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Philip Marshak, the man behind Dracula Sucks and the craziest segment of Night Train to Terror (the Cameron Mitchell as Simon Weisenthal fights the devil closer) delivers what may be his shining moment.

“Hitler had assigned to young Anton the task of developing a serum that would turn even a virgin into a nymphomaniac.”

Damn, you learn something new every day…who the hell knew old Schicklgruber had it in him?  I thought he was just into getting shat on by the ladies…

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Anyway, this allows folks like Bill Margold, Francois Papillon and a returning (though thankfully non-participant) Reggie Nalder (yep, that Reggie Nalder, from Salem’s Lot…) to cosplay as Axis.  Scary old Helga Sven gets to sing “Deutschland uber alles” while Papillon bangs only semi-cute but certainly tight bodied Adrienne Bellaire and Nalder sips excitedly from an enormous brandy snifter-cum wine glass. But forget all that, because it barely impacts much of what follows…

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Shades of Sam Spade, Herschel Savage walks the beat as a low rent (private) dick for hire who moonlights at a local bar and backroom casino, until “The Big Man” (Jamie Gillis) provides a sexy dinner gloves-utilizing oral favor from the sexy (and pleasantly accented) Jacqueline Lorians as a prelude to hiring him to locate and deliver a mcguffin “old book of prophecies” for $100 grand (!)

“Must be some prophecies…”

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Lorians (this time in a nightie and sorta-Cleopatra wig) has another hot scene with Gillis (complete with some welcome taunting and sass) and Savage returns to the San Francisco flat he shares with a hooker (!) (another semi-attractive wannabe, Shanna McCullough), who’s getting a quick roughie from The Hedgehog himself, Ron Jeremy. When Savage walks in, he not only gets mouthy, but doffs his schlubby businessman gear to display a karate gi (and some of the worst karate moves since Elvis) before getting clocked by Savage and a beer bottle. At least it’s sort of amusing…

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Savage heads down to a Haight Street bookstore for a bit of info and lore on the McGuffin of the story from a guy in terrible old mensch makeup (check out that beard!) going by the hilarious pseudo of “Long Chaney” (who hams it up as both alter bok and faux-gestapo in an absurdly overacted and poorly accented dual role). This leads him to future bag lady-visaged stoner gal Danielle, who bangs him in a sauna (well, at least this time we can say something about her scene was hot…cough).

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Another visit to Lorians (sadly clothed, but still quite fetching) bridges scenes to piano playing drunk and Savage’s “best friend” Paul Thomas‘ drugging and capture by der Deutscher baddies, where his torture involves some femdom power pumping from scary old Helga Sven.

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Back to Savage, who’s still hanging around Lorians’ place (at least this time he gets the full service), and then things get really disjointed:

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Thomas (presumably in flashback) attacks McCullogh (who the hell knows why – it’s barely shown, essentially unexplained and decidedly unnecessary). Lorians is suddenly in the faux-nazis’ lair and having a good time getting boffed by Papillon as “torture”…uh, when did she get captured? Why? And doesn’t all her laughter and obvious enjoyment bother them? Then Savage finds Thomas and Lorians and kills all the baddies, but when he goes to release them both (and for no apparent reason), Thomas dies in his arms.

OK, it’s sound mixed by “The Flying Dutchman” (seriously), but you really have to ask: who the hell edited this thing?

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Think that’s bad? Well, Savage delivers the book, Lorians double crosses Gillis and then goes from double cross to negotiations with Savage. But then things get totally weird in the last few minutes, when it turns out that the sexy Lorians is really 300 years old, and Marshak goes all Michele Soavi with blue lights, a haze of dry ice and a fair impression of “She” from Dellamorte Dellamore.

To say the ending goes straight into early-mid 80’s Italian exploitation territory is an understatement: I was flashing on everything from the Silvio Berlusconi-produced* Valentina teleseries to Argento’s Phenomena to the brief but fascinating filmic career of the aforementioned Michele Soavi…

* yeah, you read that right. Italy’s favorite/most hated PM used to produce sexploitation. Come to think of it, it’s really no surprise…

So what the hell are we to make of Blue Ice?

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Well, it’s very obviously 80’s, all Miami Vice-esque style over substance, with a nonsensical plot bolstered and made forgiveable by some oft stunning visuals (particularly in the Process Blue/Vinegar Syndrome restoration presented
herein), some trippy and atmospheric 80’s new wave synthesizer music ala Simon Boswell (courtesy of a certain Jacque Martikay and Zok Richards) and the quite enticing Jacqueline Lorains, who enlivens any scene in which she appears to astronomical units of degree.

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It doesn’t make a shit’s worth of sense, and you’d be hard pressed to call any of the ladies involved bar Lorians more than “meh…passable”, but as a sheer audiovisual experience ala 1984-6 melding faux-noir elements with a very
period Eurohorror aesthetic? Check your brains at the door, and dig in.

All told, it’s another winner this month from the fine fellas from Vinegar Syndrome.

 

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