Climb it, Tarzan! (2011)

Hello loyal readers and aimless clickers, Nate here again with a terrible movie from a truly terrible person. Specifically, Jared Masters of Frolic Pictures, a smalltime Hollywood writer/director/pimp who recently asked me to review some of his movies. I said, sure why not, and the screeners came in the mail in a plain brown envelope with “Los Angeles” misspelled, that should have been a warning.

He also misspelled his own movie on the burner disk.

Climb it, Tarzan! is, roughly, about wannabe aspiring models trying to break into the cutthroat sleazy business of standing around in their undies being photographed for dirty men's softcore magazines. Along the way the girls are molested by their lesbian boss, take a lot of LSD, drive around in an old Cadillac, take baths, get their hair colored and their nails done, debate the virtues of murder, talk about trust funds and English maids, hang out on a yacht, renegotiate their apartment leases, and generally be vapid, vacuous bimbos with perfect teeth and size 0 miniskirts. There is nothing like a traditional “plot” to be found, no character has an arc, the audience has no one to sympathize with, or really even hate, there's no beginning, no middle, no conclusion, just a nigh-endless series of scenes connected together with an editing software program with a credit roll tacked on the end. The only thing of note is that the cast is 100% women, not a single man is to be seen in the entire movie, not even in the background, not sure I've ever seen that, outside of porn. Scrolling through the production credits do show that, to the surprise of no one, most of the behind-the-camera people are dudes. Surely sexually frustrated dudes with lotion bottles.

A lot of sitting around reading off cue cards.

And almost too much pointless nekkidness.

Technically, the movie is a new level of Once-I-took-a-film-class-online shitty, with too much artsy tilted camerawork, too few kleig lights, not enough time to reshoot scenes when they clearly suck, boom mikes that are too far away to capture audio correctly, scene transitions done with a literal pair of rusty scissors, a script written while furiously masturbating to a 1990s Cinemax movie, and a budget spent on caked-on make-up and thongs. The cast of quick-to-undress ladies are all Z-Listers from the don't-call-back audition lines of Hollywood's shady corners, what few legit imdb roles they have are all in the vein of “uncredited dancer #3” or “lobby girl with hat”, which is not surprising when you hear them try and read their lines (ugh). And there's way, way too many of them! There are, no joke, 49 white girls and 1 stunning Korean girl in this movie, all fighting for a few meager scraps of screentime and dialogue lines. I have no idea why there are so many people in your movie, Jared, how did you pay them all? Did the ones who took off their bras get more money than the rest? I bet so, you dirty bastard.

Why are you drinking tea? Or is that soy coffee?

Hmmm...I dig the fan, I really do.

And even if there was enough money to go around, I just don't understand how something like this gets funded in the first place, even back in 2011 when off-strip moviemaking was as much a tax scheme as an artistic pursuit. Did Jared Masters pay for this out of his own bank account? Did he win the lottery and decide to quit his job at the 7-11 in Oklahoma and follow his dream of being the next Quinten Tarantino? How much were these girls paid to take their clothes off for this movie? Were they under the misunderstanding that this was going to be a professional movie with a theatrical release and all? Because it's not, it's not even something that you'd find sold out of broken-down Ford truckbeds in Mexican border towns. I kinda feel bad for these women, as do their future children and that one girl's acidic Catholic aunt Maria.

Dragging a dead body? Who is that?

Softcore fake lesbians!

Is there anything redeeming about Climb it, Tarzan!? Meh, some of the girls are attractive, I guess, and I do like the 1950s style music soundtrack, but pretty much this was a waste of everyone's time. The only thing that made me even consider writing a review is that Jared Master's obvious telephone fetish is on glorious display here. I'd say that easily 50% of this 73 minute long movie are scenes of someone talking on an old corded rotary telephone, an amount that passes “plot-necessary” and goes straight to “kinky phone porn”. The phones get so much screentime that after a while you forget they are being held by half-naked girls because you just can't fathom that no one during post pulled Jared aside and said, “Hey bro, you clearly have a problem, we need to cut half these scenes.” I just know you want me to do this...

Oh, Jared, why?

Have you always been attracted to phones?

Do you touch yourself while dialing?

Does your mom know?

Is this your mom?

Did you buy these in bulk?

Are they from your personal collection?

Did you Lysol them first?

I bet these girls know your secret.

Hey, that's probably not safe.

Jared, do you even notice her?

Or do you only see the phones?

You're masturbating right now, aren't you?

It's ok, we all have our kink.

I have a thing for Legos.

Hot, sexy, dirty Legos.

But enough about me, the girl is on your phone.

Do you name your phones?

I bet this one is named Amanda.

I don't think they're even plugged in.

Have you even paid your AT&T bill lately?

Jared, have you ever heard of a cellphone?

Is someone reading their lines to them?

I hope so, because your cast sucks.

They are all universally horrible actresses.

Except for this cute Asian girl, she's amazingly talented.

Bonus 1950's hairdryer porn!

Anyway, sorry about this, Jared, but your movie is balls, and you should really seek some counseling over your phone fetish before it gets out of hand. Thanks for mailing it to me, not much chance I'll pop you back postage.

Speaking of postage, if anyone wants my screener disk, drop me an email and I'll snail it out to you.

Written in February 2016 by Nathan Decker.

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