After getting into a serious car accident, a TV director discovers an underground sub-culture of scarred, omnisexual car-crash victims who use car accidents and the raw sexual energy they produce to try to rejuvenate his sex life with his wife.
After developing an addiction to the substance he uses to kill bugs, an exterminator accidentally murders his wife and becomes involved in a secret government plot being orchestrated by giant bugs in a port town in North Africa.
Riding across Manhattan in a stretch limo in order to get a haircut, a 28-year-old billionaire asset manager's day devolves into an odyssey with a cast of characters that start to tear his world apart.
Since a road accident left him with serious facial and bodily scarring, a former TV scientist has become obsessed by the marriage of motor-car technology with what he sees as the raw sexuality of car-crash victims. The scientist, along with a crash victim he has recently befriended, sets about performing a series of sexual acts in a variety of motor vehicles, either with other crash victims or with prostitutes whom they contort into the shape of trapped corpses. Ultimately, the scientist craves a suicidal union of blood, semen, and engine coolant, a union with which he becomes dangerously obsessed. Written by
Matt A. Knapp <firstname.lastname@example.org>
After Vaughan repeatedly crashes the left front bumper of his Lincoln into a junker James Ballard is sitting in, causing major damage to the bumper and the lights, Vaughan is soon shown driving on the highway with no damage to the bumper and both left lights operational. See more »
[talking into microphone as he walks around the car]
Don't worry. That guy's gotta see us. Don't worry. That guy's gotta see us... These were the confident last words of the brilliant, young Hollywood star James Dean as he piloted his Porsche 550 Spyder race car toward a date with death along a lonely stretch of California two-lane blacktop Route 466... Don't worry that guy's gotta see us. The year... 1955. The day... September 30. The time... Now. The first star of our show is Little Bastard. ...
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James Spader seems to prefer roles in which his sexuality is dark or deviant (e.g. Secretary, a fine film). He and the gorgeous Deborah Kay Unger are a couple, although not monogamous. Through certain accidents they stumble across a cell of car crash fetishists. More stuff happens: I shouldn't get into it. This movie would have been more disturbing if it didn't have such a sense of humor. There is a nasty scene in which Spader is about to rub his willie against a long puckered vagina-like scar on the luscious Roseanna Arquette's leg. She wears an outfit that is a combination of leather bondage gear and handicapped leg braces. A truly weird flick, with good sex scenes but not for a first date unless the girl likes SM and looks at copies of that full-color British magazine featuring motorcycle racing showing the racers proudly displaying their often horrid scars and injuries. Yikes. Well, if you liked Secretary, and if you liked Cronenberg's other flicks and his orifice obsession and general grotesqueness, you'll like this. It has a similar tone vis-a-vis humor as Secretary and some of Videodrome. The title credits are exemplary and some of the shots are marvelous. The scene wherein the camera lovingly rolls over Spader's leg brace after his accident is stunning. I am happy to say that there is no amputation in this flick at least. That would have been too much.
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