Romance Special continued: Garrett's top romantic movies

You've read about Spike Marlowe's favorite romantic movies, and here are mine, some traditional, some unorthodox, but all, in my opinion, the best.



1. Vertigo

The sexiest Hitchcock movie. A film that's intense and nuanced at the same time with no simple explanations or easy solutions for any of its characters. Jimmy Stewart losing his mind is a beautiful thing. Kim Novak driving him to distraction is an even more beautiful thing. It's a film that poses questions that are important to answer in any relationship. Questions about whether we can actually love someone or we can only love the self they project and if the self we project can break a lover's heart and our own heart alike. If you haven't seen this, you're losing out on a great, tragic romance.




2.Say Anything

Lloyd Dobler (Jon Cusack)is a likable but shiftless slacker. Diane (Ione Skye) is the valedictorian. Their relationship is a teen movie cliche, but there's a lot more to it. Say Anything is about two young people discovering life and love and what they find out isn't what you'd expect and isn't what other romantic comedies would tell you. Say Anything is about how there is no outright solution to life, how the answers and the values instilled in you aren't necessarily the be-all and end-all. It's ending, a sort of riff on that of The Graduate conveys how relationships take you to scary places, how growing up brings you to scary places, but together a couple can survive them. In a genre that thrives on everything being just so, this is a movie that stays romantic but tells it like it is in regards to life's uncertainties.



3.The Abominable Dr. Phibes

You're probably going to think I've gone out of my fucking mind. This violent cult curiosity and horror masterwork seems an unlikely choice for one of the most romantic movies. This is a movie about real devotion. A mute beauty's devotion to her misshapen master. A man's devotion to his dead wife. There's nothing more romantic than avenging your loved one's death in ludicrous, gory ways like having them devoured by locusts and exsanguinating them completely. Every time I see this movie, it makes me wish that I could buy vendetta insurance so anybody who accidentally kills someone I love will have to face my impractical steampunky vengeance.






4. Bringing Up Baby

One of the great screwball romantic comedies. Cary Grant is a paleontologist. Katherine Hepburn is a nuisance. They seem like an unlikely couple. In fact, as charming and sweet as Hepburn's character is, Grant would have to be out of his mind to fall for her. But somehow in spite of everything, these two end up together, having survived a ridiculous ordeal and seen the best and the worst in each other. And that's one of the things that love is really about. It might have been a prototype for a lot of stupid and cliche romantic comedies in the future, but it's message, its entertainment value and you know...a fucking leopard make it one of the best and most entertaining romances.



My Least Favorite

And here are two movies that I don't recommend bringing anywhere near your special romantic evening. These two nasty pieces of work from great directors leave me with a bad taste in my mouth and an ache in my heart.


1.Matchpoint

Is there anything more erotic than watching a sociopathic dick get away with murdering an innocent young woman? Murder can be sensual. Murder can be an exciting transgressive meeting of Eros and Thanatos. Or it can be disgustingly banal and sad, the sort of shit that's "ripped from the headlines". This movie is about as erotic as sitting on a hot steampipe and watching this movie, it feels like Woody Allen's parents made him sit naked on this very steampipe. This is not a sultry noir full of Scarlett Johannsen sex. This is about an awful person who does awful things and ends up killing to maintain a life of respectability. If this film gets your heart or your hardon aflutter then you might want to consider committing yourself.



2.Talk to Her

Ah, Almodovar. A master of bad romance. Until seeing Tie Me Up, Tie Me Down! I hated this director like I hate broccoli and fascism. And I hate broccoli and fascism. The reason I developed this hatred was Talk to Her, a harrowing film about a man who is in love with a matador in a coma. Makes you want to rush out and buy it right now, huh? Sounds like an exciting, sexy time. It isn't. It seems to say that the ideal relationship paradigm is nonparticipation. Tie Me Up, Tie Me Down! is a claustrophobic romance as well, but not nearly so claustrophobic as Talk to Her and has the charm of Antonio Banderas to keep it afloat. Talk to Her does not. By the end of the film, I felt like I was about to fall into a coma, or would be better off being in one.




If you'd like to further make use of my expertise in the arts of romance,you can order a custom sonnet from me. Tell me the name of your loved one and two things about them and for only five dollars, you can get your own one of a kind sonnet. FIND OUT MORE

Romance Special featuring Spike Marlowe, author of Placenta of Love.

Wow. 4 Months. This post is certainly a prompt one. We waited and waited for Jordan Krall to watch The Manipulator and he never did. Then some stuff came up. Yeah. We just flat out dropped the ball. Hopefully, this will not be the case in the future. More Dollarbin Massacre and everyone will finally get their fucking jetpack. Be prepared. Anyway, it's February and it's time for romance. And cold weather. And candy. And amusing ads for used car dealerships featuring nonactors dressed as Abraham Lincoln. And for Dollarbin Massacre to discuss romance in the cinema. To help us out, we have with us sultry adventuress, street performer and author Spike Marlowe, author of Placenta of Love, a weird and excellent romance involving a robot pirate, a spankloving cat, an amusement park on Venus and a giant placenta. It's one of the finest Bizarro books ever written and it would be a great idea to buy it now. It's full of romance, laughter, pathos and poetry. Buy it HERE if you're into romance and weirdness and eccentric genius.

I asked Spike to tell us about her four favorite romantic films and two least favorite romantic films. And she did. Cause that's the kind of Bizarro adventuress and street performer she is. And here's her response:

My Four Favorite, and Two Not-So-Favorite, Romantic Erotic Films, or How to Get the Lovin’ on this Valentine’s Day

What makes a movie romantic and erotic varies from person-to-person. Some people think gore and death are romantic and erotic, while others swear by those movies Cinemax used to show late Friday nights in the 90s.

Me? I like lots of sexy, implied erotica. Sure, I like to watch, but I like to imagine even more, especially when the characters and world lie on the fringes or go completely over the edge of our reality.

Favorites:

La Belle et La Bête (1946). Sure this film is essentially the classic French fairytale, which in itself is quite romantic and erotic, but what really makes Jean Cocteau’s version of “Beauty and the Beast” are the delicious bizarre, creepy details throughout Beast’s castle: disembodied, bare arms holding lit candelabras; live carvings and statues that breathe smoke and watch the characters; gorgeous décor, including gauzy curtains and a room that looks more like the Garden of Eden than a bed chamber. Growls and screams throughout the night.

And then there’s the beast himself. The beast is not maybe-sorta-dangerous. No, menacing and powerful -- the beast IS bad-ass. And Belle? Once she moves into the beast’s castle, and she and the beast have their hawt power exchange (“May I watch?” “You are the Master.” “No, you are.”), she’s even more of a bad-ass.
And this is before you think about what goes on behind the closed doors.



King Kong (1933). While we’re talking about beauty and the beast and bad-ass characters, let’s chat about King Kong, one of the hawtest, sexiest, most romantic and incredibly erotic movies ever made. Ever.

Just for starters, what’s more romantic and erotic than setting sail to exotic, mysterious locales, when adventures you can’t even imagine are waiting for you? And then there’s the men. King Kong is full of strong, determined men. And then there’s Ann Darrow. Gorgeous, strong, determined, and incredibly sexy in her flowing, gauzy gowns. Who wouldn’t get hot, watching her stand on the ship’s deck, as the sea breeze blows through her hair and shifts the sheer fabric of her dress?

But best of all is Kong, and his innate, animalistic desire to possess Ann Darrow.
Can you see it? Ann Darrow, in her white, sinuous gown, has been tied up by the inhabitants of the mysterious island as a sacrifice to satiate Kong’s lusts. And then Kong comes to her, revealing his massive canines. And then Kong takes Ann, holding her gently in his mighty hand, and disappears into the jungle. Kong fights a T-Rex, and giant snake, and a pterodactyl when they show too much interest in Ann Darrow. And then, the beastly, mighty Kong -- always gentle with his intended -- strokes Ann, exploring her body and her dress… Until she’s retrieved by Jack, the guy Ann thinks she belongs with. (She’s wrong. I’m telling you – SHE BELONGS WITH KONG!)

Of course, we know how the story tragically ends. But we also know this: “It was the beauty that killed the beast.”
*swoon*



Lili (1953). Just beneath the charming, innocent surface, of both the title character and the film, is the intense, erotic juxtaposition between naivety and desire.

Lili is set against the background of the Cabaret de Paris, a carnival where Lily, a young girl with no family or prospects, finds work, first as a waitress and then as a live performer in the carnival’s puppet show.

Though the scenes where Lily desires the magician, imagining herself as a sexy, adult woman, are lovely and sensual, the story’s true erotic heart lies in the relationship between Lily, the puppets she performs with and the carnival’s puppeteer, Paul.
Paul the puppeteer also owns the Cabaret de Paris, and he’s a man with a difficult past. Though he is immediately drawn to Lili, he pushes her away because of this past. Because of how he treats her, Lili has no use for Paul, though she’s in love with the puppets he operates: Carrot Top the boy puppet, Renardo the fox, Marguerite the dancer and Golo the Giant.

Once innocent Lily learns the sometimes harsh realities of love, sex and desire, she decides to flee the carnival. However, the puppets come to her as live, full-sized creatures; Lily dances with them in a gorgeous, magical sequence. They reveal that each of them is a piece of Paul the puppeteer, and that, by loving them, truly Lily loves him, as well. Lily returns to the carnival, and falls into Paul’s arms.
Delicious.



Labyrinth (1986). I see you. You’re laughing, aren’t you. You shouldn’t.
I first saw Labyrinth at the cheap theater in my hometown of Provo, Utah. It was a double feature matinee with Short Circuit, another romantic and erotic film.
This film stirred me in a way no film had stirred me before, and only partially because of David Bowie’s tight pants.

The settings are lush, Sarah is beautiful and wears gorgeous, sensual clothing. The characters are fantastically created. And then there’s the Goblin King.

Oh, Goblin King. With your long, spiky hair and sexy makeup. With your cloak and black leather gloves and pirate shirt and boots and crystal contact juggling ball. Your self-confidence and strength. And how you expose yourself and become weak, purely because of a beautiful young girl.
Dear reader, how can you not find the ball scene romantic and sexy? How can you not find the final scene where Sarah overcomes the Goblin King lovely and erotic?
Go and watch it, and tell me that the struggle for power between Sarah and the Goblin King doesn’t have you biting at the bit.



Least Favorites:

Hansel and Gretel (An Opera Fantasy) (1954). You think it’s a children’s film. You think it a gorgeous stop motion animated classic of a classic opera.
Sure Hansel and Gretel (An Opera Fantasy) is those things, but it’s also a story about a love triangle between a witch, and a brother and sister.
And sure the setting is lush and gorgeous. And sure Rosina Rubylips is a witch who has got it going on. Sure, the love story between Hansel and Gretel is sweet and romantic. Sure the coming of the Sandman and restoration of the children is romantic. And sure that striptease Rosina does for Gretel is hardcore erotic. And there’s some pretty good BDSM between Rubylips and Hansel.

What keeps this movie from being a romantic, erotic favorite?

The main characters.
Hansel and Gretel are beyond annoying. They are the epitome of what’s wrong in children’s film. They’re whining, twee and obnoxious. Saccharine and entitled.
Now, if the Rosina had finally stuffed Hansel and Gretel full of raisins and almonds, and THEN eaten them all up? That could have been a good romantic, erotic film with a satisfying ending.



The Saragossa Manuscript (1965). I love this movie. I love this movie hardcore. This movie is full of romantic and erotic elements: gorgeous women, sexy men, strange setting and weird events. Charged music. Gorgeous costumes. You can feel the romance and the eroticism seeping through the DVD sleeve.
So what’s my gripe?
This movie is all promise and no fulfillment. It’s all tease and no follow through.

But Spike, you say, I thought you liked to use your imagination.
It’s true – I do. And The Saragossa Manuscript doesn’t let me use my imagination to create romantic, erotic content based on this movie. It seems each time a character is going to find love and romance, a yummy night full of erotic delights, all the promise is cut off by conniving and manipulating ghosts. Or maybe not ghosts. It’s hard to say.
Still, watch the movie. Watch it several times just to ensure you catch all the weirdness this movie embraces. As long as you’re not looking for hawt, Valentine’s Day fun, it’s a great film.




Spike Marlowe everyone. Buy Placenta of Love. Buy the Kindle version too. And then you can participate in the fan fiction contest.

But that's not all for the romance special. There's more romance to come later today. Find out what my favorite romantic films are. Find out about Leza's favorite romantic films. Find out just how much fun mayhem can be visited on a porno set and how you or your lover can be the proud owner of a personalized Petrarchan sonnet! It's gonna be VERY sensual.

Leza on The Manipulator

Who is THE MANIPULATOR?



Is Mickey Rooney THE MANIPULATOR? The invisible voice of a filmmaker on a mission, a puppetmaster to his kidnap victim and chosen star? Or is it an industry that chews up a spits people out when they have outgrown their cuteness? Who is the man behind the curtain, really?

As his character B.J. Lang says, “Fear is the universal disease.” His hapless hostage must play Roxanne to his Cyrano de Begerac. He uses any means necessary to get the reaction he needs from his starlet. He coddles and terrorizes and feeds her appleasauce and water when she screams in hunger. Most of the time, though, as a viewer you must be his hostage to strange rambling rantings and conversations involving an entire film crew, all voiced by his truly.

Just as Cyrano was the invisible voice of another man, BJ’s victim must speak the lines her crazed kidnapper feeds her, take after take, till he gets what he wants. This is an experience I’m sure a man who began his film career at the ripe old age of four , is not entirely unfamiliar with. A man who is in the Guinness world book of records for longest running film career spanning 86 years. This is the irony laid upon irony in this misanthropic little oevre by one time director turned television writer, Yabo Yablonsly.

Most of it takes place in a warehouse outfitted with prominent stage lights and props and a dressing room. One particularly surrealistic sequence involves the woman attempting to escape and running through a butcher shop hall, with endless pig carcasses hanging from the sides, where she then stumbles upon a small gathering of suited players happily delivering a symphony.

There is a twisted logic to all this. Yet, it is hard to truly care, and has definitely made me permanently creeped out by Mickey Rooney, especially after his soliloquy about how he used to do Marilyn Monroe’s makeup and how she’d say he was not putting makeup on HER eyes, they were OUR eyes that TWINKLED for the cameras. This, while knowing that Marilyn spoke of getting hit on by Mickey Rooney while she was a young starlet and being thoroughly creeped out. You and me both Marilyn.
This is the living nightmare of a man who has seen his best days flitter by, and, with his captive, attempts the challenge of recreating the magic that once was… or not.

If you want a nightmare, you’ve found it in demented Mickey Rooney in this saga of horrors. You shall see the glories of orgies with Mickey Rooney’s phantom adorers, with mysterious baby present, cartoonish makeup on obese vampiric revelrers, a stroke inducing strobe sequence, and to top it all, Mickey Rooney in whorish makeup and dancing frenetically in sped up sequences, singing Chattanooga Choo Choo with demonic glee.

What is truly incredible about this film is the complete lack of plot and forward motion of any sort. Every positive action is negated by a regression. The ending does not disappoint on this front.

Terror is a Man Named Mickey Rooney

I'm glad to finally be able to return to you. No really good excuse for making you wait this long, but we'll be sure to get back in the groove so you won't have to wait so long for next time. One reason it took so long to get going again was that Leza and I couldn't find a movie weird and disturbing enough to relaunch the site. There was one, but it was too awful to even consider. In the past, we'd talked about it, but Jordan "misplaced" it repeatedly. Yeah, sure. "Misplaced." To avoid its gutwrenching unpleasantness. Not that we'd blame him. Because this movie is one bad mother starring one of the scariest actors in film history.

Who? Bette Davis? Peter Lorre? Zac Efron? Worse. A combination of the three molded into a single unholy fright machine. I am of course referring to hellish imp Mickey Rooney, a man who creates more terror before breakfast than Rob Zombie has in his entire career. Does this mean we're going to review Silent Night, Deadly Night 5? You fucking wish we were going to review Silent Night, Deadly Night 5. So do we. But we can't do. It's October. It's almost Halloween time, and if we don't present the kind of mortal terror and strangeness that makes your testicles ascend, then we're wasting your time. We're going to discuss 1971's The Manipulator. It's a doozy. If you drop acid and watch it, Mickey Rooney will crawl out of your television and whisper into your ear the exact time and date of your death. The Manipulator is a movie about Mickey Rooney making his own damn movie all by himself, like Robert Rodriguez. If Robert Rodriguez completely lost his goddamn mind.

Mickey Rooney plays BJ Lang, a cameraman during Hollywood's glory days, discarded and displaced by time, like Mickey Rooney. BJ is a one man crew for a movie in his own mind, or multiple movies in his own mind, or perhaps even a Hollywood in his own mind. Rendered powerless by age and a changing business, he seeks to reclaim this power, to live a past he wished he had and to stand around a makeshift soundstage acting like a raving lunatic. Mickey Rooney talking himself in multiple voices would be terrifying enough. Mickey Rooney eating Fruit Loops and reading the paper would be terrifying enough. But he does more. He has kidnapped an actress, played by Luana Anders, tied her to a chair and is forcing her to make this movie with him.

Her every move is dictated by a mad man, her every word and action must be chosen to avoid transgressing against a set of imaginary rules. She has been thrust into a chaotic mirror universe, an embodiment of all the worst things about the Hollywood delusion machine. She must feign compliance, respect, appreciation and even to a degree, love to survive.

That's pretty damn creepy. And Lang talking to himself is pretty damn creepy. When he puts on lipstick and eyeshadow and tells anecdotes about doing makeup for Marilyn Monroe, the creepiness gets worse. When you see glimpses into his warped imagination, involving nightmare Hollywood parties that look like a New Year's Eve in Hell hosted by Ken Russell, then you start to get the full impact. Or perhaps it's when Rooney puts on a swashbuckler costume and a fake nose and romances her as a far less than serviceable Cyrano. This is a bad situation.

And when you factor in the meaning of this mess, the rage and despair and truth of his performance, the significance of his character playing a man who gets no respect for being a puppeteer to the beautiful people, the disgust factor goes over the top. The surrealistic bile of Lynch's Mulholland Drive lurks under the surface of this and Rooney, lashing out against a system that stunted his potential and left him by the wayside, The Manipulator becomes an unwatchable vortex of chaos and artistic frustration, rotten to its core with dark truths, awkward performances and unnecessary weirdness. Mickey Rooney is good in this part. Too damn good.

An honest, scary, grotesquerie that I would wholeheartedly recommend not seeing. There's nothing more icky than badness with moments of uncomfortable insight.

Corrections, Retractions and Apologies

I feel some things need to be cleared up and some apologies need to be made:

1.) Rockula is in fact awesome. I apologize for previous Rockula bashing. There was no excuse for that. Bo Diddley, Thomas Dolby and strange, sexually threatening undulations from Toni Basil should have made this a beloved vampire cult classic and not a butt of an elitist joke. Watch Rockula. I cannot say how sorry I am to have misled so many of you.

2.) Suicide Girls Must Die was never watched again. By anyone. This is why there was no entry on it. You try watching that crap. If you want us to watch it again and review it, you can Paypal us 5.99, which is what we paid for that pile of horse shit.

3.) Mykle Hansen, who so generously offered his time to help us with the Rudy Vallee werebear conundrum last year put out a new book last November. Buy it.

4.) Jordan Krall has a new book out. Buy it.

5.) In June, I put out a new book. Buy it.

6.) I would like to apologize for our lack of coverage in regards to The Manipulator with Mickey Rooney. Jordan and Leza are very, very weak. I know you want The Manipulator news here and now. And I'm tempted to give it to you myself. I swear that if Jordan and Leza do not watch The Manipulator, I will do a lengthy solo post.

7.) Why did we forget to write about Santa Claus Conquers the Martians? We were drunk, I guess. It did not stop us on previous occasions, but this time, it got us. Thank you Kirk and Nicole for providing 8 months of entertainment for Dollarbin Massacre fans.

8.) Halloween 3 still sucks. And I'm sorry for that.

Suicide Girls Must Die

Last year, or two years ago, or something I don't care to look up, the Suicide Girls made a film. Leza will discuss this later. But for right now, I'd like to say that Suicide Girls Must Die is the worst film to have Must Die in the title. Frankenstein Must Die? Pretty good. John Tucker Must Die? Awful. But not this awful. Suicide Girls Must Die is loaded with topless tattooed girls and I don't care. The movie is three quarters finished and I'm already writing a one star review. Because I don't care. Whoever directed Suicide Girls Must Die must die. Suicide Girls Must Die is about a bunch of Suicide Girls who go to Maine and have troubles. Some of them disappear in a boring fashion. Others remain. This is just as boring. Somehow Suicide Girls Must Die has made Maine less interesting. All of this is particularly puzzling because the makers of this film had a cabin and a multitude of cute young poseurs willing to take off their clothes. It does not take a rocket scientist to cover these girls in karo syrup and make them run through the woods crying. This is the least I would have asked for. This might be among my 100 Least Favorite Films Ever. Yes, definitely is. The next film to grievously disappoint me is going to have to work pretty hard after this one.

Nicole Cushing on Santa Claus Conquers the Martians

I am happy to have Nicole Cushing here with us contributing a piece. Nicole is the author of a story that holds it own among greats like Carlton Mellick III and Neil Gaiman in the recent John Skipp edited Werewolves and Shapeshifters anthology and of the New Bizarro Author Series book How to Eat Fried Furries that has been attracting a lot of attention and deserves all of it. She also bested me in sheer weirdness at this year's Ultimate Bizarro Showdown. I thought I could do offputting emotional terrorism but Nicole, as the Bionic Cow Pope, converted a lot of heathens that day. Here is her amazing, indepth sociopolitical analysis of Santa Claus Conquers the Martians.


The Martians Have A Dirty Bomb, And It's Name is Droppo by Nicole Cushing

In my book, How To Eat Fried Furries,one tale describes a mafia plot to assassinate Santa Claus. So you'll excuse the fact that I yawned at the comparatively-nonviolent kidnapping peril Saint Nick faces at the hands of Martian terrorists.
Truth be told, I yawned throughout the whole thing. I've seen this film before, in its incarnation as an episode of Mystery Science Theater 3000. But this time, in the spirit of the Dollar Bin Massacre, I watched the unaltered version of the film I'd purchased from a genuine Dollar Bin about a year ago. And, yes, I lived to tell the tale (never before have Joel and the bots been so missed).
But, hey...it's all too easy to take a look at this film and point out its flaws. The continuity errors (sometimes the Martians are green-skinned, other times they appear Caucasian). Use of military stock footage that even Ed Wood might declare gratuitous padding. Martians who look like bush-league rasslers wearing helmets adorned with spare parts from a 1962 Hoover vacuum cleaner.
But I come not to condemn this film, but to praise it. Yes, you read correctly. Praise it.
Maybe it only looks dreadful, superficially. What if we scratch the surface? Look a the subtext. Friends...I come to you today prepared to re-write the history of film criticism by announcing the discovery of an entire new interpretation of Santa Claus Versus The Martians; an interpretation based on an appreciation for a deep, hiterto-ungrasped symbolism.
Moreover, I proffer this thesis: Santa Claus Versus The Martians is not only a film rich in symbolism, but it also is a magic film; influenced by the Ghost of Nostradamus, which foretells the outcome of Iran's grab for nuclear weapons.
Think I'm psychotic? Funny. The five-trunked topiary elephant said the same thing. In Portugese. But before you label me “mad” or even “a little strange”...consider the merits of my argument.
To whit – consider the players...
The Earth children (Betty and Billy Foster) who enjoy material abundance, television, and freedom of thought because they have Santa Claus. Symbolically, these are the Americans and/or the state of Israel.
Santa Claus, who flies through the sky in a sleigh rumored to run on rocket fuel, who delivers material abundance to those who bessech his favor. Who lives in a frozen, desolate wasteland of eternal (read: “nuclear”) winter. Symbolically, Santa represents nuclear weapons.
The Martians, who look “different” and are dressed all alike, must (according to dominant cultural norms and prejudices in the U.S.) represent foreigners. But not just any foreigners. The hard-liners in Martian society (Voldar) as well as the non-hardline, devoutly religious (Chochem) wear facial hair, while more-or-less secular moderates (Kimar) are clean-shaven.
Therefore, the Martians are symbolically, the Islamic Republic of Iran, circa 2010. Given this interpretation of the film, what can we predict about the future?
Well, we know that there will be a Martian (Iranian) grab for Western (Earth) nuclear secrets (Santa). We know that, in fact, the Martians will obtain Santa, and reverse-engineer their own, slightly bastardized version, Droppo (a dirty bomb). However, we also know that, in the end, the Iranian hardliners will be toppled by a coalition of pro-Western forces (Billy & Betty) and Iranian moderates (Kimar) who employ a surgical air strike (barrage of bubbles, ping-pong balls, and model airplanes) to effect a regime change. Droppo (the dirty bomb) stays on Mars, but only under the “benevolent”, pro-Western (read: corrupt puppet) dictator Kimar (second coming of the Shah).
And now everyone has nuclear weapons! How's that for a happy ending, kids!