Stripped to Kill (1987) Review — Thalia’s Spook-n-Boobtacular Day 7
Directed by: Katt Shea
Released: 1987
Runtime: Approximately 88 minutes
Well, my beautiful degenerates.
I’m alive.
Barely.
After last night’s religious experience involving Linnea Quigley, Brinke Stevens, Michelle Bauer, and the most glorious bathtub ever committed to film, I’ve finally managed to regain control of my faculties.
Mostly.
Maddie has confiscated my eleven-star rating scroll. Theia refuses to discuss bathing arrangements in my presence. Titan apparently thinks the whole thing was rather amusing, and somebody has hidden the remote control to prevent me from rewinding Nightmare Sisters for the seventeenth time.
COWARDS!
ALL OF YOU!
But the show must go on, my darlings, because tonight for Day 7 of Thalia’s Spook-n-Boobtacular we’re watching Stripped to Kill, a 1987 erotic thriller directed by Katt Shea and produced by Roger Corman!
A movie about a serial killer stalking the dancers at a strip club!
OH, GOOD!
ANOTHER FILM WITH A SUBSTANTIAL COMMITMENT TO THE ARTS!
I was worried tonight might be something boring, like a respectable drama about people keeping their clothes on.
We’ve already established that such things are terrible for morale.
Now, I promise to approach this film with the dignity and professionalism expected of Titanquisitor’s finest cinematic critic.
Thalia pours a generous glass of wine.
HAHAHAHAHAHA!
Oh, that’s a good one.
Even I nearly believed it.
WELCOME TO ROCK BOTTOM!
OH!
We’re starting with a striptease!
NO INTRODUCTION! NO WASTED TIME!
STRAIGHT TO BUSINESS!
And look at this woman!
She’s practically performing acrobatics up there!
There’s a motorcycle involved, there’s a pole, there’s dancing, and there’s enough theatrical enthusiasm to make me wonder whether somebody accidentally booked a circus performer into a strip club.
I LOVE IT!
This is Angel, and judging by that performance, she has considerably more upper-body strength than half the professional wrestlers Gary watches.
Seriously, look at her go! And look at those tits, what a close up. This movie is off to a good fucking start. Other directors should’ve been taken notes.
THEIA!
THIS IS ATHLETICISM!
THIS IS PHYSICAL ART!
THIS IS WHY WE MUST FUND THE PERFORMING ARTS!
Oh, she’d hate that.
Excellent.
And now we’ve got a different woman, a blonde, doing a strip routine on a motorcycle. Oh, she’s a hottie, look at her go.
Nice fucking ass shot shimmying across the stage there. This girl was definitely a gymnast, a damn good one by the looks of it.
And now her tits are out. We’re five minutes in and have two killer strip routines from two different hotties. This movie is living up to the title. FUCK, THIS ONE IS EVEN HOTTER THAN THE FIRST CHICK.
I’M ALREADY LOVING THIS. AT THIS RATE WE WILL BREAK THE FUCKING SCALE AGAIN.
But wait, we’re following Angel outside now, and—
Oh.
Oh, no.
Well, that got unpleasant in a hurry.
Our poor performer has apparently attracted the attention of a genuine psychopath, and what follows is a brutal opening murder that makes it very clear we’re not watching a harmless strip-club comedy.
Good Lord.
I was enjoying that woman!
We barely had time to appreciate her performance before somebody decided to turn this into a homicide investigation!
And now she’s on fire?!
WHAT THE FUCK?!
I WAS PROMISED STRIPPED TO KILL, NOT STRIPPED AND INCINERATED!
You know, I am beginning to notice a troubling pattern in these movies.
Beautiful woman appears. I approve. The beautiful woman is immediately murdered.
THALIA BECOMES UPSET!
Do filmmakers have something against me personally?
Because after Leslie’s untimely demise in Chopping Mall, I am becoming suspicious.
Alright, fuck her. No sense crying over spilled milk! We’ve got another lovely lady performing a routine with a snake.
A FUCKING SNAKE!
Well, that’s certainly an interesting choice of dance partner!
BUT WHY THE FUCK IS EVERYTHING SO RED?!
WHO THOUGHT THIS WAS GOOD LIGHTING?!
I’M TRYING TO APPRECIATE THE PERFORMANCE, YOU ASSHOLES!
Oh, here’s another woman!
And she’s got her tits out!
WONDERFUL!
WAIT.
WHAT THE FUCK?!
I CAN’T SEE A DAMN THING!
EVERYTHING IS STILL FUCKING RED!
AND NOW SHE’S POURING BEER ALL OVER HERSELF!
THERE ARE BEAUTIFUL BREASTS AND BEER ON MY TELEVISION, AND I CAN BARELY SEE EITHER ONE!
KATT SHEA! I TAKE BACK EVERYTHING NICE I SAID ABOUT YOUR CINEMATOGRAPHY!
WHAT IS THIS?! A STRIP CLUB OR THE FUCKING DARKROOM AT A PHOTOGRAPHY SCHOOL?!
TURN ON A LIGHT!
OPEN A CURTAIN!
SET SOMETHING ON FIRE!
ACTUALLY, DON’T DO THAT LAST ONE! WE’VE ALREADY LOST ONE DANCER THAT WAY!
HAHAHAHAHA!
My beautiful degenerates, this film has everything I could possibly want, and somebody has apparently decided to illuminate the entire establishment with a single red Christmas bulb!
I DIDN’T COME HERE TO WATCH SILHOUETTES! I CAME HERE TO APPRECIATE THE FUCKING ARTS!
All right, now we’re meeting our detectives.
Kay Lenz plays Cody Sheenan, a policewoman who wants to investigate the murder, and Greg Evigan plays her partner Heineman.
And apparently their brilliant investigative strategy is to send Cody undercover at the strip club.
Naturally.
HAHAHAHA!
OF COURSE IT IS!
Not as a waitress.
Not as a bartender.
Not as somebody who handles the accounting or sweeps the floors.
NO!
SHE MUST BECOME A STRIPPER!
I love this police department!
WAIT! ARE THEY HIRING?!
I DON’T GET PAID FOR THIS SHIT! I’LL TAKE THE FUCKING JOB!
…
Oh, fuck.
This movie came out in 1987.
THE POSITION’S PROBABLY BEEN FILLED FOR ALMOST FORTY FUCKING YEARS!
DAMMIT!
I FINALLY FIND MY DREAM JOB AND I’M FOUR DECADES TOO LATE!
Can you imagine the briefing?
“Detective, we need somebody willing to risk everything to bring this killer to justice.”
“Absolutely, sir. What’s the assignment?”
“Take your bra off.”
“EXCUSE ME?!”
HAHAHAHAHAHA!
And Cody actually points out that half the police force could end up seeing her naked. That’s a legitimate occupational concern, darling.
Although I suspect the police department’s attendance at amateur night is about to reach record levels.
And here’s the club owner!
NORMAN FELL?!
HAHAHAHA!
MR. ROPER?!
WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE?!
I leave Three’s Company alone for five minutes, and suddenly the landlord is running a strip club!
Oh, this is magnificent.
You know, Norman Fell is actually wonderful in this role. He’s got that same wonderfully exhausted delivery, like he’s spent his entire adult life surrounded by idiots and has long since stopped expecting improvement.
I recognize that expression.
THEIA WEARS IT EVERY TIME SHE ENTERS MY SCREENING ROOM!
We’re back to stripping, my darlings! This chick doesn’t have the prettiest face, but she’s got a lovely pair of tits, and that’s good enough for me!
Now, Cody has to audition. And let’s just say she’s not exactly a natural.
AND THERE’S THAT STUPID FUCKING LIGHTING AGAIN!
Oh, sweetheart.
OH, DARLING.
WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!
HAHAHAHAHAHA!
She looks like somebody gave a traffic officer a dance routine to memorize five minutes before opening night!
SHE SUCKS AT THIS!
SHE CAN’T EVEN GET HER FUCKING DRESS OFF!
OH! THERE WE GO!
JUST RIP THAT SHIT OFF, HONEY!
HAHAHAHA!
Look at her! She got pissed off at the dress, and now she’s actually starting to get into it!
THAT’S THE SPIRIT, DARLING!
And the audience is cheering!
WAIT A MINUTE!
AREN’T THOSE COPS?!
OH, THAT’S FUCKING HILARIOUS!
Her fellow officers are cheering her through amateur night! This is either a tremendous display of professional solidarity or the least discreet undercover operation in law-enforcement history.
Probably both.
AND HERE COME THE TITS!
YES!
FINALLY!
Oh.
Well, FUCK ME.
THREE FUCKING SECONDS?!
She’s already covering them up!
WAIT! WHO’S THAT ASSHOLE WITH THE JACKET?!
OH, COME ON!
FUCK YOU, DUDE!
SHE JUST SPENT FIVE MINUTES FIGHTING THAT FUCKING DRESS, AND YOU’RE PUTTING CLOTHES BACK ON HER?!
I’M TRYING TO WATCH AN UNDERCOVER INVESTIGATION HERE!
STOP OBSTRUCTING JUSTICE!
And she wins!
SHE ACTUALLY WINS!
THE COPS JUST HELPED THEIR OWN UNDERCOVER DETECTIVE WIN A STRIP CONTEST! AND HER STRIPPING NAME IS SUNNY!
HAHAHAHAHAHA!
If Internal Affairs ever gets hold of the receipts for this investigation, somebody is going to have an extremely uncomfortable meeting.
Oh, now Cinnamon is stripping!
HELLO, CINNAMON!
AND THE FUCKING LIGHTING IS RUINING IT AGAIN!
SERIOUSLY, FUCK THIS DIRECTOR!
HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO SAY IT?! TURN ON A FUCKING LIGHT!
OH, CINNAMON!
HAHAHAHA!
FUCK, THAT WAS A GREAT SHOT! SHE JUST GAVE THE OLD CLAP A GOOD TAP!
NOW THAT’S WHAT I CALL SHOWMANSHIP!
And what I can actually see of her tits is lovely!
BUT EVERYTHING IS FUCKING RED! WHAT ASSHOLE THOUGHT THIS WAS A GOOD IDEA?!
You’ve hired beautiful women, put them onstage, and then decided to light the entire fucking club like the inside of a malfunctioning toaster!
I’M TRYING TO APPRECIATE THE ARTS, YOU BASTARDS!
Oh, shit!
Cinnamon fell!
HAHAHAHAHA!
Honey, lay off the booze! Although, considering this lighting, maybe she just couldn’t see where the fucking stage ended.
SOMEBODY GET THIS WOMAN A DRINK, AN ICE PACK, AND A FUCKING LIGHT BULB!
Now we’re settling into life at the Rock Bottom club, and I must say, this is a very accommodating establishment.
We have dancers everywhere!
On the stage!
In the dressing rooms!
Practicing their routines!
Changing costumes!
MY GOODNESS, WHAT A BUSY LITTLE WORKPLACE!
And the variety!
We’ve got all sorts of performers with different looks, different personalities, and different styles of dancing. Some are graceful and athletic, some are cheeky, some are confrontational, and some look like they could kick a man’s teeth out if he tried getting too friendly.
I approve of all of them.
These women are actually interesting to watch beyond the obvious scenery. Several of the routines involve impressive flexibility, elaborate props, and real physical skill.
And unlike certain other films I could mention, Katt Shea doesn’t appear afraid to let a performance continue long enough for us to appreciate it.
IF WE COULD FUCKING SEE THROUGH THIS SHIT-ASS LIGHTING!
GOD, THERE IT IS AGAIN!
Every time I start enjoying myself, somebody turns the entire fucking screen into a bowl of tomato soup!
YOU’VE GOT BEAUTIFUL WOMEN PERFORMING IMPRESSIVE ROUTINES, AND I HAVE TO SQUINT LIKE I’M TRYING TO IDENTIFY A SUSPECT IN GRAINY SECURITY FOOTAGE!
TURN ON THE FUCKING LIGHTS!
I’m beginning to think the real murderer isn’t stalking the dancers.
IT’S THE ASSHOLE OPERATING THE SPOTLIGHT!
The dancers aren’t just vaguely moving around in the background. They’re putting on shows.
ACTUAL SHOWS! With choreography! Costumes! PERSONALITIES!
THEIA, I’M LEARNING ABOUT PERFORMANCE ART AGAIN!
I’ve learned so much about art during this festival.
You must be very proud of me.
Oh, here’s another hottie named Fanny!
HELLO, FANNY!
AND THE FUCKING LIGHTS ARE RUINING IT AGAIN!
NOW IT’S RED WITH BLUE AND YELLOW FLASHING EVERYWHERE!
WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?! A STRIP CLUB OR A BROKEN TRAFFIC LIGHT?!
She’s flipping all over the stage in her cute little lingerie, putting on a wonderful show, and I CAN’T SEE A FUCKING THING!
Lovely shot of her ass!
RUINED BY THE LIGHTING!
Beautiful pair of tits!
RUINED BY THE FUCKING LIGHTING!
I’M SERIOUSLY GETTING PISSED OFF NOW!
IT’S LIKE SOMEBODY SMEARED THE FUCKING CAMERA LENS WITH KETCHUP!
KATT SHEA! DARLING! WE NEED TO TALK!
YOU HAVE HIRED BEAUTIFUL WOMEN TO TAKE THEIR CLOTHES OFF IN FRONT OF A CAMERA!
WHY ARE YOU MAKING IT SO FUCKING DIFFICULT TO SEE THEM?!
I swear to Olympus, if one more gorgeous woman disappears into a cloud of flashing red light, I’m going to march down to the Halls’ maintenance department, steal every lamp they own, AND LIGHT THIS FUCKING MOVIE MYSELF!
Thalia takes an enormous drink of wine.
Right.
Now that I’ve addressed this film’s most serious technical problem…
I have a question.
Why is every other person in this club either a police officer, a suspect, a murder victim, or somebody whose personal history would make an absolutely fascinating documentary?
Where are the ordinary customers?
You know, the boring accountant who stops in after work, watches a performance, tips politely, and goes home to feed his dog?
Apparently those people don’t exist in this universe.
EVERYBODY IS A FUCKING SUSPECT!
Oh, Cinnamon, darling. I don’t like you limping around the street all by yourself.
NOT AFTER WHAT HAPPENED TO ANGEL!
Sweetheart, GO HOME!
GET A TAXI!
FIND A FUCKING POLICE OFFICER!
Although, considering how competent the police have been so far, maybe forget that last one.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
NO!
NOT CINNAMON!
Another beautiful woman with a magnificent pair of tits, FUCKING STRANGLED AND HER THROAT SLIT!
WHAT THE FUCK?!
CAN WE PLEASE STOP MURDERING THE ENTERTAINMENT?!
…
WAIT A FUCKING MINUTE.
I CAN SEE EVERYTHING!
THE BODY! THE STREET! THE BLOOD!
OH, SO NOW YOU KNOW HOW TO FUCKING LIGHT A SCENE?!
HAHAHAHAHAHA!
YOU CAN’T SHOW ME A PAIR OF BEAUTIFUL BREASTS WITHOUT BATHING THE ENTIRE SCREEN IN FUCKING KETCHUP, BUT THE SECOND SOMEBODY GETS MURDERED, WE’VE GOT PERFECT FUCKING VISIBILITY?!
WE CAN LIGHT THE MURDERS, BUT WE CAN’T LIGHT THE FUCKING STRIP CLUB?!
KATT SHEA!
WHERE THE FUCK WAS THIS LIGHTING TWENTY MINUTES AGO?!
I’D HAVE LIKED TO HAVE SEEN CINNAMON THIS CLEARLY WHILE SHE WAS STILL FUCKING ALIVE!
Thalia takes an angry drink of wine.
Rest in peace, Cinnamon, darling.
You deserved better.
AND SO DID YOUR FUCKING LIGHTING!
Heineman: “I must have been breast-blind. I think if I had seen one more tit, I would have thrown up.”
Cody: “I thought men liked watching tits flop around in front of them.”
Heineman: “Well, I’d like to see yours flopping around.”
Cody: “They don’t flop!”
Heineman: “Yeah, that’s what you say.”
HAHAHAHAHAHA!
BREAST-BLIND?!
AT LEAST HE COULD FUCKING SEE THE TITS! MUST’VE BEEN NICE!
THIS MOTHERFUCKER HAS SEEN SO MANY BEAUTIFUL BREASTS THAT HE’S DEVELOPED A MEDICAL CONDITION, AND I’M OVER HERE SQUINTING THROUGH A FUCKING TOMATO SOUP COMMERCIAL!
HE’S COMPLAINING ABOUT TOO MANY TITS?!
I CAN’T SEE THE FUCKING THINGS!
HAHAHAHAHAHA!
I WOULD LOVE TO HAVE YOUR PROBLEM, YOU UNGRATEFUL BASTARD!
And Cody says hers don’t flop!
OH, REALLY?!
Well, darling, given the cinematography we’ve endured tonight, I suppose we’ll just have to take your fucking word for it!
KATT SHEA! I DEMAND A SECOND OPINION! PREFERABLY WITH THE FUCKING LIGHTS ON!
Oh, now we’ve got some masked chick dancing in a spiderweb!
A FUCKING SPIDERWEB!
Well, that’s certainly creative!
AND NOW EVERYTHING IS FUCKING BLUE!
HAHAHAHAHA!
WE’VE GONE FROM KETCHUP TO BLUEBERRY FUCKING SYRUP!
And that’s Brandy, apparently.
Hello, Brandy!
Lovely costume, darling!
Shame we can’t see much of anything!
And no tits, either.
WHAT A WASTE OF FIVE SECONDS!
Oh, who’s this now?
WAIT A MINUTE!
IS THAT AN ASIAN?!
HAVE WE GOT A POTENTIAL ASIAN INFLATION SITUATION HERE?!
Oh, for FUCK’S SAKE!
THE RED LIGHT IS BACK!
I CAN’T FUCKING SEE HER!
She’s dressed like a geisha, there’s Asian-style music playing, and I can’t even tell who’s underneath all that makeup!
IS SHE ASIAN? IS SHE NOT ASIAN?!
WHO THE FUCK KNOWS?!
I CAN’T EVEN TELL WHAT COLOR THE FUCKING WALLS ARE IN THIS PLACE!
And she’s keeping her clothes on.
Well, there goes the bonus!
NO TITS, NO ASIAN INFLATION!
MADDIE! MARK THAT ONE DOWN AS INCONCLUSIVE!
Thalia angrily scribbles on her scoring scroll.
POTENTIAL BONUS: DENIED DUE TO INSUFFICIENT EVIDENCE AND CRIMINAL FUCKING LIGHTING!
HAHAHAHAHA!
I swear, my darlings, by the time this movie ends, I’m going to be so fucking angry at the lighting department that I might forget we’re supposed to be solving a murder!
Oh, now here’s a hot blonde!
HELLO, DARLING!
Lovely fucking pair!
AND HOLY SHIT! WE CAN ACTUALLY SEE THEM!
IT’S CODY!
HAHAHAHAHAHA!
SOMEBODY FOUND THE FUCKING LIGHT SWITCH!
Not much of a routine, though. And now she’s getting yelled at because she got within five feet of some dude trying to hand her money while she’s topless.
FIVE FEET?!
YOU HAVE A FIVE-FOOT RULE?!
WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS, A STRIP CLUB OR A FUCKING RESTRAINING ORDER?!
HAHAHAHA!
Oh, here’s another lovely lady!
Well, I assume she’s lovely. FUCK IF I KNOW WHO IT IS!
She’s upside down working that pole like an absolute champion, wearing a cute little pink top.
I THINK IT’S PINK!
IT COULD BE FUCKING ORANGE FOR ALL I KNOW!
AT THIS POINT, I’M NOT EVEN CERTAIN WHAT COLORS EXIST IN THIS BUILDING!
Oh! Fanny’s back!
HELLO AGAIN, FANNY!
And apparently she’s from the Philippines and Guam!
WAIT!
THE PHILIPPINES AND GUAM?!
Well, now you’ve got my attention!
And would you look at that?!
HALFWAY DECENT FUCKING LIGHTING!
IT’S A MIRACLE! HALLELUJAH!
Although I still can’t tell much about her background just by looking at her. But what the hell, we’re finally getting somewhere!
We’ve got a beautiful woman, a decent routine, and lighting that doesn’t make the whole fucking stage look like the inside of a ketchup bottle!
THIS COULD BE IT, MY DARLINGS!
ASIAN INFLATION MAY BE BACK ON THE TABLE!
Come on, Fanny!
COME ON, DARLING!
…
OH, FOR FUCK’S SAKE!
SHE’S KEEPING HER TOP ON!
HAHAHAHAHAHA!
YOU HAVE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME!
THE ONE TIME THE LIGHTING ACTUALLY WORKS, NOBODY TAKES THEIR FUCKING TOP OFF!
THESE PEOPLE ARE DETERMINED TO DENY ME MY BONUS STAR!
MADDIE! SCRATCH OUT THE ASIAN INFLATION!
AGAIN!
Thalia takes an indignant drink of wine.
And where the fuck is Guam, anyway?
Is that near the Philippines?
Is that an island?
DO THEY HAVE STRIP CLUBS THERE?!
Because if they do, I have a few questions about their fucking lighting arrangements!
Oh, and Cody’s getting better at dancing!
Look at her!
AND WE CAN ACTUALLY FUCKING SEE!
That’s actually some nice little character development. She starts out painfully uncomfortable with the whole assignment, but as she spends more time around the other women, she seems to discover a bit of confidence.
And Kay Lenz is genuinely good here.
I’m serious!
STOP LOOKING SO SURPRISED!
I AM CAPABLE OF APPRECIATING ACTING!
THAT BODY, THOUGH!
GOOD LORD!
NICE FUCKING ASS!
And she’s working it, too!
HAHAHAHAHA!
Time to quit the force, honey! YOU’VE FOUND YOUR CALLING!
Look at that confidence! Look at that attitude! She’s gone from fighting with her own dress to looking like she actually belongs on that stage!
AND SHE’S LEARNED HOW TO WORK THE POLE!
YOU GO, GIRL!
I’m so proud of you, darling!
This is genuine character development!
THIS IS CINEMA!
Now, the tits aren’t out yet, but we’ve got time.
We’ve got patience.
We’ve got—
Wait.
What’s that?
PURPLE?!
THEY’RE INTRODUCING FUCKING PURPLE LIGHTING NOW?!
OH, DON’T YOU FUCKING START!
KATT SHEA!
I’M WARNING YOU!
WE HAD A GOOD THING GOING HERE!
THE CAMERA WAS WORKING! THE LIGHTS WERE ON! I COULD ACTUALLY IDENTIFY THE FUCKING ACTRESS!
YOU BETTER NOT FUCK THIS UP!
All right, Cody. Ignore the lighting department. You’re doing wonderfully, sweetheart.
Lovely moves!
Excellent pole work!
Here comes the big finish!
COME ON, DARLING!
…
Wait.
That’s it?
NO FUCKING TITS?!
UN-FUCKING-BELIEVABLE!
HAHAHAHAHAHA!
I JUST SAT THROUGH AN ENTIRE PERFORMANCE, COMPLIMENTED THE ACTING, PRAISED THE CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT, AND SURVIVED THE INTRODUCTION OF A WHOLE NEW FUCKING COLOR…
AND SHE KEPT HER BRA ON?!
OH, YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!
Thalia throws her hands into the air.
I DON’T UNDERSTAND THIS FUCKING MOVIE!
When the women take their tops off, YOU CAN’T SEE THEM!
When the lighting is good, THEY KEEP THEIR FUCKING TOPS ON!
IS THERE A WRITTEN POLICY AGAINST HAVING BOTH AT THE SAME FUCKING TIME?!
MADDIE!
GET ME THE EMPLOYEE HANDBOOK FOR THE ROCK BOTTOM!
I WANT TO FILE A FORMAL FUCKING COMPLAINT!
Her Cody isn’t simply a policewoman pretending to be somebody else. She’s slowly becoming more comfortable with parts of herself that she didn’t know quite how to express, and there’s something rather sweet about that beneath all the murder and nudity.
And speaking of which—
OH, HELLO AGAIN, KAY!
HAHAHAHA!
VERY GOOD!
I APPROVE OF THIS CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT!
Oh, she’s getting it on with her detective partner now!
WELL, WELL, WELL!
SO THIS IS WHAT THEY DO ON THE POLICE FORCE?!
HAHAHAHAHA!
Are they hiring?!
I’M SERIOUS! WHERE DO I SUBMIT MY FUCKING APPLICATION?!
Oh, right.
FUCK!
FOILED BY THE PASSAGE OF TIME AGAIN!
And wait a minute.
WHERE ARE THE TITS?!
WHAT THE FUCK?!
WE’RE IN A BEDROOM NOW!
THERE’S NO STAGE LIGHTING!
NO RED SPOTLIGHTS!
NO FLASHING BLUE BULLSHIT!
AND I STILL CAN’T SEE ANY FUCKING TITS?!
WHAT THE FUCK HAS THIS MOVIE TURNED INTO?!
HAHAHAHAHA!
My beautiful degenerates, I have absolutely no idea what’s happening anymore!
WHO’S THE KILLER?!
WHO’S FUCKING WHO?!
WHY IS EVERYBODY ACTING SO SUSPICIOUS?!
I DON’T FUCKING KNOW!
I’ve spent so much time fighting with the lighting department and waiting for somebody to take their top off that I’ve completely lost track of the murder investigation!
This movie started SO WELL!
Beautiful dancers! Wonderful performances! Lovely tits! A genuinely nasty murder mystery!
AND THEN SOMEBODY FOUND A FUCKING RED LIGHT BULB!
Now I’m sitting here wondering whether my television is broken, my eyesight is failing, or Katt Shea personally decided I wasn’t allowed to enjoy myself!
WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO THIS MOVIE?!
Thalia stares at her increasingly illegible review notes.
I’ve written “TURN ON THE FUCKING LIGHTS” seventeen times.
I haven’t written down a single clue.
I MAY ACTUALLY BE THE WORST FUCKING DETECTIVE IN HISTORY!
Oh, right.
The murderer.
I’d nearly forgotten.
Which is becoming a recurring problem in this festival.
Somebody is strangling the dancers, the police are chasing suspicious people, and our investigation is collecting more questionable leads than a detective novel written by a man who hasn’t slept in a week.
There’s Mr. Pocket, one of the club’s peculiar regulars.
There’s Roxanne, who has a connection to Angel.
There are jealousies, relationships, secrets, and various people behaving as suspiciously as possible.
And meanwhile, I keep getting distracted by another beautiful woman performing a dance routine that’s been COMPLETELY FUCKING RUINED BY THE LIGHTING!
I’M TRYING TO HELP SOLVE THE CASE!
HONESTLY!
But then another lovely lady walks onto the stage wearing approximately seventeen square inches of fabric, and suddenly the murder investigation becomes a secondary concern to figuring out WHO THE FUCK IS RESPONSIBLE FOR LIGHTING THIS ESTABLISHMENT!
WHO IS THIS ASSHOLE?!
WHERE DOES HE WORK?!
WHAT’S HIS NAME?!
I WANT A FUCKING SUSPECT LINEUP OF THE ENTIRE LIGHTING CREW!
HAHAHAHAHAHA!
I don’t even know who the murderer is anymore, but I know EXACTLY who I want arrested!
Thalia furiously scribbles in her review notes.
PRIMARY SUSPECT: LIGHTING TECHNICIAN.
MOTIVE: HATRED OF BEAUTIFUL BREASTS.
EVIDENCE: SEVENTEEN COUNTS OF RED FUCKING LIGHTING.
It’s very difficult being a conscientious film critic under these circumstances.
AND EVEN HARDER BEING A DETECTIVE WHEN YOU CAN’T SEE A FUCKING THING!
And now another woman is dead.
Oh, COME ON!
CAN WE PLEASE KEEP THE PERFORMERS ALIVE FOR MORE THAN TWENTY MINUTES?!
I realize this is a serial-killer movie, but at this rate the Rock Bottom is going to run out of employees before Cody finishes her undercover training!
Norman Fell is going to have to start recruiting from the audience.
Actually, that might explain why half the police department keeps showing up.
HAHAHAHA!
But here’s something I genuinely appreciate: the film does spend time with the women as people. They’re not all interchangeable victims waiting for the next attack. We see friendships, arguments, rivalries, frustrations, and the everyday business of working at this rather disreputable club.
Some of it is funny. Some of it is sad. Some of it is surprisingly believable.
And that gives the murders a little more weight. A little, not a lot.
I may be here for the exploitation, my darlings, but I appreciate a director who remembers that the women deserve personalities, too. Too bad we couldn’t remember how to fucking light a scene.
Even if I am going to spend an unreasonable amount of time discussing their performances.
KAY LENZ, YOU’RE DOING WONDERFULLY!
I must say, Cody has certainly embraced this undercover assignment.
Remember how uncomfortable she looked during amateur night?
Look at her now!
CONFIDENCE!
PRESENTATION!
PROFESSIONAL DEVELOPMENT!
HAHAHAHA!
This might be the first movie I’ve watched where a woman’s career progression can be measured by how much better she gets at taking her clothes off.
And her superiors apparently discover what’s happening and object.
NOW?!
YOU OBJECT NOW?!
WHO THE FUCK APPROVED THE OPERATION IN THE FIRST PLACE?!
Did somebody forget to mention the part where the undercover detective would be required to perform the actual duties of her cover identity?
What exactly did they expect her to do?
Stand in the corner wearing a trench coat and announce that she was technically a stripper but didn’t participate in any of the activities?
THAT’S NOT UNDERCOVER WORK!
THAT’S A VERY BAD DISGUISE!
Oh, I love this police department.
It’s somehow less competent than the security robots from Chopping Mall.
At least those little bastards knew what their job was.
“Thank you. Have a nice day.”
HAHAHAHA!
I miss them.
Actually, no, I don’t.
THEY KILLED LESLIE!
FUCK THOSE ROBOTS!
Oh, things are getting serious now.
Cody’s closing in on the murderer, everybody is behaving suspiciously, and we’re approaching that wonderful point in a thriller where the police finally discover something the audience has been wondering about for half the movie.
And the revelations are certainly getting complicated.
We’ve got a secret identity, a disturbing family history, and a killer whose obsession has apparently driven them to commit some truly terrible acts.
Well.
That’s unpleasant.
I suppose I should have expected the movie to take a darker turn eventually.
Although I have one request for future filmmakers: can we please stop assuming that a disguise, an unconventional identity, or an unusual personal life is automatically a substitute for a coherent murder motive?
The actual violence and obsession are disturbing enough without treating somebody’s wardrobe as the entire explanation.
Anyway!
WE HAVE A KNIFE!
WE HAVE A CHASE!
AND—
OH, GOOD LORD!
MORE FUCKING FIRE?!
WHAT IS IT WITH THIS MOVIE AND SETTING PEOPLE ON FIRE?!
We’ve come full circle!
At the beginning, somebody is horribly burned.
At the end, the killer manages to become involved in another gasoline-fueled catastrophe.
Apparently this movie’s philosophy is that every difficult interpersonal conflict can eventually be resolved through combustion.
I do not recommend that approach.
For legal reasons.
But I will admit the climax is suitably dramatic.
And there is something rather satisfying about watching Cody fight back after everything she’s endured.
Good for you, darling!
You solve that case!
Then take a holiday!
Somewhere without murderers.
Or strip clubs.
Actually, perhaps a strip club would be fine.
Just find one with better employee retention.
THALIA’S FINAL DECREE — UNDERCOVER AND OVERDRESSED
Well, my beautiful degenerates.
WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!
HAHAHAHAHAHA!
Stripped to Kill started out with so much promise!
Beautiful women! Gorgeous tits! Impressive dancing! A serial killer stalking a strip club! A police department apparently willing to pay its detectives to take their fucking clothes off!
WHAT MORE COULD A GIRL WANT?!
I’ll tell you what!
A FUCKING LIGHT BULB!
GOOD GOD ALMIGHTY!
I have never spent so much time watching beautiful women perform while simultaneously being unable to SEE THE FUCKING WOMEN!
RED LIGHTS! BLUE LIGHTS! PURPLE LIGHTS! FLASHING YELLOW BULLSHIT!
AT ONE POINT I THOUGHT MY TELEVISION WAS BLEEDING!
And here’s the really infuriating part, my darlings.
THERE’S ACTUALLY A DECENT FUCKING MOVIE BURIED UNDER ALL THAT KETCHUP!
Kay Lenz gives a genuinely good performance as Cody, a detective who starts out awkward and uncomfortable before gradually discovering some confidence onstage. She’s attractive, she’s convincing, and she manages to give the character more personality than the script probably required.
And Norman Fell!
MR. FUCKING ROPER!
Running a strip club!
HAHAHAHAHAHA!
That alone deserves some appreciation.
The other women are talented, too! These aren’t just interchangeable bodies wandering around waiting to get murdered. Several of them have personality, their routines require genuine skill, and some of these ladies can work a pole better than the police can work a fucking investigation!
SO WHY DID YOU HIDE THEM IN THE DARK?!
KATT SHEA!
I’M ASKING YOU A SERIOUS FUCKING QUESTION!
YOU HAD THE WOMEN!
YOU HAD THE CAMERAS!
YOU HAD THE STRIP CLUB!
DID YOU SPEND THE ENTIRE FUCKING LIGHTING BUDGET ON RED CHRISTMAS BULBS?!
And the murders!
OH, THE FUCKING MURDERS!
You know what’s remarkable? Every time somebody got strangled, stabbed, or set on fire, I COULD ACTUALLY SEE
HORROR: ★☆☆☆☆ — 1/5
The opening murder is nasty, the killer is genuinely dangerous, and there’s some decent suspense. But this is primarily a crime thriller rather than a frightening horror movie. Nobody is going to mistake it for The Exorcist. Unless they’re breast-blind AND cinema-blind.
And frankly, my darlings, the only thing that genuinely frightened me was the possibility of sitting through ANOTHER FUCKING RED-LIT STRIP ROUTINE!
CHEESE: ★★☆☆☆ — 2/5
The dialogue! The ridiculous undercover assignment! The wonderfully exhausted Norman Fell! And, of course, an actual argument about whether a detective’s breasts flop!
HAHAHAHA!
There’s some deliciously stupid 1980s dialogue here, but the movie takes its murder mystery too seriously to reach the glorious heights of cinematic cheese. Two stars!
BOOBS: ★★★☆☆ — 3/5
MY DARLINGS!
WE HAVE QUANTITY!
WE HAVE QUALITY!
WE HAVE VARIETY!
WE HAVE WOMEN WHO CAN DO THINGS ON A DANCE POLE THAT WOULD SEND ME STRAIGHT TO A CHIROPRACTOR!
HAHAHAHAHA!
THIS SHOULD BE FIVE FUCKING STARS!
BUT I’M DEDUCTING TWO!
TWO ENTIRE FUCKING STARS!
FOR THE DAMN RED LIGHTING!
I HAVE NEVER SEEN SO MANY BEAUTIFUL WOMEN WHILE SIMULTANEOUSLY BEING UNABLE TO SEE A FUCKING THING!
It’s red! It’s blue! It’s purple! It’s flashing yellow! HALF THE TIME I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHO I’M FUCKING LOOKING AT!
And the one time the lighting actually improves, SOMEBODY KEEPS HER FUCKING TOP ON!
KATT SHEA! YOU HAD FIVE STARS IN THE BAG!
AND YOUR LIGHTING DEPARTMENT FUCKED YOU OUT OF TWO OF THEM!
And Kay Lenz, you beautiful woman, I salute your commitment to the investigation. You were wonderful, darling.
Three stars for an evening of enthusiastic performances, beautiful women, and the most infuriating lighting arrangements I’ve encountered in seven days of questionable cinema.
Thalia furiously writes in her rating ledger.
TWO STARS DEDUCTED. OFFICIAL REASON: OBSTRUCTION OF TITTIES.
TWO FUCKING STARS!
That’s right, my beautiful degenerates! TWO!
And frankly, Katt Shea, you should consider yourself lucky I haven’t deducted another one!
Stripped to Kill had everything it needed to make me happy. Beautiful women, lovely tits, impressive dancing, a decent leading actress, Norman fucking Fell running a strip club, and a police department that apparently considers public nudity a legitimate investigative technique!
I SHOULD HAVE LOVED THIS MOVIE!
Instead, I spent nearly ninety minutes screaming at my television like a deranged Greek woman trying to communicate with a malfunctioning traffic light!
RED! BLUE! PURPLE! RED AGAIN!
JUST TURN ON THE FUCKING LIGHTS!
HAHAHAHAHA!
And the saddest part? There really is a decent little thriller buried under all that bullshit. Kay Lenz is wonderful, the dancers are talented, and I genuinely wanted to enjoy their performances.
BUT I COULDN’T FUCKING SEE HALF OF THEM!
Would I watch it again?
ONLY IF SOMEBODY RELEASES A VERSION WHERE THE LIGHTING DEPARTMENT HAS BEEN ARRESTED AND REPLACED WITH PEOPLE WHO UNDERSTAND HOW FUCKING LIGHT BULBS WORK!
Would I recommend that the police use strip competitions as standard investigative procedure?
ABSOLUTELY!
Are they hiring?
Oh, right. 1987.
FUCK!
And before anybody asks, NO, this doesn’t come anywhere close to Nightmare Sisters.
THAT MOVIE KNEW HOW TO SHOWCASE ITS TALENT!
THAT MOVIE UNDERSTOOD PRESENTATION!
THAT MOVIE HAD THE SACRED FUCKING BATHTUB!
THE BATHTUB IS ETERNAL!
THE BATHTUB—
Somebody knocks on the screening-room door.
THEIA! I AM NOT TALKING ABOUT THE FUCKING BATHTUB AGAIN!
…
What?!
Oh.
It’s Maddie.
She’s here with the official rating ledger.
Fine!
TWO STARS!
WRITE IT DOWN!
OFFICIAL REASON: CRIMINAL OBSTRUCTION OF TITTIES!
And I want that entered into the permanent record!
MADDIE: “Thalia, that’s not a recognized category of cinematic criticism.”
THEN FUCKING RECOGNIZE IT!
Thalia drains the remainder of her wine and points accusingly at the television.
And Katt Shea, if you’re listening, I have one final message for you.
NEXT TIME, SPEND LESS MONEY ON RED LIGHT BULBS AND MORE MONEY ON LETTING ME SEE WHAT THE FUCK I’M WATCHING!
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to bed.
I need to rest my eyes after spending an hour and a half squinting at this fucking movie.
And somebody please get Detective Cody a vacation.
She’s earned it.
AS FOR THE LIGHTING DIRECTOR?
I HOPE HE STEPS ON A FUCKING LEGO!
— Thalia
Goddess of Glorious Trash, Defender of Questionable Cinema, and Honorary Chairwoman of the Rock Bottom Undercover Investigation Committee
