It always used to take me a couple of tries whenever I attempted to write out Kitten Natividad's name. It's not the "Kitten" part that threw me, it was that thing lurking between "Nat" and "Dad." (You mean, the "Ivi"?) Exactly. Well, don't feel too sorry for me, as that will never be a problem again, for I have just witnessed the ultimate Kitten Natividad motion picture. Oh, I'm sorry, it's called Beneath the Valley of the Ultra-Vixens. And, yes, it's a chaotic filmed headache masquerading as a movie, but as far as worshiping every lumpy, bumpy inch of Kitten Natividad's exceedingly ample frame, it has to be declared a rousing success. I mean, to do otherwise, would be dishonest. Sure, the film can be aggravating at times. And, not to mention, a tad shrill in spots. But you cannot deny the work of art that is Kitten Natividad's organic structure as it bounced around from bed to lake bed in Russ Meyer's 1979 somewhat satirical ode to small town U.S.A. (Uh, don't you mean, bed to bed?) Uh, no, I don't. You see, Kitten Natividad fucks dudes, like most chicks do, in beds, but she also fucks 'em in lake beds. Hence, the expression, bed to lake bed. It's called being clever. Look into it. Anyway, the so-called "dude" Kitten Natividad fucks in the lake bed is actually a fourteen year-old kid. Which got me a thinking: The world would be a much happier place if Kitten Natividad went door-to-door popping the cherries of every teenage boy on the planet.
Go ahead, noodle with that thought for awhile. I guarantee, it will add at least five inches of pubic hair to your junk. What's that? You don't want more pubes on your junk. Well, then don't go noodling thoughts that your junk can't cash, 'cause the area north of your taint is about to get all hirsute up in this pickle factory, if you know what I mean.
I've just been handed a note informing me that no one knows what I mean. Which is a shame, because what I mean has intrinsic value. If people can't see that, than it's their loss.
This may come as a surprise, but Beneath the Valley of the Ultra-Vixens isn't about Kitten Natividad traveling the world extracting semen from underage genitals. It's true, she does sneak up on a wide-eyed fourteen year-old named Rhett (Steve Tracy) and does just that (extract semen), but the film's actual premise is just as surprising.
On the surface, the film is about a simple man named Lamar Shedd (Ken Kerr) who works at a junkyard in Rio Dio, Texas. Oh, I almost forgot, Lamar can't have vaginal sex with his voluptuous wife, Lavonia Langusta (Kitten Natividad), no, he digs anal sex and his favourite position to administer this "anal sex" is doggiestyle. Only problem being, Lavonia doesn't want Lamar's large dick anywhere near her poop-chute. (Isn't the female vagina located near the poop-chute?) What do I look like, a doctor? Ahh, what I meant to say is, she's doesn't want his large dick in her poop-chute. It's her poop-chute, her choice.
Underneath the surface, however, the film explores, thanks to a witty script (Roger Ebert) and a playful narration (Stuart Lancaster), the insatiable sexual appetite of a small town, one that obviously represents America's schizophrenic attitude towards coitus in all its forms.
And would you lookie here, that tempestuous Teuton, Martin Bormann (Henry Rowland), is about to get his Nazi penis serviced by Fräulein Roop (Anne Marie), a woman with giant breasts. (Wait a minute, are you telling me a woman with giant breasts is about to fuck Martin Bormann, the infamous Nazi?) Yes. (Oh, yeah, that totally makes sense. Giant breasts + Nazis = Russ Meyer. Carry on.)
Lying naked in a coffin, Martin Bormann waits patiently for Eufaula Roop hop on top of his cock. That is, if she can drag herself away from playing Pong long enough.
Some of that witty dialogue I alluded to earlier can be heard in the following sequence, as the narrator introduces us to the film's many characters. The most important, of course, being Lavonia Langusta, who, according to the narrator, is "hotter than a Mexican's lunch." I have to admit, I made a laughing sound after hearing that line.
In terms of lewd prose, I dug the sentence, "...ever girding her loins for low body blows... pubic to pubic."
Scratching her pubes in frustration, Lavonia lies naked on her bed, as her husband, Lemar Shedd, plays with a calculator in the kitchen. Ignoring her cries of sexually agony, Lemar continues to work as Lavonia writhes on her bed. Doing everything in her power to get him to notice her (seductive milk consumption, a dry foot job, etc.), Lavonia finally decides she's had enough and goes under the kitchen table. Receptive to the blow job his wife is giving him, Lemar returns the favour by sticking his cock in her ass. As you might expect, Lavonia isn't too thrilled by this anal turn of events and kicks Lemar square in the balls moments after he ejaculates in her rectum.
Driving off in Lemar's truck in a huff, Lavonia is clearly upset. Why can't Lemar look me in the eye when he fucks me, she must be thinking to herself as she drove off. Meanwhile, Lemar lies on the bed listening to Eufaula Roop's radio show on Rio Dio Radio: 100,000 watts of faith-healing power.
In a bizarre twist, I made a second laughing sound when we meet some of Lemar's co-workers down at the junkyard he works. It occurs when Tyronne (Aram Katcher) takes a dump behind some wrecked cars and Beau Badger (Don Scarborough) steals his leavings before he turns around to inspect his recently defecated feces. When Tyronne does turn around to inspect his recently defecated feces, he's shocked to find no crap whatsoever. To which he says, with confused deadpan perfection, "No shit."
Leggy and possessing a full bush, my absolute favourite segment in this film is when Lavonia hosts Semper Fidelis (Michael Finn), a door-to-door lingerie salesman. Hawking the latest from Frederico's of Wisconsin, Semper let's, the curvaceous to the point of madness, Lavonia, try on everything. (Even the crotch-less crotch-compromising panties?) Yep. (Even the cute garter belt and fishnet hose?) You know it. (Even the...) Let me stop you there, pal. She tries on everything.
"Garter belt's cute... it rhymes with root... Since you saw me in these here fishnet hose... I see how your affection grows." Is that great dialogue or what?
In the film's best reoccurring gag, every time a male character is hit in the face, his blood would represent his personality. Take Zeb (DeForest Covan), for example, his racist co-workers call him an "Uncle Tom," so when Beau Badger sucker punches him, he bleeds white blood. And when Lemar thrashes Tyronne and Beau Badger, after they interrupt the anal-based orgasm he was about to achieve all up in the expansive butt-hole belonging to Sal (June Mack), his fat boss, the former bleeds yellow blood, because he's a yellow-bellied coward, and the later bleeds green blood, because he's green with envy.
I guess the reason Mr. Peterbuilt (Patrick Wright), a not-so humble garbageman, bleeds red blood is because he's a real American. Hmm, I don't know 'bout that, it's just a theory. Anyway, my fave Mr. Peterbuilt moments are when Lavonia shoves a lit light-bulb into his ball sack region during sex and when he refuses to perform cunnilingus on Lavonia. "Get your ass out of my face," he tells her. "I don't eat pussy, it's un-American." It's comedy gold, I tell ya.
That's gold, all right, but that still doesn't change the fact that the film, for the most part, is quite grating in places. Aimless and shrill, the film keeps going long after the central plot has been resolved. And believe me, it's takes a lot to test the patience of this viewer, but even I was praying this cinematic nightmare to end. To summarize: I could have used more scenes with Francesca 'Kitten' Natividad acting demented, and less with Ann Marie spouting churchy nonsense over the radio.