1977, United States. Starring Jerii Woods, Cheryl Smith, Helen Lang, Patrice Rohmer, Susie Elene, Eddra Gale, William Bramley, Norman Thomas Marshall, Regina Gleason, Carl Ballantine, Fred Gray, Carrie Dietrich, Sheri Meyers. Directed by Richard Lerner. Available on DVD from Amazon.

Hey, wait a second. Didn't I just say I didn't like cheerleader movies all that much? You'd think that would be a good reason for me not to go indulging in one after the other. But maybe I don't like cheerleader films that much because I'd never seen this one. Where as Jack Hill's earlier effort makes some attempt at, if not being a good movie, at least being a movie. Revenge of the Cheerleaders completely lacks any pretense at being meaningful, political, social, or redeeming in any way and instead revels in being a cheap, sleazy piece of exploitive crap. As such, I liked it a whole lot more.

Revenge of the Cheerleaders answers the call for a movie in which a young and exhausted basketball-playing David Hasselhoff is revived by sniffing a cheerleader's worn panties. That's pretty much the cultural high point in this lurid tale of high school cheerleaders who frequently flash the full frontal while trying to save their scummy high school from greedy land developers. Yeah, high school. Remember when you could make taudry teen sex comedies jam-packed with nakedness coming from people pretending to be high schoolers? I'm pretty sure that would get you arrested today, but that's why we love the 1970s. You could call a twenty-something actress sixteen and cram your sex farce full of nudity. I think now maybe if you're lucky they'll flash a boob, but that's about it. It's part of what irritates me about the "tame by today's standards" phrase that so many people throw around. Considering how repressed and timid modern films have become, the continued issuance of this utterance baffles me. Our films today are far more prudish and the violence far more cartoonish and bloodless than anything that came in the '70s or even '80s. Just because things have gotten louder, dumber, and more overblown doesn't mean they've pushed the envelope, and while there's no end to the number of booty short shots we'll cram into a film, nudity has become a rare event, and even when it does turn up, it's pretty meek.

Not that I'd, umm, say that Revenge of the Cheerleaders isn't dumb, but it is a perfect example of what you could get away with in the ultra-permissive 1970s that would get you drawn and quartered today. Wrong as it is, this is the sort of sleaze I grew up sneaking peeks at as a wee lad. Watching a movie like this is like getting a visit from an old, hot friend and staying up all night waxing nostalgic about the time you dumped the pot in the cafeteria chili. It's much better and more daring than the sex comedies that would roll around in the 1980s, and needless to say, infinitely better than what passes for teen sex comedy today, if for no other reason than it doesn't skimp on anything but the outfits.


Once again, the story is threadbare and simple. Aloha High School in Aloha, California, is a dump. The students have sex and smoke pot on the front lawn, the principal is insane, and the head nurse is fat and surly. Reining over the madness are the Aloha High cheerleading squad and the star basketball player and plaything, Boner. Yes, that's David Hasselhoff in his first film, starring as a character named Boner whom we first meet as he emerges dazed, tired, but triumphant from a bout of sweet, sweet hanky panky in a stall in the girls' bathroom. He can do it all: shoot hoops, make love 'til the wee hours of the morn, dance up a storm, and show off his ability to play second fiddle either to a sassy talking car or a beautiful pair of bouncing boobs - all talents that would come in handy later in his career when he was still playing second fiddle to boobs and dancing atop the crumbling remnants of the Berlin Wall.

If Aloha High gets closed, they'll all have to go to tough inner city school Lincoln High, where the thugs and sociopaths rule the roost but can be robbed of their drugs by spunky teen cheerleaders armed with a fire extinguisher. They may be tough, but they also know that flame retardant foam can really wreak havoc on a leather jacket. The plot doesn't even kick in until the last twenty minutes, sot he movie before that is filled with nothing but glorious 1970s nudity and hijinks. There's the ol' blowjob behind the food counter routine as the guy tries to serve some lady a banana split. There's skinny-dipping. There's lots of dancing. There's even an orgy in the guys' locker room shower, which fills with suds for some reason, probably so Black Belt Jones can go in there later and do some fighting. Most of the humor is funny only for how unfunny it is, which I find is true of many if not most comedies. A stoned dude snorting Parmesan cheese, the classic "hot girl fellaciating a banana," and Boner being revived by the enticing aroma of worn panties is about as sophisticated as things get. No one, I hope, will be rolling on the floor with laughter. And yet, it's the fact that the film is so simplistic, so completely devoid of grace or wit that makes it funny. Sometimes, when someone who isn't funny tries to be, the results are disastrous. In the case of Revenge of the Cheerleaders, it's so unfunny and lunkheaded that it almost achieves a state of hilarity. A lot of movies are unintentionally funny. This one was intentionally trying to be funny, and the fact that it isn't is what's funny about it. Does that make any sense at all? No? Well, in that case, it has a lot of nudity. And I mean a lot.

Is it going to surprise anyone if I say that the acting is as good as the script? There are, if one was to be kind a couple acceptable performances, but a lot of what's being said and done just feel like improvisation by people who have no idea how to improvise, all delivered with the razor sharp skill of an actual stoned high schooler. So I guess maybe there's some degree of cinema verite realism in Revenge of the Cheerleaders, years before that "shocking" movie Kids terrified us all with the revelation that young teens are smoking pot, having sex, and engaging in excruciatingly long-winded and moronic conversations. I'd certainly rather watch Revenge of the Cheerleaders than that. At least Revenge of the Cheerleaders has David Hasselhoff and the brothers breaking it down on the dance floor with some hot Rerun-esque moves.


Speaking of Hoff, he's about as good here as any bad actor is in his first screen role. What's amazing is how little he's improved since Revenge of the Cheerleaders. I mean, it's quite damning to say a movie is so shoddy that even David Hasselhoff probably leaves it off his resume, but it's not like he's given us much that's better since then. His best films remain Revenge of the Cheerleaders and Star Crash, and only Revenge of the Cheerleaders flirts with the full frontal Hasselhoff nudity so many middle-aged German women demand.

The only other "name" star in this film is Cheryl "Rainbeaux" Smith, who made something of a career out of appearing naked in cheerleader movies. Here' she appears pregnant and naked, smoking pot and drinking while her baby is a mere three months away from birth. Look, it's not like you can expect prenatal responsibility from a movie where cheerleaders dump pot in the chili to cause a schoolwide orgy and food fight. Smith really has very little to do in this film despite already being a veteran of The Swinging Cheerleaders and Pom Pom Girls. But hey, any movie that features a naked pregnant teen cheerleader cavorting in the boys' locker room with David Hasselhoff has to be good for America, right?

The strangest thing about this film is the bizarre finale in which the heroic cheerleaders take on the greedy developers in a labyrinthine underground compound that looks right out of a James Bond film. Or rather, right out of a very cheap James Bond rip-off. The big fat nurse blows up the school, only without the help of the Ramones, sinks in quicksand, but is somehow redeemed in the end as the cheerleaders run through an endless series of cardboard space-age doorways and chambers. Eventually, everyone gives up on the plot and has a big luau with nude dancing and more "Hasselhoff gets funky with the brothers" stuff.

Yep, it's pretty bad. This is the sort of exploitive skin flick you should be ashamed of watching. There's really no justifying it with "it's a bold look at women seizing sexual power," or essays on how our heroic cheerleaders are both sexually and racially progressive as their ranks contain all races getting along in perfect, naked harmony. No, it's just hot women taking off cheerleader outfits while David Hasselhoff dances. I mean, his name is Boner! If you're not making out with your honey in the back seat of a muscle car at the drive-in while this is playing, then there's really no good excuse for watching it. The plot is awful. The characters are awful. The acting is awful. But the nudity is ever so fine, and David Hasselhoff is called Boner. Any movie that features nudity during the credits also gets bonus points from us. It's hilariously unfunny, utterly absurd, sleazy, cheap, and unredeemable. So yeah, I thought it was pretty good. I'd much rather watch this than Bring it On.

Labels: Cheerleaders, Netflix Diary, Sexploitation, Year: 1977