A women in prison flick starring porn stars - minus the porn.
That's it. That's the review.
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What? I'm serious! That's all the review you're gonna get for this stupid thing! Now go and read a different review, like for North or James and The Giant Peach or something. Go!
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Don't you believe me??! Please! For the love of the deity of your choice, go and read something else! A rant or something, I don't care what - just don't make me talk about this stupid stupid sleazoid train wreck!!!
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Ooohhhh...grumble grumble...FINE.
Back in the Eighties, when cable movie channels were king, the big three were HBO, Cinemax and The Movie Channel, in that order. Cinemax, being number 2, tried harder to improve its standing in things by offering something HBO didn't: lotsa late-night sleaze. They accomplished this by, after 11 PM (EST), showing some of the raunchiest, sleaziest, Z-grade trashiest moves allowed without having to call themselves American Exxxtasy.
A by-product of this programming was that they earned themselves the nickname Skinemax, since these movies usually showed a good amount of skin (get it?). This also made Cinemax the movie network of choice for teenage boys of all ages.
Besides, how else were they going to learn about Emmanuele?
So a lot of sleazy dramas, melodramas and psychodramas found their way to this network and, through an abundant use of skin, nubile young bodies and simulated sex, found a whole legion of fans - even if 99% of them would never admit to it in broad daylight.
And a whole group of new-found actors gained a viable amount of popularity. Jewel Shepard, Linnea Quigley, Kathy Shower, Shannon Tweed and every woman who ever graced an Andy Sidaris movie were inundated with fan letters from every red-blooded male who had cable.
NOW:
Bill Milling had a prolific career as a producer, writer, director production manager, special effects creator and miscellaneous crew member for many...ummm...oh hell: he made porn movies. Happy? Yeah, and then in 1989, he wrote and directed this: something that was to stand proudly alongside the works of Jack Hill and whoever else is famous for women in prison films.
Holding back my gag reflex for the moment, I shall now describe the plot, such as it is.
We begin by witnessing one of the lamest prison escapes ever, forgetting for a moment that the escapee is easily recognizable as porn starlet Kascha, but is sneaking her way out of a hole in her cell wall whilst clad in tiny panties and a clingy spaghetti-strap top. She is caught, slinks her way across jail cell doors packed with other nightie-wearing prisoner-ettes, and falls down at the feet of prison guard Beast Rabban (Paul L. Smith).
Meanwhile, country girl Kathie (Roxanna Michaels) leaves the farm and daddy Michael Parks to be a Hollywood star. She soon befriends a lady drifter and her sleazy photographer boyfriend who, after getting into trouble in a bar in Hollywood, gets saved by Erik Estrada on a motorcycle and kickboxer extraordinaire Richard Barathy - he of the mullet and the moustache and the slightly crossed eyes.
Don't worry...this will all come together...
Boyfriend photographer introduces Kathie to movie producers, who are actually fakes who use footage of her to get her arrested and put in the prison shown earlier - but it's not really a prison!
SURPRISE! Really?
It's actually a front for a white-slavery ring. That's movie prisons for you, and it certainly explains the standard dress of nighties and teddies for the prisoners.
Now get this: Kathie's sister Tracy (Elena Sahagun) sets out to find her missing sis going over the same route Kathie took to Hollywood and doing it so well that she meets the same people, gets arrested by the same cops and put in the same prison.
What a co-inky-dink.
But it's okay because Estrada is looking for Kathie and company himself. Then he goes and gets himself shot. Why? Because Jon Baker and Captain Getraer weren't there to watch his back, I guess.
So we get to watch the thickly-muscled and mulleted Barathy find Stalag 69 and beat up every living being in sight and free the nightie girls.
Did I spoil it for you? Boo-hoo.
Now, don't you wish you'd listened to me and read James and the Giant Peach instead?
Like I said, there's a awful lot of actors and actresses here whom are more associated with porn than mainstream filming. Why? Because Milling had the right (or wrong in this case) connections. Besides Kascha and Ron Jeremy (as a guard named Pizzaface), we also watch the mostly-clothed likes of Janine Lindemulder, Tiffany Million and Julia Parton. Hmm...I guess that's not as many porn stars as I thought. The others Milling contacted must have had to wash their hair.
What gets me is the amount of actors I recognize in this stupid piece of garbage. Not only Estrada, Barathy, Smith and Parks but also Borscht Belt favorite Jack Carter, Asian character actor and Lo Pan himself James Hong, Jim Carrey lookalike Blake Bahner, Beano (whom you'd recognize if you ever had the bad fortune to watch Deathrow Gameshow, another Skinemax stand-by) and Captain Sticky.
Yes. THE Captain Sticky.
This is without a doubt, the most worthless movie I've ever watched. It doesn't have any good action, laughs, not even decent sleaze. There's no need for it to exist. You will find yourself poorer in mind and spirit if you bother to watch it. It does absolutely nothing for women in prison flicks, nothing for cop buddy flicks, nothing for kung-fu/beat-em-up flicks, nothing for sleazy melodramas and it doesn't even do what it should for plain old titillation. Even the appearance of the prerequisite lesbian prison warden does nothing for Caged Fury, except make you nod and mutter "figures" at the screen.
In fact, for as worthless as this is, it's the almost perfect Skinemax fill-in, in case they can't get their copy of Hard Ticket to Hawaii to play.
In fact, if there's a worse part about Caged Fury, it's this: the biggest boobs in the whole thing are the actors onscreen.
Figures.
