Review of Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill! (1965) by Talon B — 01 Jun 2008

My pal Eric said it best when he chimed: "That was just f***in' fun!" A summery in perfection. Forget that it somehow changed the landscape of film forever. Dismiss that it single-handedly pulled off being an exploitation AND pro-feminist statement at the same time.

Omit it's amazing infiltration of our popular culture and the countless homages, parodies and blatant rip-offs following in its dusty trail. Just surrender to the truth that it's just f***in' fun.

Stunning, big-boobed, bad-ass, go-go dancing girls in hot-rods going knife-crazy in the California desert. The acting ranges from not-to-bad to flat-out horrible, yet the dialog bounces between poetry and camp faster than Tura Satana's bobbing headlights in a race around the drag course.

Plus there's enough sexual innuendo and flat-out ass-kicking to keep the testosterone even keel with the endless estrogen oozing from the screen. It's the champion of cult-cinema--forever the movie enthusiast's guilty excuse to adore the some of the finest film-filth ever made--and most importantly, it's just f***in' fun.