Sisters in Leather (1969)

Directed by Zoltan G Spencer
Starring Pat Barrington, Kathy Williams, Karen Thomas
Rated X
USA

"What a hell of a mess."

From the courageous cat who brought us Terror at Orgy Castle comes this time worn tale of a sap and his errant penis. Middle-aged living wreck Joe finds himself being seduced by a Dolly (Karen Thomas, Suburban Pagans), a bubbly blonde teenager. How he got into this position is unknown. It just happened. So there he is, slurping away on her neck in broad daylight, his car parked not too inconspicuously under a clump of trees. Suddenly, out of nowhere, somebody in a black leather jacket, black hat, shades, and gloves pulls a knife on the dude, shows him a Polaroid of this very tryst, and informs him through gritted teeth that the girl is underage. If he doesn't want the photo getting to his wife/boss/priest/mother, than he'll need to cough up $2000.

"We'll be in touch", sneers the blackmailer, and sends him on his way.

Joe has really fucked up with this one. He already has a beautiful wife back home, Mary (Kathy Williams, The Babysitter), who dutifully waits from clad in skimpy lingerie, ready and willing to satisfy his desires as soon as he gets in the door. Unfortunately he's so shaken up by the shakedown that he cannot properly perform. Men are all scum, aren't they?

Dolly calls him the next day to schedule a rendezvous to get the two grand. He shows up, but loses his cool once again and ends up getting naked with her. This time, the black-clad biker chick bashes him in the head until he's unconscious. Then they take the money and haul ass out of there.

The next day, our robbed and beaten pal decides to do a little gumshoe work. He aims to figure out exactly who these monsters are, and then bring them down. All he's seen so far of the knifer-puncher is a black-clad jacket with a lightning bolt. Properly assuming said jacket belongs to a motorcycle enthusiast, he starts searching around the local biker bars for clues. The first one he walks into features a busty tabledancer (Pat Barrington, The Girl With the Hungry Eyes) shaking her titties, so he watches her for ten minutes. He'll never get to the bottom of things at this rate. Eventually he wanders outside to sniff around the bikes. One of the local toughs tells him he's barking up the wrong tree and demands that he scram. He does.

Meanwhile, the Sisters in Leather of the film's title are not through with our hapless hero yet. While he's out looking for them, they have plans for his lingerie-wearing young bride. They drop by his place to pay Mary a visit, showing her the incriminating photos and convincing her that he's nothing but a lily-livered philanderer. Which is true. Then they take her out for a picnic (!). A picnic that soon devolves into a topless photo shoot, naked motorcycle rides, and girl-on-girl suntan lotion rubdowns.

The picnic is about to reach full lesbo orgy when Mary decides that she's not into this scene. I mean, topless rubdowns are one thing, but kissing girls? Yuck! They give her the photo for safekeeping and let her loose.

Strangely, when she gets home she changes her mind. She leaves the photo for her double-crossing hubby to find, and then heads off to stay with her new girl-happy friends.
Her astute hubby follows her and watches the devious plan unfold through the window.

First, the lezzy bikers just let her go to sleep in the other room while they have champagne sex, but the very next day, her initiation into the Sisterhood begins in earnest. Which, as far as I can tell, involves copious amounts of booze and some light-hearted goofin' off on the couch.

Joe heads over the biker joint to find the lightning bolt gang. He tells 'em he's located the ratfinks that stole their emblem, and even worse, "They're dykes!" Naturally, this means war.

Meanwhile, Mary finally gets a clue as to what this is all about when the girls rip her shirt off and drag her to the floor.
"No!" She screams in protest. "I'm not that way!"
"How do you know until you try it?" Asks Dolly.
Good point!

But then the bikers bust in and ruin everything. Or they make everything better. Depends on what you're into.
At any rate, a topless knife fight is involved.

A shamelessly skuzzy anti-epic from the height of the grindhouse era, Sisters in Leather is, on one hand, a bit of cheat: despite the title and the tagline ("No man or woman is safe from these love-hungry hellcats!"), this is not really a biker chick movie at all, and only one of the girls actually wears leather. On the other hand, it is relentlessly grimy, and the nudity is pretty wall-to-wall, so let's call it even. As long as you don't mind threadbare production values, fuzzy black and white photography, wooden acting, wobbly overdubbing, and low-rent fake jazz - or even better, if you love all that stuff - there's plenty to like about this kooky sexploitation romp.

PS: Zoltan G. Spencer disappeared at the dawn of the 70's. No one's seen him for 40 years. I suspect lesbian bikers were involved.

Sisters in Leather is available from Something Weird Video.

- Ken McIntyre

The Babysitter (1969)

Directed by Don Henderson
Starring Patricia Wymer, George Carey, Kathy Williams
Rated R
USA

"Do you want a little drinkie? We're all having drinkies."
"Do you suppose I could have a big drinkie?"

Patricia Wymer was one of the many waif-y naked hippie chicks that sprang up seemingly from nowhere in the late 60's/early 70's, made a fistful of kicky/kinky b-flicks, and then just vanished into the ether like a fragrant plume of marijuana smoke. I suppose it was much like the modern age of pornography, which manufactures 'starlets' that burn bright for a year or so and then disappear.

Well, the porno girls all get sold off into white slavery rings. I'm pretty sure the 70's B-chicks just retired. Otherwise, same deal.

Miss Wymer made three films during her tenure as an actress: The Babysitter, The Witchmaker (1969), and The Young Graduates (1971). All three are well worth seeking out for trash-film enthusiasts, but The Babysitter is especially engaging, since it cleverly straddles several sub-genres at once. It's a black and white roughie, a teenage rock n' roll dance party, a biker flick, a doomed romance, and an overwrought melodrama all rolled into one. And all of it is anchored by the spunky, frequently topless Wymer, a five foot fireball who totally nails this tricky blonde-gone-berserk role.

Wymer toplines as Candy Wilson, a deceptively innocent-looking teenager making a couple extra bucks by babysitting for district court judge George Maxwell (exploitation vet George Carey, RIP) and his shrewish, bee-hived wife Edith (still-working character actor Anne Bellamy). While the uptight couple head off to their snooty cocktail party, Candy calls a bunch of her pals - including an entire rock band - and they have a topless go-go party in George's basement. Amazingly, Candy's able to hear the couple pulling into the driveway over the din of the fuzzy guitars, and she shoos away her naked buddies in the nick of time. The only thing that gives her away when sleepy George and Edith walk into the house is that she's missing her shoes.
She tells George that she left them in the basement, and when he asks her why she was down there, she fesses up, sorta: "Well, after you and Mrs. Maxwell left, I got on the phone and called some friends of mine. I mean, I didn't call any bums or anything, I called some really groovy guys. And they brought some axes over, and we just sat around and listened to the music and danced a little."
George is too tired to argue about it, plus she clearly chubs him up a little, so he shrugs off her indiscretion and offers to drive her home. Along the way, Candy starts putting the moves on the aging judge. He resists, of course, but still agrees to eat tacos and goof around with her. So they do that. Meanwhile, across town at ye old Nazi biker hangout, motorscuzz moll Julie (softcore queen Kathy Williams) laments the fact that Judge Maxwell is about to send her ol' man Larry (career nutball Robert Tessier, RIP) to the electric chair for killing a girl. One of the biker dudes casually mentions to her he heard a rumor about the judge's daughter Joan (Sheri Jackson, Wanda the Sadistic Hypnotist) being a lesbian. This would, apparently, be a career-ender in '69, so Kathy quickly plots out a blackmail scheme. Said scheme involves her showing up to the judge's house with a bikini and a giant camera to take pictures of any Sapphic goings-on. Seems valid.

The girl-on-girl action does indeed go down, but it's behind a 'frosted door', so Julie is thwarted. Curses!

Here's the thing, though. Stupid fucking George actually starts falling for flighty, scheming little Candy. She is amused by the old bastard, so she goes along with it, and the two make sweet love in motels and hammocks all over town.

He assumes he's being discreet, but he is quite wrong. Julie, always on the lookout for an angle, follows the illicit lovers to the beach, where she snaps many photos of the two frolicking in the sand. Then she calls the judge and tells them that she's got enough evidence to bring him down, so he'd better talk turkey with her, but quick.

George leaves the house in a hurry while his ever-suffering wife is left wondering what's gone wrong in their relationship. I should point out that the baby at the center of all this bullshit remains unseen, but is constantly referred to. Somebody's always saying, "Keep an eye on the baby, she's upstairs, still sleeping." Are you sure? Has anybody actually checked in on the kid? She's probably been dead for two weeks, but everybody's too busy with their philandering to notice. Anyway, he gets over to Julie's trash-strewn crash pad, and she reminisces about the good old days before her boyfriend Larry got nabbed.
"It was like he gave me wings," she coos. George, knowing what a piece of human filth Larry is, can only roll his eyes.

Julie demands Larry get off free and clear or she'll send the photos not only to George's boss, but his wife, as well. George tells her this is quite impossible, since it's very obvious that Larry committed the heinous crime he's accused of. And then they flash back to that one time when Larry tied a waitress to a tree and then slashed up her tits with a hunting knife until she died. So yeah, he's definitely guilty. Still, George tells her he'll think about it.

To make matters worse, Candy breaks up with him. She also refuses to help him in any way, shape or form, when he explains what just went down. So, life sucks for George.

But wait! Candy feels a last minute twinge of guilt - and also a burst of frightening blood lust - so she grabs a couple thugs and heads over to Julie's place to sort that conniving bitch out.

So, does everything work out OK in the end? Of course not. It was 1969, man. Ever hear of Altamont? Nothing worked out OK in '69.

Fun, well-acted, sleazy, violent, and fast moving, The Babysitter is well above the usual standard for late 60's grindhouse dreck. The only real complaint I can muster is that it's in black and white. Given all the naked hippy-chick asses and groovy outfits on display, this film would blow minds to bits in Technicolor.

The Babysitters' credits list "Don Henderson" as director, but Henderson was a actually pseudonym for Billy Jack actor Tom Laughlin. Don/Tom directed a trio of must-see exploitation flicks during his biker-movie phase. Besides this one, he also helmed A Touch of Satan (1971) and Weekend with the Babysitter (1971). Years later, he ran for president twice, once as a Republican, and once as a Democrat. Obviously, America is not ready to elect Billy Jack for president. Another pervy babysitter movie would great, though.

- Ken McIntyre