Well, I might as well start as I mean to go on.
Which by the looks of things will be hunched over a keyboard frantically cracking one off to dodgy sixties soft core porn but there you go.
The Girl from SIN (1966).
Dir: C. Davis Smith.
Cast: Jackie Richards (AKA Joyana) , Barbara Kemp, Bob Oran, Carol Evans, Mary O'Hara, June Roberts and others.
Panda eyed and pendulously breasted villainous vixen Poontang Plenty (AKA Agent 0069, played to pouting perfection by Richards, the star of such hits as Dominique in Daughters of Lesbos and She Came by Bus) is crime syndicate SIN's top terrorising tottie who, alongside SIN's pot bellied leader, Dr. Jeff Sexus (mega man breasted producer Oran), plans on taking over the world from inside the local Chinese restaurant using only the power of 'the sex'.
Oh and professor Charlie Drake's (director Smith) invisibility pill obviously.
Yup, using only an old fridge, some spark plugs, a Mickey Mouse Club torch and the fuse from a discarded the nutty professor has managed to created this marvel of science inadvertently testing it on his mousy secretary when, in a blind moment of panic she takes the pill after being scared by a mouse.
Charlie is hoping that his invention will benefit all mankind (in what way is never explained tho') but SIN it seems have their own immoral ideas.
Ideas that involve all manner of gratuitous tit shots, mouldy back room massages, shoddy seduction techniques and craptacular kung-fu fighting.
But ain't that always they way?
He looks pretty pleased with himself at the
moment but just wait till the fisting starts.
moment but just wait till the fisting starts.
Meanwhile back at the plot and the producer has realised that there might not be quite enough mileage for skin within this spy plot so the movie takes a quick detour into suburbia where we're introduced to henpecked hubby Henry - a character so wet and inconsequential that the actor isn't even credited.
A greasy balding fuck suffering from penile dysfunction caused, in part by pock thighed, lard arsed wife insisting on doing everything from knitting to cooking naked, Henry has a dark secret that no-one, not even his spotty spouse knows.
Can you guess what it is dear reader?
Yes, Henry collects model ships and boats.
It's only the first of January and I'm already losing the will to live.
Attending a 'model auction' one day, Henry ends up inadvertently bidding on a big trunk he thinks contains a huge model of the Bismarck constructed entirely from the teeth of dead tramps but after returning home and excitedly open the box he's disappointed to find not and enamel warship but Drake's diary and invisibility formula.
Henry suddenly realises that this could be the answer to all his problems. You see, his local GP has just written him a prescription for adultery in the hope of curing his limp dick so the by now very horny Henry decides to use the invisibility pill in order to spy on his hot neighbour Ginger.
The only problem is that whenever he sneezes he reappears.
Seriously you couldn't make this shit up.
How will these plot threads collide?
Will Poontang Plenty keep her clothes on for longer than ten minutes at a time?
Will there be any more frankly disturbing scenes of her giving a toe job to a really sweaty man with bunions?
And more importantly will any of the cast actually speak?
Your mum in the outfit I got her for Christmas.
All round odd job man, disciple of Dame Doris of Wishman and part-time director (and I use that term lightly) C. Davis Smith's pervy panto of heavy petting is a sensationally skuzzy piece of no-fi nudie trash from the age that cellulite forgot that's about as erotic as catching your Nan blowing the dog and as funny as a cancerous cock.
And that's being kind.
Too cheap to have a dialogue track, the entire sordid tale is told in a monotonous voice-over supplied by Smith himself, filmed on location in somebodies shed and populated by a cast of has beens and never weres seduced from the aforementioned Wishman's regular bunch of actors with promises of cheap booze and crisps.
Standing out (actually just standing about if I'm honest) amongst this Thespian forest of MDF mediocrity are big Bob Oran, all high waist silky Aladdin trousers, hairy shoulders and a face like a bulldog licking piss of a broken bottle whilst the single syllabled, double barrelled Joyana is a vision of milky thighs and wobbly sixties breasts topped off with the face of a council estate scrubber, he black rimmed dead eyes not unlike those of a hungry shark. The kind of girl you can imagine sharing a kebab (alongside bodily fluids) with, the grease dripping down her neck as you rut like beasts against the piss covered wall behind the taxi rank on a particularly drunken night out.
Germs.
Saying that tho' it's still worth sitting thru' (but please skip the 8 minute silent seduction/assassination scene that opens the movie if you want to keep your sanity) especially if you're a fan of Joyana (AKA Jackie Richards, Maxine, Lorrie Saunders, Lee Taylor and your Mum probably) and her dirty bird ways and of ugly people dancing and having sex.
Hmmm, just me then?
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