***/****
directed by Derrick Beckles
by Travis Mackenzie Hoover One approaches a film on this topic with a sense of humour: surely it couldn't have anything other than good ribald laughs. But as Strip Club DJs inches ever closer to its conclusion, it becomes more and more disturbing, until you are choked-up with a combination of contempt and pity for those who would play the tunes at your local peeler bar. It turns out that the DJ is the nerve centre for the whole operation: not only must he spin the discs, he must also arrange who has the rights to certain songs, quell unrest amongst dancers, and act as security guard to ensure the VIP room hasn't turned into a bawdy house–unless, of course, he's being tipped to look the other way. But the film is more than the nuts-and-bolts of the operation. The interview subjects are uniformly jaded: they've seen too many disgusting goings-on (and maybe participated in them) to view the job as anything other than something to get away from, and their mixed emotions are palpable by film's end. The environment, with its easy sex and plentiful drugs, is conducive to all manner of self-destructive behaviour; one DJ has acquired a coke habit that's already given him a heart attack. As such, it's guaranteed to make you look askance at the very idea of a strip club (assuming you don't already).
