Ah, the neon hump and grind of movieland's pole-dancing dens. Hollywood refuge for the tart-with-the-heart, seedy renta-script layby for tip-off hungry cops and source for such titillatory, cartoon eye-tat as Striptease and Showgirls. Sub-genres rarely come as leery, brutish and forever adolescent as the stripper movie, and Michael Radford's attempts to rectify the abuse with a backstage ogle are only partially successful.
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