Somehow, the L.E.T.H.A.L. Agency's Headquarters security has been breached by an unknown foe who managed to break into the Force's computer system and tamper with classified documents regarding valuable information about its operatives. It seems that the man behind this cyber attack is none other than the "Warrior", a former CIA Agent and nowadays, a powerful multi-level criminal entrepreneur whose tentacles have spread into pornography, smuggling and the white slave trade. Ultimately, with the list of all the undercover agents' identities in hand, it is Commander's Willow Black and her team of Agents, Tiger and Cobra high-priority mission to obliterate the mastermind's lucrative underground market network. Written by
Day of the Warrior marks the triumphant return of a true auteur whose years-absence from the director's chair has been sorely missed. For he is a man who singlehandedly created a new genre of film that forever changed cinema. His oft-imitated yet ne'er-duplicated style remains unmatched to this day. No, not George Lucas -- Andy Sidaris.
In the T&A&G king's triumphant return to cinema since 1993's Fit to Kill, all his usual elements are here: the rock-video montages, the breasts, the explosions, the breasts, the boats, the breasts, the double entendrés, the double-breasted heroines, the computer espionage, the breasts, the dramatic clothes-changing scenes, the breasts, the huge weapons, the huge breasts, the corny dialogue, the breasts, the pair of bumbling comic-relief idjits, many pairs of bouncing narrative-relief breasts, the cue-card line readings, the breasts, the sex involving the breasts and, lastly, the occasional rear end.
Warrior -- subtitled A L.E.T.H.A.L. Force Adventure -- is his most complex film yet, as his L.E.T.H.A.L. (Legion to Ensure Total Harmony and Law) ladies team up against the titular, muscular Warrior, an Olympic gold medalist/ex-CIA agent/pro wrestler/fine art dealer/pimp/diamond smuggler/porno bootlegger, for reasons I can't remember because I was so distracted by the breasts.
From frame one, the film bears Sidaris' unmistakable print: We see former Penthouse slut Julie K. Smith undercover, naturally, as a stripper, and she shakes her unlawfully large bosoms in slo-mo. This is followed by the on-screen credit, "Written and Directed by Andy Sidaris" and Smith's comely purr to the viewer, "You can own me...if you just call me...Cobra!" Brilliant!
Sidaris' logic apparently hasn't waned during his hiatus, either. One of the evil guy's surfer sidekicks asks a sunbathing Stanford grad what her GPA was, so she stands, yanks off her bikini top and says, "38-24-34." Genius! Like that other master of suspense Alfred Hitchcock, Sidaris is self-referential, with posters of his earlier opuses gracing the walls of a condo. Furthermore, Sidaris seeks not only to entertain, but educate. For example, did you know Smith has a bat tattoo right above her butt crack? Me neither!
Aiding Cobra in this epic battle are Cmdr. Willow Bay (Penthouse vet Julie Strain) and Tiger (former Playboy playmate Shae Marks). When we first see Strain hard at work in the spy office, she's in a leopard-print swimusuit on the stair-stepping machine, trying to work off some buttock cellulite. In two separate instances, Strain knocks men to the floor by socking them in the face with her rock-solid breasts. Meanwhile, Marks makes mayhem with a pistol, a crossbow and two bazookas -- the latter being her newly enlarged breasts, impressive feats, yet so grossly overdone that her upper chest is already showing severe stretch marks. I give her a year before her body buckles under the pressure and gives way. And that's too bad; she's a welcome addition to Sidaris' regular roster of players.
Interwoven within the intricate illegal diamond and skin-flick rings are American Gladiator Zap as a double-crossing villainess who shotguns an animatronic owl; Elvis Fu, an Asian King of Rock and Roll impersonator ("Sank you, sank you very much!"); and Smith singing her own song, the smartly titled "Psychic Rape." In between, the line "I have to get something off my chest" is spoken by three different people, most notably by Marks, who is referring to her clingy, cumbersome top.
As with all Sidaris films, Warrior ends happily as all the sultry spies and their respective bedmates clink their celebratory champagne glasses together. But to prove he's not one to merely recycle old ideas, Sidaris lets Elvis Fu return for an encore performance during this toast. Bravo! A masterpiece!
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