Eye Candy from Outer Space 

Who needs Lord of the Rings when you've got Candy Von Dewd?

Candy Von Dewd. It's a name that was made to be messed with, dude. Anyone named Candy Von Dewd is going to have to be female, blonde, wearing a latex bikini, and ready to fly off at a moment's notice to a strange planet to introduce alien life-forms into her body in order to save the human race.

Which is exactly what happens in Candy Von Dewd, a brand-new sci-fi nouveau-exploitation flick written and directed by Jacques Boyreau of San Francisco's Werepad. In a scenario triangulated by the original Star Trek, Zsa Zsa Gabor's Queen of Outer Space (1961), and schlockmeister Al Adamson's nudnick-in-space epic Horror of the Blood Monsters (1970), Boyreau's 2002 digitally shot narrative feature is half "guy fantasy," half reproductive-rights story. Not that it's entirely a tribute. There are plenty of shots of nubile young actresses go-go dancing and/or writhing on furry rugs -- vintage cheese that stands apart from Boyreau's pseudo-ecological plot line about a search of "seedable life-forms" to ensure the future of the human race. "There was a study that showed that testicles are shrinking," Boyreau swore in an interview. "It's not utterly far-fetched."

Oh yes it is. The guys crash-land on a planet populated with flaxen-wigged, axe-wielding Rhine maidens, fire dancers, and other buxotic babes ("Casting thirty to forty girls was a way of interesting male tech crew and actors in the production," shrugs Boyreau), fight their way out of some light bondage, and eventually discover a "power source" -- six orange traffic cones stuck together with a lightbulb inside. Oh yeah, and also a giant, multicolored, fanged vagina-plant with leaves stuck on it, and tentacles. That's where Candy comes in. She has a British accent and gets part of the giant female organ implanted in her tummy. This movie is so terrible it's terrific.

"I heard this rumor they were going to remake Barbarella with Drew Barrymore," Boyreau said, "so we decided to beat them to it. The Austin Powers movies just didn't have that savvy we were looking for." The $20,000 production cost was financed by rentals of Boyreau's Werepad space on Third Street in SF ("You name it, we did it here, from corporate to raves to cabaret to birthday parties"). Candy Von Dewd is going more or less straight to video for Boyreau's company, Massacre at Central Hi, with a few stops along the way at places like Oakland's Parkway Theatre. It's part of the "Liberation Drive-In Holiday Party" there on Sunday, December 22 (9 p.m.), along with Sydewayz, a documentary on Oakland auto sideshows. It'll be digitally projected, and Boyreau will appear in person. Info: www.picturepubpizza.com.

The film's visual look (including effects by Oakland's Soren Ragsdale) comes mainly from movies Boyreau has screened the past ten years at the Werepad, stuff like Creation of the Humanoids. Boyreau made four 16mm features before this one, all of which he's redoing for digital home video. "But it's all about Candy," claimed the Chicago-born movie nut, who spent time in France while growing up. "2001: A Space Odyssey was billed as a G-rated acid trip. We strove to make what I call G-rated pornography. Basically, I love outfits. If you've got girls in latex you don't need nudity."


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