Some films are bad. Some films are so bad, they are good. Other films make you want to hunt down the filmmaker like the rabid dog he is, and put an end to his miserable, little life. Donald G. Jackson (pause to spit on the ground) who made a “film” called Queen Of Lost Island (pause to spit on the ground again) is already dead, so I can put away my shotgun, but you better believe I was polishing it and mumbling his name while I watched his “film".

It was like watching a prolonged infomercial for breast augmentation. No, that would be much better than this cinematic crap-tastrophe. Here’s the plot: a couple of male fashion photographers and a bevy of busty babes are on an island to do a photoshoot. They discover a mysterious potion that makes them all horny, and then they have sex with each other.

The worst part is the dialogue. My favorite line is when one of the silicon-enhanced young ladies takes a look around the island and says with robotic inflection, “God! These rocks must be a million years old!” I guess she was used to all those fresh rocks back in California. Let me provide a full snippet of what passes for dialogue in Queen Of Lost Island. I shall set the scene. Three bikini babes are lounging in the sun while a slimy photographer with a nasty permed mullet photographs them…

Bikini babe #1: “Do you see that? I bet he tries to make a move on her.”

Bikini babe #2: “I don’t know. He seems like a nice guy.”

Bikini babe #1: “Oh please, he’s a man!”

Pause for long boring montage of the mullet guy photographing one of the women while she squints in the direct sunlight.

Bikini babe #1: “You know, God saw fit to give us this incredible power over men. All we have to do is shake our asses and they give us everything!”

Bikini babe #2: “ I can’t believe you.”

That’s all fine and good, but what gets you up from your chair to look for the buckshot is the endless shots of Julie and her “pretty puppies", as she refers to them, swinging a sword around. Why Julie is swinging a sword around is never addressed or explained, but there must be at least 40 minutes of the film dedicated to watching her swinging it. 

Julie is played by Julie Strain, whose bio informs us that “…she has been in over 100 movies, [and] is one of the tallest actresses in Hollywood.” Quite an impressive resume. She stars opposite Robert Z’Dar, who you may know from Maniac Cop or Samurai Cop. If you are familiar with these two movies, you have my condolences. 

In the brief amount of time left over after watching Julie wiggle her rubbery puppies in the sun, we get to watch the other actresses’ puppies bounce around in one simulated, soft-core sex scene after another. It’s not soft-core sex as much as it is just women straddling men and panting.

If the visuals aren’t enough to make you want to smother yourself with the throw pillow on your couch, you can always rely on Jackson to provide a soul-crushing soundtrack from hell. Nothing can beat the relentless aural assault from his film Rollergator, but Queen Of Lost Island is still pretty hard on the ear holes. It consists of what sounds like two tom-toms being beaten in an attempt to sound “jungly". Every now and then, there is a single chord played on an electric guitar, but mostly, it’s just the remorseless thumping of the drums being beaten into your skull.

I’ve written several articles about Donald Jackson, and in each one, I find it necessary to explain his very special approach to cinema. He refers to it as “zen filmmaking", and each time he utters this phrase, the Buddha, on high, tumbles down from the equanimity of Nirvana, and weeps. Jackson doesn’t bother with writing scripts, they stifle his creativity. He just finds some actors (presumably in the recovery rooms of breast augmentation clinics) and brings them all together. Then, I guess, he lets his inner artist… do something. I don’t know what it is, but the result is unfit for human consumption.