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Lezlie Z. McCraw,
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There's a little gem of an eighties film collecting dust in your friendly neighborhood mom and pop video operation that deserves a better fate. Jocks, a 1987 entry into the then-rapidly dying eighties film movement is exactly the way to go out.
The film epitomizes the 80s-college-boys-looking-for-kicks genre; it's unapologetically formulaic, crude, misogynistic, and campy. It features slovenly, under-achieving protagonists, all-too-dastardly villains, a road trip to Vegas, blasphemy, and of course, that staple of all 80's flicks staples: tits. And lots of them.
The lean, mean, air-tight, joke-a-page script is bolstered by one of the most eclectic casts ever assembled. What other movie out there can boast names like Christopher Lee (the guy IS Dracula, okay?) and the TRUE John Shaft himself Richard Roundtree?! You'll also see familiar faces like Stoney Jackson--jheri curls and all--whooping it up on camera to great effect. Don Gibb as the maniacal Ripper is in top form, giving a tour de force performance that nearly surpasses his masterful turns as Ogre in "Revenge of the Nerds", and Ray Jackson in the martial arts watershed "Bloodsport."
If that isn't enough to sell you on Jocks, you've got a young Tom Shadyac hamming it up deliciously as one of the snide, weasely, trust-fund baby villains before he sold his soul to Satan (or Jim Carrey, anyway) and went on to become Hollywood comedy lenser du jour. "Big Wednesday's" Perry Lang is in this mother too--hey, if Milius cast him, he MUST be that damn good (and guys named Perry just rock!). And last, but certainly not least, is Trinadad Silva, Mexico's greatest export to the U.S. in the role of Chito "The Human Backcourt."
All the shilling in the world can't do this movie justice. Seek Jocks out--it's the truth, and it shall set you free. Until the next time, save us those goddamned aisle seats.
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