faster, pussycat!

i love kitsch movies - those b horror films that develop cult followings of both the socially withdrawn and the overly intellectualized collectors of arcane trivia. i am firmly in the latter category, while also occasionally allowing my feet to dip into the former group during fits of self-absorbed melancholy.

as moving (to new york, to london, to virginia) is especially likely to trigger acute feelings of ennui or overconfidence, one of the first things i do post-move is find the weirdest film showing in local theaters and straightaway go see it.

in london, the film happened to be faster, pussycat! kill! kill! this was extremely exciting, since i'd been meaning to see russ meyer's 1965 cult classic for the better part of a decade, having spent hour upon hour watching other b-film horror flicks during a couple high school summers. stuff like attack of the 50 foot woman and plan 9 from outer space and (my favorite title) amazon women on the moon at a tiny family-run theater briefly reopened in the hopes of finally attracting an audience in staid northern indiana. valiantly rallying whenever the weather warmed and weird high school kids began milling around, the theater closed about two months after each opening. apparently, the weird kids were going elsewhere. i generally sat alone, near the front, after having chatted with the elderly couple who practically set up camp in the third row from the back.

london had a much larger weird theater and film selection - so faster pussycat! kill! kill! it was. the south end theater was just as small, but it clearly had a devoted following and, with its red couches, cigarette stench, and basement feel, fit the film. mildly louche!

though faster pussycat! kill! kill! revelled in its disreputability. don't race the fastest PUSSYCATS - they'll beat you - to DEATH! what a tag line!

faster pussycat! kill! kill! begins with a voiceover proclaiming:

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to violence. The word and the act. While violence cloaks itself in a plethora of disguises, its favorite mantle still remains... sex. Violence devours all it touches, its voracious appetite rarely fulfilled. Yet violence doesn't only destroy, it creates and molds as well. Let's examine closely then this dangerously evil creation, this new breed encased and contained within the supple skin of woman. The softness is there, the unmistakable smell of female, the surface shiny and silken, the body yielding yet wanton. But a word of caution: handle with care and don't drop your guard. This rapacious new breed prowls both alone and in packs, operating at any level, any time, anywhere, and with anybody. Who are they? One might be your secretary, your doctor's receptionist... or a dancer in a go-go club!

wherein we turn to said go-go bar, where the three anti-heroines pole dance. but this is not thrill enough - looking for greater excitement, they hop into their tiny sports cars and drag race across the desert. embodying a number of fabulous stereotypes, blonde bimbo billie, vaguely ethnic and agressive lesbian rosie, and leather-clad dominatrix varla are also overtly male. they are violent, domineering, sexual, competitive, and congenitally enraged.

the best part of this film is the snarky innuendo that laces every line of dialogue. check it:

Gas Station Attendant: [staring at Varla's chest as he pumps gas] Just passing through, huh? Boy, that motor's sure hot! You gals really must have been moving on these little machines. Yessir, the thrill of the open road. New places, new people, new sights of interest. Now that's what I believe in, seeing America first!
Varla: You won't find it down there, Columbus!

aaah, the ever-present parallel between women and cars! a lot of "body work" talk, a lot of "look under the hood" suggestions, a lot of "great headlights" commentary. cheeky!

yet also more than simply cheeky. this is a film that equates sex and violence. embrace one and you embrace the other. neither proactive sexuality nor violence was associated with women until the late 1960s - women were simply not as sexual as men, and because men tended to employ violence in defense of the sexual sanctity of their women (as well as their own heterosexuality), women eschewed violence as well.

given rape and domestic violence data, the link between sex and violence ought not shock us as much as it does - and though meyers' film is certainly not feminist, it raises a number of questions about the ways in which depictions and constructions of sexuality are intertwined with the right to violence.

not to over-theorize the film or anything. it's a booberific cult classic, after all. these are former playboy bunnies we're talking about.

the trailer ---->



this is a great movie. i'd rather not reveal the murky and completely nonsensical plotline, but my favorite part of faster, pussycat! kill! kill! is possibly the sexualized fried chicken dinner near the end of the film. it is truly masterful.

you must see this film.

The Old Man: Women! They let 'em vote, smoke and drive - even put 'em in pants! And what happens? A Democrat for president!