The DVD:
For the three biggest dorks in the University system, college is just one big booty call bust. Ken has a henpecking honey a couple of hours from campus, so this keeps his commitment causes in check. He'd rather 'pole' the underclassmen than tell his future frau of his undying love. Sammy is a squirt, the kind of densely packed pretty boy that women use like an exfoliating loofah and then toss in the trash... where he feels right at home. Then there is Martin, a future graphic novel writer /computer language creator who hopes to score because, apparently, it's a mandatory three credit hour course. Lucky for these hard up and on he-men, a new strip club called The Fetish Jam has just opened up in a seedy back alley. Three vivacious vixens do some monkey gyrating for spare change, and then suck a little...NECK that is, to finish up their version of a lap dance. Lead lung exposer Treasure falls for the button cute Ken, while the rest of her fellow exotic erotic vamipiric dancer friends make minced man meat out of Martin. Hoping that their local on-campus research facility, also known as the LIBRARY, will have a copy of a creature killing book they couldn't download off the Internet, our duo of drunk dolts have to find a way to stop the leechlike threat while simultaneously getting a little on the side. When Sammy meets his widow maker, it's up to Ken, his ball and chain ex and a knowledge of demon disposal to make topless bars safe for mankind again.

WOW, is Bloody Tease weird. Not in a good way weird, but in a "who in the Hell thought this was a good idea for a film" kind of weird. Created by Razor 3-D to show off its flicker-vision version of multi dimensional delights, it's an attempt at fashioning a tasty combo splatter platter. Too bad it ends up being more poo-poo than goody-goody. It would seem like a no-brainer: combining strippers, vampires, college and occasional canoodling. A standard sort of low budget bedlam could be concocted. But director Brad Sykes (who gives cinematic charlatan Joe Castro a run for his horrible hackwork) just can't get the disparate aspects to gel. Hell, he can't even get them to sit in the same room comfortably. Nothing works here: not the scantily clad lasses who'd need lessons in basic motor skills before anyone would call them dancers (let alone exotic); not the blood and gore which is mostly on the red paint ketchup end of the gruesome spectrum; and definitely not the acting, which runs the range from ludicrous to lunacy, sometimes in the same sentence. It's obvious that this was meant as some spin on the whole witches/vampires/blood drinkers diorama that has tainted popular culture since Goth kids got the financial right to vote. But instead of injecting it with fun or fluff, Sykes takes this stuff way too seriously. He's making an undead romance instead of a nudity-filled flesh feast.

Indeed, about the only way this combination of tantric titillation and frat boy bull stuff could ever work is if Sykes went out, rented himself a set of double G tatas and let them loose all over the screen. He needed to find his own version of Kitten Natavidad or Hootie McBoob and let her air out the assets for minutes of mindless chest x-raying on camera. Have the oversized silicone sacks smothered in either hugs or gallons of claret and let the lens love them up. Jees, just take the stripper dynamic to its logical conclusion and let these ladies you've hired to rhythmically hump take off their clothes. Who cares if they are so flat chested and asexual that prisoners on death row would rather watch Fox News Now than sample their lack of suppleness. You advertise babes in the buff, then sock it to us, daddy-o. But alas, the only skin in this film is saved for scenes of bedroom ballet that give new meaning to the word "impotence". Any men out there finding this flapjack jubilee a stimulating sensation need their cajones clipped as a matter of priniple. But it's not just the gals who give you the saltpeter treatment here. The male leads are all gangly and unpleasant, encapsulating the hygienic nature of college students so well that you can smell the Frito'ed feet and acrid ass through the coaxial cable. When they drop top and expose their pecs, the tiny teated female talent suddenly don't feel so curveless. A couple of centuries with Jack LaLanne couldn't get these muscle-free mutants into any semblance of human shape (actually, the actor playing Sammy is a stocky shrimp with that squashed car look of physique in flux).

So since Sykes skimps on the sin, his only other saving grace is gore. And, again, our cinematic Mr. Bumble denies our Oliver-ian cries for more. Gotta give the guy a break, though. At least he is trying. Victims of these vampire vamps nicely ooze into a pool of Polident if left unattended. And occasionally, our craven call girls (oops, sorry, professional entertainers...) don monster masks that remind one of Rusty Dennis mixed with Jocelyn Wildenstein. But the almighty vein liquid is in short supply here, and attempts to amp the arterial spray are usually met with middling results. There is some heart eating and a little throat ripping, but in order to overcome the crapola it's caked in, Bloody Tease has to go over the top. It has to be the Sly Stallone of sanguinity and skin snacking. But it just won't do it. It won't deliver the decadent decimated meat meals and, instead, lets its lame dialogue do the daunting. Indeed, this movie has some of the worst word waxing ever. If collegians were this slacker shallow and outright illiterate, admission boards could simply toss the SAT and ACT aside and grade potential applicants by shoe size. Combined with its overly serious tone, its terrible time with continuity and a lighting scheme that figures monochrome settings, as long as they mimic one of the colors of the rainbow, means a full color movie (just divided up into parts) and you've got a 90 minute mess on your hands.

As a matter of fact, the title Bloody Tease is apropos after all. This is a movie that's all rib and no tickling. It's all mock and no trial, all taunt and no Kitaen. The cast underplays the whole thing, making a mockery of everything that's sacred about nerds, ghouls and burlesque. This should have been kitschy and crazy; fountains of foulness flowing over mammaries the size of Cincinnati while awkward actors deliver their lines through a beer bong haze. The female frolicking should have made Olga Korbut, Cathy Rigby and Mary Lou Retton look like complete klutzes. You should want to be a sticky, smelly perpendicular metal rod after these ladies lavish their nether regions all over the onstage jungle gym. But director Sykes keeps holding back – perhaps in some misguided attempt at gravity. Too bad he didn't comprehend the script he was working with before he belabored his points. Bloody Tease teaches us nothing new about the whole lovin' dead ideology, nor does it make such a stab at standard storytelling seem plausible. The characters are one-dimensional at best, the plot plods around from location to location like a lost hummingbird without a subtext and a supposed vampire hunter (who comes across like the bouncer at a biker bar, not a battler of the undead) proves why he's an ineffective member of the monster squad. One can see the frisky forest for the tired trees trimmed here. Bloody Tease could have lived up to its tawdry title if it had just said yes to the necessary excess. By reeling in the raunchy and the rude, the resulting movie causes an equally alliterate reaction: retching.

The Video:
First, lets address the 3-D, since this movie seems to be the direct result of some dimensional desire on the part of Razor to offer an original title of special spatial relationships. Oddly enough, this movie has a real depth of field feel than makes you think you're seeing real life behind your TV screen. It is perhaps the best 3-D disc out there. But just because it gives up an inclination of different focal planes doesn't mean the print itself is pristine. If anything, Bloody Tease is a grainy, glorified home video that could never pass for professional movie making. The 1.33:1 transfer here is muddy, fuzzy, lacking clarity and awash in primary color chaos. If you want to see a good example of 3-D, this is a visually satisfying illustration. But otherwise, the video is vacuous and vacant.

The Audio:
There is an old saying: "nothing ventured, nothing gained". A derivation of this proverb could also apply here: "nothing offered, nothing heard". The Dolby Digital Stereo is weak, providing obvious in-camera sound recording with lots of electronic noise and poor aural direction. While the dialogue is mostly clear and discernable, it's like fat–free cheese: plastic and unsatisfying.

The Extras:
Having discussed the lack of bonuses on these Razor discs for two previous reviews, I am resistant about attacking the company again. Let's just leave it like this: there is a semi-watchable 2-D version of the film on this DVD along with the equally ersatz-observable 3-D edition. You can figure out which one means "more, more, more" to you. If you have the $70 flicker specs, then the 2-D is a disappointment and not very reward-oriented. If you lack the necessary eye apparel, then the 2-D is all you got and really get. Perhaps it's better to simply say this: there are no bonuses here, so p-off!

Final Thoughts:
Something like Bloody Tease is appalling not because it tries too hard and fails so fast, but because it's too cowardly to try at all. Come on, this movie advertises strippers and slashers and buckets of blood. It should be good for at least a guilty pleasure pass. But when a movie can't make three for three work out right, why bother? No amount of dimensional dynamite can sell something this lacking in luster. Director Brad Sykes and his semi-bevy of almost actors could have created a cracked carnal treat, full of mouth foaming, pants growing and tit showing had they really wanted to. But they let ethics and standards get in the way. They shied away from the true dark side of filmmaking, the resplendent world of hyperactive exploitation, and instead tried to make straight ahead horror. What a total shame. The stripper has been waiting for the proper production to strut her stanky stuff. The chance to bare bust and bite neck could have propelled the profession into a weird realm of universal acceptance (after all, it's about a half-step away as it is). Fans of fright would easily appreciate the naked prey mentality and support it with all their donut dollars. But our mild motion picture posse passed out before they could get to the gorehound shooters. Bloody Tease may not be the worst 3-D diphthong ever created (a certain sorority sisterhood holds that title) but it had the chance to shine and shimmy with the best of them. But just like the liquored up lowlifes surrounding you're average adult entertainer, there is no chance of scoring with this tepid trash.

Want more Gibron Goodness? Come to Bill's TINSEL TORN REBORN Blog (Updated Frequently) and Enjoy! Click Here