Few girls possessed more memorable mammaries in the eighties than Morgan Fairchild did.Being a true can-noisseur myself,I'd be able to spot one of her milkwagons from a football field away while wearing a blindfold left over from one of those seventies "taste test" commercials.Morgan's nipples(not aereolas,mind you)somewhat resembled red Twizzler bites when erect,and at other times,fleshy pencil erasers.Needless to say,as a twelve or thirteen year old boy,a pair of voluptuous Bozos like Morgan's were pretty high on my list,though her gimmick nips never really threatened a chick named Barbeau who stuffed a pair of gargantuan M107 shells into a sweater in the top slot.In the black cable box days,tonight's entry played in heavy daily rotation on services like HBO and Prism,and in a battle between "Goin' Ape" with Tony Danza and Seduction,the gimmick nips trump monkey business every time,if not by much.
Any genre cool points David Schmoeller might have earned himself by helming the original effort,Tourist Trap(1976),he effectively pissed away with this vehicle of showcase for She of the Weird Elongated Nipples(she had a funny Irish nose while I'm at it),a ninety minute excursion into how many times Fairchild could shed gear in front of a camera lens while something vaguely resembling a plot transpired in the background.With my yank fantasies being more elaborate and ummm,sophisticated(translation:twisted)nearly thirty years later,there's not much else going on that's view-worthy here,seriously.Andrew Stevens' fifteen minutes were up twenty minutes before he signed on to do this picture,and Michael Sarrazin,well,fifteen minutes were about fourteen too many for him.There's a couple of cheap jump scares,several Flow-bee haircut victims,and prop gunplay embarrassing enough to raise Charlton Heston's worm-ravaged corpse from his grave on a blood vendetta.
When's the last time you saw Michael Sarrazin in a romantic lead...or anything at all?
Jaime Douglas(Fairchild) is a tv anchorwoman in Los Angeles that any yuppie worth his weight in snorted pick-me-ups in the corporate bathroom gets exec wood over.Problem is,her perky blouse-cows and sultry bedroom voice also attract a voyeuristic weenbag named Derek(Stevens)who blows the needle off the creep-o-meter in a decade free of anti-stalking laws and a story mostly free of coherence.He starts out using the old fashioned pervert method,ogling her at great lengths through a telescope as she perpetually swims,showers,and preens herself,totally unaware of the impending,as most Californians must have been at the time,on the quest for sexy.If you think Jaime spends an inordinate time in front of the mirror,try Derek on for size.He blow dries his hair so much that it's a minor miracle he has enough stalking time reserved for taking sixty-four thousand paparazzi-style photographs of her,which he inappropriately decorates his place with.Hey,at least he isn't boiling them and eating them at this point.At first,repeatedly calling her,leaving her messages at work,and randomly sending her bouquets of flowers quells his inner-creep,but when her boyfriend Brandon(Sarrazin)'s limp macho act and cop Maxwell's laissez-faire approach to the matter open Derek's creepy floodgates,he seemingly kicks it up a notch,though the viewer might not notice at this point,overwhelmed by a severe case of couch-zzzzzzzz's.
Make "Andrew Stevens in the closet" jokes at your own discretion.
After Derek breaks into Jaime's place sort of,since high profile news anchors in Los Angeles have the good-hearted propensity for leaving the front door open,Maxwell admits his hands are tied until the guy commits an actual crime."Breaking and entering" ring a bell at all,Chief?Brandon does a pretty half-assed job of roughing up his girlfriend's stalker,proving he's nearly as much of a mouse-shouldered,skirt-wearing mary as the neighboring psychopath is.Jaime rewards her sissy man with a bubbly piece of whirlpool pussy,which Brandon momentarily hits like a muscular dystrophy-stricken arm on a heavy bag,groaning like a reindeer getting its ball pouch bitten off by a Finnish housewife-in-heat,as Derek,who just lets himself in once again,snuffs his candle before he can even give her the Sarrazin-custard,right in front of Jaime's eyes.As he cockily drags off Brandon's lifeless body into the hills to bury for the next hour,Derek unwisely leaves a disbelieving Jaime enough time to hastily don some duds and split,and/or phone the police.She does neither(!).The stalkee gives in to her attacker's fatal obsessions and seduces the son of a bitch(!!)instead,in a kind of over-the-top sleaze porn-trash way,even begging him to fuck her(!!!).Of course,Derek's power lies in domination,and when his object of desire turns the tables on him,his manhood is effectively pulverized,and he is unable to put the sex-blocks to her.Jaime gets her hands on a shotgun,ineptly overpumping the damned thing before sending him to that big made-for-tv movie in the sky.Vadge-1,Stalker-0.
Morgan's naked...again.There's a shocker for you.
Schmoeller took the shambles he made of his reputation with this movie,and flushed it directly down the cinematic toilet afterwards,writing(!) EVERY Puppetmaster movie.I was always under the impression random words on a corkboard got pub darted by rabid lemurs to put those things together.I stand corrected.Save your venom,Full Moon fans,I've tried to endure a few of their ahem,films... over the years,but face it,their productions are to movies what Insane Clown Posse is to music.It should be mentioned though,that Jodorowsky's former classmate(!),who earned kudos from Luis Bunuel,did direct Klaus Kinski in 1986's excellent entry,Crawlspace,and for these morsels,Tourist Trap included,I must salute him...just not tonight's review,sorry.The still-lovely Fairchild,who can be spotted in classic television dating back to Kojak,Barnaby Jones,and Happy Days,most recently did work on tv's Chuck series this year.Genre-wise,she's always thrown us an occasional bone,appearing in fare like The Initiation of Sarah and Phantom of the Mall:Eric's Revenge.Well,maybe not a bone,more like a scrap of marrow.Ah well.Wrapping up tonight's review,Seduction doesn't really hold up under the light very well,and you'd probably find 1979's The Seduction of Joe Tynan with Alan Alda a sexier possibility.One wop.
One of Morgan's signature gimmick nips.Worth 104 minutes of your time?I'll let you decide.
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