Moviemakers love franchise titles. As convenient shorthand for the viewer, they guarantee a built-in audience. And while mainstream releases usually require some continuity of plot or cast (impossible to imagine `Scream 2' without the survivors from `Scream' and ditto for `Scream 3'), late-night cable audiences are not quite so demanding. There's also an unwillingness to consign a splendid title to one-time use. Who could resist the lure of `Confessions of a Lap Dancer', even if the movie itself was a real stinker?
In `Masseuse 3', we have Landon Hall, ported in from the previous title in the series, playing a Madame providing massage therapy to LA's finest. The problem is that most of the rest of this movie also seems beamed aboard. The early scenes follow a stock two-shot format: strip shows spliced together with reaction shots. The womens' performances run the gamut from banal to inspired but the reaction shots all routinely picture the mutation of Hollywood hunk to lust-crazed goober. Our hero's eyes bulge and his mouth forms a huge cartoon `O', until he looks like a giant tanned carp. There's such a disconnected feel to the format that at one point I checked the wallpaper of the two shots to see if they were the same. An Oscar to the Continuity Department for making sure that the backgrounds match.
We even have some posthumous performances since our hero, fatally shot in mid-movie, tapes his massage sessions for posterity. There's a hot tub session with an enthusiastic redhead who bumps her head against the edge of the pool but gamely humps on. The voluptuous Annette Burger also makes an appearance, providing the only genuinely erotic moments of the movie. These tapes are supposed to be a source of clues for the ensuing homicide investigation but they probably work best to fuel the carnal impulses of the investigating detective and Landon.
Landon's stable is a veritable portfolio of favorites. Taylor St. Claire, fetching in black, has an appealing private dance, although it ends abruptly and inexplicably when she goes topless. Julie Strain breezes in from her duties as reigning Heavy Metal Amazon for one of her trademark sessions. And Shanna McCullough, in a rare crossover performance, looks tanned, trim, and terrific at forty.
Think of it simply as a mediocre art gallery. Some pretty pictures but not much in the way of inspiration. But even with this disappointing installment of the franchise, we're still lining up for `Masseuse 4'. Reminds us of something Samuel Johnson once said about the triumph of hope over experience.
