The Top 100 Cult Movie Nude Scenes of All Time: #50-41

Celebrating the bare and the beautiful from movies weird, wondrous, and beloved by wackos.

Numbers 50 to 41.

Oh, we’re half way there.

Oh-OH, we’re livin’ on pubic hair.

Take my gland, and we’ll place it in there.

Oh-OH … that’s enough.

Counting down, now, the top half of the Top 100, thigh-lights of this installment include Laurie Patridge nude, Death Race 2000, a daughter visibly parting her baby-hole for her real-life dad (right there on-camera!), Tawny Kitaen in (and out of) leather, Pink Floyd: The Wall, Erica Gavin as Russ Meyer’s Vixen!, the vocal stylings of Candice Rialson’s vagina, Don’t Go in the House, Season Hubley going George C. Scott-style Hardcore, and taboo-splattering scream queen Emily Haack.

The clothes come off as the countdown continues ….

Number 50
Susan Dey
Looker (1981)
(0:36)
The once-and-forever Laurie Partridge is lowered into a full-body scanner, full-frontally nude. Bare-butted, too. Come on, get happy!

• Based on a novel by Michael Crichton, Looker became one of the most fondly remembered early-cable-TV cult movies.

Albert Finney stars as a Mad Plastic Surgeon bent on creating humanity’s most ideally desirable female specimen. It’s a heady concept that has never gone away.

• Sex appeal no doubt played a crucial role in keeping Looker so vividly alive in the popular consciousness that it’s DVD release, 25 years later, was an instant best-seller.

But Looker is also powerfully prescient in its satire of celebrity culture and mania for bodily perfection, and it beat even Tron (1982) to the computer animation punch, with infinitely more palatable visual results.

• In keeping with many, many, many PG-rated movies back in those golden days, you could count on seeing nudity – some of it quite spectacular, as it is in Looker.

Aside from Susan, Playboy’s 1981 Playmate of the Year Terri Welles busts out her mammoth milk-bombers for intense scientific inspection.

This is why, even when the televised pre-credits warning for an R-rated feature sternly announced “HBO will only show this film at night,” there was no reason to sweat .

Most likely, you’d get the cable-TV boobie serving you deserved.

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Number 49
Roberta Collins
Death Race 2000 (1975)
(0:27)
As killer race car driver Matilda the Hun, Roberta enjoys a topless pit-stop massage next to equally bare-boobied lesbian competitor Mary Woronov.

• By any sane standard, Death Race 2000 revs its engines high among the greatest films ever made.

Today, we mourn its hero, President Frankenstein – the leather-encased David Carradine – and compare it favorably against everything Sylvester Stallone has done since his blowout performance here as Machine Gun Joe Turner.

Gone, too, is Death Race 2000 director Paul Bartel, one of cult filmdom’s cheeriest and most original voices and, from the portly, professorial looks of him – consider Paul as music teacher Mr. McGee in Rock-N-Roll High School and as Mr. Bland in his personal labor of love, Eating Raoul – the last guy you’d expect to helm one of the most outrageously violent, joyously nihilistic ass-stomping triumphs to ever blow minds via drive-in screens and subsequent decades of midnight showings.

• For Roberta Collins, Death Race 2000 capped a brief-but-incandescent nudity career.

Roberta’s in-the-raw run kicks off with Women in Cages (1971), when wicked warden Pam Grier strips down prisoner Roberta and straps her, nude, to a torture wheel. It’s absolutely head-spinning.

Our girl remains behind bars, and out of her clothes, in her two most notable follow-ups, The Big Doll House (1971), and Caged Heat (1974). She also plays a naked hooker in Sweet Kill (1973).

• Among the other nudes in Death Race 2000 are Louisa Moritz, who attained her own cult status as the loco Mexican mamacita in The Last American Virgin (1982), and lush Georgia peach Simone Griffeth, who also went bare in a series of remarkable drive-in efforts spanning an impressive number of years: Sixteen (1973), Hot Target (1985), and The Patriot (1986).

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Number 48
Sonja Bennet
Punch (2002)
(0:14)
Sonja sits up in bed topless, and gets Michael Riley – who’s playing her father – to feel up her tittables for lumps. The unbelievable kicker: this scene – as well as the whole movie – was written and directed by Guy Bennet, Sonja’s actual father!

• A genuine curiosity, Punch is such a loaded knockout, it was almost impossible to choose between this scene and the one at 49 minutes, where Sonja exposes her open, naked, naturally blonde-coiffed vagina in broad daylight while spreading her legs on her father’s bed, instructing her home-school tutor to “Dig in!”

• Even without the mind-blowing, lap-liquefying reality of a father directing his naked daughter to portray a naked daughter directing her father to fuck her, Punch would be one of the weirdest releases (in every sense) of the 2000s.

The plot goes as such: Single Dad (Michael Riley) brings home his new girlfriend Mary (Marcia Laskowski), whereupon she gets roundhouse slugged by troubled teen daughter Ariel (Sonja).

Ariel is erotically fixated on her old man, which she explosively expresses via the naked means mentioned above, so the haymaker should have come as no surprise

Still, Ariel’s assault does not sit well Mary’s sister Julie (Meredith McGeachie), who’s a linebacker-width lesbian and topless boxing champion (we see her grappling with the, let us say, un-feminine Kathryn Kirkpatrick).

Julie then hunts down Ariel and beats the tampons out of her.

The End.

• Punch auteur Guy Bennett made no bones when he stated: “The film is autobiographical. What I mean is that it was a way of working on emotions that came up while being a single dad. There was a period when I realized that I was depending on her (daughter Sonja) to keep me from feeling alone.”

He also adds that he and Sonja were “husband and wife in every sense, except sexually.”

• Skinterestinly, Sonja added: “My mom was going to watch it on the screen, and so was my Grandma and Grandpa. If I had not wanted to do the nudity, I wouldn’t have. I had the option.”

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Number 47
Tawny Kitaen
Gwendoline (1984)
(1:12)
Restrained by wicked queen Bernadette Lafont, topless Tawny racktastically reflects in front of a row of mirrors.

• Released in the United States as The Perils of Gwendoline in the Land of the Yik Yak, this stylish semi-adaptation of legendary S&M cartoonist John Willie’s Sweet Gwendoline comics was sold as a Raiders of the Lost ark rip-off. You know: kid stuff.

On the first U.S. poster illustration, Tawny Kitaen’s body is even obscured by bohunk leading man Brent Huff’s physique, meant to invoke not just Harrison Ford but Tom Selleck in High Road to China, Michael Douglas in Romancing the Stone, et al.

Sure enough, in the era of retro-swashbuckling, Gwendoline was something of a theatrical hit stateside, but once it landed on cable and home video, closet kink-freaks turned it into a timeless cult sensation.

• Directed with witty flair and erotic imagination by Emmanuelle helmer Just Jaeckin – right after his snoozy take on Lady Chatterley’s Lover (1981) – Gwendoline hails back to the French auteur’s The Story of O (1975), but it’s closer in spirit to Barbarella (1968).

The action is rife with an oddly casual, matter-of-fact take on the action and its surrealistically sadomasochistic environs.

In fact, Gwendoline’s eye-bulging costumes and set design may well be stand alone in the annals of sensual cinema – plunging us headlong into a world only hinted at it in previous kinkster faves such as Mondo Candido (1975).

• Gwendoline herself, Tawny Kitaen, had been previously best known as Tom Hanks’ fiancée in Bachelor Party (1984), before striking multi-platinum as Whitesnake’s signature music-video siren.

Tawny also starred in the well-remembered hair-raiser Witchboard (1986) and, during phases four and five (or so) of her career, evolved from raging, husband-beating maniac into a recovery-centric reality-TV regular.

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Number 46
Jenny Wright
Pink Floyd The Wall (1982)
(0:42)
Perfectly embodying her character “American Groupie,” Jenny doffs her shirt and uses two of her more particularly bouncy feminine wiles to make her way backstage at Bob-Geldoff-as-Pink’s big rock-n-roll blowout.

• Jenny’s jugalicious revelation occurs during The Wall’s “Young Lust” sequence, illustrating a song that most classic rock radio fans refer to as “Ooooh! I Need a Dirty Woman!”

• Including The Wall, each of the movies in which Jenny appeared nude is at least interesting: The World According to Garp (1982); Cameron Crowe’s Fast Times at Ridgemont High semi-sequel The Wild Life (1984); and the headachey but vastly influential virtual reality flick The Lawnmower Man (1993).

Jenny also gets fabulously naked in the otherwise abominable Young Guns II (1990), where her horseback Lady Godiva ride elevates the movie to … well, being a movie.

• On The Wall DVD, Pink Floyd honcho Roger Waters states that he generally likes the movie (even though “Not Now John”, the semi-hit from Floyd’s follow-up album The Final Cut, is a tantrum against Hollywood meddlers), but bemoans that it misses the original album’s “humor.”

That is so un-fucking-believably off the mark that it’s not even fucking funny.

I believe Mr. Waters is fibbing about that. He can not possibly be joking.

The only reason The Wall works, the only thing that keeps the whole ridiculous “boo-hoo-look-at-me-I’m-a-poor-lil’- rich-and-famous-rock-star” endeavor afloat, is that it takes itself so staunchly, so blackly, and so unwaveringly seriously.

That’s how The Wall – on record and on film – taps so profoundly into the minds and emotions of adolescents (of every age) who can’t possibly imagine that any greater problems exist – or could have ever possibly existed – than their own.

As a suicidally depressed teenager, I watched Pink Floyd: The Wall nearly every day when I was a sophomore in high school, and well into my junior year, too. And I mean that “every day” part literally.

It figured into my routine right after Howard Stern signed off (when he still worked PM drive), as I was actively not doing any homework.

I also attended The Wall’s regular Sunday (or was it Thursday?) midnight screenings at the 8th Street Playhouse whenever possible.

Back when there were seven midnight movies per week, The Wall and A Clockwork Orange bookended the 8th Street’s weekend Rocky Horror showings.

Once again, everybody: those were the days.

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Number 45
Erica Gavin
Vixen! (1968)
(0:43)
Creatively conserving water, Erica showers with her brother (lucky sudser-upper Jon Evans).

After a decade of increasingly artistic nudie pictures beginning with The Immoral Mr. Teas (1959), Meyer blossomed, full-bosomed, into crackpot genius mode with Vixen’s tale of the titular backwoods Canadian nympho as she sexes her way through her husband, her brother, and similarly voluptuous Vincene Wallace while also getting mixed up with a red-bearded Irish communist and an African-American draft dodger.

College film societies and underground movie maniacs had been warming to Meyer for some time, and Vixen! proved what they had suspected: her was a man of enormous double vision who was also a genre-inventing filmmaker with a powerfully singular vision.

The first above-board critic to champion Vixen! and Meyer was, not surprisingly, Roger Ebert.

After Vixen! proved to be an independently produced and distributed blockbuster, 20th Century Fox hired Meyer to oversee a sequel to Valley of the Dolls.

Famously, the Duke of Knockers tapped Ebert to compose the screenplay.

The result - Beyond the Valley of the Dolls (1970) – is nothing less than, as Ebert put it, “the first rock-n-roll exploitation-camp-horror-musical” and absolute cinematic perfection.

The very vixenish Erica Gavin also went on to co-star in Beyond the Valley of the Dolls, and also appears nude in Erika’s Hot Summer (1970) and Caged Heat (1970).

It’s impossible not to be charmed at how Erica’s Wikipedia page ends: “She has said in an interview that she is bisexual.”

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Number 44
Candice Rialson
Chatterbox (1977)
(0:26)
Nude in bed, Candice and Virginia - her talking vagina - are roused by a ringing phone. They each then chat individually with a cigar-puffing Hollywood agent.

• The tagline of Chatterbox speaks volumes: “The Story Of A Woman Who Has A Hilarious Way Of Expressing Herself. You’ll Roar When She Sits Down To Talk!”

Candice plays an assistant beautician whose baby-hole starts wailing one morning and, subsequently, her loquacious labia hits it big in show biz.

Prior to its release, most sane individuals probably wouldn’t have believed a movie like Chatterbox could exist. Since its fade into obscurity over time, today’s moviegoers might be similarly incredulous.

But, rest assured, Chatterbox is real, and it was inescapable in the pioneering video stores of the early ’80s, as well as in late-night showings (alternating, often, with The First Nudie Musical) on primitive pay-TV set-ups such as New York’s WHT.

• Any Candice Rialson movie is worth watching. That Chatterbox also features Rip Taylor only makes this occasionally repulsive farce twice as enticing.

Among ’70s drive-in goddesses, Candice looms powerfully luminous. She is beautiful, she is funny, she holds the screen with the might of any A-lister, and the movies she chose are overwhelmingly unique and captivating.

Candice stands out – way out – in ensemble pieces such as Mama’s Dirty Girls, Candy Stripe Nurses, and Summer School Teachers (all three of which debuted in 1974).

And in her two legitimate masterworks – the dark and devious Pets (1974) and the Joe Dante/Allan Arkush lunatic cut-and-paste lark Hollywood Boulevard (1976) – no one else could possibly pulled off what Candice does as an up-for-anything leading lady.

• Quentin Tarantino, to his unending credit, stated that Candice was the direct inspiration for Bridget Fonda’s character in Jackie Brown (1997).

Tragically, Candice died from liver ailments in 2006. She was one of the greatest of greats.

• However way-out (and low-down) its concept may seem, Chatterbox is, in fact, a remake of a French sex film, Le sexe qui parle (1975), which hit the States (hard) as Pussy Talk.

No major production has revisited this topic since, but the obscure romantic farce Me and Him (1988) does feature Griffin Dunne as the possessor of a talking penis.

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Number 43
Johanna Brushay
Don’t Go in the House (1980)
(0:26)
Joanna is hot stuff and she’s chained and hung up nude in our anti-hero pyromaniacs’s fire room, then torched with flame-thrower. It’s a full-frontal flambé.

• Amidst a crimson flood of post-Halloween slasher movies – including Friday the 13th, Maniac, The Burning, The Prowler, New Year’s Evil, Graduation Day, etc. – Don’t Go in the House certainly made a flaming spectacle of itself.

However intense or realistic the stabbings, hackings, and skewerings seemed in those other films, no slasher movie slaying quite compares to the (literally) incendiary horror of Johanna Brushay making like a marshmallow in the Human S’Mores fantasies of this killer.

• The dread is palpable, the body on fire is horribly credible, and, however hilariously off-the-rails Don’t Go in the House gets later on – which, believe me, it does – the agonizing magnitude of this moment is a real achievement in movie terror.

The killer in question here is depicted being abused with fire as a child, after his mother catches him eyeballing nudie pics. As an adult, he’s portrayed, effectively, by Dan Grimaldi.

• Years later, Grimaldi went on to portray Tony’s henchman Pasquale “Patsy” Parisi aka Spoon on The Sopranos.

Like The Sopranos, Don’t Go in the House was filmed in the Garden State, scenic New Jersey.

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Number 42
Season Hubley
Hardcore (1979)
(1:05)
Completely nude Season spreads her legs at a peep show, talking on the in-booth phone to daughter-hunting George C. Scott.

• After penning Taxi Driver (1976), Paul Schrader delved further into how freaked out he was by his own Calvinist upbringing by writing and directing this one-of-a-kind spelunk into the gutter-rungs of the late 1970s’ commercial sex trade circa

George C. Scott, at his most unrestrained (which is saying something), portrays a Michigan minister whose teenage daughter disappears during a church-group trip to Hollywood.

Aided by Dick Sargent (yes, the second Darren from Bewitched), The Big C. hightails it to Tinseltown where private dick Peter Boyle – who practices Mind Science – reveals that the girl has fallen in with the roughest smut producer in town.

A distraught parent’s horror and anguish becomes the highest of comedy when Boyle marches C. into an empty porn theater and screens an 8mm loop of the lost teen in a threeway with two surfer dudes.

“Turn it off,” George C. says, softly at first, then builds into mania. “Turn it off. Turn it OFF! TURN IT OFF! TURN! IT! OFF-OFF-OFF-OFF-OFF!!!” He explodes into tears and bellowing and gnashing of teeth.

It is fucking awesome.

• George C.’s logical response is to disguise himself as a pimpadelic loop producer and audition talent in hope that his girl will turn up. She doesn’t. But we do get to meet Hal Williams as “Big Dick Blaque”, and C. eventually hooks his wagon to micro-mammaried peep show tulip, Season Hubley.

• Now, McBeardo is a man of extremes, and nowhere moreso than in the domain of female dairy appendages. I prefer them tiny or tremendous (although, in truth, all points in between are plenty pleasing as well).

That stated, there is a special place in my hard for Season Hubley, as she may be the single most breastless actress to ever doff her top in a movie.

Jane Birkin provides delectably demure competition (and infinitely more expansive nipples), and Jessica Harper may warrant another ogling for measuring purposes, but Season’s sucklers may very well be as concave as cinematic chests have ever sunken.

I salute her, and I salute them. Flat is where it’s at, Seasey!

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Number 41
Emily Haack
Scrapbook (2000)
(1:58)
In a performance consisting of endless naked brutality, Emily is urinated upon, forced to sucka live penis on-camera, and then subjected to bloody rape with a broken bottle. What we salute here is that climactic display of courageousness. Plus, Emily is really, really hot.

• One of the great underground successes of the past decade, Scrapbook represents a before-and-after line in hand-crafted, shot-on-video productions, particularly in the realm of extreme horror.

Shot over 13 days, Scrapbook is grueling, believable and, most shockingly, heartfelt.

Such impact arises as the result of ace directorial work by Eric Stanze, whose subtlety only becomes apparent upon reflection, coupled with the natural, fiercely committed performances of Tommy Biondo as basement-dwelling sadist Leonard and Emily Haack as Clara, the unfortunate he kidnaps.

• From Scrapbook, a thousand flesh-and-blood DV nightmares bloomed. And, courtesy of Stanze’s production company Wicked Pixel, St. Louis earned its place, as Pittsburgh did decades before, on the horror map.

• One of the crueler ironies you’ll ever come across is that Biondo, who serves as both Scrapbook’s killer and screenwriter, died from a head injury before the movie could be released.

• It is impossible to overpraise Ms. Haack’s work in Scrapbook. Her acting is as nuanced and gripping as her body is exposed and violated. Truly, this is, as exploitation movies used to claim, “the one that goes all the way.”

• In terms of explicit taboo-busting, Emily’s follow-up effort – I Spit on Your Corpse, I Piss on Your Grave (2001) – may technically surge even more outrageously over the top.

There, Emily portrays a women homicidally scorned, Emily forces a bound male’s face into a pile of freshly laid human shit, and makes full-penetration, hardcore love to her open vagina with a broomstick.

But as its title indicates, I Spit is something of a gas-gas-gas, whereas Scrapbook is no fun at all.

• Emily’s other 2001 film, Bizarre Lust of a Sexual Deviant, provides an opportunity to simply marvel at the stars lush, large-breasted, milky-skinned, tattooed beauty as she lays unconscious at the hands of a relatively benign perv who, sensibly, just cops feel after feel.

Satan’s Cannibal Holocaust (2007), Em’s last nude appearance to date, is a Skingoria freak’s cream dream, as our heroine simply sits in an waterless bathtub - bloody, dead, and with just enough pubic fuzz to provide a sumptuous view of her ever mouth-watering naked vulva.

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Up next: The Top(less) 40.

Come on back on Friday, July 10, 2009 and I’ll get up the next ten cult nudies before I leave to go see REO Speedwagon, Styx, and 38 Special that night.

For real, Jealous One.

Who have I left out? Who do you hope is coming up? Which of my picks is completely insane? Which ones are inspired?

Comment, comment, comment, please. I live for your love. And hate. And lust. And gluttony. And whatever else. And you all do want me to live now, don’t you?

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