Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill! (1968)

Three delectably bodacious, fast-talking go-go dancing chicks of a “dangerous new breed” need to badly let off some steam after a night of heavy gyrating, so off they head for the nearest desert where catfighting, bitching and hot-rodding in their nifty sports cars is the chosen form of relaxation. The girls unwind to a high-speed round or two of “chicken”, where you race at each other head-on at full throttle.

The three Babes, stunningly endowed, make the screen snap, crackle and pop with the sheer electricity of their allure – forget Charlie’s Angels; these girls are the real thing!

Manic, Lesbo-Go-Go girls, sublimely gorgeous, hot-rodding it up in the scorched, barren desert – set to the most amazingly fabulous 60’s trashy go-go tunes – truly rejuvenating and invigorating stuff from the legendary Russ Meyer.

Better known for his fixation with large mammary glands, Meyer has much more going for him, judging by this supremely groovy evidence. The stark black-and-white cinematography is stunning, and Meyer possesses a keen eye for shot composition. He also displays some terrific editing skills and keeps a tight reign on his narrative, moving things along at a torrid pace.

After cascading around the desert, racing each other like lust-crazed lunatics (which they are), the voluptuous beauties are joined by a handsome all-American square and his pretty bimbette girlfriend. The vixens, led by the luscious kingpin Varla (Tura Satana), taunt the lad into racing them instead of challenging the clock (“I beat people, not things”, scowls the luscious Tura), and he takes the bait at a heavy price. After all, the voice-over that began the movie warned of a new breed of female that was turning to gratuitous violence in response to some strange latent impulses! As if to comply, Varla unleashes a series of brutal karate chops on wonder-boy, snapping his spine. The squealing bimbette witness is kidnapped, to be done away with as soon as convenient.

Fleeing the scene, the three Pussycats discover a run-down ranch where a filthy old cripple lives with his demented sons (one is appropriately called Vegetable) and massive stashed fortune. The Pussycat plan is to hide out for a bit, then charm the family of perverts, kill and dump the bimbette, ravage the vegetable hunk and steal the loot – though not necessarily in that order. Unfortunately, things don’t quite work out as planned because smouldering jealousies and bitter rivalries threaten to cause havoc with the grand master plan. Suddenly, the dynamic threesome isn’t such a happy trio after all, and all sorts of horrendous mayhem is sure to ensue!

The film works on various levels, first and foremost as a slice of the most remarkable cinematic pop art that emerged out of the swinging 60s. Russ Meyer has fashioned the most fabulously twisted serving of psychedelic age feminism introducing his killer new breed of women who have at least as much in the brain department as they do in their bras! He has managed to concoct a fabulous-looking film with that craggy desert providing the perfect backdrop for the fab pussycats that shape such a stunning foreground. He exploits each curve of his buxom stars, making the most of some mind-boggling cleavage and ought to take much of the credit for discovering the delightful talents of Tura and Haji, both ex-strippers.

The excellent script by Jack Moran contains some of the most fabulous quotable one-liners ever delivered on film. Moran’s dialogues are brimming with a succession of sizzlers, mainly from the sultry lips of the incomparable Tura Satana, which instantly elevates the movie to the highest cult status. Pussycat also works as a fairly taut, bizarre B-movie horror thriller and, finally, and perhaps best of all, as a most stunning and joyous, if twisted, celebration of uninhibited feminism.

Whatever you look at it, Russ Meyer’s epic will be long remembered as one of the greatest cult classics of all time and as a marvellous ode to that fascinating era; the 60s. A Film fully deserves all its infamy and adoration, with a soundtrack that cannot be topped.