DOA: Dead Or Alive review

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Ms Holly Valance of Neighbours, nudity and long-distance phonecard fame is only wearing a towel. Bummer, really, as the cops have arrived. “Could you pass me my bra?” purrs Holly and, sure enough, a smitten peeler passes her a black lacy B-cup on the barrel of a big shiny gun. A high-kick, towel-whip, strange airbrushed nippleless breast sequence later and she’s in a lift in her skimpies. Pause for breath, boys. But when a film’s sole raison d’être is to entertain young lads without access to the internet, respite from pillow-soft porn is rare. Hence woman-on-woman beach volleyball, wet T-shirt scraps, bed frolics and an absurd wad of lingering arse shots as Devon Aoki, Jaime Pressly, Sarah Carter and Valance clash in the titular ultimate fighting frolics. It’s questionably acted, and the dialogue’s painful, but, face it, that’s not really the point, is it?

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