Beneath the Valley of the Ultra-Vixens (Russ Meyer, 1979)

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.

Godmonster of Indian Flats (Fredric Hobbs, 1973)

Folding my arms in a manner as if to say, entertain me, you insignificant bag of cinematic trash, I sat down in front of Godmonster of Indian Flats with the lowest of expectations. Preparing to laugh at the sheer stupidity that was about to be unfold before my very eyes, I was shocked when the film, written and directed by noted sculptor Fredric Hobbs (Alabama's Ghost), turned out to be an intelligent satire about the ills of an ill-conceived society. Oh, you mean it's one of them monster movies that imply that it's humanity, and not the giant slimy/hairy, or this film's case, flocculent creature, who is to blame for everything that is wrong with the world? I guess. But this film tackles race relations, greed, fascism, tyranny, groupthink, and the burgeoning surveillance state. Wow, that sure is a lot of topics for one film to cover. Whereas most mutant killer sheep movies seem content to point the finger at pollution, this one has many fish to fry. Didn't it annoy you that the mutant sheep plot seemed secondary to the one about the black guy who was trying to buy land in and around Virginia City, Nevada? Are you kidding? That's what made the film so weirdly appealing. You think you're watching yet another mindless movie about an upright mutant sheep with an excessively elongated right leg, but in reality, you're getting a surprisingly thoughtful lesson on how power ultimately corrupts. Did you say, "uptight mutant sheep"? If so, why is the mutant sheep uptight? Was it raised Catholic? Ha, ha, very very funny. You know I said "upright." In order to give the mutant sheep at the centre of this wool hair-raising enterprise a more menacing appearance, the effects wizards in charge of creating the creature have it walk upright; as supposed to walking on all fours. And judging by the genuinely terrified looks on the faces of the kids whose afternoon picnic is interrupted by a giant upright mutant sheep, they made the right decision.

Shooting the picnic scene in the middle of the day was also the right decision. Of course, most directors of these kinds of movies try to avoid filming in daylight, because, you know, the light of day is usually unkind to special effects (every flaw is magnified). However, and I think most sane people will agree, that the sight of a giant upright mutant sheep staggering across a neatly trimmed lawn on a sunny day is way more effective than hiding your creature in the shadows of the dark.

While I like the sound of a giant upright mutant sheep movie with a social conscience, does Godmonster of Indian Flats have anything else to offer? Whatever do you mean? You know, does it have something for us perverts can latch onto? This movie poses deep, philosophical questions and all you can think about is your crotch? You disgust me. Just kidding, your query makes perfect sense. I mean, who wants to watch an overly earnest movie about a giant upright mutant sheep that doesn't feature some shapely distractions for all the sleazoids out there? I know I sure don't.

Does Carolyn Beaupre play Windy? Who? The alluring pickpocket (in the period accurate floozy duds from the late 1870s) who distracts Eddie (Richard Marion) the sheep farmer with her shapely gams long enough to steal his slot machine winnings? The only reason I ask is because I want to make sure I give the right actress credit. It's definitely not Erica Gavin, as she plays the woman we briefly see at a bar in Reno. It might be Evalyn Stanley, but... ahh, stupid credits. Well, whoever she is, she provides the film with its first genuinely sexy moment.

Stealing, like I said, the slot machine winnings Eddie the sheep farmer won in Reno when he wasn't looking, Windy, a Virginia City prostitute who works for Madame Alta (Peggy Browne), stuffs the cash in her cleavage. Noticing that his money is gone, Eddie the sheep farmer puts two and two together, and figures that the leggy enchantress in the reddish lacy hose must have stole his winnings.  Since Eddie is not a local, Sheriff Gordon (Robert Hirschfeld) doesn't believe the fur-vested sheep farmer in the cowboy hat. And neither does Philip Maldove (Steven Kent Browne), the mayor's right hand man, who has his goons rough up Eddie before throwing him out.

Sympathetic to Eddie's plight, the town's resident scientist, Professor Clemens (E. Kerrigan Prescott), drives the mildly beaten Eddie home. Dropping in a heap in one of his sheep pens, Eddie proceeds to have these weird hallucinations involving flying sheep and gold dust.

Curious to see how he's doing, Prof. Clemens and his lovely, and, as we'll soon find out, flaky assistant Mariposa (Karen Ingenthron), pay Eddie a visit the following morning. Finding him underneath a pile of hay, they also discover a half-formed sheep embryo laying next to him. Putting it in his truck, Prof. Clemens, along with Mariposa and Eddie, take the half-formed sheep embryo up to his lab in Indian Flats.

While Prof. Clemens, who thinks this could be a huge scientific breakthrough, starts to grow embryonic sheep in his lab, the mayor of Virginia City, Charles Silverdale (Stuart Lanchaster), is busy refusing the offer given by Mr. Barnstable (Christopher Brooks), the emissary for a rich landowner from New York, to buy up land in the area.

Soon, after much dilly dallying, the land deal and mutant sheep subplot converge with one another. But not before we have a fake dog funeral, an attempted lynching, a Cognac-infused frame job, a wild west gun fight demonstration, and a pie eating contest. Don't forget the scene where Madame Alta eavesdrops on a private moment between Eddie and Mariposa in the town's cemetery. Okay, I won't. It turns out that Madame Alta is a fortune teller and she uses what she heard at the cemetery to her advantage during her Mariposa fortune telling session.

And judging by the look on Mariposa's face, she was deeply impressed with Madame Alta's clairvoyance. But before you call Mariposa a rube for falling for the oldest fortune teller trick in the book, check out the way she communicates with the giant upright mutant sheep.

When most of us see a giant upright mutant sheep roaming the countryside, our first instinct is to run in the opposite direction. On the other hand, Mariposa isn't most people. That's right, when the giant upright mutant sheep breaks out of the professor's lab, Mariposa runs after it. Wearing a yellow dress, which is apt, since the giant upright mutant sheep owes its existence to yellow phosphorus, Mariposa catches up with the wooly beast and attempts to not only have a conversation with it, she tries to get it to dance with her.

As martial law is declared in Silverdale County, the film's satirical bent becomes more apparent. But don't worry, there's plenty of giant upright mutant sheep action as well. If you were a newly free giant upright mutant sheep, where would you go first? My thoughts exactly. Heading over to a picnic being held by a small group of children, the giant upright mutant sheep crashes it in classic giant upright mutant sheep style. If I had to summarize my thoughts on Godmonster of Indian Flats, I wouldn't, the movie is about a giant upright mutant sheep. But in some ways it's about so much more.