Viking Night: Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill!
By Bruce Hall
July 23, 2013
BoxOfficeProphets.com
That's probably a matter of opinion, but if the only reason they cast you is because of your big boobs, junky trunk, or killer cocktail walk, you might have a case. Put a girl like that in front of a camera, throw in some softcore sex, a little ultra-violence, some written-in-front-of-the-camera dialogue, and you'll find yourself tits-and-ass deep in what they call the "exploitation genre". People with no sense of humor say such films are nothing but a cheap attempt to capitalize on the young male predilection for sex, violence, and hot girls in go-go boots. If that's your attitude, it's easy to close your eyes and see the decline of Western civilization.
The more enlightened among us see the cinematic equivalent of a cheeseburger. It's not good for you, but it's so deliciously decadent, so fleetingly satisfying you can't help but love the way it feels, sitting there in the pit of your gut like a pile of wet socks. High art is great and all, but sometimes you just want to sit back, put your feet up and laugh at bad people doing dumb things. Sometimes you want a live action cartoon - with sex, violence, and hot girls in go-go boots. That's not a crime but when done well it's enough fun that it ought to be.
No one knew this better than Russ Meyer. He was godfather to grindhouse cinema, unofficial mentor to Quentin Tarantino and Rob Zombie, and the visionary mind behind films like "Motor Psycho", "Mondo Topless" and "Wild Gals of the Naked West". This alone earns him the biggest bust in the B-Movie Hall of Fame. But perhaps his greatest and most memorable creation is the ruthlessly violent, deliciously campy masterpiece known as "Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill!"
Basically, it’s the story of three go-go dancers. Billie (Lori Williams) is the new girl, young, nubile, ten feet tall and bulletproof. Rosie (Haji) is the emotional center of the group. She’s experienced and hardened, but has a compassionate streak. Varla (Tura Satana) is the boss - a tough as nails sociopath who is in charge not because she wants to lead, but because she likes pushing people around. They make their living dancing as seedy clubs, bathed in darkness and swirling smoke, lost in dance, surrounded by the usual assortment of leering, lonely married guys and fat, sweaty truckers. A voiceover implies that inside every woman is a ticking, ten megaton time bomb that could go off at any time - thanks to the filthy, selfish machinations of such men.
Whether this represents a roundabout form of female empowerment or thinly veiled sexism is kind of irrelevant, because the key to enjoying a movie like this is to turn off the newsfeed in your head and just buy what the story is selling. “Pussycat” sets up a world where renegade women find themselves at odds with cruel men who view them as objects, forcing the ladies to assert themselves in super destructive ways. For our trio of dancers, this means spending their off hours on the California salt flats, drinking, brawling, and racing sportscars. One day, they are interrupted by Tommy and Linda (Ray Barlow, Sue Bernard), a clean cut teenage couple out for a joyride. Tommy and Varla butt heads, and I’ll just let you guess which one of them ends up face down in the sand with a crushed spine. Our newly minted murderers pump Linda full of drugs to keep her quiet, and take off into the desert.
They take refuge at an isolated ranch where an eccentric old man (Stuart Lancaster) lives with his sons Kirk (Paul Trinka) and Vegetable (Dennis Busch). The old man has some serious issues with women, and the script implies that he and Vegetable have been luring young girls to the ranch and killing them. Kirk is a standup guy and the odd man out, but he remains loyal to his family. So when the girls show up, there’s no doubt trouble is coming with them. Linda is freaked out, Kirk is suspicious, the Old Man can’t decide who he wants to chop up first, and when Varla finds out there’s a stash of cash somewhere on the ranch, it’s only a matter of time before someone else ends up sprawled in the desert with their chest caved in.
Everyone here is lost or damaged in their own uniquely calamitous way, and even the redeemable characters find themselves hopelessly swept along by the devastation. In another life, Billie might have been a flight attendant, and Rosie might have had a nail salon. Vegetable is a muscle bound man-child with a heart of gold but his father is a cancer, and the ranch itself seems infected with his decay. Watching these people circle each other is such an irresistible joy that you won’t care about the corny script or the bargain basement production values. It’s all intentional, and it’s all part of the fun. But the best part is - and you can probably tell by all the virtual ink I’ve spilled so far - is that this deliberately cheesy film genuinely attempts to deliver a fun story full of memorable characters and endlessly quotable lines.
And it succeeds brilliantly. Meyer goes all in on this, and gets his cast to do the same. Tura Satana never made another film with him again, but she made herself a legend with this role, lustfully shouting her lines like a runaway train pumping its whistle as it flies over the cliff. She’s enough ham for Christmas and Easter, and she’s literally the lifeblood of this film. Lancaster’s lecherous, sexist, proto-Red State hermit serves as her opposite number, and the sparks that fly off them are beyond entertaining. The cleverly improvised dialogue, the winking, smirking camera work, and the hep-cat soundtrack let you in on the joke whether you want to or not. It’s impossible not to have a good time with this movie, unless you’re the kind of person who just finds it impossible to have a good time.
Sometimes, upon closer inspection, a so-called seminal classic turns out to be less memorable than advertised. But in this case, the goods are there. Quentin Tarantino, Robert Rodriguez, Rob Zombie....me...we can’t all be wrong. “Faster Pussycat” is a crass, violent, sexist, corny, dusty, brain-degenerating 55-gallon drum of rip roaring destruction and fun. It’s worth every penny and every minute of your money and time that it costs you to see it. And even if you don’t care for it, know that something or someone else you like was probably influenced by it. Get yourself a cheeseburger - or two - settle in, and remind yourself that sometimes exploitation feels so good because it’s so bad.