The Toy Box (Ronald Víctor García, 1971)

What's the first thing that comes to mind when you think of The Toy Box? (Oh, I don't know, clenched male butt cheeks.) Okay, what's the second thing you think of? (Flaccid male penises pretending to thrust with the vaginal wherewithal of erect male penises.) All right, let me try one more time. What's the first thing you think of that's not, I repeat, not, related to the male anatomy in regard to The Toy Box? (Hey, I know what you're trying to do, you're trying to goad me into going on a brain-exhausting diatribe that openly extols the lumpiness of Uschi Digard's mouthwatering breasts, aren't you? Don't play coy, that's exactly what you're trying to do. If I'm going to go on any brain-exhausting diatribes in correlation with this film, and that's a big if, it's going to be either about Neola Graef's shapely gams (and the sense of pride she displays when wielding them in a van at a drive-in) or the profound ba-donka-donk being put forth by Casey Larrain's workmanlike buttocks at a hippie orgy on the outskirts of a fever dream. These are the types of things that come to mind when I'm not busy giggling over the fact that all the guys in this film are desperately trying to keep their assholes out of sight as they attempt to penetrate randy hippie chicks with their flabby hippie cocks. I'm no scientist, but there would be no human race if guys weren't able to fornicate in a free, anus-exposing manner.)

Is it porn? Is it horror? Is it science fiction? I don't know, maybe it's all three, who's to say? But do I know this, the foetal goo gestating inside the wombs located in and around the pronounced hips attached to the abundance of hippie chicks in this film are the luckiest foetal goo on the planet. (Don't tell me, they're lucky because they get to be ten and eleven years-old in the early 1980s?) Huh? No, I was thinking they were lucky because they got to gestate inside women with child-bearing hips. (Still not following.) There's room to move in a womb attached to a hippie chick with child-bearing hips.

You know how my alter ego said earlier that they weren't a scientist? I think I just proved it beyond the shadow of a doubt that we're not with that whole bit about children born in the early 1970s being more comfortable, womb-wise, than children born during other periods of time. (Don't be so hard on yourself, your theory is not as stupid as you might think. I mean, the women in this film do have wider hips than the women who appear in other films. And scientist or not, you would have to imagine that a baby would enjoy his or her stay inside a womb belonging to a woman with child-bearing hips more than his or her stay inside a womb belonging to a woman with no hips whatsoever.) I can't believe I'm about to say this, but you make a good point.

It's a matter of simple physics: Babies prefer women with child-bearing hips. And since there were more women during the early 1970s with child-bearing hips than at any other time in existence, all babies born during that period were better prepared to face life's many challenges.

(Word on the street is you're just stalling for time, because deep down you have no idea what The Toy Box is supposed to be about.) That's pure poppycock. I know exactly what this film is about. So, babies born in the early 1970s are better than babies born in the early 1980s, who would have thought that? Speaking of that, that Uschi Digard has some big ass titties.

Holy crap. I was so transfixed by Neola Graef's shapely gams, Casey Larrain's workmanlike buttocks, and even Uschi Digard's big ass titties, that I failed to mention the fact that the luminous Debbie Osborne is in this film. (Again, I think you're be too hard on yourself. I mean, you just mentioned her.) Yeah, but I should have done it sooner. Mentioning Deborah Osborne this late in the game is intolerable as far as I'm concerned. (This Debbie Osborne person sounds like she means a lot to you.)

Let me put it this way, if it wasn't Debbie's leg-tastic performance in the seminal Cindy and Donna, I don't think I would be the pervert, er, I mean, movie fan, I am today. Her stunning turn in that seemingly innocuous slice of low-grade sexploitation changed the way I viewed cinema forever. You see, before Cindy and Donna, I used to enjoy movies based on the quality of the acting and not to mention the film's ability to tell a good story. But after I saw Cindy and Donna, I began to watch films, oh, let's just say, differently. No longer constrained by the rules and regulations that dictate movie watching, I found myself free to focus on any aspect of the film I saw fit.

Anyway, say you're an alien from another world who gets high by feeding on human brains, what kind of human brains would you go for? (I'm no expert on the brain-eating habits of space junkies from outer space, but I'd say they would probably favour the brains belonging to depraved hippies.) Bingo! Only problem being, how do you get a gaggle of depraved hippies to congregate under one roof? That's simple, invite them over to a large house in the country, and tell them if they perform a vile sex act for "Uncle," they will get a reward. (Don't tell me, the reward is located in a toy box?) Bingo again.

It would seem that the word on the street about me not knowing what this film is about is a bunch of hooey. As you can clearly see, I know exactly what The Toy Box is about. Sure, it took two viewings for me to "get it," but you try concentrating on a film's plot that features a scene where Debbie Osborne's superabundant vagina is the focal point. Well, it's not really the focal point, but I felt like her vagina was being shoved in my face. Which might sound like a bad thing (most people are against having things shoved in their face), but it's actually a good thing.

In charge of assembling the depraved hippies for "Uncle" (Jack King) are Ralph (Sean Kenney) and Donna (Ann Perry), two sick twists who, by the looks of things, have been assembling depraved hippies in this manner for quite some time.

Arriving at the party just as two naked brunettes on chain leashes were about to orally devour the organic structure belonging to a naked and bound Uschi Digard, Ralph and Donna seem pleased by the turn out; the place is packed with depraved hippies of every stripe.

After the man wielding the whip finishes expelling his hippie spunk inside Uschi Digard, Casey Larrain hops to her feet and begins to dance. Credited on IMDb as "party guest in boots," Casey will continue to dance for most of the film's spry running time. You could blame Casey for the fact that I didn't notice Debbie Osborne right away, as the sight of her constantly shaking her ass is quite distracting. But I won't...blame her, that is. It's my fault I didn't notice that Debbie Osborne was sitting cross-legged nearby as Casey shook her meaty thang.

Fans of Uschi Digard will want to check out the next scene as she is groped by demonic/horny bed sheets. (Isn't their sentient bed linen in Something Weird?) Very astute observation, my nimble-minded young friend. There sure is. I guess sentient bed linen was a thing back in the hippie era.

In-between the sentient bed linen scene and the one where a Neola Graef shows off her legs to some creep, Donna loses her shit and decides that she wants to leave. Unfortunately, the doors are locked. In other words, no one is allowed to leave. A couple of more "tricks" are performed for Uncle, one involving butcher shop necrophilia and another that takes a place at a picnic. While the film's signature piece is an extended orgy sequence. Instigated by a naked Debbie Osborne, who says, "Let's play commando," the party guests roll around on the floor together in an attempt to achieve sexual enlightenment.

A still naked Debbie Osborne appears before Ralph and Donna as a giant. This is when I should have realized Debbie Osborne was in this film, as we get multiple close-ups of her face (and the top part of her pubic triangle). What really should have clued me in was Debbie's trademark half asleep style of acting. Mumbling her dialogue in an overly relaxed manner (she can barely keep her eyes open), Debbie, who towers over Ralph and Donna (like I said, she's a giant), gives them the skinny on what the hell is going on. Not too much skinny, however, as the film's big reveal is still to come.

When the "big reveal" finally does occur, which I already sort of alluded to, I was dumbfounded by its audacity. Okay, maybe I wasn't "dumbfounded," but I was definitely impressed by its boldness. It's not everyday that you come across a hippie era slab of sexploitation that is both deeply weird and occasionally on the cusp of being intelligent. I wouldn't hesitate to put The Toy Box on a double-bill with Café Flesh. Highly recommended.