Some couples must overcome insurmountable odds to be together, while others simply meet and fall in love. Others, though, must tame their grotesque genitalia and master their aberrant sexual desires before they can truly be together. Such is the case in “Bad Biology,” director Frank Henenlotter’s latest flick. It’s his first feature since 1992’s “Basket Case 3: The Progeny,” and Henenlotter’s subjects are more or less the same as they were in the “Basket Case” films and “Frankenhooker”: mad science and abnormal freaks, tied together forever by virtue of love and mutual weirdness. Here, though, they’re turned up to 11 and fully unrestrained.
One of those freaks is Jennifer (Charlee Danielson), a girl-next-door type whose normal appearance belies her shocking sexual secret: she’s cursed (or blessed) with seven clits. Being poly-clitoric isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, though—Jennifer is in a state of near-constant arousal, and her orgasms are so explosive that her partners usually end up dead. Oh yeah—and she pops out a mutant freak baby two hours after she has sex.
Jennifer is, in short, the worst booty call ever. This presents her with no end of frustrations—the only men that can truly get her off wind up dead, and shooting out a CHUD baby after every roll in the hay is a surefire way to kill the post-coital mood. But her clitorides get all tingly when she meets Batz (Anthony Sneed). His pants are packed with his own secret—a mutated penis with a mind of its own and a crippling addiction to steroids and growth hormones. Batz can barely control his beastly cock when it’s flaccid; when turgid, it becomes an insatiable monster capable of killing ladies with an unending series of orgasms. Jennifer spies Batz having sex with a hooker, and as he carries the quivering, constantly-orgasming prostitute out of his house, Jennifer vows to have him. Batz’s penis, meanwhile, has other ideas, and sets out on its own for some action.
If all this talk about grotesque sexual organs hasn’t scared you off, then you’re probably part of Henenlotter’s target audience of weirdos. Make no mistake—this is full-bore Henenlotter here, restrained only by a somewhat limited budget. The only place that skimping is evident, though, is in the cast. With the exception of a few cameos (by Tina Krause, James Glickenhaus and Beverly Bonner), most everyone in “Bad Biology” is appearing in front of the camera for the first time. It shows, especially with Danielson. She rattles off her lines just as fast as she takes off her clothes, and what should be absolutely killer jokes (like Jennifer’s line about the 12 apostles being inside her vagina) end up sounding rushed and tossed off. It turns out that when it comes to jokes about Jesus and mutant vaginas, timing is 90 percent of the equation.
Speaking of the big JC, Henenlotter crams in plenty of religious mumbo-jumbo too. The sacred and the profane go together like peanut butter and jelly, and at first, “Bad Biology” promises a wealth of sacrilegious shenanigans. Jennifer believes God made her a freak so He could fuck her, and when she meets Batz, there’s a feeling that some sort of divine plan (or a holy letter to “Penthouse”) is at work. But there are no messianic members to be had in “Bad Biology,” which is more than a little disappointing.
There’s plenty about “Bad Biology” that isn’t disappointing, though. Henenlotter still has some directorial chops, and his mordant humor remains present throughout the movie, bad acting aside. We get some cool POV-shots from both the inside of Jennifer’s vagina and from the perspective of Batz’s rampaging rod. If you were worried you’d never see a clit’s-eye-view of the world, well, you can safely cross that accomplishment off your to-do list. There’s some great imagery here, too—Jennifer, who, by day, is some sort of photographer, has her models slip on vagina masks for a shoot for a hip-hop album cover. And because both Jennifer and Batz have abnormal appetites, the equipment they use for self stimulation is also extreme. Jennifer’s weapon of choice is some sort of electrified glass tube contraption that looks like it’s straight out of a Victorian medical supply catalogue, while Batz uses a Rube Goldberg jerk-off machine powered by a vacuum motor and lubed up with a bottle of Dawn.
Meanwhile, effects guru Gabe Bartolos, a frequent Henenlotter collaborator, creates a truly gross penis monster, a bulbous creature with pulsating veins and what seems like a powerful set of lungs. This cock doesn’t throb—it breathes, and the novelty of watching it smash through drywall and into the homes of naked young ladies doesn’t wear off. The music is pretty good, too—hip hop producer Prince Paul contributes a sweet score, and the soundtrack loaded with New York hip hop acts courtesy of R.A. “The Rugged Man” Thorburn, who co-wrote and produced the movie.
Unless your friends and acquaintances are like-minded deviants, you’ll have a hard time explaining (or even justifying) “Bad Biology.” It’s sick and twisted, and that wheezing cock monster is sure to remain burned in your brain forever. “Bad Biology” is no “Frankenhooker” or “Basket Case,” but despite its shortcomings, it’s fun and weird and gross in all the ways a love story for peculiar perverts should be.