too good to be true, doesn't it? It is, you know it, and I know it, so let's instead focus on the blanket and pillows. No, not on the stains on the blankets and pillows, please, no. No.
This is another remote island that seems to have a crafts store on it. You'd think these resourceful ladies killed a leopard in the jungle, but instead it seems they killed the jungle print section in the local fabric store.
Oh hell, let's talk about the stains. I'm sure they are massive and gross. A black light on that thing would sear your retinas off.
Oh god no no no NOT A DRUM SOLO!
He just noticed the key grip's lack of pants.
Our hero suddenly becomes woozy in a very over-the-top high-school-production bit of acting, and the movie never explains how this happens. I have some theories:
- Drank the water from the pool
- Ate part of the paper mache cooked pig
- Easily mesmerized by tiger striped fabric
- Just got back the STD test results for the all the dancers
I had this dream. The ladies were all Lynda Carter, though ...
Turns out things are a bit worse off for our hero, and I'm not referring to his hair line.
He's put to work as a beast of burden plowing the fields to help them grow, what exactly is never mentioned. Can you grow beauty products? Is that how they make eyeliner and hair gel? The women have to get it from somewhere!
The 60's greatest invention: The Go-Go Dancer Self-Wash Conga Line.
These questions, along with questions like "why does this blog exist" and "doesn't he feel any shame", go unanswered because in a movie with a 60 minute run time, we can't waste a single frame that could be used for another ludicrous dance number.
Coming up next: More damned dancing! Same dance channel, same dance time.
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