Numbers 10 to 1.
And so here (t)it is. The top ten of titanically topless cult movie ultra-sirens.
By that I mean Uschi Digard in Kentucky Fried Movie, Mathilda Maye in Lifeforce, Christina Lindberg in Thriller: A Cruel Picture, Isabella Rossellini in Blue Velvet, Barbara Crampton in Re-Animator and whoever else might comprise the top three.
Go and find out. Come and see. Then see. Then come.
Or whichever order you prefer.
CHERYL “RAINBEAUX” SMITH
THE SWINGING CHEERLEADERS (1974)
Sexy soul sista Rosanne Katon and undercover hippie radical Jo Johnston prep Rainbeaux for a night our by offering her a sheer silk shirt to slip into. Rainbeaux takes off the top she’s got on and out pop two huge, swollen, perfectly round casabas topped with full, lush, power-puffy, deep pink nipples.
As the effervescent Penny Fine pointed out: “Nobody hits you [meaning me, specifically] like Rainbeaux Smith.”
This became more and more evidently true as I attempted to write up Rainbeaux’s Swinging Cheerleader moment … and my writing didn’t stop.
That end product, became an article in itself, which you can read here: She Was a Rainbeaux.
KENTUCKY FRIED MOVIE (1977)
During the grindhouse trailer parody “Catholic High School Girls in Trouble”, Uschi takes a shower with a dude who rubs his lucky mitts all over her massive milk-monsters, creating hilarious balloon-squeak noises. He then does Dairy Queen Digard from behind and Uschi mashes her mammoth mammaries up against the glass shower door - squishing their hugeness, nipples first, right at us.
• Rainbeaux Smith does figure as my all-time favorite movie star, but the two screen sirens I find most sexually desirable are Jane Birkin (whose nude scene in J T’aime Moi Non Plus ranks on this list at #34) and Uschi Digard … but wait. Should that count as the three most desirable screen sirens?
Nyuk. Nyuk. Nyuk.
For a woman who seemed ever eager to expose every millimeter of her volcanically voluptuous physique, in private Uschi has cut a surprisingly mysterious figure.
Rumors regarding her birth and post-retirement whereabouts circulated for decades, some claiming Uschi was Swedish, others identifying her as a native of Wisconsin.
• Let it now be known, in Uschi’s own words: “I was born in Saltsjö-Duvnäs, a little town outside Stockholm, Sweden, and am of Swedish/Swiss heritage.”
Aside from her mountainous mammaries, Uschi’s other trademark was a deep tan, which she attributed to a passion for nude sunbathing in the Florida sunshine.
• According to “the Sherlock Holmes of Hollywood Heat”, Celebrity Sleuth, at the height of her powers, Uschi measured 44DDD-26-35. She began growing her gigantic gazongas age 11 and by 15 she was straining bra-straps as a 40DD.
As of three years ago, Uschi was alive, well, happily married, and continuing to soak up the sun in Palm Springs.
• Uschi Digard is credited with appearances in more than 120 movies, under dozens of different pseudonyms.
Among them are the Russ Meyer classics Cherry, Harry & Raquel (1970), Supervixens (1975), Up! (1976), and Beneath the Valley of the Ultravixens (1979). On the last two, Uschi is also listed as a producer.
Her other milk-bomber-baring credits are studded with mind-blowers: The Ribald Tales of Robin Hood (1969), Roxanna (1970), Prison Girls in 3-D (1972), Truck Stop Women (1974), If You Don’t Stop It You’ll Go Blind (1975), The Black Gestapo (1975), A Climax of Blue Power (1975), Fantasm (1976), Female Chauvinists (1976), Chesty Anderson, US Navy (1976), Disco Dolls in Hot Skin (1977), Can I Do It Till I Need Glasses (1977), Fantasm Comes Again (1977), and th $1 Walgreens bin fixture, C.B. Hustlers (1978).
Uschi and bodaciously robust redhead Sharon Kelly are also the only two actresses, aside from Dyanne Thorne as the titular terror, to appear in both Ilsa She Wolf of the SS (1974) and Ilsa Harem Keeper of the Oil Sheiks (1976).
And although she appeared in some hardcore films (and numerous compilations), Uschi herself NEVER performed a full-penetration, visible penis-in-lady-hole sex scene. Keep looking. You won’t find one. I do, and I haven’t.
• So with all of Uschi’s ultra-voluminous lacto-launcher legacy, why single out her dairylicious double in Kentucky Fried Movie?
It comes down to how immediately, indelibly, and orgasmically explosive the entirety of KFM’s “Catholic High School Girls in Trouble” bit was for an entire generation (or two), and in particularly the moment when Uschi mushes her mounds up against the clear glass shower door.
For sheer whacktasticness, my favorite Uschi movie is Getting Into Heaven (1970), which consists mostly of Our Lady of Krakatoan Baby-Feeders oiling up her bare body and rubbing it all over the similarly gargantuan-sacked, also oiled-up Jennie Lynn while they grind clits and soul-kiss for an uninterrupted hour or so.
Still, Uschi’s audibly squeaky groping and delcious pressed mams of Kentucky Fried Movie have kept that pioneering midnight movie finger-dripping good for decades.
Grab your drumstick and have at.
Space Girl Mathilda May (that’s literally her character’s name - Space Girl) rises from a slab in a British laboratory, revealing her breathtaking, perfectly proportioned bare body as a she walks nude past a security guard and out for a naked constitutional on Old London Town.
• Prior to Mathilda May in Lifeforce, it’s hard to think of a Hollywood movie where a major female character is visibly nude every single time she appears on-screen.
Really, all I can think of, off-hand, is Sydne Rome in Roman Polanski’s What? (1973) and Gisele Lindley in Forbidden Zone (#15 on this list), and neither of those efforts were mounted for a mass audience (at least not the half lacking cock-and-balls).
And from there emerges the shock of Mathilda’s Lifeforce performance. She shows up nude on a slab, wakes up nude, and casually walks around nude popping bystanders’ eyeballs before draining them of their vital fluids - much as she did to Youngman McBeardo the moment the movie landed on VHS.
The initial response was: “Wow! That woman is unspeakably beautiful. And she’s nude. And she’s still nude! And she’s STILL still nude! And, holy tits-muff-and-keister, she really is going to STAY nude for the whole movie.
And she does. And it is great.
French dish Mathilda debuted nude in Lifeforce, and must have decided she liked it.
She went on to appear naked in 11 films over the next 20 years.
• The nude Mathilda movie to which I am most personally attached is the bizarre Spanish saga of preadolescent breast-feeding envy, The Tit and The Moon (1994).
It’s all about nine-year-old Biel Durán who’s jealous that his newborn sibling gets to suck on the full, flowing milk-bags of Laura Mañá, who plays their mom.
Glands down, Biel Durán is the luckiest little sucker in the history of cinema.
• Lifeforce was filmmaker Tobe Hooper’s last, best shot at a top-ticket Hollywood career. And he blew it.
Aside from Mathilda and other likably lunatic elements, Lifeforce is dull and frantic at the same time, resulting in an irritating mess that becomes a chore to endure between the naked parts.
Reviews were unkind, bad word-of-mouth iced the box office, and Tobe quickly moved through the next two obligations of his three-picture deal with legendary Israeli schlockmeisters Menahem Golan and Yoram Globus of Canon Films.
In summer 1986, Canon released Hooper’s sucko Invaders from Mars remake and forced him to rush through The Texas Chain Saw Massacre Part 2.
Despite Hooper’s gripes about hitting an unreasonable deadline, I have always thought TCM2 was a masterpiece - a rip-roaring splatter blast in its own right that works simultaneously a brilliantly inventive mediation and commentary upon the director’s original cinematic milestone (which seems more flukey all the time).
Not everyone agrees with me on this. But they are wrong.
Mathilda May, in the meantime, continues to get naked in movies. And she remains magnificent.
THRILLER: A CRUEL PICTURE (1974)
After being kidnapped, forcibly addicted to drugs, blinded in one eye, and pimped out, it looks like perhaps Christina might enjoy some lesbian sex with paying customer Despina Tomazani - but it turns out this trick’s kink is face-slapping, and not on the receiving end, either.
• The image of Christina Lindberg with the eye-patch, the shotgun, and the long, leather coat looms so iconic in the realm of cult films that I was intimately familiar with it long before I even knew who that actress was, let alone from what the movie it came. And I’m sure I’m not alone in that.
Eventually, I read reviews of They Call Her One Eye and tracked down a severely beat-to-shit VHS bootleg.
From what I could make out of the battered tape, the movie was awesome, but I never really got to see it uncut, as Odin intended, until Synapse Films released the DVD of the movie under its proper, charmingly austere Swedish title, Thriller: A Cruel Picture.
The wait was worth it, not only for the film itself, which seamlessly melds sick porn, vigilante mayhem and European art cinema into an inexplicably cohesive, one-of-a-kind whole, but for the opportunity to fall gaga over the powerhouse behind the eye-patch: Christina Lindberg herself.
• First, that body. Has a more bombastically arousing physique than Christina’s ever been photographed? Not that I’ve seen and, believe me, I’ve been looking.
Christina’s star power - the way she so unmistakably lights up a screen - is actually even more prominent that her physical allure, but it really is the package that makes her perfect.
Maid in Sweden (1970) made her a movie star and in 1973, Christina traveled to Japan to co-star with Reiko Ike (and make hairy-muffed lesbian sex with Jun Midorikawa) in the “pinky violence” masterwork, Sex & Fury.
Thriller: A Cruel Picture actually capped Christina’s acting career, as she refused to perform hardcore sex scenes and expressed distress over the use of full-penetration inserts (which abound in Thriller).
Along the way she recorded several pop singles and studied journalism, eventually coming to own and edit the Swedish aviation magazine Flygrevyn - which she still runs today.
Christina also dated the King of Sweden, Carl XVI Gustaf.
Most impressive is that, since Kill Bill, Christina has not only been alerted to her cult superstar status, she has embraced it and loves it, flying to fan gatherings, pressing the flesh and even, sometimes, donning the eye-patch. Make sure to visit her MySpace page.
Here’s hoping Christina Lindberg gets nude again, too. For old time’s sake. And for new. And forever.
BLUE VELVET (1986)
Punch-drunk, bruised up, and full-frontally nude, Isabella wanders on to the lawn of teen adventurer Kyle McLachlan, who’s accompanied by girlfriend Laura Dern and some local troublemakers looking for a fight.
• Larger-than-life Hollywood mogul Dino (”When monkey die, everybody gonna cry”) De Laurentiis, who owned the rights to the Frank Herbert novel Dune, reportedly rewarded avant-garde filmmaker David Lynch for finally filming the unfilmable property by promising to produce the director’s next project.
That turned out to be Blue Velvet, as goddamned a peculiarity as has ever gotten a coast-to-coast wide release but, ah, such was the power of De Laurentiis in those days, back when men were brontosauruses.
By playing in hundreds of local neighborhoods and tiny suburban theaters, Blue Velvet did manage to cause a stir way beyond what Lynch had done previously (Eraserhead) and would do in the future (Wild at Heart, Lost Highway, Mulholland Dr, et al) by strictly going the arthouse route which, of course, is where he belongs.
That big commercial push, coupled with the movie’s profound jolts and many moments of bona fide greatness, made Blue Velvet, as Cult Movies author Danny Peary put it, “easily the most controversial film of the decade.”
• Fueling all the outraged jaw-boning among the public was Roger Ebert. The brilliant film critic and even more brilliant screenwriter of Beyond the Valley of the Dolls (1970), awarded Blue Velvet one star and railed most strongly against the moment we’re saluting here.
In his review, Ebert wrote: “Rossellini is asked to do things in this film that require real nerve. In one scene, she’s publicly embarrassed by being dumped naked on the lawn of the police detective. In others, she is asked to portray emotions that I imagine most actresses would rather not touch. She is degraded, slapped around, humiliated and undressed in front of the camera. And when you ask an actress to endure those experiences, you should keep your side of the bargain by putting her in an important film. Rossellini goes the whole distance, but Lynch distances himself from her ordeal with his clever asides and witty little in-jokes.”
It’s a legitimate point of view, to be sure, and well-stated.
And it makes the scene all that much more satisfying to masturbate to.
• For his part, Lynch has stated that the Isabella’s sudden naked appearance stems from a childhood incident wherein he and his brother witnessed a completely nude woman step out onto a lawn in their neighborhood without explanation, and it had always haunted him.
And Isabella herself has added: “If I would have walked covering my breasts, or covering myself, it meant that Dorothy [her character] still had some sense of pride, still had something in her to protect her. That woman had to have lost everything. And so she had to walk completely exposed, just saying, ‘Help me.’ I wanted to be like raw meant. My nudity was like raw meat, like a butcher, like walking in a butcher and seeing a cow hanging, you know, a quarter of a cow hanging.”
Again, thank me as you lube up.
Barbara is strapped, naked and wailing, to a Miskatonic University laboratory table. The re-animated, decapitated corpse of professor emeritus Dr. Hill (David Gale) rises, walks over with his own head in hands, and places the wildly licking noggin between Barbara’s legs. Yes, this is the ultimate horrific example of “getting head” ever depicted anywhere.
• For this splatter fan, the “golden age” of horror movies begins with Night of the Living Dead (1968) and ends right here, with the very good head on Miskatonic University medical student Herbert West’s shoulders - along with the other one on his desk.
A (disembodied) handful of classic horrors oozed out following Re-Animator’s October1985 debut (Night of the Creeps, Texas Chainsaw Massacre Part 2), but really, this is it, fright fans: the greatest nude scene at the end of an era.
Horror films from the late 1960s to the mid-1980s comprise my favorite era. Actually, that was just the best era, period, for anything and everything.
With movies, though, it’s a richer era, even, than theatrical hardcore porn, which was born right around the same time with Mona: The Virgin Nymph (1970) and flamed out at almost the exact same moment vis-à-vis Henri Pachard’s Taboo American Style (1985).
And if Re-Animator is the perfect vehicle to punctuate cinema’s Great Horror Epoch - and it is - then Barbara Crampton’s ooey-gooey oral sex with a disembodied head provides the ideal exclamation point.
It doesn’t. Her father is the dean of Miskatonic University, but the beheaded body belongs to Dr. Carl Hill, who’s portrayed by British actor David Gale.
• She may have debuted nude in Body Double (1984), but 1985 proved to be The Year of Barbara Crampton.
Aside from her historic ravaging in Re-Animator, Barbara nakedly lights up Fraternity Vacation alongside the also naturally endowed Kathleen Kinmont, Tim Robbins as Larry “Mother” Tucker and Stephen Geoffreys as Wendell Tvedt (labeled on the poster as “the ultimate nerd!”).
Later on, Stephen grew up to be gay porn power-bottom. It’s true! Look it up! This ain’t no Cindy Brady Urban Myth shit.
It would have been sexier if Barbara had gone that route, but it’s way funner that it turned out to be Wendell Tvedt that was turning up his cheeks for all comers.
And now I just noticed that Amanda Bearse also appeared in both Fraternity Vacation and Fright Night. She later became famous as the neighbor on Married … With Children, and she’s a homosexual, too!
Coincidence? Yes, probably.
JUST ONE OF THE GUYS (1984)
After pretending to be male for an entire high school semester, Joyce proves to her (dude) crush Clayton Rohner that she’s all woman by popping open her prom tux and busting out two perfectly buoyant, D-cup lady-pontoons.
• Was any film shown more often on cable TV than Just One of the Guys between the years 1985 and 1995?
Probably not and, of those, few were as good and definitely no others climaxed the way guys did - with the plucky teen lead busting out a pair of unbelievable bombers.
Joyce’s jug-reveal is a before-and-after line in teen sex cinema second only to Phoebe Cates popping her bikini top in Fast Times at Ridgemont High (1982) - but even with Fast Times, you figured some tits were coming.
Just One of the Guys‘ nudity was just one total shock.
• Despite Guys‘ potently provocative poster - on which Joyce stands surrounded by dudes in a locker-room and covers her breasts with pointedly placed football helmets - the movie was rated PG-13, and most often aired during kid-friendly afternoon hourse.
Yes, Joyce is electrifying in a bikini early on and, yes, there are some arousingly uncomfortable moments as Sherilyn Fenn cozies up to our heroine while thinking she’s got a hero sandwich in her BVDs.
But Just One of the Guys is otherwise as clean as any ABC Afterschool Special so when Joyce unbuttons her formal shirt, one naturally expects the camera to cut away to a shot from behind and it does. But then we jump back and - there they are.
Right in the kisser.
• As noted, Just One of the Guys is a very good movie, for sure one of the most affable comedies of the ’80s.
Joyce Hyser is a revelation (in every sense) in this film that it seems like everyone, everywhere, has seen (and enjoyed), which makes the non-illustrious course of her career downright mistifying.
In fact, the entire cast of Just One of the Guys deserved high-profile Hollywood runs than never happened.
Clayton Rohner makes a terrific leading man, especially when he dances like James Brown, which was a nice, unique touch at the time. He’s worked regularly as a character actor since then and his present-day silver beard is very, very handsome.
(Zabka, at least, is remembered as bad, blonde Johnny who sweeps the leg at the end of Karate Kid.)
Any one of these actors is infinitely more appealing than any of the John Hughes humps, let alone the rancid Brat Pack.
And nobody, anywhere, packs a rack hotter than Joyce Hyser’s.
Elizabeth, as sexual psychopath/Vegas showgirl Nomi Malone, accompanies Kyle McLaughlin backed to his huge backyard pool, which is tastefully lit by life-size neon palm trees. They strip (Kyle uses a stunt butt), frolic under the fake waterfall, and engage in uproariously combustive semi-submerged intercourse, outrageously awash with splashing, screaming, and hyperkinetic super-spasms.
• Showgirls is a great film.
It is, in fact, one of the great films - a singular motion picture experience that transports and transforms each time one views it, and it does so as powerfully as it did the first time, every time.
That stated, Showgirls is fucking insane and no character in all of cinema is as fucking insane as Nomi Malone.
She is portrayed, brilliantly, like a rabid wildebeest shot full of nitroglycerine and nuclear hormones by Elizabeth Berkley, fresh from scoring TV immortality as Jesse Spano on the ’90s teen sitcom, Saved by The Bell.
Her tit falls out of her gaudy top while she’s hitchhiking in the first two seconds of the movie, and she is more or less naked after that - from showing off her bleached pubic hair during a berserk lap-dance to war-painting her nipples with lipstick to, as Quentin Tarantino put it, “go all Pam Grier” on the ass of her best friend’s rapist.
For me, though, no single moment sums up Showgirls‘ nuttiness more splashingly (pun, as always, intended) than Nomi’s skinny-dipping epileptic sex fit with Kyle McLaughlin in his uproariously gaudy backyard pool.
It is there that Elizabeth Berkely delivers what New York magazine film critic David Denby perfectly described as “the funniest of Hollywood orgasms.”
• I caught the first showing of Showgirls on its opening day - September 22, 1995 - in the biggest auditorium at Times Square’s Criterion Center.
The theater was healthily attended for 11am on a Friday and Lin Tucci, who plays top-popping, wise-cracking Mama Henrietta Bazoom, was also in attendance. Several dozen homosexuals hooted and hollered at various junctures, all of them appropriate.
And I just sat, dumbfounded.
This was it. This was a thoroughly equal and worthy Beyond the Valley of the Dolls that I got to witness first-hand, right as it was going down (again, the pun ….).
From frame one, Showgirls has always been my happening, and it freaks me out!
As I evangelized Showgirls, I repeatedly ran afoul of fools who’d been eagerly bamboozled by the hollow shit-shows of Trainspotting, Welcome to the Dollhouse, Bottle Rocket, The English Patient and, worst of worsts, Mystery Science Theater 3000: The Movie.
• Displaying brains beyond what anyone could expect of a modern movie studio, MGM reissued Showgirls in 1996 as a midnight movie, stocking each theater with “cheat sheets” of stuff to shout at the screen and properly soused drag queens to lead any such cheers.
Now that it was safe to approach because The Tastemakers That Be had affixed it with ironic quotation marks, Showgirls caught on at last and, to audience members of any worth, sank in.
I didn’t mind the yelling, the screaming, the laughter, and the mockery. I just wanted to sit in a theater and baste in Showgirls‘ greatness, which I did, every weekend it played in the East Village, which went on for almost a year.
The fact that I was kicking narcotics at the time could only have helped.
SALO: 120 DAYS OF SODOM (1975)
Inhumanly cruel, sexually berserk, fascists squire away a group of teenage prisoners in a remote mansion. Young, nude Renata ranks among the loveliest, and thus she is the first prisoner forced to perform the foulest degradation - crawling across the floor to a pile of fresh-laid human feces, which she is then required to eat with a spoon.
• Italian goremeister Dario Argento (who directed his own daughter, Asia Argento, to the #21 poision on this list) was once asked to define the appeal of graphic depictions of beautiful young women being brutally murdered in films such as his own.
Aside from the Argento’s own slaughter-of-the-lovely-innocents canon, certain exquisitely unbearable naked screen demises come to mind on the order of Sandra Cassel in The Last House on the Left (1972), Morjana Alaoui in Martrys (2008), and the entire Japanese Guinea Pig series.
• But bearing Argento’s philosophy in mind, if certain extreme terror stems from the pain and nubile females snuffed out in the springtime of life, what could be worse - and, from a horrific standpoint, better?
How about making one literally eat shit?
That Renata is so incandescently gorgeous as she weeps and quakes and suffers and swallows human shit and then violently vomits only adds to the discomfiting impact of the scene, as well as the entirety of the film.
And what a film Salo is!
And as filmmaker deaths go, Pasolini’s is only rivaled in unfortunate hilariousness by that of Al Adamson (Dracula Vs. Frankenstein), who was murdered by his contractor, and then buried in cement underneath the whirlpool bath that the killer had been hired to install.
On November 2, 1975, somebody ran over Pier Paolo Pasolini with the director’s own car. Then they backed up over Pasolini and hit the gas again. And then they backed up and did it again. And again.
Giuseppe Pelosi, a 17-year-old street hustler, confessed to the crime.
For years, movie fanzines perpetrated the rumor that Pelosi appeared in Salo and was so outraged by what Pasolini had put him through in front of the camera, that he used the director himself on which to practice some parallel parking moves.
As far as I can tell, Pelosi did not appear in Salo, which is too damn bad, as I do so love that version of the story.
RETURN OF THE LIVING DEAD (1985)
As punk-rock ultra-siren Trash, Linnea parties in a graveyard with her piereced, Mohawked, freaky-deakyed to-the-extreme pals. She then, as she is said to do frequently in the presence of death, succumbs to the urge to peel off her leopard-print top and vinyl shorts, stripping completely nude atop an above-ground grave. Linnea struts, bucks, and gyrates her way to naked perfection, making sure to famously bodacious bare ass right in the camera. To eyeball Linnea in this one perfect moment is to realize: when there’s no more room in your pants, your ressu-’rection will walk the earth.
• Although the term “scream queen” has existed since at least 1933, when Fay Wray met King Kong, no one figure has embodied that concept more truly or definitively than Linnea Quigley.
Return of the Living Dead came ten years into Linnea’s career, which began when she was 18 with the amiably scuzzy drive-in nugget, Psycho From Texas (1975).
Her uncanny knack for appearing in enduring cult films throughout that first decade alone would qualify her as one of the all-time greats. Consider: Auditions (1978), Fairy Tales (1979), Don’t Go Near the Park (1981), Graduation Day (1981), Cheech & Chong’s Nice Dreams (1982), Get Crazy (1983), and (yes!) Silent Night, Deadly Night (1984).
Pre-breast-implanted Linnea also portrays Linda Blair’s deaf-mute sister who silently screams while getting drawn-on and gang-raped in the teen vigilante favorite, Savage Streets (1984).
That long, luminous cinematic road - the grindhouse greatness of which warrants comparison even to the filmography of Rainbeaux Smith - leads right up to Return of the Living Dead and, specifically, the 19-minute mark when Linnea-as-Trash peels to reveal her entire naked physique in a graveyard full of goons who are about to be overrun by ghouls.
Return of the Living Dead is Linnea Quigley’s greatest moment in the greatest film of her career.
• Gander at the cream of Linnea’s post-ROTLD crop: Creepozoids (1987), Night of the Demons (1988), Hollywood Chainsaw Hookers (1988), A Nightmare on Elm Street 4 (1988), Vice Academy (1988), and Witchtrap (1989).
Each of those titles can claim a cult following (to varying degrees), and each boasts some merits (to very varying degrees).
The cumulative effect of all these movies, and their singular star’s powerful presence within, was to create Linnea as a stand-alone horror entity - the Scream Queen of All Scream Queens.
• And so Davenport, Iowa’s most lusted-for daughter spearheaded a generation of B-movie sirens happy to bare boobs and bleed big for fans and fangs alike - on camera and at conventions, movie premieres, autograph signings and anywhere else the angry and unloved can momentarily press the flesh, and pay for a Polaroid, with the girls of their most raging, impotence-spawned fantasies.
Plus, they appear in some pretty good movies, too.
• From the ground zero of Linnea’s ROTLD punk-rock cemetery desecration has arisen the direct-to-video demimonde of Debbie Rochon, Jewel Shepard, Brinke Stevens, Julie Strain, Monique Gabrielle, Misty Mundae and even, by some measure, Scrapbook’s Emily Haack - in addition to countless other Scream Queens, some at it professionally, many more at it simply out of passion.
Long may they howl … with Linnea Quigley leading the pack.
Nude. Nude. Nude.
All the way.
Be sure to let me know who I forgot, who shouldn’t have made it, and why I may or may not be a complete and total schmuck (which I am, but please feel free to run down the exact reasons).
Don’t forget to check out the list that inspired mine: Mr. Skin’s Top 100 Celebrity Nude Scenes.
Also be sure to peruse the previous entries in The Top 100 Cult Movie Nude Scenes of All Time:
Next week: The whole Top 100 on one spanking list, and Boobling Under: 10 Great Cult Movie Nude Scenes That Got Away!