In a neon-drenched future, a struggling all-girl band, The Vicious Lips, recruits teenage Judy Jetson to replace their missing lead and escape Earth for the biggest gig in the galaxy—only to crash on a hostile desert planet crawling with danger.
This is possibly the greatest “future band” film never to leave the 1980s. It radiates lazy-’80s charm—big hair, smoke machines, synth-punk attitude, and a day-glo palette that practically screams from every frame. The music, largely led by Dru-Anne Perry, is surprisingly strong and drives the film’s momentum with genuine energy. Credit to Michael McCarty and his music team for delivering some genuinely good ‘80s tracks.
Vicious Lips clearly laid the groundwork for Paul Verhoeven’s three-breasted woman bar scene in Total Recall. There’s other makeup prosthetic effects that would show up in Empire Pictures and Fullmoon films like Arena (1989), and Oblivion (1994) to name a few.
Lead actresses Dru-Anne Perry (as Judy), stunning Gina Calabrese, Linda Kerridge, and Shayne Farris all commit to their roles, bringing sass and swagger even when the script leaves them with little. The charisma and look are there—it’s just the narrative that stutters. Radioactive Dream Nightclub owner Maxine Mortogo (Mary‑Anne Graves) is a memorable screen presence—a Sean Young/Lady Gaga type before either Gaga was a fixture—along with her creepy, point‑tooth aide Milo, played by Christian Andrews. The wacky manager Matty Asher (Anthony Kentz) brings the over‑the‑top, sleazy energy to the cheap scifi sets and low rent Star Wars ships, exactly what you’d expect from this kind of intergalactic yarn.
Shot in under a week on a low budget, the film is severely limited by its resources. Albert Pyun’s direction has moments of visual flair, but questionable editing choices and erratic framing often undermine the momentum. It does have some interesting makeup effects, and the film works best when neon-drenched. The desert sequence, which takes up much of the second half, is atmospheric but padded, dragging out the already thin storyline.
As an Empire Pictures’ movie, with Charles Band lightly involved, it’s not as cohesive as Prison Ship: Star Slammer released the same year. Don’t expect the likes of Albert Pyun’s Cyborg, The Sword and the Sorcerer, or even Nemesis either— it’s more zero-budget Howard the Duck mixed with the oddity The Apple (1980) at times.
Still, what Vicious Lips lacks in polish, it makes up for in B-movie atmosphere. The glowing sets, overexposed neon, and synthetic score create a weirdly hypnotic tone. It may not be great cinema, but it’s cult material through and through.
Overall, Vicious Lips is a flawed relic—limited in scope and cinematography but drenched in sci-fi pop energy. A neon artifact from an era when drive and luna madness tried to triumph over budget.
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