Directed by Nick Philips
Starring Ushi Digard, Anna Travers Rated X USA
Dr. Christina is the "work" of infamous nihilist-punk grindhouse director Nick Philips, the sleazedealer behind loony fatsploitation slasher Criminally Insane, to say nothing of the self-explanatory Fraulein Leather, or the depressive psyche-horror Satan’s Black Wedding. Philips’ films are so grubby and heartless that they’re almost anti-fun, a black hole of sexless despair that suck the joy right out of your eyeballs. This one almost manages to claw its way out pf the black pit of Philipsylvania, mostly due to the inclusion of one Uschi Digard, the buxotic Swedish jawdropper known mostly for her turn as the pneumatic barnyard baller inSupervixen. I don’t know about you, but I’m willing to watch just about any piece of sewer trash if her magnificent udders and marble-mouthed accent are involved. Uschi shows up halfway through in a brief lesbian scene, making sweet, furry, freaky 70’s love with some chick on a ratty couch. And that’s the best part of the movie.
The rest involves a Swedish magazine columnist who writes under the name Dr. Christina wandering around Paris, jotting stuff in her notebook, taking a train, sightseeing, and every 20 minutes or so, stumbling into a spliced-in lesbian scene. I should note that there is no dialogue in this film, just the monotone narration of the good Doc gamely combating the squawking jazz score. Does that sound like fun to you? Fuckin’ Nick Philips, man. He’s done it to me again.
But hey, at least there’s a bonus featurette on the DVD called Sex Nurse that has some blowjobs!
So, apparently there was a time that movies were made on something called film, or celluloid. If you wanted to watch something in-home, you'd get a wheel shaped contraption with this so-called "film" and hook it up to this other contraption that pulled the film over a light - projecting it on a wall or screen - and wrapped it around another wheel shaped contraption that had no film on it in order to collect said film from the other wheel. Or something like that.
It's all a little confusing and primitive, but it appears that people used to buy these films in "reels" and watch them in their homes. The most popular type of film for home consumer use was something called 8mm, but I'm not good at math so I don't know what that means.
Well, anyways, people started filming women taking of their clothes on these 8mm things and sold them to people like your dad or grandfather (my wife vehemently denies this) so they could sit at home drooling and touching themselves.
OK, enough with the faux naivety. Both you and I already know what the deal is with these loops. You just wanna know what kind of stuff you're gonna see on this particular collection; am I right? Well, I'll just assume that was a yes and continue onward.
What we have here is a nice collection of 24 (that's nearly 2 1/2 hours) of these 8mm loops from the 70's (hence the name). The DVD is mainly solo girls in a POV style scene where they smile, chit-chat (silently, save for the added projector sound) and pose, remove their clothes, jostle their breasts about, touch their naughty bits, make sexy faces, etc., etc. The scenes vary in length between 5 and 10 minutes but often feel much longer due to lack of sound and limited variety of action. Now, there are 2 shorts that feature non-explicit male-female (and male-female-female) scenes, but for the most part, this is all about the solo tease action.
Obviously, the main draw here is Uschi Digard, Candy Samples (above, with dude), andRene Bond. Uschi and Candy get 3 scenes each, including one of the two aforementioned soft-core scenes where Candy and Uschi share a stud. Rene Bond only gets one scene and unfortunately hers is the worst for wear of any of the features.
Although the 3 "big" names certainly have their draw, I personally find the stand out of this collection to be Ingrid.
Sure, she's got some wild eyebrows, but she also has super cute mod fashion sense and a pseudo-Fairuza Balk thing going on, so everything all works out in the end. Add to this some erotic nipple manipulation and super close-up, sun glistened pube play and you have the makings of a fun and flirty good time.
All in all, if you aren't a fan of the stag film, or vintage erotica in general, this collection certainly won't convert you, but if you dig what this DVD from After Hours Cinema is laying down, you'll definitely be proud to add this to your collection. Just be warned: it appears that folks in the olden days often had a slightly different sense of beauty than we do now in the future, which can have the undesired effect of confused boners; or even worse - inverted boners. Yikes.
But then again, there's always Ingrid.
With over 3 hours of material to busy yourself with, Sleazy 70's Stags delivers as promised - giving a little history lesson on our sexual past and hopefully warming your cockles adequately enough to keep you warm on a chilly winter's eve. So slip into your Snuggies, people, and enjoy a drug-free flashback worthy of your undivided attention. Thank you.
Directed by Russ Meyer Starring Shari Eubank, Uschi Digard, Colleen Brennan, Charles Napier Rated X US
"Is the fucking we get worth the fucking we get?"
Borrowing liberally from Roadrunner cartoons, X-rated comic books, old movie serials and fractured fairy tales, Supervixens is one of Russ Meyer's most inspired desert epics, a bruising thrill ride full of fist-throwing macho men and oversexed glamazons all going crazy from the heat.
The episodic story involves one Clint Ramsey (Charles Pitts), an unmotivated gas station attendant at Martin Borman's Super Service who just wants to get through the day without an incident. Since he is inexplicably irresistible to women, this almost never happens.
When we first meet our man Clint, he is servicing the top-heavy SuperLorna (Christy Hartburg, AKA Playboy model/TV actress Christina Cummings, who later married a right-wing extremist and got pretty fuckin'crazy herself along the way), but when his darling wife SuperAngel (gorgeous Shari Eubank) gets wind of it, she demands he come home immediately. As she is clearly insane, he splits work to try and smooth things out.
When he gets there, Angel is waiting for him in a knockout black lace ensemble, but their clumsy coupling soon turns sour. Their verbal sparring turns into a knock-down, drag-out fist fight in the front yard. SuperAngel bashes up Clint's truck with an axe and threaten to "Chop him up good", so he drags his half-naked wife back into the house to calm her down.
Nosy old creep Rufus (frequent Meyer stooge F. Rufus Owens) from next door calls the cops, and soon officer Harry Sledge (Charles Napier) shows up and conks Clint on the skull with his night stick. SuperAngel gets a free ride to the hospital, and Clint gets off with a warning.
Clint is on the outs with his old lady, so he heads over to the local bar, where bartender SuperHaji (Faster Pussycat co-star Haji, bizarrely bejeweled from head to toe) propositions him. Meanwhile, SuperAngel has invited Officer Harry over, to thank him for saving her from the clutches of Clint. She attempts to seduce him, but it turns out that hard-man Harry has an impotence problem. The emasculating SuperAngel mocks him and his flaccid penis, which puts the already on-edge Harry into a full blown rage. He murders her in her own bathroom, stabbing her repeatedly and then electrocuting her in the bathtub in what is easily the most graphically violent scenes of Meyer's - or anybody's really - career.
Harry's got to cover his tracks, so naturally, he blames Clint for SuperAngel's murder. Martin Borman (Henry Rowland, RIP) drops by the bar to tell Clint he's been fingered, and that he needs to vamoose but quick. And so our fallen hero hits the road, with nothing but his tight denim jeans to help him along.
Clint meets an ever screwier collection of misfits, creeps, and bountiful babes as he traipses across the southwest, looking for a safe landing. He hitches a ride with SuperCherry (future porn star Colleen Brennan) and her groovy suitcase pimp boyfriend (Z-man himself, John LaZar). The always-up-for-it swingers try to entice Clint into a scene - SuperCherry even attempts some hand manipulation on him - but he rejects her advances, which pisses Z-man off. He beats the tar out of Clint and steals his wallet.
Clint is saved by a chicken-fucking farmer with a Swedish mail-order bride, SuperSoul (70's tit-queen Uschi Digard). He invites Clint to stay with them at the farm, as long as he doesn't bang SuperSoul. Naturally, he bangs her, and is forced to flee, with the farmer hurliing pitchforks at him.
Then he runs into an oddball motel owner with a deaf-mute daughter, SuperEulah (Deborah McGuire). He invites him to stay with them at the motel, as long as he doesn't...etc. etc. SuperEulah takes him out for a topless dune buggy ride and attempts to seduce him, prompting a high-speed chase when dad finds out.
Things finally turn around for our hero when he stumbles into a roadside diner and meets a waitress, SuperVixen ( a suddenly sunshiny Eubank), who appears to be the reincarnation of his slain wife. Or perhaps her (good) twin. Or the Yin to her Yang. It's never really explained. They fall head over heels for each other, and it looks like everything's going to turn out swell. That is, until a vacationing Harry Sledge turns up.
It all ends in a gonzo mountain-side showdown, with a fully-insane Harry chucking sticks of dynamite at Clint and Supervixen. Will love conquer all, or will bad-ass Harry squash these two fuckers like bugs?
Well, the ending is just as berserk as the beginning, so yes, but no. But yes.
Supervixens, much like Faster Pussycat, Kill Kill, is Russ Meyer firing on all cylinders. Easily the most accomplished film of his 70's sexploitaion era, Supervixens mashes cartoon hyperviolence with Little Annie Fanny-esque comic strip sexcapades to create a wildly clanging, balls-first, eyeball-gasm ode to the 70's Man and his giant, throbbing penis so effective in its chest-bearing machismo that you just wanna climb on the nearest dune buggy and head out on your own death-defying desert sexventure. Meyer's follow-ups to this were exponentially crazier, but none of 'em manage to achieve the complicated balance of surrealism, softcore, and teeth-gritting mayhem that Supervixens does. They also do not have the boundless charms of Shari Eubank.
Ms. Eubank is one of Meyer's most elusive starlets. She only acted in two films - this one, and the oddly muted PG-rated sexploiter Chesty Anderson, US Navy (1976), before giving up acting completely. A small town girl at heart, Eubank left showbiz in the late 70's and never looked back. She became a school teacher in Illinois and continues to teach there now, in her early sixties. She never does any press or interviews about her acting career, and from reports of people who know her, appears to regret ever making Supervixens. It's a pity, really, because she was an astonishing beauty, and her pneumatic, larger-than-life performance in Supervixens is really one for the ages.
While it is a tad overcooked - the entire SuperEulah and Supersoul sequences could be excised without missing a drop of plot - Supervixens still stands as one of the greatest sexploitation films ever made, a towering cinematic triumph of heaving bosoms, swaggering uber-men, and pop culture kitsch. You could base your life on this movie. You'd be dead in a month, but it would be the best month ever, that's for sure. Supervixens is available from Russ Meyer Films International.
AKA California Drive-in Girls Kitty Can't Help It Directed by Peter Locke Starring Kitty Carl, Pamela Des Barres, Marcie Barkin Rated R USA
"It's a real sympathy wound."
Here's what important to know about The Carhops. It's not about carhops. The carhopping is over with two minutes into the film. So then, what is it about? Hard to say. Rape, mostly.
Kitty (Kitty Carl) gets fired from her job as a carhop on her first day. She was banging the boss when his wife walked in. This doesn't seem like a good time to make major life changes, but her fellow 'hop Vicky (supergroupie Pamela Des Barres) convinces her to throw caution to the wind, leave home, and start all over again with a bunch of her flaky friends. Kitty bites, rents an apartment in Vicky's neighborhood, and takes one last ride with her screwy, over-protective, wildly racist mother (60's sitcom regular and Joyce's cousin, Fay DeWitt). As they wind their way to Kitty's new pad, mom spies all the hippies and drop-outs cruising the streets. "Close your eyes, and you can see Charles Manson," she mutters. Somehow or another, their conversation drifts to hitchhikers. Mom mentions that she read in Reader's Digest that every time someone one stops to pick up a hitcher, there's a black man in the bushes waiting to pounce. Kitty is incredulous. "C'mon, mom", she says. "Don't you know black is beautiful?" "Well," mom snorts, "If I had to be raped, I'd rather it be with somebody white and ugly than black and beautiful." So that was pretty crazy.
Meanwhile, just across the street, the weirdly-accented (Hungarian?) call-girl Cindy (blaxploitation's go-to white chick, Lisa Farringer), buys weed from Vicky and entertains some fucker with a horrendous mustache named Tom ( Mr. Stockard Channing himself, David Debin).
Vicky trots over to Kitty's to hang out and gets propositioned by schlubby neighbor Albert (the awesomely named Walt Wonderman). She rebuffs him, so he goes home to goose his cheating wife, Sherry (Marcie Barkin, The Van, Chesty Anderson US Navy) who puts raw chicken down the back of his shirt. And then we flash back to earlier that day, when she took two hippies home and boned 'em. They speed the camera up for the fuck scene. It's funnier that way.
Cindy and Tom finish balling. He pays her (she has a taxi meter on her bedstand) and then she asks him to move in with her. "On one condition," he says. "You have to rape me at least once a night." What's with all the fucking rape talk in this movie?
Later on, some other dude comes over. He strips down, puts a bag on his head, and stands in the shower while Cindy hits him in the ass with pies. "Is this banana cream?" He asks. "You know I can only get off with pumpkin pie!" "Haha," Cindy laughs. "You're lucky I took the candle off." What candle?
At this point, you may be wondering when the plot kicks in. Well, that's gonna take a while. First, there's a scene where Vicky plays the acoustic guitar and sings a folk song while Sherry, Cindy, and Kitty look on. When it's over, they all tell her how horrible it was, and then everybody encourage Kitty to fuck their men. That was pretty crazy, too.
Somewhere along the way, Kitty scored a new job as the secretary for a mince-y gay fellow named Barry (Paul Ross) who says stuff like this: "I got my teeth kicked in at the leather bar last night because I wore suede. You know how much I hate regimentation!" Barry has some important client, Macgregor (Jim Deleon, Linda Lovelace for President) that he needs to impress, so he tells Kitty she has to go to dinner with him. They go to some sleazy nightclub where a gum-chewing contortionist performs. "Hahaha," laughs her grabby date. "It's one shithouse after another."
McGregor drives Kitty home and tries to get invited in, but when she spurns him, he grabs her by the hair and pushes her down to the ground. "If you scream," he growls, "I'll bash your head on this concrete. Now just be quiet, and relax." Seriously, more rape bullshit? Vicky's girlfriend BJ (Asher Brauner) shows up out of nowhere and chases him off. Kitty is strangely non-plussed about being saved. "Now I'm out of job," she sighs. "I should have just lied there and let him do whatever he wanted to." "Don't worry about money," BJ says, helpfully. "I've got 20 dollars in the bank." By now, you are probably desperate for a plot. Well, sorry. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
BJ and Kitty end up hitting it off, so they go to the desert, where they make sweet 70's love. Afterwards, BJ terrorizes her with an iguana. When she gets back, Cindy asks her to go with Tom to a movie, so she can catch up on her clients. Kitty agrees, and they go to see a porn/gore flick called Dr Demento's Chamber of Lust. Then they go back to Kitty's and fuck. The next day, Kitty meets Vicky's other boyfriend, Pat (Don Baldwin, Gator Bait). Imagine that, they get along as well, so she goes to the beach with him and they run around holding hands and skipping rocks. Then she goes with Albert on one of his business trips to San Francisco, and we spend the next ten minutes watching them goof around at various SF tourist traps while life-sapping muzak plays on the soundtrack.
Back at the hotel, Kitty and Albert start to get amorous. He goes out for liquor, but when he comes back, he walks into the wrong room and climbs into bed with Uschi Digard. Her boyfriend shows up, kicks Albert in the ass, and then jumps on the bed and starts whaling on Uschi. By the way, the entire reason I decided to watch Carhops - besides the fact that I thought it was about carhops - was because Uschi was in it. She's in it for about 7 seconds.
So anyway, Kitty arrives back home from SF feeling pretty optimistic, but things take a turn for the terrible when that fuckin' creep Macgregor climbs in through a window and attempts to rape her at knifepoint.
Right before he has his evil way, mom and Albert (where'd they come from?) burst in. Kitty is freed, but Albert gets slashed in the belly. Macgregor bails, punching Tom in the face (what's he doing here?) and stealing his car. Then BJ roars up in his black Charger (where'd he...etc.), and they chase after him. Tom pees his pants. Standard 70's car-fight hijinks ensue. Amazingly, we have arrived at our film's conclusion, and still, no plot to speak of. That's probably harder than it seems. I actually tried it once in college, to write an action movie that was all action and no story. It's pretty impossible. You've got to give it to the two numbskulls that wrote this thing, they managed to waste an entire hour and a half without one single identifiable storyline. Remarkable!
Oh, and there's a twist ending, but my print is too dark to make it out. Drop a line if you know what it is.
In Summation: Carhops has an excellent poster and an excellent title, which not only got it made, but is apparently still convincing saps like yours cruelly to watch it. At the time, director David Locke was just peeling himself out of the X industry. He's since gone on to produce dozens of cheap horror movies, including the recent Hills Have Eyes remake and its sequel. Porn and gore, apparently, is something Locke can do with panache. R rated sex comedies, on the other hand, are just not his forte. Bland, creepy, and depressingly unfunny, with less nudity than you'd like and more threats of rape than you could possibly need, Carhops is useful only to Uschi completists and groupie enthusiasts keen on seeing Pam Des Barres strum an acoustic guitar. I didn't exactly feel cheated, but I'm pretty numb at this point. You'd probably be pretty disappointed.
AKA Secrets of the Lady Truckers Directed by Stu Segall Starring Uschi Digard, Richard Kennedy, John F Goff Rated R USA Buy poster
"I'm gonna go kick the frosting off his cake."
I dunno about what life is like where you are, but here in the States, we haven't had a good nationwide craze for years. The culture's become too fractured; people have their own thing, and even if they share that obsession with millions, there's still vast segments of the populace that have no idea what they're talking about. Even if you're reasonably hip, it's impossible to keep up on everything. I mean, I am aware that World of Warcraft, Gym Class Heroes, Hentai porn, and Parkour all exist, but I don't know anything about them. I'd have to Wiki like mad just to bullshit about that stuff. Ultimately, we're all better off this way, since latter-day fads have all been pretty lame - beanie babies, anyone? - but back in the 70's, holy smokes. There were some seriously loony fads back then, and everyone - mom, dad, grandpa, the kids, everybody - fell under their twisted spells. Like what, you ask? Like disco, like leisure suits and pet rocks, like Abba, Rubik's Cubes, pinball, halter tops, 8 tracks, jogging suits, fondue, shag carpets, KISS, English Leather, and Sea Monkeys.
One of the most pervasive 70's obsessions, at least for a couple years, was CB radios. Originally used quite specifically by truckers and dispatchers to relay road information to one another, in the 1970's their usage spread to ordinary citizens ("CB" does stand for 'Citizen's Band', after all), who installed them in their cars or garages to communicate semi-anonymously - everyone had a 'Handle', you know, like The Bandit - in a nationwide social experiment that operated not unlike a primitive version of the internet. Trucker slang was adopted and mutated, and CB party lines were formed. My crazy uncle Peter (I say 'crazy' because blew his own head off with a 357 Magnum a few years back) had one in his Jeep. I forget what his 'handle' was, but he decided mine was "Magoo", because I was a clumsy kid. He'd make me ask truckers if "Smokey" was "Blowing their doors off", or whatever. Traffic information, basically, which seemed pretty stupid when we were sitting in his driveway. We had no use whatsoever for CB radios, and yet we used them. That was life in the 70's. We ate Twinkies and used CB radios and listened to Tiny Tim. It was a very weird time.
As with any money-gobbling trend, Hollywood eventually starts churning out exploitation films based on them, and so a flurry of CB movies hit theaters in the mid to late 70's: Truck Stop Women(1974) Cannonball, Gumball Rally (both 1976) Breaker Breaker, Handle with Care, Smokey and the Bandit (all 1977) Convoy, High Ballin' (1978), etc. The trend died down by the late 70's, when the first wave of video games hit the market. These days, with the advent of PCs and mobile phones, CBs have essentially ceased to exist. But the vapor trails linger on. Most Americans over 35 still let loose with a "10-4, Good buddy" or a "Put the pedal to the metal", or possibly even a "What's your twenty?" every now and then, and just about everyone's seen their share of Smokey and the Bandit movies.
Clearly, CB Hustlers was meant to ride Bandit-fever, trading in Burt Reynolds' glorious 70's 'tache with Uschi Digard's equally majestic 70's mams, but while most of the CB movies were comfortably-budgeted affairs produced by major studios, CB Hustlers is bargain-basement, regional, gutbucket exploitation from the same production company that graced the world with Drive In Massacre (1977). It was directed by a hands-on grime-cinema expert (Saddle Tramp Women, Young Students, Teeny Buns, Spirit of Seventy Sex), and starred a Swedish Russ Meyer sexploitation queen (Digard), and a host of nutjob drive-in character actors, including John F Goff (Gas Pump Girls, Summer Camp, Party Plane, Party Favors), Richard Kennedy (Six Pack Annie, Invasion of the Blood Farmers, Ilsa She Wolf of the SS), John Alderman (Erotic Adventures of Zorro, Video Vixens, Delinquent School Girls), and Bruce Kimball (Chain Gang Women, Malibu Beach, Pink Angels). It is pure, grubby, grade Z 70's scuzz, a holy relic from the grindhouse gutter, and we have that idiotic CB craze to thank.
CB Hustlers is only 85 minutes long (and my copy clocks in at 74), and yet it doesn't even bother to start, really, until the half-hour mark. Up until that point, its strictly raincoat-ready softcore with crackly mid 70's country-rock on the soundtrack. The camera bobs and weaves like a punch-drunk boxer as we are treated to a series of dark, grainy, van-floor encounters between Uschi and her fellow truckstop hookers and the hairy, pasty rig-haulers who hire them for cheap quickies.
There's not a whole of exposition, but you sorta get the concept - a sleazy-mustachioed pimp named Billy Bob Turner (John Alderman) and his psychedelic headband-ed wife, Laura May (Val Desta) cruise down the Californian desert highway in a two-van whore-convoy (Uschi, as Dee Dee, drives the other van), stopping at truck stops to service the fellas and then hauling ass outta there. Truckers use their CBs to request the girls.
Every now and then the fat, sweaty sheriff (Kimball) shows up to break up the party, but he is easily swayed by Uschi's 12-gallon milk-jugs, and so he lets the sex circus roll on. After a good 15 or so minutes of that, you are treated to at least ten minutes' worth of a customized van rally, shot from across a field, with dubbed-in narration. Seriously, it's just drunken hippies playing Frisbee while Richard Kennedy rants over the top. If you're not paying close attention to your surroundings, you may think that you've lost your mind.
The story, such as it is, kicks in when we finally meet Goff and Kennedy. They portray Boots Clayborn and Mountain Dean, respectively, the sole owners and reporters for a small-town newspaper, the Clarion Weekly. After sitting around the office listening to the CB radio, they decide to investigate all this strange chatter they're hearing about "Lemons" and "Tunnel Action". Mountain Dean manages to snag an interview with Turner, pretending to be doing a generic CB radio story, while Goff, disguised as an aw-shucks cowboy, conducts a more (cough) penetrating investigation with one of the girls, Silky.
This scene goes on forever, by the way. Not surprisingly, Goff wrote the screenplay. You can just hear him, right? "Listen, little lady, I'm sorry, but we've gotta keep fucking for another twenty minutes. See, it's in the script!" Halfway through his session, Laura-May busts in on them, pretending to be Silky's mom. Acting horrified, she tells Boots that her 'daughter' is only sixteen, and sends him scurrying off.
Mountain Dean figures out where Turner's van is going to be next, so he drags Boots with him to get to the bottom of whatever-it-is that's going on.
When they trundle up to Turner's van, he greets them warmly and invites them in for a chat. At this point, the more attentive viewers may be scratching their heads, because these two idiots met Turner and his wife at the van rally 20 minutes ago, yet Dean doesn't recognize them. Boots does, however, and chooses to keep his mouth shut while Turner rambles on about his imaginary mobile CB radio sales business. He agrees to meet the two reporters at a CB convention down the road the following day and shoos them away.
Later on, Boots gets a call from his van-nookie Silky, who tells him that she knows their plan, and if he reveals their tawdry little business in the paper, she'll go public about their illicit tryst.
Meanwhile, Turner announces to his harem that he's going legit. He's socked up enough dough to buy a farmhouse somewhere and give up the pimp game completely. When Dean barges in on him the next morning, finally clued in to what's going on, Turner offers to give him the business. $2500 a week, plus free pussy. Who could resist? One problem, though. The sheriff knows what's up too, and is on his way to arrest Turner. Can Mountain Dean thwart the sheriff, become the new CB Hustler pimp, and bang Ushi Digard in every available orifice? Or, will he regain his senses, scoff at Turner's tempting offer, and bring down this operation, scoring the scoop of the year in the process?
Well, it's one or the other, I'll tell you that much.
CB Hustlers is one of the most slapdash films I think I've ever seen. It's fuck-everybody guerrilla filmmaking that cuts corners every chance it gets. There's only one set in the entire movie, all the truckers are actual truckers the filmmakers met on the road, and the camerawork (courtesy the usually top-notch Ken Gibbs, who shot almost every movie in this book) is so choppy and/or dark that there's no way there was more than one take for any given scene. Its an eyeball-abusing mess, a laughless, actionless travesty that features a lot less nudity than you think it does (Uschi's crazy Swedish fuck-goddess body is so over-the-top it makes you think you've seen much more than you have). Goff and Kennedy gorge on the scenery like starving men, the jarring Poco-esque music is headache-making, and the CB Hustlers (Janice Jordan, Elke Vann, Catherine Barkley) are only in the movie for about three minutes, tops.
Obviously, I give it a big thumbs-up. How could I not? The 70's were so fucking awesome, man.
