It shouldn’t be possible to be disappointed when you expect a movie to be bad. I knew after watching Dr. Goldfoot and the Bikini Machine that the sequel would no doubt be just as bad, and I decided to watch it out of the same morbid curiosity that drove me to watch the first. But Dr. Goldfoot and the Girl Bombs actually succeeds in being worse than than its predecessor, partly because it’s possible to see how it could have been better, but largely because it’s just put together with a much lower degree of competence.
Really, if it weren’t for Vincent Price and for hordes of scantily-clad women, there’d be no redeeming qualities to these films at all. Continue reading