“If I can’t breathe like everyone else, then I’m gonna make everyone else breathe like me.”

Justin’s Rating: Even scorpions wear more clothes than she does…

Justin’s Review: If the Superfriends taught us anything, it’s that it’s pretty standard that heroes have to be somewhat evenly matched with a villain from the other side of the same dorky coin. If you have the power to grow really big, chances are there’s an evil giantess out there gunning for you. If you can breathe underwater and talk to sharks, you can be sure there’s a madman who can SCUBA dive and chat with mollusks.

So if you’re a whip-wielding, leather-clad dominatrix with an overabundance of voltage on your person, who would your arch-nemesis be? If you said “an asthmatic in a clunky suit who runs an evil organization called B.R.E.A.T.H.”, then not only are you correct, but I am officially disturbed about how your mind functions.

Despite how it may appear, Black Scorpion isn’t just an uncomfortable fantasy where some nerdy adult with an inhaler constructed an elaborate imaginary setup where some semi-hot soccer mom would be chasing after him for “punishment.” I mean, it is that, but it’s also a Roger Corman superhero movie, so the nerdcore porn and the Fantastic Four camp are two sides of the same disgusting coin.

Black Scorpion is actually a not-so-mild mannered Darcy Walker, a cop who works at Generic P.D. You know, one of those places where all the officers get simmering love interests for partners and where the police captain is overweight and likes to yell a lot. After her ex-cop father is shot for very little reason — and none of the other police officers seem to care — Darcy takes it on herself to raid a few seedy stores in the red light district and create a costume persona that’s one part Catwoman, one part car battery, and sixteen parts bosom. Secret identity firmly in tow, B.S. stalks around town unleashing cans of martial arts madness on the bad guys, because making a suit also gave her — for some reason — TaeKwonDo skills. We’re quite amazed she can fight like this in high heels.

Her partner in vigilantism is a car-jacker named Argyle, who is not only bald but perhaps two feet tall. Argyle tricks out Darcy’s car with the usual Speed Racer accessories — oil slick, spinning rim razors, dashboard hula girl — as well as giving it a special option to morph from a red corvette to an ugly black sports car. Morphing: much beloved in the ’90s as a special effect, and so very, very overused.

As we chug slowly through the movie, lurching from scene to scene like a three-legged zebra amidst a pride of hungry lions, the B.S. is piled on thicker and thicker. Darcy isn’t exactly believable as a superhero. While she tries to growl convincingly, it’s hard to see her as anyone but a friend’s mom who would gladly give you a lift to the pool and call you “Jimmy” in a way that makes your heart flutter. Since Black Scorpion is oddly R-rated, there are a lot of jarring F-bombs and random nudity that detracts from what is obviously a kiddy comic book flick.

How this produced a sequel, a TV series, and a second sequel, I have no idea. It’s painful to watch, but in a good way, like picking at a scab even though you know it’s just going to start bleeding again.

So remember: we all have an arch-nemesis out there, and they’re brooding in their techno-cave, wearing their ridiculous costumes and eager for our presence to justify their lifestyle. I think it’s only fair we live up to our part of the bargain.