Our Miss Fred (1972)

Directed by Bob Kellett
Starring Danny La Rue, Lally Bowers, Frances de la Tour
Rated PG
UK

“Skilled mechanic, accomplished actress – your talents are quite dazzling, Miss Wimbush. Have you anything else tucked away you propose to flash at us?”

The British have a proud tradition of men dressing as women. It’s been going on there since at least Shakespeare’s time, and probably long before. Therefore, it should come as no surprise that Danny La Rue (RIP) was a British national treasure – he was even appointed Officer of the Order of the British Empire in 2002. That may not mean much if you’re from outside the UK (or its colonies) but rest assured: it’s some pretty serious shit. Especially for a self-described “comic in a frock”.

In the ‘60s, La Rue was one of the highest paid entertainers in the country, so it’s a little surprising it took him until 1972 to get around to starring in a film. Either the film wasn’t much of a hit, or movie making just wasn’t his thing, because it’s also the last film he starred in – there was the odd cameo here and there, but it’s likely stage work was always his preference.

That’s a real pity, because he actually comes across remarkably well on screen. Granted, he’s not exactly a star of dramatic acting and mugs and grins his way through practically every scene, as if he’s about to burst out laughing the whole time. He’s super fun to watch, at the very least. That grin is just too irresistible.

La Rue plays Fred Wimbush, a Shakespearean actor conscripted into the army in 1939. Given his experience as an actor, he ends up in France – presumably around mid-May of 1940 – not on the front lines, but rather working as an entertainer for the troops. And playing all the female parts.

He’s not entirely happy with that. “Look at me, dressed like a bird,” he grumbles. “They used to come from miles away to see my Titus Andronicus.”

“Well you better get it out and flash it for that lot out there,” says one of the other actors, “because they're getting very restless.”

Unfortunately, while he’s still in the dressing room, the Germans invade the army base. He runs outside to try and figure out what’s happening – and so as not to be left behind – but they think he’s a woman, and refuse to take him prisoner.

For some reason, the Nazis politely allow him to have a word with the Corporal (Frank Thornton, always and unmistakably Captain Peacock from Are You Being Served?). “Don't ever let on you're a man,” the Corporal says, “you'll be shot as a spy.”

“Shot as a spy nothing, sir, I want my trousers,” replies Fred.

“Damn your trousers!” barks the Corporal. “This is for England!”

So Fred wanders off into the French countryside as the Nazis drive their prisoners away. While trying to escape the amorous approaches of two French men, he’s picked up by Nazi General Brincker (Alfred Marks), who happens to be driving past.

Brincker takes quite a fancy to Fred. “You have everything a woman should have, and more,” he says. Fortunately, there’s a British air attack before things can go much further, and Fred gets the chance to scamper away.

Soon, he comes across two women hiding in the bushes. Miss Flodden (Lally Bowers) and Miss Lockhart (Frances de la Tour, best known recently for appearances in the Harry Potter films) are there with a troop of Girl Guides. Fred’s about to try and explain that he’s really a man, but Miss Flodden isn’t exactly male friendly.

“Soldiers are soldiers Miss Wimbush,” she explains. “Put any male brute in the army, English or German, and he becomes an instant rapist.”

If Fred were a man, she adds, she’d call the Germans onto him herself. So, keeping that fact to himself and giving his name as Frederika, Fred walks back to the barn where the Girl Guides are hiding out. Naturally, they’re all busty young ladies in school uniform. And there’s Fred, having to pretend he’s a woman!

I have no idea who plays which girl, because none of them are ever referred to by name in the film. The blonde one is meant to be Texan, but is clearly British, and does the most wretchedly awful American accent you could imagine.

Turns out they have a car that won’t start. Fred, luckily, is a capable mechanic as well as a Shakespearean actor, so he sets to work fixing it. Some of the girls help.

The others just sit around and watch, and make helpful suggestions. “Shouldn't the car be jacked up a little more?” one asks.

“I think it's going to be, any moment,” Fred mumbles.

Having fixed the car, everyone heads off to bed, with the intention of making an escape from France in the morning. Before he drifts off, though, the girls drag him out to a nearby shed to show him a surprise.

They found a snaggle-toothed Air Force pilot named Smallpiece (Lance Percival) dangling from a tree and they’ve been keeping him hidden from Miss Flodden. Fred manages to catch a moment aside with Smallpiece and explain what’s going on, but there’s some tension between the two, as Smallpiece thinks Fred is a perverted cross-dressing deserter.

Still, that doesn’t stop Smallpiece from coming along when they finally depart in the car (although he’s crammed into the boot, so that Miss Flodder won’t find out about him). Miss Flodder also suggests that everyone dress a little less conspicuously, so while the girls don peasant outfits, Fred dresses like a flamenco dancer. Bound to be inconspicuous in France, that.

In order get to the nearest town, they have to make their way through a Nazi checkpoint. The Germans are suspicious of them – especially Fred’s reluctance to open the boot – but he convinces them that there’s an Englishman somewhere down the road. Miss Flodden is impressed.

“Skilled mechanic, accomplished actress – your talents are quite dazzling, Miss Wimbush,” she raves. “Have you anything else tucked away you propose to flash at us?”

“Not at the moment, no,” replies Fred.

Eventually they arrive at the town. Miss Flodden gets into an argument with a woman at a hotel, who dumps a bucket of water on her. Meanwhile, Fred sneaks into a bathing SS officer’s room and steals his uniform for Smallpiece.

He’s almost caught, and has to quickly change into a maid’s outfit and hit the pursuing Nazi over the head with a tray.

Then they head off to a cottage nearby, where it turns out Miss Flodder has had an onset of malaria because of the water, or something. Miss Flodder is more or less convinced she’s about to die, and starts to make plans for such an occurrence.

“Guard my girls, Miss Wimbush,” she says, while Fred sits patiently listening, still dressed as a maid. “Defend them from the ravishments of men. Get them back to England unblemished. Make sure they have clean knickers every day.”

Fred heads into town to find a doctor, but he ends up captured by Nazis and taken to their commanding officer, who just happens to be General Bincker.

Bincker agrees to let Fred go and get the doctor, but reveals that no one will be allowed out of the town without a pass, which only he has. He also invites Fred out on a lunch date the next day. Fred’s not sure he wants to go, but Smallpiece convinces him it’s the only way out of the town.

Together – with Smallpiece dressed in the stolen SS uniform – they head to the appointed restaurant. Unfortunately, the SS officer Fred stole the uniform from turns up, and Fred has to quickly dash inside to hide, where he somehow gets roped into a fashion show.

Because he’s not on the list, the pianist and MC is unsure what name to use and looks at him expectantly. “Fred,” hisses Fred.

“Como?” says the pianist in surprise.

“Frederika, you berk,” hisses back Fred.

“Ah,” announces the pianist. “Mms. Frederika Euberk.” Classic stuff.

Then there’s quite a long sequence in which Fred wears different dresses. Also, there’s psychedelic kaleidoscope visuals because, I guess, it was the early ‘70s.

Smallpiece and Fred escape after being chased out by Nazis, and Fred ends up having dinner with Bincker instead. Bincker flirts his way through the whole affair. “There can not be many women around like you,” he says.

“Oh, I hope you're right,” replies Fred.

Fred decides that the best way to get the passes is to ensure that Bincker is constantly swilling champagne – not, oddly, to get him drunk, but rather to make him leave the room to pee.

The plan is a success, and the whole crew is back on the road again soon enough. They’re chased by some Nazis on motorbikes briefly, but the girls manage to take care of them with, I dunno, a spray can of cream or fly spray or something.

They all celebrate with a rousing rendition of the old British traditional, ‘Hitler Has Only Got One Ball’. They actually had to cut the song out of the original cinema release in order to maintain the PG rating.

Soon enough, they’re near their goal – an airfield, from which they hope to steal a plane to fly back to Dear Old Blighty. However, they soon find that the Germans have taken over that too. They send the American girl over to see if there’s a way to sneak in, figuring she won’t be taken captive as the Germans aren’t at war with the US.

She doesn’t manage to sneak in, but she does find out that they’re expecting a bus load of prostitutes. She reports that back to Fred and Smallpiece, and Fred quickly formulates a plan to intercept the bus and impersonate the prostitutes in order to gain entry to the airfield. “Just a minute, Wimbush,” says Smallpiece. “Hijacking a busload of tarts is hardly cricket.”

“No sir,” he replies. “It's war.”

Obviously, they make it back to Britain, although the manner in which they do is particularly odd, even considering the rest of the film. It’s all terrifically entertaining though, unfalteringly British and, despite its PG rating, innuendo filled – hardly a shock, given that director Bob Kellett was also responsible for bringing Are You Being Served? to the big screen, as well as numerous other saucy ‘70s British comedies.

But really, it’s all down to the undeniable talent of La Rue, who dominates every scene he’s in – which is all of them – with the grin of a man who can’t believe how much fun he’s having.

As a result, every protest from Fred about having to wear a dress is rendered completely absurd, of course: La Rue can’t hide the fact that he’s loving every minute of it. You wouldn’t want him to either, because each and every smirk and grin means you can’t help but enjoy yourself along with him.

- Alistair Wallis

Pajama Party (1964)

Directed by Don Weiss
Starring Annette Funicello, Tommy Kirk, Elsa Lanchester, Jesse White, Don Rickles
Rated G
USA
Buy this bitchin' poster!

"What are we looking for?"
"Anything suspicious."
"The only thing suspicious is us."

Pajama Party is the fourth in what would be a seven-film series in the early-to-mid 1960's, loosely known as the "Beach Party" movies, for obvious reasons (i.e. they often begin or end with a party at the beach). Produced by b-movie legends American International Pictures, who brought us, among many others, the Corman Poe pictures, most of Pam Grier's movies, half a dozen late 60's biker flicks, Dr. Phibes, Six Pack Annie, Unholy Rollers, Sisters, and Squirm, the Beach Party series kicked off with (naturally) Beach Party (1963) and ended, quite abruptly, with the very screwy (and Beach-less...and Annette-less, as well) 1966 haunted house romp, The Ghost in the Invisible Bikini. The Beach Party films were helmed by various directors and the plots didn't necessarily coincide with one another, but for the most part, they centered around Annette Funicello's heaving bosoms and Frankie Avalon's bitchin' haircut. There were dance numbers and goofy bad guys and crazy cameos from Boris Karloff and Don Rickles and Buddy Hackett and every other slumming matinee star that wanted to reconnect with 'the kids', but most of all, there were girls. Stunning, world-quaking girls in tiny bathing suits, shaking their firm young thangs with wild abandon.

Not surprisingly, the Beach Party films were huge hits.

Of course, they weren't the only places to see pretty girls at the movies in the early 60's. There was a growing nudie-cutie movement afoot, propelled by saucy auteurs like Russ Meyer and Doris Wishman. But it wasn't exactly easy to see Mondo Topless or Nude on the Moon in 1964, especially if you were a teenager. The Beach Party movies offered nearly as many boner-popping moments, only they were slathered in so much good-natured, wholesome, all-American fun that mom and dad had zero problems dropping the kids off for an afternoon of sun, sand, and Susan Hart's relentlessly jiggly girl-parts.

By the early 1970's when the game-changing The Cheerleadershit the screens, dance numbers had somehow devolved into all-nude under-aged gang-gropes in the boy's locker room, and Annette Funicello's top-heavy good-girl fell sway to druggy, barely-legal maneaters like Stephanie Fondue and Rainbeaux Smith. That's what Charles Manson, Vietnam, and Altamont will do to a nation's psyche. But The Cheerleaders and Pajama Party both had the same primary goal, to provide fleshly eye-candy for over-amped teenage boys, and both went above and beyond the call of duty to do it. They just approached the concept in different ways. And although the Beach Party movies are tame enough for children to watch them, every gag, prank, and cheap come-on that would litter the teensploitation genre for the next 30 years originated in these seven films. All the tits-out buffoonery that would clog up drive-ins and top-loading VCRs in the 70's and 80's, everything from Porky's to it's inevitable hardcore-porn parody Piggy's, it all started here. Annette Funicello is the original Linnea Quigley. Wait, those proportions are way off. Umm, Annette Funicello is the original Sybil Danning, at the very least.


And so, to the beach.

Scriptwriting in the teensploitation business is a lot like punk rock. Two chords will do; three is positively extravagant. So it is with movies about horny pizza delivery boys or video game champions with glandular problems. Why bother with subplots when there are shower scenes to film? The Beach Party films, stuffed, as they were, with Disney contract players and beloved matinee stars, were not about to drop tops or bare asses, so to keep the kids and their eye-rolling moms happy, they had to rely on story. Tons of story. Reams of plot.

Pajama Party's main storyline, as far as I can tell, is Susan Hart's ass, and all the stuff that happens when she wiggles it (the caps on Dr. Pepper bottles fly off, plants wilt, marshmallows burst into flame, candles melt, etc). Her name in the film is Jilda, by the way. How could it not be? Personally, that seems like plenty story to me, and if they wanted to go with an all-Jilda booty-shake theme, I would have certainly paid my nickel (or whatever a movie ticket cost in 1964), but the overachievers behind Pajama Party supply us with no less than three major subplots to mull over while we wait around for another beach-side frug scene.

First and foremost, there's the Mars Attacks angle. The King of Mars (Frankie Avalon), sends down a numbskull named GoGo (Tommy Kirk) to kick off the Martian invasion. They sent a dumb guy first to do recon, apparently, because no one would be likely to take him seriously. He's got 24 hours to set up the teleporter, and once he does, angry red hell will be released. Minus the reanimation angle, it's not all that different than Plan 9 from Outer Space. Maybe it's Plan 8.

Don Rickles is some sort of Martian sergeant, and he thinks the whole plan is ridiculous.
"What's the big idea?" He asks the all-knowing fearless leader. "What are we gonna do with a crazy planet?"

Indeed.

GoGo lands in the backyard of Aunt Wendy (the Bride of Frankenstein herself, Elsa Lanchester), and tries to convince her that he's a hostile visitor from another world, using various half-assed interstellar gadgets to prove it. Wendy just thinks he's a bad magician, and possibly a retarded nephew of hers. So that's going on.

Then there's Eric Von Zipper (Harvey Lembeck) and his co-ed biker gang, the Rat Pack. They decide to go to war with the volleyball team, because they've been messing up the beach with their footprints. I could've probably written that so it'd sound funnier, but facts are facts.

I suppose the sub-set of that sub-plot is Connie's (Annette Funicello) sexual frustration. She's currently dating Big Lunk (Jody McCrea), the captain of the volleyball team, and he refuses to show her any affection, physical or otherwise. Did she not notice how tight that fucker wears his shorts? He's clearly on the other team, Connie.

Finally, there's the awesomely named J Sinister Hulk (Jesse White, known to most Americans as the original Maytag Repairman). Hulk is a cigar-chomping, face-slapping conman, who rents a lavish home next door to Aunt Wendy and plots an intricate plan to swindle all the dough she's supposedly hoarding in her mattress. To achieve this goal, he's assembled a crack team of goons and bunglers, including silent-era funnyman Buster Keaton, who plays a wisecracking Injun, Chief Rotten Eagle (ok, so maybe that bit hasn't aged too well), a basketball-breasted Swedish beauty named Helga (Bobbi Shaw), and a potato-nosed stooge named Fleegle (Ben Lessy). With that sort of muscle, how could anything possibly go wrong?

Amazingly, as Pajama Party rolls on, all these loony subplots start to overlap, but not before we take a break for an (awesome) beach-side musical number by Donna Loren, radiant (yes, I said radiant) in her demure red one-piece as she belts out one of Annette's chestnuts, Among the Young. Again, this gives us ample (and I do mean ample) opportunity to watch Jilda wiggle. Song over, back to our story.

Aunt Wendy really is somebody's aunt - Big Lunk's. She's well aware that he'd rather play with the boys and their balls than with Connie, and you can see how that would bother your average fuddy-duddy in 1964, so she concocts a plan to make Lunk jealous: get GoGo to take Connie out on a date. Tromping down to the beach with the disoriented GoGo in tow, Wendy announces her plans to Connie.

"Try to look seductive," Wendy says, prompting Connie to thrust her already heaving bosom in Go-Go's direction. This would strike most men blind, but our screwy alien just starts babbling about chasing naked women and Indian dudes with tomahawks around the backyard. All that shit did just happen, but it sounds nuts coming from a kid wearing bright blue, skin-tight swimming trunks that go over his belly button.

"Psst," Connie whispers to Wendy, "I think this guy is a kook."
"He's not a kook," Wendy tells her, "He's a Martian. You know, from Mars."
"I think both you birds belong in a clock." Says Connie.

Then there's a musical number in the dress shop where the girls do their crazy 60's dances to the chagrin of the proper dress-maker. One of the shimmying-shes' is none other than future 'Hey Mickey' new-wave cheerleader Toni Basil, poured into a purple-metallic bikini, doing one of the most aggressive dances this side of a New Guinea cannibal tribe. It's pretty wild. Oh, and then Jilda shakes her ass some more, and a volcano explodes. Suggestive!


Not to get too bogged down in all this nonsense, but Buster Keaton and the big-titted Swede are dispatched to kidnap Big Lunk at the same time Von Zipper and the gang decide to stomp him. GoGo, however, is wearing Lunk's signature red baseball cap, resulting in a case of mistaken identity that causes a city-wide riot, complete with howlingly bad rear-projection car-chase scenes, sped-up motorcycle hijinks, guys crossing the street holding ladders and plate glass, all that nutty stuff.

Later on Helga is dispatched to seduce Big Lunk. It works (seriously, it'd work on you, too), but Aunt Wendy knew he was too stupid to keep a secret, so she never told him where the money was hidden. Also, for whatever reason, Connie falls in love with GoGo, even though he's a space alien sent to destroy the planet. But then you never choose who you love, do you?

Right, so what about the goddamn pajama party, already? Hulk decides to throw one, I don't even understand why, he just does. He sends Fleegle out to find some "clean-cut American youth" to attend, and being an idiot, he invites Von Zipper and the Rat Pack, which will surely cause problems later. No matter, the party is on. There is boozing and pranks, vociferous dancing and lots of sandwiches.

And just when you think the party can't get any better, out pops Annette Funicello in a lacy white number to sing the skronking Pajama Party theme song.
"Don't you know, it's the latest craze," she sings, "Having a party in your PJs!"
It's a pretty great song. When it's over, some dudes throw her in the pool. Does she freak out and ruin the evening? She does not. She laughs. Anything goes at a pajama party, dude.

I swear to god I am totally in love with this Annette Funicello. She is clearly the coolest girl in the world. Joan Jett notwithstanding.

So then Von Zipper and his crew, dressed like the Polyphonic Spree in red robes, show up to bust up the place. The party descends into chaos. There's a disturbing, David Cronenberg-esque gag where Jilda has four legs.

Hulk seizes the opportunity to sneak into Wendy's house and search for the missing loot, but accidentally turns on the Martian teleporter. Yikes. So, how will it all end? Will the Martians show up with their death machines to rape and pillage? Maybe. But probably not. I mean, the fucking movie is called Pajama Party.

In Summation: Surely, there are those among us who feel the teenage kicks offered here are too antiquated for their modernized, digital-age sensibilities, that their boners would be better popped by skin-baring almost-porn starlets than by madly frugging Disney actresses in polka-dot bikinis. But if you're taking that sorta stance, why not just grab a copy of Forced Entry and some Crisco and a gun and a bottle of Ether and get it over with already? Girl watchers with discriminating tastes, on the other hand, are heartily encouraged to dig into the Beach Party movies and soak up the sun, fun, and killer curves. I'm not saying that Pajama Party will change your life - I don't know you, man, and the odds are, you're already too far gone - but it certainly has it's powers. New hope for the wretched, that kinda thing.


After the Party: Well, considering the movie is, as of this writing, 45 years old, a good portion of the cast are now dead. Not Don Rickles, though. I saw him in Atlantic City last year, and he was as funny as ever. He said I looked like a German U Boat captain. I dunno what that means, but the bottom line is, Rickles is still the balls. Annette and Frankie kept the beach parties rolling for another few years and then went their separate ways. They made a glorious comeback in 1987 with Back to the Beach, but Annette was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis soon after, and she hasn't acted since. Currently, she's doing charity work and has her own perfume business. Frankie I'm pretty sure I saw at the Saint Whoever festival down the street a few months ago. I live in a Portuguese neighborhood, they have big parties, I think he was singing on the street. It was either him or Frankie Valli. Either way, he's doing alright.

Tommy Kirk got sacked by Disney not long after his appearance here, amidst rumors that he was gay. I knew something was up with those shorts. After that, Tommy battled the bottle for awhile. I don't know whether or not that had anything to do with his choice of movie roles over the years, but he's done some pretty incredible z-movie work, appearing in everything from Al Adamson's patchwork disaster Blood of Ghastly Horror (1972) to Fred Olen Ray's Attack of the 60 Foot Centerfolds (1995). Obviously, Tommy sounds like an awesome dude to hang out with.

Director Weiss (RIP) did a ton of television, included the ill-fated Animal House-inspired sitcom Delta House (1979). He died of natural causes in his 80's in New Mexico. I should be so lucky. Toni Basil wrote the cheerleader song. She teaches dancing now. She's on VH-1 every five minutes going "Pop...and lock!" Donna Loren made a bunch of great records and was the Dr Pepper girl for awhile. And what of the sultry, volcano-erupting Susan Hart? Well, Jilda stuck around for the whole Beach Party run and then left the acting business. She was a country western singer for a while, and then she joined the ice capades. Current location is unknown, but wherever she is, I am sure she still makes soda bottles pop whenever she wiggles.


Availability: Pajama Party is available on DVD.

-Ken McIntyre