The HOUSE OF SELF-INDULGENCE ruminates over that timeless classic THE TOXIC AVENGER.

Am I crazy or are the first fifteen minutes of The Toxic Avenger the greatest fifteen minutes ever to be captured on film? What's that? Oh, I am crazy. Whew, that's a relief. For a second there, I thought I had just witnessed something truly spectacular. Hold on, it's coming back to me. Let me set the scene. A fitness club in New Jersey, scratch that, a health club in new Jersey (watching a film a second time really helps when it comes to remembering minor details). A virtual cornucopia of tight bodies poured into leotards thrusting and heaving to the song "Body Talk" by Sandy Farina. If you head down to the pool area of said health club, you'll see hot chicks in bikinis for as far as the eye can see. Don't look now, but a toothy blonde is soaking her already moist vagina in a swimming pool adjacent hot tub. A leggy brunette in a shirt-dress with the word "Whaaam!" written on it in a comic book-friendly font (I think the word "wham" may have only contained two a's, but I decided to add an extra one for dramatic effect) is sauntering through the locker room with a leggy aplomb. Did I mention there are headbands-a-plenty? No? Well, it looks like I just did. Watch, as a toothy blonde in Pony International apparel takes a break from playing racquetball to plan and conceive the event that will change Tromaville forever with her scumbag friends. (Whoa, "scumbag"?!? How do you know they're scumbags? The film is, like you said, still in its infancy as far as running time goes.) Trust me, they're scumbags. Actually, it's all about perspective. If you think purposefully running over little kids with your car is behaviour worthy of the scumbag moniker, than you might want to call them that. If, however, you don't think it's worthy, you might think I was a tad hasty in my harsh judgment of them...
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