United States - 1986
Director – Tim Kincaid
MGM Home Entertainment, 1999, VHS
Run time - 1 hour, 17 min.
Considering that gay porn is Tim Kincaid's primary source of income, it should come as no surprise that a film called Breeders is nothing less than mockery of straight people, in particular women. Honestly the fact that the film is preceded by an MGM classics advert on this VHS is an ignorant denial of what Breeders is at its core. The co-association of Kincaid with When Harry Met Sally and Raging Bull is frankly, priceless.
A girl gets kicked out of some jerks car and, while walking away in a huff meets a nice elderly German man who suddenly gags and melts a little bit and grabs her dress off with a nasty oozy meat hand.
The next day, Dr Gamble Pace (Teresa Farley, of Kincaid’s Bad Girls Dormitory) and Detective Dale Andriotti investigate the crime at the hospital. The victim is being treated for a sexual violation which resulted in acid burns to her face and psychological trauma which Pace profoundly diagnose:
“This is the kind of case that makes me want to kill every man who was ever born.” Says Gamble,
“What do you mean?” says Andriotti.
At a fashion shoot in a dirty apartment an underweight girl poses in ugly bathing suits. When everyone else bails for lunch, she stays behind to do a bunch of coke and exercise naked. (But she is NOT having sex, she’s saving herself for marriage, you got that?) The photographers gay assistant (Ed Jr. from The Mutilator) returns for his wallet and suddenly mutates into nasty black mostly unseen monster. A pulsing knob covered hose slides up the unsullied model's leg while she screams.
(Not sure what just happened while the monster was almost totally offscreen?)
Cut to single jagged skyscraper thrusting into the pristine sky.
A frightened nurse at the hospital where these two victims are being held returns home after a hard days work and strips off her uniform, stepping out a few minutes later to find that her date has broken into her house. she explains to him at length that she’s an old fashioned girl, y’know, a virgin, a condition she explains with fascinated curiosity. Turning around from the frozen dinner she's preparing she finds the date inexplicably dead and bleeding from the face and the monster waiting offscreen to breed with her.
The fashion-shoot photographer rants into the phone, barely in control of her sanity, then speaks at length about her virginity with her friend the hair stylist. The stylist explains that she's saving her maidenhead for a guy who's "not gay". Uhh, that shouldn't be too difficult. Photographer sweats out the guilt of having brought her deceased model all the way from (extremely puritanical but coke sniffing) Wisconsin. Over a sheet of slides and a glass of wine she squeezes out a painful monologue, and for her troubles is the next victim of the monster.
Pace and Andriotti fumble around and speculate wildly in front of a massive computer box, occasionally popping up to chew scenery and harass the victims with blank stares each time they roll in. It finally takes Dr. Pace’s assistant Dr. Ira Markum (successful makeup artist Edward French, the only decent actor in this film) who identifies a strange particle on the slide samples. No, not a spore from the unaddressed rivers of black fluid that pours from between the victims legs after each violation. Instead, it's a tiny piece of brick dust which can only have come from a few key buildings in the city.
Namely the very one that Pace and Andriotti are in, marked with a big red throbbing X on their “brick dust detector” computer box’s screen. As their minds are busy being blown by this sudden deluge of crucial information all the victims magically heal and get out of their hospital beds buck-naked and wander off. This too is a shocker revealed to our insipid heroes only as it grinds line-by-line out of the computer box.
Since they don't have anything better going on at the moment the Super Detective Duo decide to check out the super rare brick collection in the basement. There they discover suddenly sinister Dr. Markum presiding over a wierd kiddie pool of semen where all the catatonic victims have returned to slather each other with goop and wallow in post virginal ecstasy.
After convincingly explaining a plot that bears little resemblance to what happened in the past hour, Markum’s facial hair vanishes just as he begins to mutate into something even more hideous than his sweater.
The elusive detective duo watches blankly before lighting his new monstrous form on fire. The ladies writhe nearby in their pool of natural lotion smearing themselves with all the slippery MGM classic they can get their hands on .