To its credit, “Illegal Aliens,” knows it’s dumber than the empty Coke bottle that fell to earth

in “The Gods Must Be Crazy.” It’s as rowdy, low budget and full of bad pink teddies and fireworks as a trailer park on a Saturday night.

The plot follows three aliens in babe form as they try to protect the planet from the dastardly machinations of Joanie Lauer, a.k.a. the terrifyingly muscular sternumed wrestler Chyna, and has one absolutely must-see moment: when Chyna, previously imprisoned in outer space without her body, exalts in the tactile wonders of being human by C-clamping her hand. Her weird, primal howls of joy make Johnny Depp’s Capt. Jack Sparrow look sleep-walked.

Of even more rubber-necking intrigue, “Illegal Aliens” is Anna Nicole Smith’s last film. Vickie

Lynn was already a cartoon showing her age — wispy on Trim Spa and slurring her words on

methadone — when she jiggled into the frame of Director David Giancola (“Zombie Town,”

“Psyclops” and a bunch of other really bad movies you haven’t heard of).

What’s heartbreaking about her performance is what a horror show she makes the sci-fi silliness. Watching her awareness of the camera as she throws herself into her dumb bunny role is like watching a Barbie doll in an endlessly repeating carnival mirror. She slack-jaws and gnaws her candy necklace, dusting her hands over her body like Cinderella in her new ball-gown.

It’s a wretched movie, of course, breaking the fourth wall and dragging on the suppository jokes so much you’d think you were watching a live action “Animaniacs” episode, but it’s solidly campy. And while it makes one wonder why this two-hour in-joke wasn’t just passed around among its creators for a giggle, with a few original song and dance numbers it might even rank as the “Rocky Horror Picture Show” of the future. There’s only so much weirdness an audience can dismiss. At some point, the wave crests, and the bewildering turns into serious college thesis material.

And there’s plenty to wonder about in “Illegal Aliens.”

The animated opening sequence features a one-eyed carrot — a galactic dignitary of some sort — sitting in an egg cup.

When the aliens fly to earth in the opening cartoon, Anna Nicole’s buddies are shapeless blobs. She, however, is represented by a neon pink pig.

During one of the brief “plot outlining” scenes showing the girls in their Hollywood pad, where they are supposedly spending their time on earth as stunt doubles, Anna Nicole wakes up from a dream involving Justin Timberlake. She wonders why she was Chinese in the dream — “I don’t even like rice!” she squeals.

When one of Chyna’s henchmen gets shot, the bloodstain, bright red and obviously computer generated, shifts as it crawls across his shirt. He calls for help on his cell phone — “You can’t miss me,” he groans. “I’m wearing peach and I’m bleeding.”

When Chyna reveals her vendetta against the trio of babe-martians, she fake sobs when she recalls how one of them “sentenced me to a life in prison on Benostril 7.”

After the girls’ holographic mentor Syntex is sabotaged, his meandering near-death monologue manages to reference Stanley Kubrick and Cheech and Chong in the space of seconds: “I feel funny, Dave … Dave’s not here, man.”

In the end, it’s not the sheer badness of it that’s engrossing (if it were, then I’d be petitioning Criterion to release a gold version of Britney Spears’ “Crossroads”) — it’s the madness.

Ashley O’Dell reviews movies that aren’t in theaters anymore.