Starring: Tura Satana, Haji, Lori Williams
Director: Russ Meyer
Russ Meyer knew a good pair of boobs when he saw them, no doubt about it. As one of the early ‘Playboy’ centrefold photographers, he had his lens firmly trained on particularly fine specimens from the start. Even in his later years, when reflecting on his fulsome career, he couldn’t help but celebrate them, right down to the title of his autobiography; ‘A Clean Breast’. And perhaps nowhere are they more prominently displayed than in his film Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill!. Japanese-born leading lady Tura Satana literally bursts from the screen with her 36D cups flanking a monumental cleavage that plunges down like the Grand Canyon.
She stars as Varla, a woman described as one of a “rapacious new breed”, “more stallion than mare”, maybe not even human. Behind the wheel of her dirty, black Porsche, Varla dominates the roads, tailgated by her almost equally well endowed fellow go-go dancers Rosie (Haji) and Billie (Lori Williams) in their sporty M.G.s. The plot, such as it is, revolves around the abduction of a cupcake called Linda (Sue Bernard) after the murder of her boyfriend by Varla (they’d stumbled upon each other while drag racing across a salt pan in the desert and there was only room for just so much testosterone). While refuelling at the gas station, Varla spots an old man (Stuart Lancaster) and his ultra hunky, retarded son (Dennis Busch) and learns that they have a small fortune stashed somewhere on their property. So the busty babes and their bikini clad hostage pay them a neighbourly visit.
The whole thing is basically an excuse to revel in bucket loads of pussy power dialogue and raunchy cat fights, the first of which occurs around the five minute mark. It’s classic B-grade movie madness from the man who brought us the hilarious 60s Hollywood satire Beyond the Valley of the Dolls. It’s also the culmination of what has become known as Meyer’s ‘Gothic Period’ – a phase in the mid-60s marked by a quartet of similarly crazed black and white flicks. With it’s melodramatic score and overblown, low angle shooting style, this film is about as pumped up as the glorified busts of those bad ass bitches leading the charge.