What is it about the way Mr. Jonathan handles a hair dryer that has the women of Los Angeles falling over themselves to get an appointment at his windowless, nondescript beauty salon? I wish I could tell you, but we never actually see Mr. Jonathan use a hair dryer in Black Shampoo, a cautionary tale that shines a fair amount of light on the risks that could arise when you unwittingly hire an ex-gangster's moll to be your new beauty salon receptionist. Oh, sure, we occasionally see him carrying one around, but does he know how to even turn it on? Are you implying that the women who are dying to get their hair done by Mr. Jonathan have more than voluminous curls and straightened bangs on their minds when they enter his salon? When did I imply that? All I said was, I found it rather suspicious that we never see Mr. Jonathan use a hair dryer. However, now that you mention it. The only thing we actually see him do as far as hairdressing goes is wash a blonde woman's hair in the film's opening scene. And judging by his lathering technique, I don't see what all the fuss is about. Okay, enough of this coy act. You know exactly why the women keep flocking to his salon in droves. They're there to absorb the brunt of his well-timed pelvic thrusts. I don't know, do women like well-timed pelvic thrusts that much that they're willing to settle for a mediocre wash and set? I doubt it. Are you sure about that? I mean, if they really cared about the performance-based characteristics of the follicle components that litter their greasy little scalps, wouldn't they ask the beauty salon's two resident Friends of Dorothy to do their hair instead?
If you had mentioned earlier the fact that the beauty salon at the centre of this strange oddity from mid-1970s employed not one, but two Friends of Dorothy, I would have cut you off sooner. Why is that, you ask? Do I really have to explain why? Besides, don't you think the film, directed by Greydon Clark (Joysticks), perpetuates the stereotype that all women thirst exceptional cock and that all gay men are mincing, world class hairdressers? Not really. Lot's of women love cock, lot's of gay men love dressing hair. Actually, I was somewhat surprised, given the time period, how respectful the film was towards its two gay characters. It's true, they're the epitome of flaming. All the same, I thought Mr. Jonathan (John Daniels), the macho proprietor of Mr. Jonathan's on Sunset Blvd., treated them with kindness. And why wouldn't he? After all, they do most of the hairdressing in this joint.
Do you think The Baron, John Daniels' character from The Candy Tangerine Man, traded in his pimp cane for a hair dryer? I know, John Daniels is playing a totally different character this time around. But, I have to ask, are really that different? Think about it. Both live in L.A., they both do well with the ladies, and both are two of the most imperturbable motherfuckers the big screen has ever seen.
If you're wondering why Mr. Jonathan's beauty salon is so dark when we first enter its doors, that's because we're actually in the back of the joint. What goes on back there, you might ask? Well, the back is where Mr. Jonathan gives certain customers "special treatment." When you say, "special treatment, you're talking about his cock, right? I thought we already established that. Yes, I'm talking about his cock. Oh, if only the leopard-print adorned walls of his private salon area could speak, the erotic stories they could weave.
Who knew washing hair could be so titillating. As he's lathering the hair of a blonde customer, Mr. Jonathan starts to notice that she is beginning to convulse in a manner that could best be described as "amorous." After Mr. Jonathan finishes, he slowly removes her head from the shampoo bowl. Sitting upright, the blonde's eyes go crotchward almost immediately. Curious about the marvel of genital engineering lurking behind his white trousers, the blonde unzips his pants, let's out an inaudible gasp, and, I can only assume, begins to slather the bulge-like contents with everything her white lady mouth has to offer.
Suddenly, a limo pulls up outside the salon, and out steps a milf goddess of epic proportions. Boasting a massive slit in the front–that's right, I said, the front–of her long black skirt–one that goes all the way up to her mid-1970s era bikini zone–Mrs. Simpson (Heather Leigh) saunters towards the salon's entrance with a forceful, apple-booty compromising aplomb.
Again, judging by the way she talks to the receptionist, Brenda St. John (Tanya Boyd), I don't think she talking about wanting to get her hair done. Okay, this is the last time I'm going to say this. None of the women in this film want Mr. Jonathan to do their hair, they want his cock!
Unfortunately for Mrs. Simpson, Mr. Jonathan's cock is currently busy exploring the soft nooks and the hard to reach crannies attached to Sally Carruthers. Wait, Sally who? Sally Carruthers. Don't ask me who plays "Sally Carruthers," as she's not listed in any of the credits I've seen.
Looking fierce with her hands on her womanly hips, Mrs. Simpson, who, like, Sally Carruthers, is blonde, waits while Brenda tries to summon Mr. Jonathan. Hearing the sound of moaning over the salon's hi-tech intercom, Mrs. Simpson says, "I guess she's enjoying her wash and rinse." You go, girl!
Realizing that she won't be getting "serviced" any time soon, Mrs. Simpson asks Brenda to ask Mr. Jonathan if he does house calls. And, after much begging and pleading, Mr. Jonathan agrees to pop by later on to do her "hair."
I'll admit, I was somewhat relieved when Mrs. Simpson was finally able to convince Mr. Jonathan to come over to her house, as my nonexistent pussy was beginning to throb like you wouldn't believe. However, I'm sad to say that Mrs. Phillips (Anne Gaybis) won't be getting any "special treatment," as she shows up at the salon just as Mr. Jonathan was about to leave. Sitting in the salon's waiting area for only a few seconds, Mrs. Phillips stands up and declares, "If he won't do me, nobody will." I wonder if the other hairdressers, Artie (Skip E. Lowe) and Richard (Gary Allen), were hurt by what Mrs. Phillips said? Nah, they probably know, just as I do, that she wasn't talking about her hair. Besides, if I was serious about getting my hair done, I would want it done by Artie and Richard, as they seem to genuinely care about aesthetics.
Meanwhile, over at the receptionist desk, Brenda is confronted by Maddox (William Bonner), Jackson (Bruce Kerley), and a character known only as "Chauffeur" (Sheldon Lee), three thugs who work for a lowlife named Mr. Wilson (Joseph Carlo), a white collar criminal of some sort. Apparently, Brenda used to work for this Mr. Wilson fella, and it would seem that he isn't happy with the way things ended. Anyway, when Brenda refuses to come with them, Maddox, the Judd Apatow-lookin' motherfucker, instructs Jackson, the Questlove-via Mean Joe Greene-lookin' motherfucker, to rough up Artie. In order to placate the trio of hoodlums in her midst, Brenda agrees to give Mr. Wilson a call.
Imagine if Mr. Jonathan was there when all that shit with Judd Apatow went down, I bet things would have turned out differently. But he wasn't. No, Mr. Jonathan was too busy driving around the suburbs. Armed only with his trusty hair dryer, Mr. Jonathan is no match for Meg (Kelly Beau) and Peg (Marl Pero), Mrs. Simpson's teenage daughters. Wielding their low centres of gravity like bazookas, Meg and Peg overwhelm the macho hairdresser. Dressed in pinkish peach-coloured bikinis, Meg and Peg inundate Mr. Jonathan with their no-nonsense curves.
Now, I don't know which one was Peg or Meg (they're never actually called by these names), but the short one with the long, dark hair tied in a ponytail has it going on. Hot damn.
You just know that the short one is fully aware of how foxy she is by the way she puts her hands on her hips and thrusts out her shapely buttocks in a booty enhancing manner. And it's obvious that the short one picked up the whole hands on hips thing from her mother.
Unable to prevent these "pushy little chicks" from coming on to him, Mr. Jonathan simply gives in after a while and let's them have their way with him. You can tell Mr. Jonathan has been in this type of situation before. Either way, it must be tough–you know, having attractive women of all ages throwing themselves at you on a regular basis.
After Brenda tells Mr. Jonathan about her run-in with Mr. Wilson's thugs, we're treated to a romantic montage set to the strains of "Can You Feel The Love" by Gerald Lee. Hold up, so, are Mr. Jonathan and Brenda St. John a couple? And if so, how does Mr. Jonathan get away with some of the shit he pulls in this movie? I mean, judging by the depth and the circumference of her afro, she doesn't look like the kind of woman who would tolerate such behaviour. Never mind that, since no one is minding the salon (it's difficult to engage in a romantic montage and run a successful business at the same time), Judd Apatow and the boys ransack the place, breaking mirrors and tossing bottles of conditioner all over the place.
If you thought Mr. Jonathan was pissed before, wait until he sees the mess they made. Will Mr. Jonathan be able save his "beloved" Brenda from the evil clutches of Mr. Wilson? What are the chances that the western-style barbecue thrown by Artie and Richard will cheer Mr. Jonathan up? Is a chainsaw an effective melee weapon? Did Mr. Wilson just shove a curling iron up that guy's butt? Speaking of which, did Mr. Wilson just cup Brenda's purposefully pronounced booty? Even though I know the answers to most of these questions, I can't wait to re-watch the film. You don't care about the answers to those question, you just want to watch the film again so you can awkwardly salivate over Mrs. Simpson's teenage daughters. Guilty as charged.
video uploaded by DigThatBoxHOLLYWOOD