Career Bed (Joel M. Reed, 1969)

Is Mrs. Potter the worst mother in cinematic history? Or is she the best? I know, those of you who have seen Career Bed are probably wondering why I posed my question regarding Mrs. Potter's parenting skills in an either/or fashion, when it's obvious she's the worst. Is she, though? I mean, all she wants is for her daughter to succeed. Nonetheless, there's one thing I have no doubt about, and that is that Mrs. Potter's legs are as shapely, if not shapelier, than her daughters. Don't believe me, just ask Mrs. Potter herself, as she'll be the first to extol the well-proportioned nature of her shapely legs. Forget about asking, telling people that her legs are just as shapely, if not shapelier, than her daughters is how Mrs. Potter introduces herself. "Hello, my name is Mrs. Potter. Crazy weather we're having, eh? My legs are more shapely than my daughters." Oh, if you're wondering how Mrs. Potter is able to prove the validity of her boastful leg-based declaration, look no further than the ratty robes she likes to slink around in for most of the day. If, say, someone is foolhardy enough to doubt her claim, she simply hikes up her robe to reveal the clean-limbed complexion of her legs for all to see.

However, it's not her sexy stems that are going to transform her daughter Susan into a movie star. Sure, they will be employed to seduce Susan's colossal square of a boyfriend and to placate the inflamed genitals attached to a sleazy photographer. But make no mistake, her daughter's screwable cunt is the key to achieving fame as an actress.

Does it matter that Susan (Jennifer Welles) isn't that talented? Of course not. Just like Mrs. Potter (Honey Hunter) says: The only talent you need is the festering box located between you legs. Okay, she's doesn't actually refer to her daughter's vagina as a "festering box," but it's not that far off.

In case we were having any doubts whether or not Career Bed was taking place in 1969, we're subjected to the trippy rock music of Vic Spina and The Lost Children, who perform the film's theme song over the opening credits.

If that wasn't enough evidence, we're shown a copy of Life magazine sitting on a table with Jane Fonda circa Barbarella on the cover. You need more, you say? If the ad copy for Blake's Hand Lotion we hear blaring on the television doesn't convince you that this film takes place in 1969, then I don't know what will, as it practically screams 1969.

The shot of a lingerie-clad Susan sitting on the floor while brushing her hair is a great way to open a movie. It's too bad this film doesn't open that way, as we get instead some shots of Bob (John David), Susan's boyfriend, wandering around Manhattan.

Despite this flagrant misstep on the part of director Joel Reed, we do eventually get to see Susan brushing her hair. Watching her favourite soap opera, The Daily Storm, with her mother, Mrs. Potter, Susan is being put under a lot of stress. You see, her mother wants her to become a star. But Susan has other ideas. This horrifies Susan's mother, who shudders at the prospect of her daughter being stuck raising kids and cooking dinner for that Bob fucker.

In her mother's mind, Susan's shapeliness shouldn't be wasted on some guy, especially one named Bob. In order to get Bob out of the picture, Mrs. Potter hatches a plan so devious, so brilliant, so... Oh, who am I kidding? She flashes Bob some thigh and voilà! Bob is history; Susan comes home to find her boyfriend in bed with her mother, and, as you might expect, isn't too pleased by this unexpected turn of events and sends Bob packing.

The best non-thigh flash related part of the seduction scene, is when Bob says, "I came here to marry Susan!" Yeah, right, Bob. If that's the case, you shouldn't be trying to mount her mother from behind. The look on Mrs. Potter's face as Bob plowed into her exhausted pussy practically screamed tedium.

Now that Bob won't be coming around anymore, Susan can focus more on her career, which her mother is determined to get off the ground.

Acting more like her pimp than her mother, Mrs. Potter arranges for Susan to meet with Miss Reynolds (Georgina Spelvin), an important agent. Or, I should say, an important... lesbian agent. After inspecting the goods (checking out Susan's blemish-free body), Miss Reynolds makes a deal with Mrs. Potter. Of course, the deal doesn't involve money, it involves sex... lesbian sex.

When Mrs. Potter notices that Susan has started thinking for herself, she quickly puts a stop to it. I won't say how exactly she puts a stop to it, but let's say it's quite over the top.

While Miss Reynolds calls Mrs. Potter a stage mother, I would compare her more to Kris Kardashian. Sure, she's technically a stage mother, too. But what separates your average stage mothers from the Kris Kardashian's of this world is talent. It's true, lot's of stage mothers manage untalented children, but Kris Kardashian seems like she is more willing to exploit them for monetary gain. Or maybe she's just a shrewd businesswoman, what do I know?

Either way, Mrs. Potter pretty much sells Susan to a bunch of sleazy scumbags, including my personal favourite,  Gerry, a.k.a. "The King" (Stioge Glyspayne), a deluded photographer.

Fast-paced and boasting a simple plot, Career Bed is a cautionary tale that is strangely still relevant, as parents nowadays have even more avenues to take when it comes to exploiting their putrid offspring. Oh, and while Jennifer Welles and Georgina Spelvin appeared is numerous exploitation and x-rated movies after this (the latter in the original The Devil in Miss Jones), this would turn out to be Honey Hunter's lone movie appearance; which is on the cusp of being a shame.

Nymphs (Anonymous) (Manuel Conde, 1968)

In my non-award winning review of the hippie-era non-classic, The Brick Dollhouse (shot in eyeball compromising colour), you might recall that I stated that I fully intended to seek out more films by Helena Clayton. Well, as you can clearly see, I wasn't kidding around. That's right, baby, I found one. And get this, the movie I found was sitting right under my nose. Paired with the totally awesome She Mob on the "Girl Gang Double Feature" DVD put out by Something Weird Video, my desire to bask in the otherworldly beauty that is Helena Clayton is the reason I finally got around to watching Nymphs (Anonymous), a softcore quasi-feminist farce/filmed headache. Okay, maybe that's a tad harsh, but it will test the patience of some viewers. This viewer, however, was mainly concerned with seeing Helena Clayton act all campy and junk. I know, going in I had no idea Helena Clayton's performance in this movie was going to be campy. But let's get real, shall we? I mean, I don't think Helena Clayton has a bone in her body that isn't campy. You could say, Helena Clayton oozes camp. But I won't, since I'm trying to cut down on the amount of times I use the word "ooze" in a single day. Let's just say, she exudes camp.

Credited as just "Elena," the wait for Helena Clayton to appear onscreen was excruciating. And since I was unsure how big her part was, I nervously waded through the early going of this tedious piece of sexploitation fluff with bated breath. Again, I think that's a tad harsh. The film, while, yes, it can be quite tedious in places, does have a strange, off-kilter charm about it. And it has lot's of scenes that boast attractive women with natural breasts in garter belts.

(Natural breasts in garter belts?!? This I gotta see!) No, what I mean is... ugh.

Since the suspense is probably killing most of you, I'll come right out and say it: Helena Clayton's performance in Nymphs (Anonymous) was not only campy, it exceeded my expectations, camp-wise. Sure, she only appears in one scene, but it's best scene in the entire movie. And, no, I'm not just saying that because I'm currently obsessed with Miss Clayton. It rules on so many levels. Of course, the main level being: the Helena Clayton factor.

Looking over the film's cast list, it would seem that Helena Clayton wasn't the only one who used a pseudonym for this movie. Take, for example, the film's two lead characters, Laura and Stan Ellis, they're played by "Natasha" and "Gordon." And, of course, wouldn't you know it, Nymphs (Anonymous) are the only films Natasha and Gordon ever appeared in.

Which is sort of odd because Natasha, while she looks at the camera on several occasions, seems to have a modicum of talent (and she kinda looks like Zosia Mamet from certain angles), and Gordon has this proto-Leif Garrett vibe about him that was on the cusp of being endearing.

Nevertheless, it was strange to see the words: "Starring Natasha and Gordon" in the opening credits. Which reminds me, the film's theme song is beyond... Hmm, I can't decide whether the theme song from Nymphs (Anonymous) was beyond catchy or beyond annoying. Let's just say it was a bit of both. And besides, with lyrics like, "Love, love, love that's our motto... Yeah!" how can it not be?

Sitting on a bar in a black lace body-stocking with her legs crossed, the executive secretary of "The Federation," is giving a speech to the faithful. Speaking to a group of women wearing masks, it would appear that the executive secretary (Nancy O'Malley) runs some sort of cock-based delivery service for horny suburban chicks. Applying for membership is Laura Ellis, a bored housewife who can't seem to get her husband Stan to fuck her (he's too busy with work to care about her aching pussy).

After failing to extract any sex from Stan, Laura paces back and forth in a black see-through nightie. Undaunted, Laura tries to get her accountant to penetrate her. After that fails to yield any sexy results, Laura paces and back and forth in a white see-through nightie. Still undaunted, Laura tries to seduce a vacuum salesmen. The key word there being "tries."

The shot of the executive secretary straddling a stuffed tiger and between the legs camera angle used during the vacuum salesman's pitch are this film's best moments so far. When her fourth attempt to attain sexual satisfaction ends in failure (she tries to persuade her rotund shrink to have sex with her), she calls the executive secretary one more time for help (the executive secretary has been dodging her calls all morning). And wouldn't you know it, her membership application has been approved, and The Federation immediately sends over two studs to placate her pugnacious pussy.

Unfortunately, Stan comes home from work just as the studs were about to get their dicks wet. An irate Stan can't believe Laura would stoop to allowing male prostitutes (gun-totting male prostitutes, mind you) to sully their modestly furnished home.

Promising to keep an eye on her, Stan finds one of many the houses that The Federation operate in their neighbourhood (a sweet pad with a circular driveway) and watches the comings and goings from the top of a nearby hill.

As he's doing this, Stan notices that women are going to the house to get "serviced." And the first women he sees is a petite blonde with a cute bum. After some mild pool side horseplay, the petite blonde is doubled-teamed by two studs (one with a hairy back).

The next woman to arrive is... Oooh. This is what we've been waiting for. Okay, this is what I've been waiting for. Anyway, it's taken close to thirty minutes, but get ready, Helena Clayton is about to class things up with her elegance and grace. And, not to mention, her killer legs and spectacular breasts.

She might be classy, but her particular kink is anything but. Constantly batting her eyelashes, Joyce (Helena Clayton) enters the home to find two well-dressed men in dark suits.

Sitting down on a chair, Joyce crosses her legs and lights a cigarette. When one of the men hands Joyce a martini, the topic of the conversation turns to her high society husband. Describing their relationship as "perfectly wonderful," Joyce goes on and on about how great things are.

Offered to dance by one of the men, Joyce agrees. Suddenly, the classical music stops, and the men crowd around Joyce in a menacing manner. Calling her everything from a slut to a cheap alley cat, one of the men says, "Are you going to take it off or are we going to have to tear it off?"

The look Joyce throws the two men when one them calls her a cheap alley cat is glorious.

While her dress is removed in a calm and rational manner, her lingerie is torn asunder by the two men. With her garter belt and bra reduced to tatters, the two men begin to beat Joyce with their belts.

Writhing on the floor in what appears to be agony, Joyce is actually enjoying the beating she's currently receiving. Her stockings now languishing below her knees with no garter-based support whatsoever, Joyce is eventually helped to her feet, and is asked once again if she would like to dance. As one of the men pulls Joyce against his body, she whispers something in his ear. To the surprise of no one, she thanks him for treating her in a way her husband would not.

As Joyce leaves fully satisfied, guess who shows up next? That's right, it's Laura. When Stan sees Laura cavorting with two Federation studs pool side, he does what any spurned husband would do: He aims a high-powered rifle at the men and kills them both.

Sneaking down after dark, Stan confronts Laura in the house. "Rape me before you kill me, all sex murderers do that," she tells him. To which Stan responds, "I'm no sex murderer, I'm your husband." This is hands down the best exchange in the entire movie. After losing his rifle, Stan finds himself trapped in the Federation house and forced to act as a Federation stud. Meaning, he has to "service" a virtual cavalcade of attractive women.

He entertains a university professor with amazing tits (tan stockings and white garter belt), rips three dresses off a woman (it was her request), has sex with the wife (black stockings and black garter belt) of a germaphobe/TV addict, and gets roughed up by a couple of dykes (tan stockings and black garter belt).

As for the bodies of the two dead studs, they're moved from the freezer to the trunk of several cars about six or seven times over the course of the film. I like unorthodox body disposal as much as the next guy, but this is ridiculous. Which is the perfect way to sum up this movie. It's ridiculous, yet like I said before, it has a strange, off-kilter charm about it.

The Brick Dollhouse (Tony Martinez, 1967)

Do you like boys? Do you like to get high? Do like nude parties? Do you like orgies? If you answered yes to all of these questions, than you'll feel right at home with the sophisticated ladies who populate the hedonistic world of David F. Friedman's The Brick Dollhouse, a movie that was, according to its promising tag line, "filmed in color so you can see it as it is." A fast-paced thrill ride filled with intrigue, lust and more plot twists than a Kafka novel... are words you will never hear bandied about in association with this movie. Oh, and by the way, are Kafka novels known for having plot twists? You know what? Never mind, as I bet this film isn't Kafka-esque in the slightest. No, the words you will probably hear in association with this movie are as followed: Pedestrian, asinine, pathetic and ramshackle. However, there's no way in hell I'm going to use any of those words. You wanna know why? What do you mean, no? Whatever, man, I've come too far to stop now. The reason I'm not going to use any of those words is because this film is aesthetically superior to almost ninety percent of everything that's ever existed. Sure, the film is severely lacking in a few key areas... (A few?) Okay, it's lacking in a shitload of key areas. But you can't look me in the eye and tell me this film doesn't ooze aesthetic perfection.

Not really a film in the classic sense of the term, The Brick Dollhouse is basically a series of scenes cobbled together in order to showcase the unique styles of the late 1960s. Yet, to comply with the rigid standards that state that films should be "about something," David F. Friedman (the brains behind the whole operation) asked screenwriter Joe Delg to concoct some cockamamie story revolving around the murder of a fashion model. But make no mistake, this film is about shooting on the cusp of being chichi women with fierce hair smoking pot at pot parties, cha-cha dancing at pot parties and playing strip spin the bottle... at pot parties.

When the film opens, and we see the principal cast coming home from another one of these wild pot parties. Three women, Sherry West (Peggy Ann), Danielle Dubois (Janice Kelly) and Carmen Espinoza (Tina Vienna), enter the room of Min Lee (Joyana), only to find her lying topless on her bed with an apparent gun shot wound to the thorax.

Judging by the shocked facial expressions each woman displays after seeing Min Lee's dead body, it's obvious that Danielle Dubois is going to be my favourite character.

I mean, the way she puts her finger in her mouth (a clear attempt on her part to stifle the scream that was surely forthcoming) was off the charts in terms of  adorableness.

It was obvious that Danielle Dubois was David F. Friedman's favourite as well, as she gets the bulk of the attention in the early going. Filming her taking a shower, filming her getting dressed, filming her... Well, you get the idea. David F. Friedman and I both love Danielle Dubois and we don't care who knows it.

I want to say Janice Kelly was chosen to do most of the film's heavy lifting, dialogue-wise, because she's the best actress. But I'm afraid I can't do that. It's simply, really, I caught Janice Kelly on several occasions looking directly at the camera. And I'm not talking about the kind of fourth wall breaking Tracey Adams gets up to in Invasion of the Samurai Sluts from Hell, where it's evident she's doing it on purpose. No, every once and a while I would notice Janice Kelly stare right into the lens. Anyway, I'm not going to let the fact that Janice Kelly breaks a number of acting rules in this movie diminish my admiration for her as a human being.

After Min Lee's body is taken away, Lt. Parker (George French) tries to piece together the events that lead up to Min Lee's death by interviewing her housemates.

Starting off with, of course, Danielle Dubois–you know, because she's awesome–Lt. Parker asks her tell him all about Min Lee. Lounging leggily on a chair, Danielle tilts her head slightly and noodles with the question for a few seconds. Instead telling Lt. Parker all about Min Lee, she goes on this long tangent about taking a shower.

Actually, now that I think about it, I don't think the tangent was about Danielle taking shower at all. No, what we're witnessing is a blatant attempt to kill time on behalf of the producers of this film. And, I must say, I have no trouble with this whatsoever. Seriously, I could watch Danielle Dubois take a shower, towel off (yes, slowly pat dry your supple flesh, you sleazy harlot, you), put on makeup, select a pair of panties to wear (she goes with a red pair), select a pair of blue shorts, and pick out a green sleeveless top for hours on end.

While the scene where Danielle Dubois does all these things is no longer than five minutes, it does eat up a lot of time. In fact, I think the movie is already half over.

Attending a pot party, Danielle Dubois lounges topless, smokes from a hookah, and... that's pretty much it. I'm not sure if every scene is going to be like this, but every one so far has been the epitome of pointless.

Take the next scene, for example, after leaving the pot party, Danielle Dubois goes home, gets undressed, and crawls into bed.

The character of Carmen Espinoza has been itching to tell her side of the story to Lt. Parker, but he tells her to wait her turn every time she tries to interrupt him. When he finally does let her speak, he calls her "Miss Chili Pepper." Racist much, Lt. Parker?

My favourite scene in terms of pointlessness is the pool party sequence. Nothing really happens, but the atmosphere is so 1960s, that one might think the whole thing was an elaborate parody of the 1960s.

Featuring great hairstyles, amateur astronomy, hot chicks dancing in bikinis, pool side chess matches, meat being grilled by men with hairy chests, leggy babes doing their nails and pipe smoking, this scene is a real scene, man.

Seemingly going from one pot party to the next, we're quickly whisked to another pot party, this time a modest shindig being held in a garden.

"Is this weed head bothering you?" And with that line, we're introduced to Sandy (Frankie O'Brien), Min Lee's tough-looking lesbian roommate, who rescues her from this so-called "weed head" on several occasions.

At first I was like, "weed head"? That's a bit harsh, don't you think, Sandy? Then we get a good look at this so-called weed head. And, yep, Sandy's right, this guy is definitely a weed head.

At any rate, just when I was ready to declare The Brick Dollhouse to be Janice Kelly's picture, along comes Helena Clayton as Linda Sherman, a gorgeous redhead who speaks with what sounds like a fake English accent.

You see, unlike Janice Kelly, Helena Clayton doesn't look at the camera, and she clearly knows what camp is. Now, I don't know if this was done on purpose or not, but while stripping near a koi pond, Helena throws one of her shoes in the water. Not only was her errant shoe toss campy, it was the funniest, most entertaining thing to happen in the entire movie. And from that moment on, it put me squarely on Team Linda Sherman.

"There's nothing more relaxing than a massage." You said it, Sandy. Now take that unruly-looking massaging device (which I'm sure is available at Obscura Antiques and Oddities for a paltry 1,600 Cdn.) and drag it all over Linda Sherman's pussy.

Who killed Min Lee? Hmm, should I spoil the ending? Nah. If you've got an hour to kill and are not averse to films that boast bright colours and other stuff, you could probably do a lot better than The Brick Dollhouse. On a positive note, I will be seeking out more films that star Helena Clayton, you can count on that. The way she just showed up like that and blew Janice Kelly off the screen was an impressive sight to behold.