Blah, blah, blah ... with a title like this you better know what to expect ... blah, blah, blah ... anyone expecting a serious movie will be disappointed ... blah, blah, blah. At least make the review fun to read, OK, because I'm sick of being bored by bland takes on Vampire Zombie Candy-Striper-Strippers In Hell reviews!
I just don't know if it can be done. Which is not to say Bikini Bloodbath Carwash isn't everything more (and less) than you could possibly not know you want. 70 minutes that feels like about 70 minutes passes easily through you (use whatever imagery you'd like to flesh that one out) with a few jokes, a few boobs, some cheap 'n' tasteless gore and about 45-minutes-worth of music-video dance montages. The directors (who tag the first laugh by billing themselves as 'Who The F*ck Cares' in the opening credits) set the bar low, then limbo under it, in this sequel to Bikini Bloodbath. The more willing you are to violate Federal law in your quest to enjoy this, the more you'll get out of it. For me, 22-ounce bottle of Ninkasi Brewing's Tricerahops IPA opened the door to seven or eight chuckles, (more than one every ten minutes!) the feeling that a few of the bikini girls were pretty cute, a pair of 'that's kind-of gross' moments, and mild satisfaction.
Is Bikini Bloodbath Carwash the Kool cigarette of DTDVD exploitation cheapies, then? Sh*t, I don't even know what that means. Production values not out-of-reach for anyone with a few credit cards, adequate technical skills and decent camp acting actually make up for the fact that true toplessness is kept to a bare (disappointing) minimum. Rest assured, however, there's a good amount of music-video bikini car washing, and these ladies have real bodies, if you know what I'm saying.
Oh yeah, you might care what it's about. Evil Chef Death (from the first movie) is brought back from the dead after the community college-attending bikini girls resurrect him during an inexplicable sťance. The lesbian car wash owner invites her girls to a party, crashed by buffoonish males and German exchange students from the college, and Chef Death comes and kills everybody. But hey, the script displays thought and cleverness anyway, as a stupid 'Beat It' video parody and endless dance sequences (well edited and a trifle sexy at times) make way once-in-a-while for decent lines. "To get a body like this you've gotta use low weight, low reps and not that often," says the semi-beefy ex-jock Todd, (Jack Flaherty) seemingly covered in a layer of baby fat and only mildly aware of what a dork he is. He's one of the best things about the movie, actually, along with blondie Rachael Robbins as Jenny, both partially committing in the best way to being clueless doofuses, but somehow faintly likeable.
So now, we've all limbo-ed under that bar, and I've got sand on the back of my head. But instead of a calypso song in my brain, I've got silly butt-rock swirling around and a half-smile on my lips. So I've been short-changed on breasts, enjoyed a few grade-school gross-outs, gotten my month's worth of cheeky dance montages, and actually laughed a few times. For a movie I'd have laid down hard dollars against, I suppose I'm thankful I lost the bet; Bikini Bloodbath Carwash is pretty damn stupid and proud of it.