what newspapers dubbed “The Texas Porn Star Massacre,” a long, dark, Type O-splattered night of the soul that left her fellow purveyors of quality adult entertainment outlined in chalk. Now Maxine Miller — better known by her stage name Maxine Minx — must endure an environment so horrific, so murderous that her chances of survival are likely less than zero: the world of big-time Hollywood moviemaking.
Sorry, we’re making this sound like a chin-stroking thesis project. You’re still watching a movie that takes perverse glee in seeing a potential rapist get his testicles stomped in loving, gruesome close-up. The third collaboration between the good people who brought you the ’70s grindhouse odewallows in yesteryear’s hair-teased Tinseltown sordidness with the intense dedication of a Civil War re-enactment.
There are any number of possible suspects behind this targeted campaign of killing, ranging from the private dick to the director herself to Minx’s agent . Even the two cops investigating the string of homicides aren’t above suspicion.