The Candy Tangerine Man (Matt Cimber, 1975)

Every pimp, no matter how successful they are, will, at some point in their life, think about turning in their hat and cane and moving to the suburbs to start a family. And the same can be said for all the non-pimps out there who are supposedly living the American dream out in those very same suburbs. Don't believe me? Well, check out this statistic: While, let's say, mowing the lawn on a Sunday afternoon, the average male thinks about chucking it all and becoming a flamboyant street pimp at least sixty times before he's finished cutting the grass. Of course, the amount of times varies given the size of the lawn they're mowing. But if there's one thing I know, it's that suburban lawns and pimp-related woolgathering go hand in hand. One of the main reasons lawns are cut in the first place is to replicate the environment of your typical pimp, as the flattened, freshly shorn grass reminds the suburban dweller of the concrete jungle he longs to hustle on. What if I told you there is a man out there who is trying to do both simultaneously? A pimp who lives in the suburbs? Impossible. It can't be done. Well, my skeptical friend, in the too awesome for words The Candy Tangerine Man, we follow a man who is attempting to do just that. Now, I'm not quite sure what his schedule looks like. I mean, is he a straight-laced businessman by day, take no shit pimp by night? Or does he only pimp on weekends? If it's the former, when does his sleep? Logistical questions aside, the pimp smack-dab in the middle of this Matt Cimber (Nevada Heat) production is my personal hero. Whoa, hold on there, little buddy. You're one of them Canadians, right? I guess; I don't like labels, man. Whatever. What kind of Canadian openly declares a violent street pimp to be their hero? I don't know what you're getting at, but I'm sticking to my mukluks... I mean, guns. I'm sticking to my guns.

Speaking of guns, you do realize that your "personal hero" shoots an unarmed female bar patron in the back at one point. I don't remember him shooting anyone in the back. Oh, he totally does. And it totally occurs during the Thriller - A Cruel Picture-style slow motion shoot out that takes place at that dive bar. Oh, yeah. First of all, it wasn't a shoot out, as none of the saps were able to get a shot off. And secondly, the unarmed woman he shot was hit in the chest first, and my "personal hero" merely shot her again as she fell off her bar stool. What you're saying is, he shot her in the back? Well, yeah, I suppose he did, but like I said... Don't you think that was somewhat harsh?

Look, it's obvious that my "personal hero," a.k.a. The Baron (John Daniels), the baddest pimp the city of Los Angeles has ever seen, decided ahead of time that he was going to kill every last fatherless mommy fornicator in that particular juke joint. How else can you explain the fact that he was packing two fully-loaded pistols? No, in his mind, everyone–even the unarmed gangster's moll sucking on a daiquiri–was fair game, as they chose to socialize with an unorganized assortment of titty-cutting scumbags.

I thought you said Ramrod from Vice Squad was the baddest pimp to ever work the mean streets of Los Angeles? I did? Okay, I'm sorry. What I should have said was: The Baron, the baaad'est pimp to ever to work the mean streets of Los Angeles. If I have to tell you what the difference between "baddest" and "baaad'est" is, then I'm afraid you don't know jack shit about pimping. You can tell right away that The Baron is pimping on a whole 'nother level when we see him cruising L.A. in his candy tangerine Rolls Royce (a car that comes with its own built-in telephone and a nasty surprise lurking underneath the hood) to the funky sounds of Smoke.

Briefly forgetting which side the steering wheel is located on a Rolls Royce, I actually started to question The Baron's pimp credibility almost immediately when I noticed that he was talking to one of his "bitches" while she sat in the driver's seat and he sat in the passenger seat. I thought to myself: What kind of pimp would allow one of his "bitches" to sit behind of the wheel of his–let's call it what it really is–pimp-mobile? I can't believe I'm saying this, but a sense of relief washed over me when I realized The Baron was sitting behind the wheel.

Telling her to "watch her money" and to "get it together," The Baron sends his "bitch" back out onto the streets. As he's doing this, we learn that The Baron is being watched by two vile vice cops, Dempsey (Richard Kennedy) and Gordon (George "Buck" Flower), from a nearby parked car. Sending in a cop, Carl, I think his name was, who is dressed in drag, to entrap The Baron, Dempsey and Gordon patiently wait for the pimp to incriminate himself. Of course, being a professional street pimp, The Baron can spot a man in drag a mile away.

Realizing that Carl, or should I say, Carla? is not who she says she is, The Baron decides to have a little fun at the expense of Dempsey and Gordon (who are listening in via a wire). Giving her the once over, The Baron tells Carla that she has nice legs. He even says, "My God they're beautiful," at one point. Not content with merely looking at her gams, The Baron begins to caress her thighs ever so gently. When the moments right, The Baron grabs her cock and squeezes it in a non-loving manner. After Carla bolts from the car in a fit of crotch-based agony, The Baron speeds off, leaving Dempsey and Gordon without a collar; which is police lingo that means "an arrest."

If you think Dempsey and Gordon are going to let a couple of swollen testicles deter them from nailing The Baron, think again. However, The Baron's got other problems on his plate. Get this, man, not only is the money not rolling in like it used to, a rival pimp named Dusty Compton has "acquired" a Native American woman named Heather (Feng Lan Linn)–a Chinese woman dressed in buckskins–and plans on turning her out. In case you're wondering where The Baron gets his information from. He relies on Bella, his secretary, and Maurice, his go-to source for street knowledge.

Determined to stop Dusty from turning Heather out, The Baron heads down to the Coach and Horses bar to take care of business. Actually, before he does that, he goes to an apartment complex to help out one of his ladies. When he arrives, he's ambushed by three men wielding switchblades. After calling him a "motherfucker" not once, but twice, the men rush The Baron. Do I even need to tell you what happens next? I will say that I loved how The Baron's hat managed to stay atop his head during the melee that ensues.

If there's one reason to get The Candy Tangerine Man digitally remastered, it's so that we can fully appreciate the eye-searing gaudiness of Dusty's powder blue pimp suit.

The sight of two flamboyantly dressed black men fighting over the ownership of a Chinese woman dressed as an "Indian" as a bunch of Italian gangsters watch is one of the more bizarre moments in this film. My favourite line during the discussion relating to the future of Heather's soon to be worn out "slot" (their word, not mine), was when The Baron says, "What do I have to do to get that thing"? Well, to get that "thing," all The Baron has to do is watch Dusty scratch the 8-ball in a game of 9-ball. As Dusty is cursing the cue ball that did him in ("white, honky motherfucker!"), The Baron is walking out with his ten grand and Heather on his arm; she is, "too fine, not to be mine." You don't think those Italian gangsters are going to let The Baron leave with such pristine piece of tail? But don't worry, The Baron blasts them with the machine guns located underneath the hood of his car.

After blowing off Dempsey and Gordon's second attempt to shake him down, The Baron drives to an undisclosed location, changes his clothes and gets into another, less conspicuous looking automobile. It's during these next couple of scenes that we learn about The Baron's other life as a married businessman/father of two named Ron Lewis who lives in the suburbs. Now, I've read some reviews that describe Loretta Terrence, The Baron/Ron's nosy next-door neighbour, as an "old lady." This is far from the truth, as I found Loretta to be a sexy slice of milfy goodness. Either way, the sight of The Baron mowing the lawn (with one of them old fashion cylinder-style mowers) in a football jersey while Loretta annoys him about trivial, suburban nonsense was quite the eye-opener.

If it looks like The Baron/Ron Lewis is doing a pretty good job at balancing his two lives, he's not. You see, while The Baron/Ron is living in the suburbs, his pimping life suffers. And the same can be said for when The Baron/Ron is doing the pimp thing, as his suburban life seems to suffer. Though, it should be stated that having your wife give your grief about yard work is nothing compared to having to deal with a bunch of sadistic gangsters who want to straight up kill your black ass.

Since The Baron is not around, the aforementioned gangsters decide to target his bread and butter instead. That's right, they go after his "bitches." Bearing the brunt of their particular brand of mid-70s-style sadism is a leggy brunette. Removing one of her breasts with a knife, the gangsters have basically put The Baron out of commission, since his "bitches" are now too scared to work for him. On a positive note, Maurice manages to score an envelope filled with non-negotiable bearer bonds. Only problem is, The Baron can't cash them, since the bank doesn't consider pimping to be a legitimate business. Not to fear, Sugar (Meri McDonald) is here. She knows a banker, and all she has to do is pee on him (he's a piss freak), and they should be good to go.

You'll notice as The Baron is putting the hand attached to Big Floyd (Patrick Wright) in the trash compactor that Brenda Fogarty is sitting on the couch. Who's she, you ask? Why, she's Brenda Fogarty–you know, Mrs. Tenny from Trip with the Teacher. It was weird seeing Miss Fogarty as a prostitute, or, as she's listed in the credits "Hooker on Couch." In that, she displays none of the headstrong qualities of her feisty teacher character; I guess that's why it's called "acting."

Is there anything sadder than watching a pimp walk in L.A.? I don't know, but I sure am glad John Daniels is the one doing the walking, as his ice cold performance is what makes this tale of a pimp living a double life so darn irresistible. Culminating in a slow motion barroom massacre and a car chase, The Candy Tangerine Man might be one of my first forays into the realm of blaxploitation, but it's got to be one of the best. And by "best," I mean that it's just the kind of sleazy, violent, misogynistic, racist trash I was hoping it would be.

Nevada Heat (Matt Cimber, 1982)

A clash of styles if I've ever seen one–and believe me, I have seen some doozies over the years–Nevada Heat (a.k.a. Fake-Out) pits the flamboyant gayness of Bob Mackie ("the sultan of sequins, the rajah of rhinestones," as his bio states) and the needs and wants of millions upon millions of discerning, women in prison movie-loving heterosexual men and their lesbian allies up against Telly Savalas' crippling gambling addiction. Who do you think won out in the end? Let me give you a hint: He's bald, he doesn't give a flying fuck, and he has a habit of ending his sentences with the word "baby." That's right, Telly Savalas. He doesn't care about the length of the slit on Pia Zadora's sequin-adorned Bob Mackie original, nor does he care about the structural integrity of the erection/wetness you plan on unfurling/oozing while trying to imagine what the atmospheric conditions must have been like inside Pia Zadora's prison issue leotard as she thrust her dainty crotch to-and-fro in the gymnasium tucked away inside the South Nevada Correctional Facility, Telly's in Las Vegas and he's got some gambling to do. In fact, you're lucky you got any scenes at all that didn't involve Telly Savalas blowing his immense wad at the craps table. Hell, I think I even saw him drop five hundred smackaroos on a total strangers roll of the dice. Enough about that follically challenged, degenerate gambler, this cinematic endeavour, co-written and directed by Matt Cimber, is, make no mistake, a Pia Zadora film. My eyeballs crave a steady diet of Pia Zadora, and that's what they get in Nevada Heat, not only one of the premiere films in the extensive canon of Pia Zadora masterpieces, but a film that boasts one of the best car/foot chases ever to involve a transwoman wielding an uzi and a pistol-packing member of the Arnaz dynasty.
 

 

I won't lie, my life would be a hundred times better if it had some Pia Zadora in it. Someone, not me, of course, should clone Pia Zadora in a laboratory in Switzerland–you know, like a Shetland pony. Except, inside of shedding fur, she would give me a handjob every Thursday. Are you sure you want to be telling everyone this? Why not? My feelings about Pia Zadora are well documented. Yeah, but going on and on about the gingham shirt she wore in The Lonely Lady or babbling incessantly about her scrunchies in Voyage of the Rock Aliens is one thing. You're on the cusp of crossing that line that separates playfully creepy from mentally defective creepy.
 

 

On the cusp, eh? Well, thanks for the warning. I'll take what you said under advisement. In meantime, I've got a Pia Zadora film to review.
 

 

Should all films open with Pia Zadora, smashingly sheathed in a Bob Mackie designed stunner of an outfit, singing "Those Eyes" in a Las Vegas nightclub? Of course not. But I think most people will agree that every Pia Zadora film should open this way. And in terms of delivering the Pia Zadora singing "Those Eyes" in a Las Vegas nightclub goods, Nevada Heat delivers. Excuse me, but doesn't the film actually open with a casino boss being shot in the parking lot by an elderly woman wielding a shotgun? Man, why did you have go and say that? I mean, I had this thing going about how Pia Zadora films should open with Pia Zadora singing in a nightclub. Why don't you just pretend the scene with the casino boss being shot never happened? Excellent idea.
 

 

Throwing the audience, a half-awake throng of degenerate gamblers, mobsters, and cocaine freaks, a thoughtful gaze, Bobbie Warren (Pia Zadora), nightclub singer/gangster's moll/full-time cutie pie, begins to sing "Those Eyes." And, as most of you know, the song starts off sort of slow. But it gets gradually faster as the song progresses. The sequin-adorned songtress signifies to the saps in the audience that the song's tempo is about to increase by doing this twitchy thing with her right leg. As the sparkly strands of garish dress material crash violently against her crotch and upper thighs as a direct result of her spastic movements, which include, spinning, humping, shaking, and kicking, we can't help notice that Telly Savalas is lurking about backstage.
 

 

Did you say, Telly Savalas? This can't be good. And you know what? It isn't. Slapping a pair of handcuffs on her the moment she's finished singing her closing number, Telly, whose character's name, by the way, is Thurston, Lt. Thurston, takes her way. What could have Pia Zadora, I mean, Bobbie Warren have done to warrant being arrested by Telly Savalas? It's not what Bobbie did, it's what her mobster boyfriend did. You see, the state believes Bobbie knows something about a murder her boyfriend is alleged to have carried out, and they want her to testify against him. And since Bobbie won't testify against him, the state of Nevada decides to throw her surprisingly shapely ass into, you guessed it, the South Nevada Correctional Facility for contempt of court.
 

 

Answer me this, fans of Pia Zadora, fashion, and continuity: How come Pia Zadora is wearing a brown jacket with a western motif when she's in the warden's office, yet when she's being taken to her cell moments later, she is clearly wearing a dark tube top? And, no, I don't think she was wearing the tube top underneath the jacket. Colour me flummoxed as all get out.
 

 

Fashion confusion aside, I felt bad for Pia Zadora when she enters her cell for the first time, as her aura oozes sadness.
 

 

We jump forward three months in Bobbie's sentence to find that she has quickly become the prison's star aerobics instructor. Would I have liked to have seen how Bobbie Warren went from being mopey and sad to thrusting and heaving her leotard-ensnared crotch in front of a bunch of butch female inmates? You bet I would. But I also have to accept the fact that Nevada Heat isn't a women in prison film. Anyway, watching Pia Zadora stretch and kick in her leotard made me want to grab her and put her in my pocket. Which I hear is the most common reaction to the sight of Pia Zadora doing aerobics in a prison setting.
 

 

Despite her enthusiasm, it's obvious that Bobbie is starting to lose her fellow inmates. Even though she tells them to hurl their crotches in various directions ("front, back, right, left"), most of them are too busy fighting amongst themselves to listen to her instructions. And to make matters worse, some of the inmates confront Bobbie later on in the shower. You mean to tell me that Nevada Heat has an aerobics sequence and a shower scene? Are you sure this isn't a women in prison film?
 

 

Being sexually assaulted by a smattering of rough-looking chicks is apparently what pushes Bobbie over the edge. Sure, her mobster boyfriend has tried to make her stay in the pokey as comfortable as possible (her cell looks like a successful pimp's living room), but she wants out. Isn't she worried about her mobster boyfriend? I mean, it's obvious, judging by the amount of stuff he's sent her, that he wants her to stay in prison. Yeah, but the incident in the shower seemed to rattle her. While part of me doesn't want her to leave, (Pia Zadora + Incarceration + Aerobics = Cinematic Gold), I totally understand her decision.
 

 

You can tell Bobbie was really traumatized by her time in prison just by listening to her talk during the car ride home–and by "home," I mean the Riviera Hotel and Casino. Why, what does she say? Well, for starters, she mentions the desire to take a bath twice. In fact, you'll notice she mentions wanting to take a bath quite a few times over the course of the film. At first, I thought it was just a character quirk that writer-director Matt Cimber added to give Bobbie some extra pizazz. Now, you wouldn't think Pia Zadora would need any "extra pizazz," she's fucking Pia Zadora. You got that right. No, actually, the bathing-centric character trait pays off at the end of the film in a way that will blow your mind.

 

 

Accompanying Bobbie to the Riviera Hotel in Las Vegas is Lt. Telly Savalas and some square detective named Clint Morgan (Desi Arnaz, Jr.), who have been assigned to protect her until she takes the stand. Of course, Bobbie thinks all this hubbub is totally unnecessary. In her mind, her mobster boyfriend wouldn't hurt her. Oh yeah, then how come two shady-looking fellas carrying a suspicious-looking briefcase have booked the room directly across from yours? Unfortunately, Bobbie doesn't seem to notice them. And why should she? Fresh out of prison, Pia Zadora has got places to go and things to see. Not so fast, Missy. After being allowed to play one round of Keno (a game Telly calls a "tourist trap"), Bobbie is confined to her hotel room. Boo!
 

 

While brushing her hair (you can tell she's upset by the frustrated nature of her brush strokes), Bobbie tells Clint that she wants to take a bath. On the one hand, the reason she mentions wanting to take a bath is, like I said, a subtle reminder for the audience to remember that she prefers baths. Yet, she also mentions it in order to shake Clint's resolve. Think about it, you're a man stuck in a hotel room looking after a bath mad Pia Zadora. Are you telling me that your mind is not going start imagining what Pia Zadora's soft, pruny undercarriage is gonna taste like after its been soaking in soapy water for ten, maybe twenty minutes? If your mind doesn't imagine that, then I'm afraid there's no hope for you. I'm sorry.
 

 

When the bath thing doesn't work, Bobbie plays the jailbait card while a waiter is bringing a tray of wine to their room. Given her size, Pia Zadora can pretend to be fourteen years-old at the drop of a hat. And does so in order to make Clint look like a pervert in front of the aforementioned waiter. While it might seem like an asinine thing to do, it does lay the groundwork for Clint to decide to take Bobbie dress shopping.
 

 

Of course, they can't get much with twenty dollars, so Bobbie suggests they go to the blackjack table to win some quick cash to buy a new dress (all her old clothes still smell like prison). It would seem that her system for winning involves saying the word "blackjack" over and over again. And, hey, it seems to work, much to the chagrin of Buddy Lester, the other player at Pia and Clints's table, who can't seem to catch a break.
 

 

I don't know about you, but I'm dying to know what kind of dress Bobbie is going to purchase with all that blackjack money. In fact, the whole dress subplot is the film's most suspenseful. Why's that, you ask? Isn't it obvious? She's got to get past Larry Storch. And, as most people know, Larry Storch is not someone you get past so easily.
 

 

Playing Ted King, the manager of Michelle (G. Wesley Stevens), an up and coming actress, Larry Storch injects some much needed life into the proceedings with his seedy portrayal of a clownish man in a checkered jacket. You would think it would be Telly's job to inject life into this things, but he seems too busy gambling and grabbing the asses of unsuspecting casino waitresses.
 

 

Don't worry I haven't forgotten about Pia Zadora's new dress. It's a low cut pink number with a mild slit down the side, and she looks stunning in it. As you might expect, the film's focus shifts away from the dress, as the infamous scene where a man on foot chases a car containing Larry Storch and a transwoman firing an uzi from the passenger side window takes precedence. I don't think I've ever seen a man chase a car  on foot before. And I'll admit, I did make me forget about Pia Zadora for a few seconds. Which is the highest praise something that is non-Pia Zadora-related can get in this crazy, Pia-obsessed world.

 
video uploaded by AussieRoadshow