Tag Archives: movies

Mayra Leal hiding behind a pillar with a gun

Mayra Leal Watch 2011: El Gallo & Solus

She keeps her built-in cellphone charger under her skirt this time, but Machete‘s unheralded MVP is back to deliver all the drug-addicted prostitution action you can handle. (If you’re me, that’s a lot. FYI.)

I figured it was time to check in on my favorite nude assassin/murderous home-wrecker, and I’ve discovered that the delightful Mayra Leal is in a new miniseries entitled El Gallo. If my Spanish is holding up, I believe “El Gallo” either refers to a large cat or a beloved purveyor of fine boxed wines.

(Please note that my Spanish teacher was one S. Gonzales, the fastest stereotype in all Meh-hee-coh.)

If there were ever any question about me watching this thing, it was answered when the trailer informed me that I could expect ACTION, COMEDY, VIOLENCE, FANTASY, ROMANCE, and LUST. I mean, those are like the six essential food groups of being awesome! The only way they could possibly improve on the formula would be with a monkey in a track suit and a space ninja. Bonus points were deducted for featuring a character named Charro who doesn’t have giant ’70s Love Boat boobs, but I will beneficently restore said points as a reward for that guy Pepe, whose insanely evil grin looks like a latino Joker taking a covert shit in the passenger seat of the Batmobile.

Next I found the trailer for her upcoming movie, Solus, which I think is a kind of mash-up of City of Angels, Requiem For A Dream, and something that would co-star Shannon Tweed if this were 1993. It’s also educational, since I had no idea that hookers strung out on heroin look anything like Mayra… clearly ladies, it’s time to skip the GTL and start chasing that dragon! Yes, there may be the occasional back alley panty-ripping, and you may get spit on by some guy with a goatee, but a handsome man (who I strongly suspect is an angel in the service of an angry God) will take  your scantily-clad silhouette in his arms and carry you off somewhere less rapey.

I concede it’s a rather roundabout approach to love and personal fulfillment, but at least you’ll be skinny! And isn’t that what really counts?

In other Mayra-centric news: a fight scene in another of her new flicks has her training in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, a deadly martial art accidentally developed by 14th century Incas after exposure to a time-traveling Chuck Norris during one of Bill & Ted’s Decidedly Less Excellent Adventures. (Machu Picchu? That thing was totally a strip mall before Keanu Reeves burned down The Gap.)

So if you were thinking about pissing her off, I’d suggest you give the Deadly Hands of Leal Fu a pass and go hassle one of the Teen Moms. Those bitches can’t fight for shit.


Mayra Leal (Machete’s Naked Girl) & Her New Movie: Playing House


Ah. I’ve been looking forward to this… and I do believe it was worth the wait. We now have a trailer for Playing House, which is (near as I can tell) the first movie to give Mayra Leal top billing. After her turn in Machete, this is what penises worldwide consider Big News. And since her character this time has a name (Blair) and something more substantial to do than stab old men and use her crotch as an iPhone charger, I can even engage the parts of my brain not wholly fixated on sex. (Such as they are.)

The trailer suggests that Playing House is a variation on the Poison Ivy/Pacific Heights/Obsessed genre, except that in this film, we know from the get-go that Blair is completely batshit insane. How do we know?

Because she:

…voluntarily hooks up with him:

So either she’s a crazy person or this movie is actually Mask 2: Rocky Dennis Gets Him Some.1

Yeah, I had that same reaction, lady.

Of course, director Tom Vaughan (who is more successful than me, but has less hair, so I’ll call it even) seems to have gone the traditional route of casting a really attractive, likeable woman (Sarah Prikryl)2 in the role of the Wife Who Totally Knows Something’s Fucked Up Here. Personally, I’d like to see one of these films mix it up by making the long-suffering wife someone so hideous and awful that we counter-intuitively enjoy her suffering, and are genuinely rooting for the conniving, evil-but-pretty usurper. I’m thinking Fatal Attraction-meets-Teaching Mrs. Tingle… get on that, indie filmmakers.

My weird longing for sadistic variety aside, Playing House looks like a fun little movie, and I’m definitely gonna check it out. The site doesn’t say if it’s getting a theatrical release or it’s going straight to DVD/digital, but once I figure that out, I’ll update this post with the relevant info.

In other Mayra news, we have this from the Houston Chronicle:

For seven minutes, Mayra Leal is completely nude in Robert Rodriguez’s new movie, Machete. Not in a sexually explicit, love-crazy way. True to Rodriguez’s quirky shoot-’em-up dramas, Leal plays a nude, hired villain.

“I’m naked with a purpose,” said the 24-year-old Houston native who lives in Austin and works part time as a nightclub hostess.

Now, hold on a bloody second here, people! Since when is “sexually explicit, love-crazy” not a purpose? You name me any action, and “sexually explicit, love-crazy” is probably the most popular purpose for that action. Nudity? Yup. Marriage? Yup. Murder? Yup. Breeding goats? Down here in the south, sure.

For the record, though? It would be fantastic if that were a misprint, and she actually said “naked with a porpoise.” If nothing else, it would make for the greatest DVD deleted scenes ever.

FUN FACT: "Mayra" is Spanish for "Cialis". FUNNER FACT: I barely speak English, let alone Spanish. The only language in which I am fluent? Love. That's right, swoon, bitches! Swoon!


Reading further into the Chronicle piece, I see that Mayra was Bellaire High School’s Cardinal mascot. Sweet Christmas… can you imagine a high school where the chicks are all so ridiculously hot that Mayra is stuck being the mascot? Who was on the cheerleading squad, the cast of Bring It On? Her yearbook must look like a Victoria’s Secret catalog… unlike my yearbook, which looked like the kinda photo lineup the cops would use to identify the perp in a series of trailer park weed-whacker murders.

If our heroine keeps this up, Eva Mendes will become "that chick who looks like Mayra Leal".

Even more amazing is the story of how her Machete scene came to be. Robert Rodriguez has her come in for an audition, gets her all full-frontal for him, and then sends her home with instructions to lose 10 pounds and try again. How the hell does that work? I’m pretty sure that telling women they’re too fat to be naked in front of you generally doesn’t end well. How did he not end up having to get his nuts surgically removed from his wind-pipe?

Answer: Mayra Leal is a saint. Or an angel. Possibly the Dalai Lama. Definitely awesome.

  1. And the porn people haven’t made this yet… why, exactly?
  2. Who, by the way, is a really talented photographer

Deborah Foreman Is On Twitter, And I Am An Emotional 14 Year-Old

There are some things in life you just don’t expect. Ball cancer, for example, or those dreams you have where you’re part of an orgy with the cast of Harry Potter and next thing you know, Voldemort has turned into the Nazi from Schindler’s List and he’s firing his rifle at you, only the bullets aren’t bullets, they’re tiny penises, and you can’t breathe because you’re afraid you’ll open your mouth and Dad will have been right about you all along. Y’know, the usual surprises.

But the really unexpected stuff? It just hits ya –BAM!– and you’re as shocked by your own reaction as the event itself. Which is what happened to me this morning, when I found out Deborah Foreman is on Twitter.


Are you kidding me, Twitter? You have finally justified your existence! The absolute, uncontested, cutest actress in Hollywood for all of the 1980s is posting stuff? The first movie star I fell madly, passionately in love with as a kid is right there, re-tweeting inspirational quotes and pondering her iTunes playlist like the rest of us lowly wretches?1 It’s almost impossible to believe.

Yeah, you punks today don’t get it. You with your Biebers and your GaGas and your Betty Whites… your celebrity-sex-obsessed blogs (ahem) and your 24-hour entertainment channels and your free porn! There was a time when you could fall in love with a famous person and never know a god damned thing about them ‘cept the movies they made or the songs they sang. I mean, sure, if you were a desperate spaz, you might join fan clubs and send letters, but most of us had enough dignity not to go that route. Maybe a poster went up on the back of your bedroom door, but that’s it. You longed in silent anonymity.

So to have that virtual wall –a wall that’s been there for so long that you forgot it existed– come crashing down is just a cognitive kick in the gut. I feel like I’m fourteen again. Deborah Foreman… the real Deborah Foreman… and I’m her 94th follower. Mind blowing.

Since I've never known a dude who wanted to taste cherry or strawberry while tongue-stabbing a chick's tonsils, I have to assume that this was Maybelline's attempt to pioneer the girl-on-girl-gone-wild market. ... I approve.

To put this in perspective, her movie career was at least as successful as Ashton Kutcher’s is today2, so if we had been able to access Twitter on our Commodore 64s, she would have had, say, a couple million followers at least. And here I am, number 94. (That’s. Fucked. Up.)

So why, precisely, did I love her so? Well, obviously, there was Valley Girl, which I caught on HBO when my parents weren’t paying attention. It was one of those films that was immediately strip-mined by Hollywood for its superficial themes, tone, and unfortunately, language; of the hundreds of ’80s films that were filled with characters squealing “ohmigaawd!” and “bitchin’!”, VG was the only one that expended the effort to make an inherently self-trivializing mode of speech sound like something real people would use. And of course, it bestowed upon the world one Nicolas Cage, whose then-abundant hair was already ridiculous.

As another lesson to the youth of today, please note that --in contrast to your reaction to, say, Kim Kardashian walking on the beach with Justin Bieber-- I never once considered hunting down Nicolas Cage and roasting him over an open flame just because he kissed Deborah in Valley Girl. Such thoughts never popped into my head until I sat through Con Air.

(As an aside, do yourself a favor and check out Nic’s chest topiary in the beach scene. It is awesomely tragic. Even then, he was dreaming of playing Superman.)

Watching VG now, you’re instantly drawn to how it looks. It snapshots and exaggerates a time when Douche Culture had taken over… every guy had a popped collar, an absurdly sleeveless/sideless shirt, or both. And girls were more confused about fashion than at any other point in the 20th century… slutty-yet-unflattering jumpsuits, weirdly frumpy, frilly blouses, and more unfortunate hairdos than you can possibly imagine. Never have so many pretty people looked so stupid.

Note that E.G. Daily (right) --whose primary job in Valley Girl was being The Bad Girl who shows her boobs in the first ten minutes-- is now the voice of half the cartoon kids and animals that have graced television in the last 20 years. I feel old.

But what’s really striking is how real and yet otherworldly the whole thing feels; it’s like a sun-drenched, pastel, hairspray’d Dazed & Confused that has lost its anchor in reality. The hippie parents have a likable sincerity, but in retrospect, you realize that by 1983, the average hippie was a hypocritical, upwardly mobile coke fiend. There’s a similar conflict in the movie’s ’50s-meets-’90s attitude toward sex; it accurately reflects what was pretty much a Lost Decade for teen libidos –we had AIDS and Jerry Falwell hanging over us on one side, while Madonna and the VHS porn hidden in dad’s closet were luring us forward– but covers that truth in an infantilizing sheen of fairy tale innocence.

Of course, with all that going on, it’s easy to overlook what VG was really about in its day: it was the first time that someone remade Romeo & Juliet and put the narrative focus squarely on Juliet and her choices. For such a small movie, it had an enormous impact on the cultural landscape. Make no mistake: you don’t get any sex in your city or travel in your pants without Valley Girl. It was arguably the first visible sign of the sexual revolution firing its second stage, pushing us out of the atmosphere we’d known and into the complicated realm of Liz Phair’s Exile in Guyville.

Odd trivia about Valley Girl: director Martha Coolidge has an unusual number of movies in her filmography that feature the word "girl"... Valley Girl, City Girl, Material Girls, and An American Girl. Then again, I have an unusual number of posts on this blog that talk about my wang, so who am I to judge?

The next time I saw Deborah was in Real Genius, easily the most ludicrously underrated film of the ’80s. Starring Val Kilmer (the official Greatest Leading Man To Spend His Career Being Box Office Poison), RG was smart, funny, and aiming way higher than 99% of the other teen movies of the day. It also featured Deborah in a small role that nonetheless graced us with an exchange of dialogue so perfect that it still kills me and makes me slightly horny:

[video src="http://beforepartb.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/09/VTS_01_2.m4v"]

I never actually got to see her next flick, My Chauffeur, but that was purely a timing issue. I made it all the way up to the ticket window, where the dick behind the counter promptly turned me away for being sixteen; I think my friends and I ended up going to see Silver Bullet instead. Yeah, I went for Deborah Foreman, and got stuck with Corey Haim… that was my ’80s, in a nutshell. As opposed to this, which should have been my ’80s:


(Upon reflection, I would settle for that being my 2010.)

Next was April Fool’s Day, about which Vincent Camby said “… the dialogue is mostly composed of rude variations on eek, ugh, and I’d like to sleep with you this evening.” To which I can only offer an ever-so-polite “Fuck you, ghost of Vincent Camby.” Yeah, the ending was irritating, but it was really quite decent overall.

The problem with AFD was that fellow '80s cutie Deborah Goodrich was cast in the movie, too. To this day, I know people who get her confused with D. Foreman. Which to me is weird because, while they were both pretty, well, let's just put it out there... Deborah Foreman had boobs. Sorry D. Goodrich, not tryin' to hate.

And then came Waxwork. I’ll just say this up front: it’s not for everyone. But it featured a “holy shit, I know that guy!” cast of ’80s semi-All Stars… that dude from Fright Night, that naked chick from Blame It On Rio, that kid who ended up playing Bobby on Twin Peaks, and most significantly, Deborah. It was like Robert Altman made a horror flick.

Here’s the thing about Waxwork, though… it doesn’t make the list because the movie is –in and of itself– great. It’s not bad (it actually has a significantly higher TomatoMeter rating than AFD), but as a film, it’s nothing special. What is special? The sex. Or rather, the sexual implications.

Had anyone asked, I would have advocated Deborah spending the entire decade soaking wet.

I’m not aware of any other movie of the time that had such an impact on the flowering libidos of teen boys and (more significantly) girls. I could probably write a dissertation on Waxwork‘s psychosexual influence on the American adolescent, but basically, if you saw it, some part of it stuck with you. At least one of its vignettes tweaked a sexual hot button you didn’t know you had, and you filed that shit away for future contemplation.3 Vampires, werewolves, madonnas, whores, the Marquis De Sade… it had something for every nascent pervert. It was kinda like Twilight, minus the undercurrent of Mormon shame.

Sadly, I lost track of Deborah after that. A couple years later, I became enraptured with Sherilyn Fenn (who needs her own post, at some point), and after a while, adulthood4 kinda killed the part of my brain that was capable of full-on celebrity crushes, as well as the part that was convinced masturbating five times a day was a productive use of time and energy.5

But here we are in 2010, reunited, bound once more by the fading echoes of youthful adoration and her complete ignorance of my existence; it’s 1985 Redux. Only now I spend all my time thinking about the vaginas of famous women, and she runs a Pilates studio. (Okay, so one thing is different.) We live in interesting times.

Now, if only Phoebe Cates will join Twitter. Then I’ll follow her and Debby simultaneously, and it’ll be like the fantasy threesome I always wanted… just textier.

UPDATE: After I followed her, she sent me a DM that said “Thanks for following me! smiles, Debby”. I’m going to start a bucket list, just so I can mark that one off.

  1. Well, you lonely wretches. I’m actually a fairly spectacular wretch. Kneel before Zod.
  2. No telling how far she could have gone if she’d had the foresight to marry Demi Moore.
  3. Said contemplation usually involving a bottle of hand lotion or the family shower massager.
  4. “Adulthood”, in this context, being a euphemism for “getting laid on a regular basis.”
  5. Seriously, there’s gotta be a way to harness the overwhelming self-pleasuring power of teenaged boys for the greater good. For example, hook an electrical generator up to a kid’s jerk-arm and you’re gonna produce enough, uh, juice to run at least a light bulb or three. And I’ve got some blueprints that involve high-velocity body fluids and a waterwheel that Al Gore might wanna see.

The Link Parts Are… Cheesy! (featuring Alison Brie)

Mad Men continues to be a critical darling, and my beloved Community is back this week for season two. But the big news in Alison Brie Land? According to her Twitter, she ate a salt & vinegar cricket and picked up some limited edition designer condoms during Fashion Week in NYC. Meanwhile, my week's high point was figuring out that if I fart loud enough, the dog pisses himself and runs into the wall. It's like we're living two halves of the same life.

  • Garbled Audio on FOX NewsDBSTalk – Dish Network Forum
    “My audio on FOX News channel has been garbled for around 20-30 minutes.” Dude, that’s how it’s supposed to sound.
  • RipCord Music Player Could be a Lifesaver148Apps
    A very cool iPhone app designed to help locate female joggers who have been attacked. Or elderly power-walkers who are having a heart attack. Or your ten year-old nephew who wants to scare the living shit out of the entire family (In the latter case, I suggest installing iBeatThatKidsAss Pro.)
  • C.H.I.M.P. Rearview Monitor Mirror Eliminates Office SurprisesLifehacker
    Never again worry that your wife/mother/pastor/guard is going to walk in and catch you “assaulting the summit” to online tranny porn.
  • Katy Perry won the VMAsWWTDD?
    Who knew Katy was racist against moon men?
  • Wife Kills Husband over PornLuke Is Back
    I hope he was beating off to some kind of all-girl lesbian action, ’cause given what she has to look forward to in prison, that would be awesomely ironic.
  • Words Of Wisdom of the DayThe Daily What
    I don’t really know who is more deserving of being herded on to a rocket and launched into the sun, Bieber fans or Twilight fans. Y’know what? Let’s just build a bigger rocket.

Clare Grant: There’s More To Seth Green’s Wife Than Lightsaber Nipples (NSFW)

Let’s be very clear about something: I resent Seth Green. First, there’s the obvious: he made Without A Paddle, for which he will endure a well-deserved season in hell. I’m also bitter about his talent, since I firmly believe hairless Ewoks should stick to playing in trees and stop making the rest of us feel bad for under-achieving despite our robust height and relatively massive genitalia. But most significantly, I resent him for marrying Clare Grant; in a world that contains an available –and given his hair and her skin, color-coordinated– Snooki, why poach the good chicks? It’s just rude, is what I’m saying.


I've got a Facebook friend with a nearly identical head shot. Ah, Hollywood... a land where women never have right ears.

And believe me, I would marry Clare Grant in his place. She’s distinctively gorgeous, has ridiculously hypnotic eyes, and is completely unashamed of her busy genre-sploitation acting career. Hell, from what I can see, she actively embraces it. That implies the sort of down-to-earthiness that would appreciate my sense of whimsy1 and tendency to cry after sex.2

My impotent rage and potent sexuality aside, this is where I point out that the delightful Clare has been in the dorknews of late because she rounded up some sexy friends and Chris Griffin’s less-suave alter-ego to make this video:

Now, in general, I’m not a geek-girl sycophant; these days, we’re supposed to fall all over ourselves the second a pretty lady confesses her love for Alan Moore, but I’m not havin’ it. Why the fuck would anyone act like this is a big deal? Alan Moore is a batshit-crazy genius, and there’s something wrong with you if you don’t appreciate his work. I’m not going to give you extra Life Points for simply resisting the urge to let your physical beauty overwhelm your good taste.

Life Objective #4,287: Somehow convince Clare to wear this outfit while making me a sandwich. Life Objective #4,288: Get Katy Perry to wear the same thing while feeding me the sandwich. Life Objective #4,289: Talk to a shrink about why my fantasies involve sandwiches rather than my penis playing "Destroy the Death Star" with Clare's cervix.

But I do award Life Points for brazenly being who you are, having fun with it, and not making excuses. That is hot, in oh-so-many ways. And by that standard, Clare’s score is about to roll over like the odometer in a 1972 Duster.

Someone has excellent posture. Also, boobs. And a skilled aesthetician, by the look of things.

Interesting side-note: despite the Geek Girls video’s popularity, I believe people are missing out on the real gem in her online filmography:

That’s just art, that is.


Yeah, fuck you, Green; you're the Billy Joel of poultry-oriented android shows, and one day you'll get yours. Which, if history is any indication, will involve lots of money and hot babes. So... fuck you twice!

Oh, and Clare, seriously love… have you delved deeply into your beau’s oeuvre?3 I’m just puttin’ it out there; this is how your offspring will turn out:

So do us all a favor: if you’re determined to stay with him, at least keep Seth as far from your womb as possible. (I’ve got some really tiny crime scene tape if you’d like to borrow it.) And if you absolutely must turn to a young star of Can’t Buy Me Love to ruin this majestic perfection:

…at least give Patrick Dempsey a call. Worst case scenario, your kid will wait until he’s thirty, and then turn into a stud.

follow Clare: @claregrant
Clare’s website: ClareGrant.com
The Devil’s Taint: @sethgreen


  1. “Whimsy” is what broke people rely upon when they want to take a vacation but can’t afford to leave the back yard.
  2. I’m just so good at it, I feel like I need to weep in gratitude.
  3. And if so, what kind of lubricant did you use?

The Link Parts Are… Heliocentric! (featuring Emma Stone)

Superbad? Good. The House Bunny? Good. Zombieland? Fucking ruled. Easy A? The odds look decent. And Emma Stone herself? Flawless no matter what she's doing, and capable of being funny without acting dumb. Now we just have to sit back and pray she doesn't get sucked into having Jennifer Aniston's career.


  • Pic of the DayForgetFoo
    The most sexually explicit photo of a completely innocent inanimate object you will ever see. And yes, I’d hit that.
  • Snooki Reads A BookThe Daily What
    I’m being 100% serious here: I would be less surprised to see Michelle Obama fucking Rahm Emmanuel with a strap-on in the Lincoln Bedroom than I was to see this photo. And yet everything about it is just so… right.
  • The Mobile Swimming Pool by David ZaitzPixdaus
    Y’know, it’s the hard hat that makes this work. Without it, he’d just be another jackass sitting in liquid filth, and we already get enough of that from Jersey Shore‘s hot tub scenes.
  • Haha — That’s What You Get For Bragging!: Facebook Inflection FailGeekologie
    For some, the written word is simply an inadequate medium. With that said, if you’re into that sort of thing, I’m sure the described scenario would be quite lovely.
  • Galileo was wrong – Earth is the center of the universe -The lies of “scientists” are easily debunked. For example, if there was no Adam and Eve, why could I taste ribs while going down on that hooker in an alley last week? Damn right you don’t know!

The Link Parts Are… Vacuum Sealed! (featuring Alyssa Pallett)

Machete Confirms It: Lindsay Lohan Is A Walking Afterschool Special


Jezebel has posted an early review of Machete from one of their readers, and it has completely changed my mind about seeing this movie.

[Lindsay Lohan's] nude almost the whole time (except for the “nun with a gun” scene), and she has a videotaped ménage à trois with her mother (not Dina) and Danny Trejo in a pool.

Apparently, not only does LiLo’s character do it with her mom, but her dad longs to get in on the action, too. My first thought upon reading this: how hard did Dina and Michael lobby to get those parts? My second: since she’s clearly up for it, does anyone have a spare $5,000 I can borrow so I can pay Lindsay to star as herself in my upcoming trilogy of sappho-erotic, incest-soaked, Lindsay Lohan fanfic films? And how long ’til her sister turns eighteen?

Seriously, whoever is marketing the flick... you need to use the Jezebel review in your promo material. It's gold.

The only way this movie could be more perfectly on-the-nose would be if Michelle Rodriguez is introduced twenty minutes in and completely screws up the story, Jessica Alba’s character is pretty but always hopelessly out of her depth, and Bobby DeNiro is playing a bored old whore who’ll do anything for a dollar.

Anyway, that does it; I will see Machete in a theater now. I may even wear a raincoat. Although if I bump into Paul Reubens and he’s wearing the same outfit, I will just die!

UPDATE: Those jezebels lied to me! Apparently, the perversity is all there, but a naked Lohan is not. I feel so, so… used.

Machete’s Naked Girl: “It’s Too Hot For Clothes.”

Is there any coherent way to explain Machete? Okay, there’s the generous explanation: Danny Trejo is awesome, and he’s already so old that he looks like he’s ready to do an angry, Mexican version of Gran Torino, so giving him a starring vehicle as a going-away present is nice.


But c’mon, this is just ridiculous… and not in a cool way. Let’s ignore for a moment the goofy action that represents Robert Rodriguez’s (failed) attempt to match Kill Bill‘s over-the-top gore, and the latina Barbie-doll dialog coming from a naked Eva Mendez look-alike, and what’s left? A paunchy, melted-face shadow of this guy:

Speaking of Eva Mendez look-alikes, this one is named Mayra Leal, and she already has one huge advantage over the original: she seems positively enthused to get naked in front of the camera. That means Mayra is officially hot and my hero, and with any luck, in her next movie, her character will even have a name.

Eva 1.0: She cries after doing nude scenes, but seems quite happy to give us mesh-boobed upskirts. You're a strange woman, Eva. I love you, but you're strange.

Eva 2.0: Can you believe someone this hot doesn't seem to have so much as a bikini shot out there somewhere? Fire your publicist, Mayra. Or hire one.


hat tip: Topless Robot

UPDATE: Okay, I still haven’t seen Machete. But I have seen some more clips of Mayra in Machete, and they are goooooood. Not because I’ve suddenly decided that Rodriguez’s script sounds better, but because the red-band trailer above gives the wrong impression of her character.

I much prefer this impression:

Riley Steele Is Much Sexier Than Richard Dreyfuss

Richard Dreyfuss –who has clearly decided that movies about killer fish is a niche he needs to cultivate– is in the new Piranha 3D, but that’s not really important. What’s important is Riley Steele. It may not be a thespian tour de force like Dreyfuss in Moon Over Parador, but I expect Riley’s non-pornular role in P3D to thoroughly satisfy the part of my brain that enjoys watching improbably hot, soaked chicks get eaten. Which, interestingly enough, is the same part of my brain that likes watching Riley in her day job. And on Twitter:

Riley Steele, owner of the best ass and second-most celebrated set of boobs in Piranha 3D, demonstrates the much-loved Waist-Twisting, Booty-Popping, Underwear-Malfunctioning Twitpic Pose. Now if only medical science can find a way to fix that hand growing out of her armpit, she'll be perfect.


If I were an agent in Hollywood –and I should be, since taking 10% of someone else’s income for doing absolutely nothing sounds right up my alley– I’d spend all my time in Porn Valley, recruiting talent for mainstream movies. Pornstars are perfect for today’s entertainment business. Think about it.

Seriously, Riley... you're gonna throw your back out. On the upside, you'll be the hottest person at the chiropractor.

  • No P.R. worries. Your client makes a sex tape? Just smile and negotiate the marketing rights. Your client flashes her cooch on the red carpet? Congratulate her on the artistic choice to avoid panties. Your client is spotted stumbling drunk out of an L.A. nightclub and getting finger-banged in the back seat of a BMW by Justin Bieber? Hire a team of bodyguards to protect her from the inevitable teen girl commando units that will be hunting her, and get back to your golf game.
  • Tolerance for shitty working conditions. Yeah, Kate Winslet went through hell making Titanic, floating in a giant tank of water for months while James Cameron made sure her heart would go on… but did she get even a single load of spooge in her eyeball? I think not. Was she slapped in the face with a penis as big as a baby’s arm? Leo wishes. Did anyone pee on her? Not directly, but a pool’s a pool, man.
  • They’re pretty. Seriously, you can hire Kristen Stewart, who can’t act and looks like a pale, angry pixie with a stubborn yeast infection, or you can hire a porn girl, who may or may not be able to act, but will be fucking gorgeous and won’t even blink when you spend half the shooting schedule getting nothing but ass and cleavage footage.

Riley's ass speaks the truth. And that's for reals, yo.

Hell, even standing still and trying to smile while a legion of brain-dead paparazzi shout at her isn’t vaguely the most annoying thing a porn chick has to endure during her workday. After all, what’s the only thing that smells worse than a Albanian paparazzo sweltering in the sun for four hours? Well, how do you think Seymore Butts smells?

Anyhoo… back to Riley and Piranha. Here she is in an Oscar promotion for the movie; I don’t think this campaign will actually make it more likely to win an Academy Award, but between Riley, Jessica Szohr, and Kelly Brook, the chances of me taking off my pants in front of the computer just went up to 100%.

And you’ll also find a flash of her in this here trailer for Pirates II, a porno that brags about how expensive it was to make. Which makes sense, given that porn doesn’t usually require a big outlay on costumes.


In closing, I hope you’ll all join me in wishing Riley the best of luck with her mainstream career, her porn career, and (marrymeriley) anything (iloveyouriley) else (iwanttowearyourvaginalikeaskimaskriley) that might subliminally occur to her.

Piranha [Roger Corman's Cult Classics]

Moon Over Parador

Pirates II: Stagnetti’s Revenge (Rated R)