Matty puckers up for Albert Pyun’s much-maligned — but really kind of charming — sci-fi-horror-musical thingamabob. 

Following comic book adap Captain America (1990) and Kickboxer 2: The Road Back (1991), Albert Pyun was hired by Full Moon Entertainment to direct Dollman (1991) and Arcade (1993).

And in the wake of Captain America’s disastrous reception (in brief: the film was tampered with by producers, shelved in the states, and mocked everywhere else it got released), Pyun’s Full Moon twofer was, in fact, a lifeline. 

Lensed back-to-back in February and March 1991, Pyun and Full Moon’s union was creatively harmonious — until Pyun, alas, bailed on Arcade during post in order to chase another picture at another shingle. The pic in question was Nemesis (1992) over at Imperial Entertainment, and Pyun ditching Arcade caused irreparable damage to his and Full Moon boss Charles Band’s otherwise cordial relationship.

They never worked together again. 

Decades later, towards the end of his life, Pyun lamented his behaviour, admitting that it was unprofessional and wishing he’d handled matters differently. To Band, it must’ve been a real slap in the face. Years earlier, when the bond company commandeered Pyun’s sophomore flick, Radioactive Dreams (1985), and the burgeoning auteur was ruled a bust, Band stepped in to distribute his third feature, sci-fi quickie VICIOUS LIPS (1986). Band’s move helped Pyun maintain an air of legitimacy which, in turn, led to Cannon snapping him up to helm Dangerously Close (1986); the film that, really, kept the perpetually struggling artist in the game. It’s with a certain degree of irony, then, that Nemesis — a longtime Pyun passion project — actually dates back as far as both Vicious Lips and Dangerously Close [1].

An interesting experience rather than an especially good movie, Vicious Lips is a challenging watch. Straddling the avant-garde and the incomprehensible, the film is ground zero for several subsequent Pyun epics. Its strange and uncomfortable atmosphere, and insular, near chamber piece execution sets the tone for Pyun’s ‘fuck you’ trilogy — Deceit (1990), Bloodmatch (1991) and Nemesis 4: Cry of Angles (1996) — and its mixture of music, colour and experimental gristle can be felt in essentials Cyborg (1989), Omega Doom (1996) and Mean Guns (1997). That said, the films Vicious Lips is closest to are Crazy Six (1997) and Bulletface (2010); a pair of Pyun capers defined by their evasive and elliptical attitude, feverish ambience, and druggy, whacked-out qualities in keeping with their junkie-based storylines. Among the most pilloried texts in Pyun’s oeuvre, Vicious Lips is certainly on par with Crazy Six and Bulletface in terms of technical quality. All are buoyed by a strong sense of style and an immersive sense of place, and their textured and stylish aesthetics belligerently fly in the face of their chump change budgets and non-existent shooting schedules. According to Pyun, Vicious Lips was shot in six days for less than $100,000 — and yet the film’s visuals and conceptual scale feel as big as the more grandiose moments in Radioactive Dreams. A controversial opinion for sure, but I actually prefer Vicious Lips to Radioactive Dreams. I’ve always felt Radioactive Dreams has a better rep than it deserves, ditto Pyun’s debut, The Sword and the Sorcerer (1982), and the bizarre belief it’s his crowning achievement. 

Radioactive Dreams factors into Vicious Lips’ plot, presumably as an artistic exorcism of sorts. A musical space oddity set in the distant future, the thrust of Vicious Lips concerns the eponymous girl band and their intergalactic quest to play a big, breakthrough gig at the Radioactive Dream nightclub; a hip hangout lorded over by the villainess-y Maxine Mortogo (Mary-Anne Graves). Along the way, the rockers encounter a variety of problems including but not limited to: the death of their lead singer; stage fright; personality clashes; and monsters (the FX wizardry is supplied by Greg Cannom, John Carl Buechler, and the Chiodo Brothers). Like many of Pyun’s self-penned opuses, such a description is infinitely clearer than how events unfurl on screen. Despite bubbling with some incredible images and a vibe which oozes a charismatic, late night cool (think Freaks (1932), Eraserhead (1977) and El Topo (1970)), Vicious Lips struggles due to structural carnage. The copious musical numbers — warbled by Drock, Sue Saad and Jill Jaxx, and mimed by the cast a la Forbidden Zone (1980) — are giddy and glorious but the film’s a dumpster fire as a piece of storytelling. Scenes either meander or are cut maddeningly short. Stuff seemingly happens at random. And the whole shaboodle exudes a half-finished/‘that’ll do’ mentality. Contrary to popular belief, the flubs are a consequence of Pyun’s then-inexperience rather than monetary issues or anything nefarious — though Pyun freely stated he wasn’t around for the last stretch of editing as he’d already left for Dangerously Close.

Band should’ve taken heed.  

“I never saw the final version so I can’t really comment,” Pyun mused in Empire of the B’s: The Mad Movie World of Charles Band. “I remember it was ambitious trying to make a film [in the time we had]. Eventually I refined this type of shooting, [but] on Vicious Lips I was coming off a very difficult movie and wasn’t thinking clearly about how crazy it was to attempt such a short shoot… Originally The Bangles were going to be featured as the band but we couldn’t get past the music rights so we created our own. It wasn’t intended for Empire originally either. I think I called them when we were in post because I heard they were acquiring a lot of films and wanted weird sci-fi stuff for their label. We made a deal to recoup cost and for finishing funds.” [2]

Promoted in the trades in summer 1986 as ‘Pleasure Planet’, Vicious Lips ultimately retained its proper title when it snuck into a handful of U.S. theatres in August ‘87. The film bagged showings in San Francisco at the Embassy (with Day of the Dead (1985) and Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2 (1986)) and the Electric (with Harry and the Hendersons (1987) and Jaws: The Revenge (1987)), and it partook in a ‘Labour Day Bloodbath’ triple with fellow Empire romps Re-Animator (1985) and From Beyond (1986) at the Trail Drive-In in Nevada, Missouri, on the 4th, 5th and 6th September ‘87. 

Funnily, Vicious Lips’ exec producer was Joseph Bardo: an exploit-and-sexploit-ation journeyman whose stage name/nickname, ‘Brick Bardo’, was repeatedly homaged by Pyun, who deployed it for various characters — the best known of which being Tim Thomerson’s pint-sized, Dirty Harry-esque detective in the aforementioned Dollman.

Everything is linked, truly. 

[1] Nemesis was originally conceived as a serial killer thriller and mounted at Cannon as ‘Alex Rain’. A version of sorts — or, at least, an idea for an untitled film with a plot similar to the initial ‘Alex Rain’ concept — was also pitched to Band.
[2] Empire of the B’s: The Mad Movie World of Charles Band by Dave Jay, Torsten Dewi & Nathan Shumate