Una verdadera joyita...
Aight, y'alls know what this shit's 'bout: that frizzly-haired naggy bitch from Saved by the Bell goes to Vegas and nags the shit out of everyone there for a while by talking through her cooter. The biggest downside in the flick is that her nigger sidekick is the one that gets the shit beaten out of her instead of Jessie (it figures that the only half-decent human being in the film gets savaged as punishment for gettin' mixed up with a strung-out white girl).
This flick usually gets shit for havin' all the showwhores be one dimensional and shit, but--especially considering that Paul & Joe did 'extensive' interviewing with IRL showwhores--did anyone stop to think that uh, mayhap, teh real showwhores are one dimensional cunts just like in teh moofie?! Wazzat? Realism ain't pleasant?
.
Starring: Elizabeth Berkley, Gina Gershon, Gina Ravera, Glenn Plummer, Kyle MacLachlan, etc...
Year: 1995
Director: Jan Jansen (aka Paul Verhoeven)
Also Known As: Les Girls de Las Vegas, Slacipunce
IMDb: http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0114436/
The flick is in English without any subs. You can find a bunch of foreign subs for it on the various sub sites out there like subscene and opensubtitles, but you'll prolly needa edit them to match this TV version...
This version is a suck-ass low-quality TV recording, full of annoying logos that pop up sporadically...
(and these motherfuckers pop up at random portions of the film depending on which timeframe you recorded it in...so even if you think you have a recording (from Logo) which doesn't have 'em, check again sunshine)
...not to mention that, when compared to the NC-17 version of the flick, it's also got a whopping 45 minutes ripped out of it without so much as an alternate angle shot to make up for it, let alone any alternate scenes.
So why in the motherfuck would you waste your oh so precious time on this faggoty bullshit? Two absolutely pivotal reasons, my man...
First of all, almost all of the DVD releases of this flick are offered in an utterly disgusting cropped 2.35 widescreen presentation, while this TV version is in delicious fullscreen (thus presenting a literal assload more picture on the top and bottom, but slightly less on the sides). What that fancy aspect ratio talk means for you viewers at home is that you get mo' of DAT @$$,son; check it:
Buuuuuuuut (lol) thaz not all, fagz! Ya see, despite havin' clipped out almost a third of the whole film, the TV censors were still left with some of that thar offensive nudity. What these fine folks then decided to do so as to make the film palatable to a 2-hour TV slot for that all-important ad-spot revnue, was draw in digital bras over all teh boobies; like so:
(if this meager selection isn't enough for ya, don't shit yer bridges just yet...there's plenty moar digital bras in the flick)
But why stop there? Digital Bras (R) (TM) aren't the only digital enhancement added in. We've also got...
Digital Nightgowns (R) (TM):
& Digital Bedsheets (patent pending) to cover up teh obtrusive man-ass:
...which all serves to make this teh bestest TV edit evah, mayhap second in excellence only to the notorious 'I hate people' edit of Die Hard with a Vengeance.
As one would expect from the all-too-aptly named 'Logo', the print is marred by a fuckton of varying logos that pop up at random times and in random places all over the frame...so blurring them out woulda required way moar work than I'm willing to devote to Showgirls. All commercials have been stripped out though.
Please do share this film on other trackers, usenet, ed2k, and everywhere else. Spread the films like AIDS.
Just in case you sick HIV infested faggots need even moar screenies...
Showgirls.1995.TVRip.XviD-T3
filename: Showgirls.1995.TVRip.XviD-T3.avi
filesize: 1,189,795,840
video codec: XviD ISO MPEG-4
video bitrate: 1720kbps
bits per pixel: 0.248
duration: 1:25:23
resolution: 624*464
fps: 23.976
frame count: 122815
audio codec: 0x0055 MPEG-1 Layer 3
audio bitrate: 128kbps CBR
audio channels: 2
audio tracks: 1 [1-Main Movie]
language: English
subtitles: none
source: Logo Channel SD TV Recording
Seduction, passion and power struggles unfold when the creators of Basic Instinct, director Paul Verhoeven (Starship Troopers) and screenwriter Joe Eszterhas (Original Sin) blow the lid off the seemingly glamorous world of Las Vegas show dancing to create one of the most controversial and shocking films of all time [lul, not rly]. Nomi Malone (Elizabeth Berkley) has what it takes to make it as a Las Vegas show girl what she doesn't have is a way in. To survive, she accepts the only job available: lap dancing at a seedy club. And when she meets Cristal (Gina Gershon), Vegas' reigning show girl, Nomi wants everything she has including her boyfriend (Kyle MacLachlan). And as Nomi dives deeper into the world she so desperately desires, a rivalry between the two women heats up. The battle for the spotlight becomes so fiercely competitive that it drives Nomi to desperate lengths and devious heights for fame in Sin City.
This flick usually gets shit for havin' all the showwhores be one dimensional and shit, but--especially considering that Paul & Joe did 'extensive' interviewing with IRL showwhores--did anyone stop to think that uh, mayhap, teh real showwhores are one dimensional cunts just like in teh moofie?! Wazzat? Realism ain't pleasant?
.Starring: Elizabeth Berkley, Gina Gershon, Gina Ravera, Glenn Plummer, Kyle MacLachlan, etc...
Year: 1995
Director: Jan Jansen (aka Paul Verhoeven)
Also Known As: Les Girls de Las Vegas, Slacipunce
IMDb: http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0114436/
The only positive thing there is to say about "Showgirls" is that the sensibility of the film perfectly matches that of its milieu. Impossibly vulgar, tawdry and coarse, this much-touted major studio splash into NC-17 waters is akin to being keelhauled through a cesspool, with sharks swimming alongside. The public's curiosity has no doubt been lubricated sufficiently to produce some impressive opening numbers, meaning that the hex on the stiff rating could be broken. It's just too bad the cause couldn't have been served by a better film.
Word of mouth should douse the flames before long, although prospects in certain key overseas markets, where Verhoeven's name and the promise of big-budget sexy sleaze mean a lot, look very big.
Yes, the picture is awash in nudity, but crudity is more the operative word. Virtually all the human exchanges in the film are sexualized in some debasing manner, and these are between people who in every other way don't even like each other. "Sell, sell your bodies," the show producer shouts at his dancers, and sex-as-commodity is definitely the overriding theme here, for no one more than the filmmakers.
There may be a vague echo of "All About Eve" behind the glitz in this tale of a Las Vegas dancer's rise to what passes for stardom in the gambling capital. But to even allude to such a classic in the same context as this rubbish is to dignify the pathetic storytelling skills of Joe Eszterhas' screenplay, with its lack of characterization and narrative tension.
Even the opening scene is unbelievable in this day and age, as Nomi Malone (Elizabeth Berkley), tarted up as if she's already working the Strip, actually hitches a ride and expects not to get hit on while she and what seems like a wannabe Elvis impersonator head for Vegas. Once there, the young man steals her suitcase, leaving her at the mercy of the streets. But she has the good fortune of being rescued by the only decent, unexploitative person in all of Vegas, Molly (Gina Ravera), who takes her in at her modest trailer-park home.
Through Molly, who's a costumer, Nomi gets to glimpse the gaudy "Goddess" show at the Stardust and to briefly meet its star, Cristal Connors (Gina Gershon). This world holds Nomi's dream, but for the moment she's got to endure working at Cheetahs strip joint, where she slithers up and down poles and, for $500, lap-dances Stardust entertainment director Zack Carey (Kyle MacLachlan) at the invitation of his g.f., Cristal.
Aspiring choreographer James Smith (Glenn Plummer) intermittently tries to strike up a friendship with Nomi, but whenever anyone asks her anything about her past, she throws a fit and stalks off. In fact, Nomi's explosive tantrums become something of an unintentional running gag, as virtually every scene in the film's first half seems to end with her becoming furious and running away.
But she does have her bod and some mean moves, so Nomi soon escapes Cheetahs for a spot in the Stardust dance troupe. Cristal, who gives Nomi plenty of lingering looks, invites her to lunch, where the two dolls hit it off.
After a detailed discussion of Nomi's breasts, they return to the Stardust for a private pas de deux onstage, but Nomi stomps away from that little encounter, just as she shows what she's really made of when she refuses a big-bucks latenight date with an admiring Thai businessman.
Nomi reveals her shortcomings when she mispronounces Versace and asks Zack, "What's an MBA?" but it doesn't matter to Zack, who takes her back to his mansion for a frolic in the pool. This is the only time in the picture Nomi has sex with anyone, so in one sense, "Showgirls" is a lot more restrained than most of Eszterhas' and Verhoeven's previous work.
Incensed by the young woman's power play of sleeping with her man, Cristal vetoes Nomi's new gig as her understudy, whereupon Nomi pushes Cristal down some stairs backstage, breaking her hip. One guess who now inherits the leading role in "Goddess." But that's OK with Cristal, since she came up the same way herself.
For good measure, there's a brutal gangbang rape of Molly, something that feels gratuitously added just so Nomi can take revenge in a scene that has all the trappings of an homage to "Basic Instinct." Ending is a joke, totally unbelievable and unmotivated even in this preposterous context.
Pic wobbles between the risible and the merely unconvincing throughout. For all the time spent backstage, no effort is made to convey a credible or detailed picture of the lives of the (mostly) women who populate this world. When Cristal goes on the disabled list, the hotel management hilariously discusses replacing her with Janet Jackson or Paula Abdul, as if either of them would appear in a show rising virtually nude out of an erupting volcano. It's also unclear what the star does that's so special, since she appears to do the same step as the other dancers.
Worse is that, with the exception of Molly and, to a lesser extent, James (the film's two black characters, whatever one is supposed to make of that), everyone in the picture is a selfish, heartless, unsympathetic user. There is no reason whatever to take an interest in any of these people, who are provided with no human dimensions. Most annoying of all is Nomi, who, as Berkley plays her, is harsh, graceless and quickly tiresome; the character is so hard she's not attractive or sexy at all.
Gershon has a little fun with her queen-of-the-fleshpot role, and Ravera at least offers a degree of warmth as the one nice person who, of course, ends up as a grim victim.
Verhoeven has directed many hot sequences in his career, but none of them are in this film, which just flaunts sex without eroticizing it. The film, like Vegas, is just about the Big Sell.
Word of mouth should douse the flames before long, although prospects in certain key overseas markets, where Verhoeven's name and the promise of big-budget sexy sleaze mean a lot, look very big.
Yes, the picture is awash in nudity, but crudity is more the operative word. Virtually all the human exchanges in the film are sexualized in some debasing manner, and these are between people who in every other way don't even like each other. "Sell, sell your bodies," the show producer shouts at his dancers, and sex-as-commodity is definitely the overriding theme here, for no one more than the filmmakers.
There may be a vague echo of "All About Eve" behind the glitz in this tale of a Las Vegas dancer's rise to what passes for stardom in the gambling capital. But to even allude to such a classic in the same context as this rubbish is to dignify the pathetic storytelling skills of Joe Eszterhas' screenplay, with its lack of characterization and narrative tension.
Even the opening scene is unbelievable in this day and age, as Nomi Malone (Elizabeth Berkley), tarted up as if she's already working the Strip, actually hitches a ride and expects not to get hit on while she and what seems like a wannabe Elvis impersonator head for Vegas. Once there, the young man steals her suitcase, leaving her at the mercy of the streets. But she has the good fortune of being rescued by the only decent, unexploitative person in all of Vegas, Molly (Gina Ravera), who takes her in at her modest trailer-park home.
Through Molly, who's a costumer, Nomi gets to glimpse the gaudy "Goddess" show at the Stardust and to briefly meet its star, Cristal Connors (Gina Gershon). This world holds Nomi's dream, but for the moment she's got to endure working at Cheetahs strip joint, where she slithers up and down poles and, for $500, lap-dances Stardust entertainment director Zack Carey (Kyle MacLachlan) at the invitation of his g.f., Cristal.
Aspiring choreographer James Smith (Glenn Plummer) intermittently tries to strike up a friendship with Nomi, but whenever anyone asks her anything about her past, she throws a fit and stalks off. In fact, Nomi's explosive tantrums become something of an unintentional running gag, as virtually every scene in the film's first half seems to end with her becoming furious and running away.
But she does have her bod and some mean moves, so Nomi soon escapes Cheetahs for a spot in the Stardust dance troupe. Cristal, who gives Nomi plenty of lingering looks, invites her to lunch, where the two dolls hit it off.
After a detailed discussion of Nomi's breasts, they return to the Stardust for a private pas de deux onstage, but Nomi stomps away from that little encounter, just as she shows what she's really made of when she refuses a big-bucks latenight date with an admiring Thai businessman.
Nomi reveals her shortcomings when she mispronounces Versace and asks Zack, "What's an MBA?" but it doesn't matter to Zack, who takes her back to his mansion for a frolic in the pool. This is the only time in the picture Nomi has sex with anyone, so in one sense, "Showgirls" is a lot more restrained than most of Eszterhas' and Verhoeven's previous work.
Incensed by the young woman's power play of sleeping with her man, Cristal vetoes Nomi's new gig as her understudy, whereupon Nomi pushes Cristal down some stairs backstage, breaking her hip. One guess who now inherits the leading role in "Goddess." But that's OK with Cristal, since she came up the same way herself.
For good measure, there's a brutal gangbang rape of Molly, something that feels gratuitously added just so Nomi can take revenge in a scene that has all the trappings of an homage to "Basic Instinct." Ending is a joke, totally unbelievable and unmotivated even in this preposterous context.
Pic wobbles between the risible and the merely unconvincing throughout. For all the time spent backstage, no effort is made to convey a credible or detailed picture of the lives of the (mostly) women who populate this world. When Cristal goes on the disabled list, the hotel management hilariously discusses replacing her with Janet Jackson or Paula Abdul, as if either of them would appear in a show rising virtually nude out of an erupting volcano. It's also unclear what the star does that's so special, since she appears to do the same step as the other dancers.
Worse is that, with the exception of Molly and, to a lesser extent, James (the film's two black characters, whatever one is supposed to make of that), everyone in the picture is a selfish, heartless, unsympathetic user. There is no reason whatever to take an interest in any of these people, who are provided with no human dimensions. Most annoying of all is Nomi, who, as Berkley plays her, is harsh, graceless and quickly tiresome; the character is so hard she's not attractive or sexy at all.
Gershon has a little fun with her queen-of-the-fleshpot role, and Ravera at least offers a degree of warmth as the one nice person who, of course, ends up as a grim victim.
Verhoeven has directed many hot sequences in his career, but none of them are in this film, which just flaunts sex without eroticizing it. The film, like Vegas, is just about the Big Sell.
The flick is in English without any subs. You can find a bunch of foreign subs for it on the various sub sites out there like subscene and opensubtitles, but you'll prolly needa edit them to match this TV version...
This version is a suck-ass low-quality TV recording, full of annoying logos that pop up sporadically...
(and these motherfuckers pop up at random portions of the film depending on which timeframe you recorded it in...so even if you think you have a recording (from Logo) which doesn't have 'em, check again sunshine)
...not to mention that, when compared to the NC-17 version of the flick, it's also got a whopping 45 minutes ripped out of it without so much as an alternate angle shot to make up for it, let alone any alternate scenes.
So why in the motherfuck would you waste your oh so precious time on this faggoty bullshit? Two absolutely pivotal reasons, my man...
First of all, almost all of the DVD releases of this flick are offered in an utterly disgusting cropped 2.35 widescreen presentation, while this TV version is in delicious fullscreen (thus presenting a literal assload more picture on the top and bottom, but slightly less on the sides). What that fancy aspect ratio talk means for you viewers at home is that you get mo' of DAT @$$,son; check it:
Buuuuuuuut (lol) thaz not all, fagz! Ya see, despite havin' clipped out almost a third of the whole film, the TV censors were still left with some of that thar offensive nudity. What these fine folks then decided to do so as to make the film palatable to a 2-hour TV slot for that all-important ad-spot revnue, was draw in digital bras over all teh boobies; like so:
(if this meager selection isn't enough for ya, don't shit yer bridges just yet...there's plenty moar digital bras in the flick)
But why stop there? Digital Bras (R) (TM) aren't the only digital enhancement added in. We've also got...
Digital Nightgowns (R) (TM):
& Digital Bedsheets (patent pending) to cover up teh obtrusive man-ass:
...which all serves to make this teh bestest TV edit evah, mayhap second in excellence only to the notorious 'I hate people' edit of Die Hard with a Vengeance.
NOTES
This motherfuckery aired on Logo--"an American digital cable-television channel owned by Viacom's Music and Logo Group division. Launched in June 2005, the channel's programs are geared towards the gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender (LGBT) community."--a few days ago, and a few of us positively jumped at the chance to cap it, so there are a few caps of this floating around; though all are more or less the same suck quality, courtesy of Logo's shittastic broadcast.As one would expect from the all-too-aptly named 'Logo', the print is marred by a fuckton of varying logos that pop up at random times and in random places all over the frame...so blurring them out woulda required way moar work than I'm willing to devote to Showgirls. All commercials have been stripped out though.
Please do share this film on other trackers, usenet, ed2k, and everywhere else. Spread the films like AIDS.
Just in case you sick HIV infested faggots need even moar screenies...
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