Directed by:
Russ MeyerScreenplay:
Russ MeyerCinematography:
Walter SchenkCast:
Tura Satana, Haji, Lori Williams, Walter Schenk, John Furlong (narrator), Stuart Lancaster, Sue Bernard, Paul TrinkaPlots(1)
FASTER PUSSYCAT, KILL! KILL! is the story of a new breed of SUPERWOMEN emerging out of the ruthlessness of our times. We are introduced to three BUXOM Go-Go girls: VARLA, ROSIE, and BILLIE, wildly dancing the Watusi before the leers, jeers and lecherous come-ons of their drooling all-male audience. The violence, implicit in the girls' tease, is quickly moved out of the microcosmic bar into the outside world as they literally let go of themselves, embarking on a wild, violent, deadly journey of vengeance on all men. VARLA, the outrageously abundant KARATE MASTER leader of the pack, breaks the arms and back of one man, runs her Porsche over two others, grinds a fourth, a muscleman, against a wall and, eventually, deliberately goes down the path of her own self-destruction, dragging her two BUXOTIC cohorts along with her. (Arrow Films)
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Reviews (4)
Three busty damsels looking for a bit of fun in the California desert kill a guy and take his girlfriend hostage. Their journey takes them to the ranch of an old man and his two sons, where they try to find out where the old man has money hidden, and it all comes to a final dramatic climax… Throughout the film, my attention shifted from looking into the unmissable cleavages to the brilliantly written dialogue. It's definitely not an action-packed sex ride, but it's fun and not boring if you don't have high expectations. The black-and-white cinematography is great, and the soundtrack is excellent, alternating jazz motifs with head-banging saxophone and orchestral music, plus a wonderful title song in the style of 60s rock ‘n’ roll. Those 80 minutes flew by pretty quickly.
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Three strippers drive fast cars in the California desert, drink, smoke, kick ass and break stereotypes. Quite a provocative flop in its day, and hated by feminists, now a cult film that feminists love. One of Quentin Tarantino's favourite exploitation films, at one time he considered making a remake.
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An iconic, busty feminist flick, without which the world would not have known Tarantino's Death Proof forty years later, and it might have taken a lot longer for the Hollywood's version of unbridled and sinful through and through female heroines to take hold. Russ Meyer was a visionary when he figured out that men's fetish for women's breasts would be stronger in the long run than serious critical insight into a film, and created one that is admittedly vigorously idiotic (just about every character is an exemplary asshole), but amusingly disjointed; an atmospheric spectacle with a great voice that, thanks to the brisk pace, never gets boring and oozes that period moral decadence that every die-hard cinephile must love at least a little (and if you're Tarantino, you can upgrade it to the pinnacle of cinematic entertainment these days). It's pure bollocks, really, and the story isn't worth talking about, unlike Lori Williams who would be worth all the money in the world – she alone embodies that cult status beautifully.
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I had placed too high expectations on this film, and obviously, I thought it was something else. It's a B-movie, but not as over-the-top as I thought. Just three strippers who decide the world is theirs. Great performances and great music, but overall it's not as disarming as it might first appear.
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