Mutant Reviewers from Hell do
"I used to love Doggy Chow, too!"

1995 NC-17 / Drama Directed by: Paul Verhoeven Starring: Elizabeth Berkley, Gina Gershon, Kyle MacLachlan

Tagline

Leave Your Inhibitions At The Door

Summary Capsule

Hooker tries to break into sexy dancing; sex equals violence; breasts abound.

Mutant Meter

Movie Store [proceeds go toward monthly MRFH upkeep]

Amazon.com: DVD | Amazon.com: Soundtrack

Justin's Rating: I must've seen a hundred women's bajingos today! Bajingo, bajingo, bajingo... (with apologies to Scrubs)

Justin's Review: While there is certainly no shortage of bad films released each and every week into the public consciousness, it is a rarity to see a bad films of a specific breed: a huge, big budget, over-inflated, star-filled, heavily-promoted, mind-numbingly terrible movie. Movies like these don’t pop up very often — perhaps one every five years or so — but when they do, watch out. Actors and actresses will witness their careers abruptly end, directors will find future projects sparse, and audiences everywhere will take the name of the film and make it into such a long-running joke that no one can remember a time before the release when people actually had hopes it would be a smashing success.

"By the fifth minute, we’ve become familiar with Nomi’s personality, which is to be incredibly dumb, single-minded in focus, and as short-tempered as a mule pooping out hornets."

The 90’s saw four such big bombs land in theaters… at least, by my count. Hudson Hawk was critically maligned but didn’t deserve such a bad rap — it was a quirky, and later on, enjoyable cult film that gained a group of fans. The other two big offenders, Batman and Robin and Battlefield Earth, have no such defenders. They represent gobs of money wasted on garish productions that tortured rather than entertained. Similarly, Showgirls shared some of their key traits (high profile cast and crew, tons of money, floundering script) but differed from the 90’s big bombs in a few notable ways, starting with its NC-17 rating.

As with The Doom Generation, the only thing I can draw from watching Showgirls is that the filmmakers personally hated each and every person in the potential audience and wanted them to suffer greatly. As far from redeeming as one can be without leaving our dimension, Showgirls writhes with seething hatred: hatred between characters, hatred at their situations, and hatred toward the watchers. It’s a mean, ugly movie that just so happens to be courageously bad in scope, so that when you’re not wincing from its assault, you’re laughing at its childish results.

The core of this story and the film’s hatred is Nomi, played by Elizabeth Berkley. Berkley’s major claim to fame prior to this point was being Jessie in "Saved By The Bell", a horrid little Saturday morning sitcom that brought school into our living rooms on the weekend in an unfunny way. Jessie was never one of my favorite characters, but then again, none of them really were. After Showgirls and the resulting nuclear fallout, Berkley vanished without a trace. She’ll never work in Hollywood again, and if this movie is any indication, Las Vegas probably doesn’t want her either. (Yes, I know that she's done films since, but allow the exaggeration for my sake.)

Nomi, an ex-hooker with a desire to "make it big" by "taking off her clothes for money but it’s called DANCING not being a HOOKER when it’s in a club format", wanders into Las Vegas with a heart of gold and a sneer of silver. By the fifth minute, we’ve become familiar with Nomi’s personality, which is to be incredibly dumb, single-minded in focus, and as short-tempered as a mule pooping out hornets. (I first typed "bumblebees", then "wasps", but finally decided that "hornets" held the highest comedy value there.) Nomi simply has to be seen to be believed, because I cannot convey to you how idiotic her character acts, switching from attacking a complete stranger for no reason to crying on her shoulder within, literally, ten seconds. She’s worse than Pam Lee in Barb Wire, who would go off on someone for daring to call her stripper persona "babe". Nomi is far worse, as for any reason at all, she launches into a poor man’s rendition of what a three-year-old’s temper tantrum might look like if it were stuffed into the body of a prostitute. It’s… interesting.

Nomi’s dream to be a "star" (Lord only knows how many films out there revolve around a girl traveling to a new city to become a star for some reason) lands her in a chorus line for a nudie dance line at a casino. Splendid. It’s here that director Paul Verhoeven and writer Joe Eszterhas enter into a personal playground for their pornographic fantasies. The problem is, it’s a horrible place full of rusty swing sets and absurd notions of what is erotic and sensual.

Here’s the thing: nudity is not, by itself, erotic. A breast is just a breast (just ask any doctor who does a thousand mammograms every month). It needs to be given context, a personal connection to suddenly take form. And if you see Showgirls (please don’t, please), you’ll learn to understand that there is actually a place where all of the breasts in the world hopping about can be stripped of anything remotely sexy. Sometimes it’s far sexier to leave clothes on and something to the imagination. Sometimes it’s more alluring if a person hints at attraction and subtly flirts instead of thrashing themselves on another person in a swimming pool as if they were an epileptic lamprey eel.

If you come to rent this film out of a misguided sense of horniness, you’ll soon discover it has the same effect as temporary castration. Showgirls is, without a doubt, anti-sexy. It contains plenty of nudity, yes, but in such a gross context that you’ll be tempted to swear off sex forever. And it doesn’t help matters that all of the characters who are pleading with you to take their stories seriously are spending most of their time topless, spouting out crude phrases as if they were titillating, and prancing about like complete ninnies. It’s nothing but sad and pitiful.

Since the whole of the story is actually short — girl becomes showgirl, bullies her way to the top, has a fall, leaves town — the remaining space is filled with pointlessness. Some guy follows Nomi around wanting to teach her to dance, but she’s mean to him until his persistence results in them almost getting it on except she’s on her period and makes him do something insanely disgusting to prove it. Nomi befriends a genuinely nice girl and moves in with her, only to ruin her life by introducing her to a rapist who brutalizes her in a degrading moment of cinematic history. A fat lady keeps popping her top. Monkeys poop on stage. Gina Gershon smiles like a shark. Kyle MacLachlan is a stereotypical jerk in sheep’s clothing. Girls catfight without clothes on.

Sigh.

I’m actually ashamed to review this, because it’s telling you that I really watched it. I’m sorry I did. But if it results in warding off at least a couple others from wasting their time and morality in viewing this spectacular trash pile, then it might be worth it. As for me, I’m off to go take a bath. Fully clothed.

Kaleb's Rating: I've seen sexier Driver's Ed videos.

Kaleb's Review: Okay, everybody just shut up for a second and let me explain: As some of you may have noticed - and even if you haven't, please humor my enormous ego - I've been pretty quiet the past couple of months. No particular reason; which, unfortunately for me, means no good excuse, which in turn means a reckonin' is due. And when you read that last part, please do so with the voice of an undead hangin' judge.

"Maybe this sounds rough, but it wouldn't were I fluent in the angel tongue necessary to properly convey to you what a spectacular waste of space Berkley's character is."

See, it's like this: When one joins MRFH, the prestige inherent thereto comes with a certain responsibility; a tacit agreement to produce a certain number of reviews within a given time frame. I have reneged on this agreement, and now must pay with blood and tears.

I'm telling you this so that you'll understand that, while it's certainly my fault that I'm watching this movie, it wasn't my choice. Unlike Justin, who totally watched it on purpose because he wants to see all the boobies he can.

So - and here I'm speaking mainly to relative and close friends, because I'm apparently acerbic and mildly abusive to those closest to me - if any of you are waving hankies and stumbling to your fainting couches and whimpering forlornly about what a nice boy I used to be, chill. If it bothers you that much, your opinion of me probably needed to be dropped a couple of notches anyway. And for what it's worth, I've already cast the DVD back into the black nothingness that spawned it - briefly considering giving it its own bag so as not to offend my other trash - and have burned the clothes I wore while viewing, along with the top layer of my skin.

Now that that's out of the way, on to the review:

Everything Justin said, and a side of onion rings.

. . .

What?

Not enough?

Guh... fine. But you're going to have to sit through the whole story.

Back when Justin first donned his cleavage-baring chainmail and declared that The Wheel had chosen Showgirls as the penance for my deal-bust, the first thought that entered my mind was what a light punishment I was getting. Okay, so actually the first thought that entered my mind was "Crap, I'm gonna have some 'splainin' to do," but the second thought was, "Arrogant fool! I eat terrible movies for breakfast! And breasts don't frighten me!"

So, as it turns out, Justin is actually quite wise. Aaaaand cruel.

During the intervening days, as I did research while awaiting the DVD's arrival (this was because I desperately wanted to avoid any sort of human interaction during the acquisition process, so I found it on Half for four bucks and am cripplingly ashamed of spending even that much), I became increasingly concerned that I might be getting more than I bargained for. My final bit of preparation - reading Justin's review to ensure I didn't rehash too much - seemed to drive that point home. I believe it was then that I was first heard to opine, "I feel icky in my tum-tum".

When it finally arrived, I didn't do anything with it for about two days. Didn't even take it out of the cellophane, for fear that it would foul the air. And I worried that it might render my external combo drive unusable.

But, I got over it, rationalizing that a) I was going to have to review it eventually or face firement, b) Despite no intentions of viewing it of my own free will, I couldn't help but admit to a tiny flake of morbid curiosity, likely born of all the hubbub surrounding its release (as I recall, it was that week's herald of the Apocalypse), and c) It can't be all that bad, can it?

The answer to c)? Yes, si, oui, ja, da, hai, and affirmatives in alien languages we don't know about yet. It can be that bad and worse. I set my expectations as low as they could go, and this movie totally underblew them away.

And please understand, when I say "bad" I don't mean in terms of objectionable content -- if you could strip (tee hee!) away all of the obscenities and nudity and whatnot, that wouldn't really change anything. You wouldn't find compelling characters or an interesting story or sobering morals hiding underneath, but rather, squat. Bupkis. Void. The opposite of things. It isn't like the Godfather movies, which purportedly aren't for the kiddies but are allegedly super-awesome (haven't seen them; probably won't), or the most recent Rambo film, which, if you can shoulder through its naughty words and incredibly graphic violence, will reward you with some sweet incredibly graphic violence. No, it's simply absolute tripe; top to bottom, front to back, thoroughly indefensible.

Which in a roundabout way, reminds me of a theory I would like to posit as to the reason for its creation. To paraphrase Justin, Showgirls was created because it's producers hate all living things and want existence to end. This is a solid theory, and is certainly supported by the evidence. However, I have an alternative, which almost, almost puts a positive spin on the whole thing. Or rather, might, if I believed for one moment that it was actually true and wasn't just throwing it out for fun.

I submit to you that Showgirls was devised as a trap, a Malay man-catcher designed specifically for those sunken-chested, tiny-bearded sorts* who are always trumpeting about the hypocrisy and brokenness of the MPAA, inexorably drawn to a mainstream release carrying the hallowed and cyborg-designation-like NC-17 rating, crowing about how "daring" that is and how it must have story elements too weighty and intelligent for the sheltered philistines, and then SURPRISE! It's crap.

Like I said, if it were true, that would be wonderful, and my disposition toward the film's creators would warm all the way up to mild hostility. But, it isn't, and my offer to headbutt each and every person involved with this film in any way - from the director all the way down to the guy who changes his diaper - stands.

Matters aren't helped by the fact that the cast seems custom-crafted to feature exactly no one I like. Elizabeth Berkley ne'er haunted my dreams as Bayside High's sanctimonious ball-stomper, and the jump to a larger screen and different brand of repellent has not improved the situation. I couldn't name you one other thing Kyle McLachlan has been in. And Gina Gershon...

...gets her own paragraph. Rest assured, though, that as I attempt for my own peace of mind to demystify exactly what her appeal is, I will refrain from base and classless remarks about her bee-stung beef-lips. Or her grill like a '39 Plymouth. Or the fact that when she smiles...

Choose Your Own Slander!

1. One is reminded of an even-scarier version of Totoro.
2. It looks like Turbo Teen, were he to get stuck halfway through the facial portion of his transformation.
3. Somewhere, a puppy disintegrates.

I expect the first two, combined, to be significant to maybe a quarter of the readership, which is why I threw the third option in. Puppy disintegration is a phenomenon we can all relate to.

Additional bonus annoyance is granted by the fact that the film's story - if it even qualifies to be called such - relies too heavily on a form of plot architecture I like to call Implausible Misery: the idea that, yes, life sucks, but does it suck enough? It's kind of like an extra-mean, probability-defying form of Murphy's Law. I'll give you an illustration: Were it not for the fact that I'm fat and lazy and I don't want to, I'd bet you that I could traverse Vegas on foot, and arrive at the far end alive and unraped.

Not in the Showgirls world, though. Not only would I be shot a dozen times before I took the first step, I would also have the bullets immediately and fangoriously removed by lead-eating gremlins. Then I would drag my ravaged carcass to a nearby ambulance, only to find that it had been hijacked by a roving sex gang that only targets half-eaten people.

Which reminds me of another thing I don't like, and that I'm bad at logical segues. Seeing as how Showgirls flaunts itself as a movie that's supposed to blow your mind or shock your pants off or whatever, it has to constantly and predictably get all up in your face about how hard it thinks it is. I'm reminded in particular of the many instances of cocaine use, and how it felt like every snort should be accompanied by either a narrating cartoon character (I nominate Mr. DNA from Jurassic Park) popping up and saying "They're using cocaine, because that's debauchery!" or Mr. Verhoeven himself poking his buttable little head out of the screen, and growling to the viewer, all intimidating-like, "Did you see that, man? Cocaine. This movie is badass. You'd better watch your step, or it will cut you."

Going in, I had no idea what to expect in terms of an ending. But based on the film's fantastically-uninspiring premise-hooker/stripper aspires to be pretentiously-classy, high-ranking hooker/stripper (Showgirls are evidently the Green Berets of the skin industry) - and its billing as an expose on the dark side of Vegas (the seedy underbelly hidden beneath the pleasing facade of self-destruction and failure that the city presents to the common tourist) led me to predict either a heroin overdose, or some more deliberate form of suicide on the part of the lead.

What I didn't know was that, by about a third of the way through, I would be praying for such an event, and considering looking into it for myself. Maybe this sounds rough, but it wouldn't were I fluent in the angel tongue necessary to properly convey to you what a spectacular waste of space Berkley's character is. In all fairness, though, it isn't just her. Among the entire cast, there is maybe one character who's actually likable, and a couple more who sort of wander near likability without actually getting close enough to give it chlamydia, but the rest seem to exist solely to remind us that deranged snipers never target the right people.

However, in stark contrast to everything I've said so far, I think Showgirls should be required viewing in schools and youth groups across the nation. How can I say such a thing? Look directly below the space between this paragraph and the next for the answer!

Back when it was first released, I would've been fourteen, which, as I recall, was the age at which every concerned adult within a twenty mile radius began hammering into my skull that sins of a sexual nature were positively the worst you could do, and that if I was having trouble with temptation, I should consider murdering the elderly as a more acceptable outlet.

That said, I firmly believe from the bottom of my pancreas, that if I had snuck out and watched Showgirls upon its initial release, I would be in a monastery today. And that would differ greatly from my actual life, in that I would be wearing a robe.

That said, the way I figure it, we just need to force all of the unwitting teens that we can to watch this film, let them run with the assumption that all sex is as revolting as that portrayed therein, and boom: teenage promiscuity solved. Of course, one possible side effect would be the extinction of the entire human race, but really, who's going to miss it?

To Justin, the rest of the crew, the readers, and the millions of teeny tiny little children who look up to me as a role model, I'm sorry. Great hairy armpits of Odin, am I ever sorry. And now that I know the sort of punishment that awaits, you can lay money (Vegas pun! Har!) that I won't fall behind again.

*Okay, so I tend to agree with them on many points. That doesn't make them cease to be annoying hippies.

All I can think about is, "the GERMS" I can't disguise, I got, hungry eyes Vampires contract all sorts of nasty diseases from hookers

Didja Notice? [some sources: IMDb]

• Does she pull out a knife for just any reason?
• Girls like to fight, save each other’s lives, and then hug within twenty seconds of meeting each other
• Nudity by minute 9
• Nomi is a whiny brat with the spirit of a temper tantrum-throwing three-year-old -- and I think that’s all the notes the actress was given to work with
• Nomi does spirit fingers!
• Nomi knees a guy for no reason in the dance club, then smiles all proud-like as everyone fights because of her. She’s spiffy.
• That guy’s face ordered the extra craggy value meal
• Nomi’s a bit of wriggler during sex
• Ice cubes are threatening… for some reason…
• Checking for her period. Thank you, Showgirls. I’m off sex forever.
• So she sees 10 seconds of a routine, and can suddenly do three minutes of it?
• Monkeys in dresses! A metaphor for the movie AND its most enjoyable part!
• Ah, yet another pleasant catfight.
• The waiter hands the girls the menu and says "enjoy"… huh? Enjoy eating the menu?
• The girls bonding over eating dog food
• The mean girl saying the "F" word to the little kids, and having the little kids fake crying about it
• "It’s her knee"… gee, after squeezing it and hearing her shriek in pain, do you think it’s her knee? Showgirls make great doctors.
• Naked Kyle butt! Nooo!
• The cover image for this movie is a remake of a famous photograph by Slovak photographer Tono Stano.
• Elizabeth Berkley spends approximately 20 minutes, or 1/6 of the entire film, completely nude.
• Remember kids; not ratting out your backstabbing co-worker will pay dividends when it's your turn to backstab.
• Is she wearing cherry nipple-gloss?

Is It Worth Staying Through End Credits?

Ask yourself this: is it worth staying through the movie? No.

Intermission! [some sources: IMDb]

Kyle MacLachlan walked out of the movie's premiere, during which he was allegedly heard exclaiming "I thought this was an art movie."

The rights to show the film on television were eventually purchased by the VH1 network. However, because of the film's gratuitous nudity, a peculiar moment in cinema history occurred. An alternative, censored version of the film was created with black bras and panties digitally added over all frontally nude actresses. (This was done in addition to several scenes removed.) Berkley refused to redub her lines, so a noticeably different actress's voice was used in the dubbing.

Elizabeth Berkley was paid only $100,000 for playing the lead in the film.

The only interior scenes that were actually filmed in Las Vegas are the first ones in which Nomi plays slot machines.

The only time actresses complained that they felt uncomfortable was during the scenes with the monkeys, who constantly stared at their bare breasts.

The Los Angeles freeway sign at the end of the movie, was a hint at a sequel that Paul Verhoeven and Joe Eszterhas were already planning for, but was abandoned when this movie debuted. The sequel was to have Nomi going to Hollywood and taking on the movie business.

Groovy Quotes

Cristal: There's always someone younger and hungrier coming down the stairs after you.

Cristal: I've had dog food.
Nomi: You have?
Cristal: Mmm-hmmm. Long time ago. Doggy Chow. I used to love Doggy Chow.
Nomi: I used to love Doggy Chow, too!

James Smith: Now wait a minute. Listen, just listen. Man you've got more talent when you dance than anybody I've ever seen. And I've seen a lot of dancers. I studied at New York... Alvin Ailey. You burn when you dance.

Nomi: It doesn't suck.

Nomi: I got my period.
James: Yeah right.
Nomi: Check.

If you liked this movie, try these:

• Striptease
• Any Hilary Duff movie where she goes to a new city to make it big