"I've been a drag racer on LSD, and
After a car accident strands them in Hell, the Bikini Bandits make a pact with the Devil to save their siliconed souls. If they return to Earth and…um…de-virginize a certain Mary, thereby making her offspring a little less…um…Messiah-like, they can go back to life topside as bodacious babes with huge breasts and a love of firearms. If they fail, though, there'll be…well, you know…to pay. Anyway, the whole Bethlehem business doesn't go quite as planned (the archangel Gabriel "Cory" Feldman shows up to spoil everything) so the girls call on Pope Dee Dee Ramone (?) to travel back to Beelzebub and battle it out, miter vs. man-goat. The girls win and decide to hide out in Amish Country where they learn that an evil adult filmmaker (ex-Dead Kennedys lead singer Jello Biafra) has kidnapped a mentally challenged young boy and plans to star him, along with several other "exceptional" children, in his own brand of retard porn. On their way to saving the sexual savant, they travel back in time to meet up with a couple of our nation's "dumbest" founding fathers, watch the aforementioned Corey drag race it out with the butt bandit Dirty Sanchez (who "will not be denied"), and eventually find themselves face to face with an army of idiots, all looking for a little low IQ gangbanging. Will the two-piece tarts save the day, or will they simply lay back and let the below average enjoy a little of The Bikini Bandit Experience?
Like opening up the cerebral cortex of a typical 13-year-old hormonally hyperactive Ted Nugent fan and jacking directly into their fantasy fuel, The Bikini Bandit Experience gives a new meaning to the words "stream of consciousness." Combining chicks with tits the size of basketballs, swimwear that barely covers what is there, and an arsenal of firearms and muscle cars is a recipe for a pure simpleton stew. Pot smoking, sauced up scantily clad strippers with shotguns should be a guarantee for success (or at least a little NRA style self-manipulation). And the first big joke in this volley of vulgarity sets us up for something, as Eric Cartman would say, super sweet. Satan (Tool frontman Maynard James Keenan) tells the Heck-raising honeys that if they fail to deflower the Virgin Mary, they will have to watch Corey Feldman dance for all eternity. Right on cue, we jump-cut to a 2003 Corey dressed like it's 1989, doing those horrid ersatz Jacko moves that possessed him sometime around Dream a Little Dream. As the scene plays on, you recognize that Feldman understands that the joke is on him and that we are laughing simultaneously at, with, for, and because of him. This moment is everything this randy, rapid-fire comedy could have been. It's ludicrous, clever, sad, and outrageous. Unfortunately, just like the notion of putting a KFC, Taco Bell, and Pizza Hut together into one stoner's paradise of munchie managing goodness, The Bikini Bandit Experience just doesn't know how to administer its anarchy very well.
The first sign that things are going askew is when a potential lesbian scene between one of the breasty babes and the Virgin Mary is interrupted by said Corey, doing dick jokes while obviously not possessing the proper "material" to do so (I know, I'm going to hell, but I have a deal to be in the condos where the rock stars live, so it's cool). Then Dee Dee Ramone shows up and instantly you understand why he hasn't acted much since the infamous "pizza" scene in Rock and Roll High School. After a far too long battle in Hades between the gals and the Devil's oversized laser shooting dildo codpiece (you can't make this stuff up folks…), there's a general "been there, done that" cinematic shrug of the shoulders and we're off to the Amish adventure where, again, not enough is made of the perverted premise (massive mammaries among the rigidly righteous should consist of something more than a music video style montage). By the time we get to the retard porno plotline, we're so lost in the cross-cutting insanity and constant fourth wall flaunting that our patience has been tried, convicted, and sentenced to a brain bending stint in overdrive. And yet somehow, this entire enterprise with its off color/the mark supposed humor and a mess of narrative and structural stumbling blocks is still worth checking out, if for no other reason than the tantalizing title talents and the weird world unto itself they create. Taking a cue from the "Primus Sucks" mindset of self-promotion, this entire DVD mocks as it markets, hoping you agree that the slogan "F*** you, G-Mart" is a war cry against mainstream consumerism and a radical Gen X jingle, all rolled into one.
And you know what…it is. The whole f-it notion foisted by The Bikini Bandit Experience makes the entire package like a trip through the mind of a deranged adult bookstore owner whose fantasies keep getting confused with sales ads and business promotion measures. G-Mart, or Gyro Mart, does indeed exist (somewhere in Philadelphia) and they sell all kinds of clothing and merchandise emblazoned with their logo and ideas. Bikini Bandits themselves got their start on AtomFilms as little mini-movies you could download online (and some of the movie—along with The Adventures of Dirty Sanchez—is taken from that material). So there is a whole Mike Levey infomercial feel to this DVD. The film itself is a mix of bad video, better filmed bits, excellent animation, and a bunch of old school transitional wipes. Presented in 1.33:1 full screen, it looks acceptable, but it's definitely not going to win any transfer awards. The sound is also a little tinny, not really up to snuff with major label releases (one assumes that G-mart had better things on their mind that a mid-level aural offering). As for extras, we get a bunch of repetitive, self-referencing and satirizing snippets from premieres, music videos, commercials, web spots, television advertisements, interviews, and mindless monkey business, all of which plays into the entire swimsuit sluts with side arms mentality perfectly.
It's no wonder that the Bikini Bandits and this mind-messing movie found a ribald roost over on MTV2 Europe. This capitalism as killer call girl conceit is the basis for every Eurotrash ideal of America and its socio-politico-cultural philosophy. They should be damn lucky that, when duty calls, we step up and kick all kinds of ass instead of kissing it like conquered cowards. It's our love of hot women in g-strings lobbing grenades that make us such successful world warriors. While it's nothing trend setting or linear, The Bikini Bandits Experience is still strange enough to warrant a vicarious visit or two. So F-YOU! Europe! F-YOU! G-Mart! And F-YOU! Bikini Bandits…anytime.
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