Cine-Trash

by William Ham

Faster Pussy Cat Kill Kill

I don’t like repeating myself, nor do I like repeating myself. I’ve already raved over the cantilevered genius that is Russ Meyer in this space previously (Lollipop, May ’95 – Whattaya mean you haven’t read it? You some kinda freak?), but I viddied this masterpiece once again, and if this ain’t the very foundation upon which cine-trash is built, then I’m Rex Reed with a bottle rocket up my… but I digress. This flick has it all: the greatest title in cinema history (three exclamation points and it earns! every! one!), monstrously-endowed go-go dancers with murderous inclinations screaming through the desert in fast sports cars, a pinch of Steinbeck for bizarro flavor, and some of the most brilliantly ridiculous hard-boiled dialogue you’ll ever hear. Here’s the pitch: Three nightclub “entertainers” (led by the formidable Tura Satana) take off for a joyride in an unspecified desert, where they run afoul of a bland hunk-of-vanilla guy and his weepy bikini’d babe. He pisses them off, so Tura snaps his back and kidnaps his chick. They find refuge in an isolated farmhouse overseen by a crippled old leech (Stuart Lancaster) and his two sons – a hulking idiot called The Vegetable (as in, “go tell The Vegetable to fry us up some chicken”) and his more responsible bro (I see Gary Sinise in the remake). The femmes want to swindle the old man out of his cache of cash. The farmboys want – well, we know what they want. From there it spirals into blissful drive-in mayhem. This pic is so jam-packed that big Russ’ usual raison d’etre – heaving bosoms and plenty of ’em – is practically relegated to a (snicker) supporting role, although his trademark low-angle camera shots make even the cars look busty. From the masterfully idiotic title tune by the a-legendary Bostweeds to the climactic showdown in the sand, this is the Rosetta Stone of exploitation flix. Without this film, neither John Waters nor the Cramps would exist, and the world would be a poorer place indeed. What more incentive d’ya need? Faster, videophile! Rent! Rent!