Movies about prehistoric women apparently haven’t evolved into anything more advanced than a high school film project. Though anyone fortunate enough to glimpse Havoc and Havoc 2: To Kill a Friend would cry foul at that sentiment, anyone who hasn’t experienced a lobotomy could write a more engaging story than this latest audio-visual equivalent of waterboarding, Voyage to the Planet of Prehistoric Women.

The said planet is Venus. and it isn’t choking all life with toxic fumes. The prehistoric women are dressed in shimmery silver pants that look like a rejected idea for the Fembots in the first Austin Powers movie. But they do have seashell bras, which counts for something. What supplies the prehistory are the packs of human sized Godzilla costumes that infect the bogs of Venus like locusts and the rubber Rhamphoryncus that the Mamie van Doren-led women worship and commune with telepathically.

The human visitors run afoul of the scallop-bosomed beauties when they’re forced to shoot the ladies’ winged god from the sky as it attacks their car/boat/submarine thing. They decide to unleash the forces of Venus on them by channeling their female scorn into volcano eruptions, rainstorms, flash floods and moody expressions.

But there’s a catch. One of the astronauts has discovered a rock with a carving of a face on it. Between that and the mystical siren song he keeps hearing, he’s convinced the planet is inhabited by someone.

We highly recommend this as a totally non-addictive treatment for insomnia. Brass Tacks: seven Godzilla costumes dead, one dead rubber Rhamphoryncus, no boobage, nifty elemental torment and untold billions of taxpayer dollars wasted on useless space programs.

Five out of five nipple clamps – avoid at all cost. See it tonight.

Think you’ve seen something worse or seen something at the video store you don’t have the guts to rent? Send in any requests that aren’t Manos Hands of Fate to, and we’ll brave the rapids.