A grubby mishmash of thieves, murderers, dope pushers, and a smattering of rapists all find themselves doing menial labour in the hot Georgia sun while attached to one another in the gritty and straightforward Chain Gang Women. The Lee Frost (The Thing with Two Heads) directed film, despite being woefully mistitled film (sorry, but you won't see any scantily clad women breaking rocks in this flick) does a capable job of depicting what life must have been like on an actual chain gang in the early 1970s. The tedium, the strain, and the pure torment of clearing brush (an activity that seemed beyond pointless) in the middle of the day is skillfully captured during the film's incarceration phase. Which kinda feels like your typical prison film, but this particular endeavour has a more of an outdoorsy feel it. Apparently a chain gang is like summer camp for prisoners. In that, you work all day, and you sleep on a cot in a warehouse without bars. The only thing preventing you escaping are the shotgun-wielding guards and the fact your chained to a fellow inmate (at night you're all chained together by one long chain). I'll admit, the disappointment I felt over the fact that this film wasn't about sexy women working on a chain gang took quite some time shake. However, once I came to terms with the reality of situation, that this film was about a guy busted on marijuana possession being forced to become a fugitive when the convict he's chained to decides to break free and go on the lam, I was able to put aside my initial disappointment and sort of enjoy the film for what is: a mildly sleazy bit of exploitation about men pushed to the brink of their manliness. Not to worry though, the two wayward cons, the harmless Weed (Michael Stearns) and the beastly Harris (Robert Lott), do eventually meet up with some ladies during their time on the run.
The competency level of Chain Gang Women was surprisingly high during the chain gang scenes. I mean, I really felt like I was out in the muck with these desperate men. That being said, things get a little on the iffy side when the breakout commences and the actors are forced to utter scripted dialogue with one another.
The whole talking out loud thing isn't a good look for this film (even the simplest attempts at articulating words and sentences seemed fraught with failure). And the director's penchant for splitting the screen in four during moments of extreme activity felt completely unnecessary, especially when the same image was shown in all four boxes.
Pairing a drug dealer with a convicted murderer was the film's most fascinating aspect, as it unintentionally shed some light on the absurdity of the criminal justice system. I don't know about you, I don't think people who sell dried plant bits should be in the same prison as murderers and rapists. Sure, they're all illegal and junk, but come on. Anyway, the dilemma the pot dealer faces being literally stuck with a psychopathic madmen is the driving force of the piece. And like most films from the period, things end with a hint of tragic irony.
Oh, and you'll notice I didn't go on any long tangents about the sexiness of Barbara Mills and Linda York, the women the two escapees come across during their brief bout with freedom. Well, the fact that they're sexually assaulted in such a cavalier manner kinda put a damper on my enthusiasm for their performances. Which is not to say that they weren't adequate. It's just that their sole purpose seemed to be that of the victim, and, in the long run, it just left me with an icky feeling... you know, as supposed to my usual jaunty disposition.
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2 comments:
What a find! That looks great!
That looks pretty cool. I don't think I had even heard of it before. Thanks for the good post.
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