Nightmare Sisters (1987) Starring Linnea Quigley, Brinke Stevens, Michele Bauer Directed by David DeCoteau Written by Kenneth J. Hall

The film starts with a crystal ball wielding fortune teller, ‘Omar’ (Michael Sonye, or “Dukey Flyswatter”) who has an appointment with the former Mrs. ‘Amanda Detweiler’ (Sandy Brooke). Amanda’s loving husband has passed away (fucking a hooker in a motel) and wants a séance performed in order to say goodbye. As we all know, this is never a wise idea, especially in a horror movie. In this instance it is more than a bad idea, it is a deadly one. Omar misses Mrs. ‘D’s hubby and inadvertently channels a succubus who, now able to reach out of the crystal ball, promptly pulls off Omar’s head! This doesn’t give the bitch enough juice to escape, but she does get into the crystal ball where she can stay safely until the next dimwit rubs gently and asks for help.

Putting the darkness of Omar’s demise behind us, we trip clumsily into the light of day and the tragic lair of the female nerd, as we are introduced to bucktooth 'Melody' (Linnea Quigley), and her socially challenged friends, fat 'Mickey' (Michele Bauer), and dorky 'Marcie' (Brinke Stevens). Not wanting to spend another Saturday night alone, Marcie and Mickey convince Melody to call some guys and have a party. These girls need some sweet lovin’, so having to listen to Marcie prattle on (eleven minute opening shot with no cuts) about the shit she got at a yard sale (including a crystal ball ) is more than any of them can stand. Relenting, Melody admits to knowing only one guy, but she’s willing to give it a shot. As luck would have it ‘Kevin’ (Richard Gabai), and his two knuckleshuffling buddies aren’t doing anything either. Realizing fat, nerdy sex is better than no sex at all; Kevin, ‘Freddy’ (Marcus Vaughter) and ‘Duane’ (William Dristas) believe this might be their lucky night. All they have to do is avoid the three jock upperclassmen who like to terrorize them, and bang, geeky carnal satisfaction! Pocket protectors erect and engorged, the boys bumble into action.

After arriving, the guys are subjected to the girl’s idea of a wild night: Melody serenades, Marcie regales with anecdotes of her trip to Sea World and Mickey eats. While the guys are busy looking for a way to escape, the girls break out the Twister game. This however proves disastrous when Mickey tips over and squashes them all. In the interest of safety, the group decides to try Marcie’s newly acquired crystal ball which the boys hope will result in some hand holding and a chance to get the girls in the dark.

Shortly after the séance starts, the girls are engulfed in lame special-effects lighting and are transformed into beautiful, partially clad demons intent upon fellating the fellas straight to hell. The succubus, now powerful enough to return, has possessed the dorkettes and now craves the essence of man or some such nonsense in order to make her stronger. Before the real action can begin though, we arrive at one of the scenes for which this film is known. Die hard(on) fans will recognize a pattern developing that director David DeCoteau uses again to more success in SORORITY BABES; first cover the girls in sticky whip cream and then follow with an extended five minute three way bath...squeaking and bouncing and rubbing! After this the girls can get down to business, succubussing like there is no tomorrow. First bath, then big teeth!

As the almost deflowered dorks watch the girls play soap-ski in the tub, they themselves are being watched by the same upperclassmen whose apparent assignment is to torment them unmercifully. Lucky dorks, tricks are for dumb jocks and the three spying on this party are the dumbest. Hiding in the bushes, ‘Phil’ (Timothy Kauffman), J.J. (Matthew Phelps) and ‘Bud’ (C.Jay Cox) have been watching the action and have concocted a plan to snatch the dorks and take their ‘tang. This doesn’t prove difficult and after subduing the dweebs and hog tying them, the jock-sniffers step in and assume control. Control however proves fleeting and it isn’t long before Linnea and the skirts play a song while the jocks lose their dongs. Yep, fellatio with big teeth followed by a swallow. Again, fans of SORORITY BABES will notice the similarities between the two films. Both films feature characters hiding in the bushes and then getting a moral comeuppance for their trouble. Crystal ball, (bowling trophy), Succubus, (Imp), sorority sisters and nerds, sound familiar?

Apparently having spent all their time playing with balls, these particular jocks never learned how to properly tie a knot. Kevin, Freddy and Duane easily extricate themselves and manage to escape dressed only in their underwear. Pulling up their socks the boys forget all about their cocks and run screaming into the night. But, honestly a good hero never lets a girl down, or runs away in his boxers, and the guys know this. Finding a phone they call local Exorcist ‘Perrin’ (Jim Culver), who luckily isn’t busy, and comes right over to square the guys away and tell them what they need to rescue the girls. These heroes are so cool they don’t even bother to put their pants back on, they rush into action, pocket protectors blazing like John Wayne in TRUE GRIT, only sans the Duke and the grit. The action gets ugly at this point with badly staged visual effects culminating in a motionless rubber succubus dummy that shakes fiercely in a climax that rivals …..well nothing really, but who cares ‘cause you just got to see three hot girls bathing together and isn’t that really why you’re here? I know I am. I have the tissue and hand lotion to prove it!

Interestingly enough Director DeCoteau’s initial set-up caused problems. On the commentary track, he explains that potential distributors were put off by the convincing nerd antics that anchor the films back story. Expecting hot chicks, potential investors were instead subjected to off-key singing from a bucktooth Linnea, a fat suit on Michele, and Brinke in birth control glasses, not a boob to be found. Most distributors felt the audience was there to see tits, not twits, so they were reluctant to become involved. If they had just hung in there for a few nerdpicking moments, they would have gotten an eyeful of nude antics, no longer constrained by silly glasses, buck teeth or fat suits. The nerd stuff is great though, and gives us a side of these actresses we rarely get to see; them convincingly playing losers while displaying great comic timing. I must admit, I’m partial to the group bathing myself, but it was still fun watching them cut loose as goofs.

This is another title that wallows shamelessly in its exploitive nature. Break out your jug, get a little toasty and watch some people who had a great time making the film they wanted. It won’t ever make main-stream sense or be revered as a classic of form, but maybe it should. Like Russ Meyer, DeCoteau’s films celebrate and parade their passion unabashedly, doing so with a style that is consistent and identifiable; which is, the last time I checked, considered the mark of artistry. Come on, I hate Picasso but it’s
still art.

If you are a real fan of B films I have no doubt this one is already sitting in your collection right next to CREEPOZOIDS or HOLLYWOOD CHAINSAW HOOKERS. If it isn’t, you should be ashamed of yourself and perhaps you need to run screaming into the street in your boxers to find a copy. If you are not a fan of this type of film why the fuck are you reading this? You should probably be busy tormenting a nerd or something.

Director David DeCoteau, with a resume that spans thirty years and nearly seventy films, is still producing at an alarming rate. He stands next to Fred Olen Ray and Jim Wynorski as royalty in the realm of the B-movie. One day these gentlemen will be recognized for their body of work, not to mention volume. Ed Wood did what he did despite ridicule. His films live on, not just as proof of his ineptitude, but as inspiration to others wishing to express their personal freedom. Art is truly in the eye of the beholder. Never let others narrow mindedness stop you from producing the product you want. Obviously, this type of kitsch is adored by enough people to warrant continued coverage, even twenty years later. Just take a look at the eleven minute stationary establishing shot in the living room of the house and you tell me that isn’t something special!