"Beyond The Valley Of The Dolls" (1970)

Starring: Dolly Read, Cynthia Meyers, Marcia McBroom, John Lazar, Michael Blodgett, David Gurian

First, the lowdown: It’s another boob-filled moral drama courtesy of Russ Meyer.

Not being a child of the Sixties (hell I’m barely a child of the Seventies), most of my knowledge of that decade (especially the last three years of it) comes from the books and movies of the time. When it comes to movies ABOUT the 1960’s, I always feel like I’m missing something. Mainly, with the exception of the Woodstock documentary, there’s always something that makes it look overwrought and kinda phony. Then again, saying that movies are known for their accuracy is like claiming that the Last of the Mohicans is a solid portrayal of the Native Americans.

I’m thinking Jack Chick is a BIG Russ Meyer fan. (In case you don’t know who Jack Chick is, he makes those annoying church tracts you find in bus depots telling you how much Jesus loves you and that you’ll burn in hell if you don’t believe.) This movie plays out like an object lesson on the 700 Club, only with more nudity. It has been argued in the past that the only way for early filmmakers to justify gratuitous nudity and sex was to make everything a moral drama where the heathen nekkid people were shown the ills of their wicked ways. And considering how actively adult filmmakers were prosecuted in the 1970s by sweaty men in bad suits, any loophole at all needed to be exploited.

We open with Kelly, the leader of a Josie and the Pussycats-esque rock band (complete with a male manager who looks like Jim Morrison meets Kurt Russell in all the wrong ways). After a performing a disappointing set in a mid-western high school, she spontaneously decides to drag her merry band to Los Angeles so they can make it big. Along the way, she drops in on her long lost aunt Susan, who has inherited the family fortune (and looks about the same age as Kelly). Aunt Susan’s sleazy lawyer voices the audience’s opinion about how diverting large sums of money to a relative that hasn’t been verified is kinda STOOPID but Susan doesn’t care and instead introduces Kelly and crew to the swinging party scene that LA has to offer. After a montage of randomly spliced quotations from the partygoers (my favorite: “You’re a moonchild.” “And you’re a bitch.”), starring nearly every person who has ever been in a Russ Meyer flick (including the bug-eyed, slack jawed Princess Livingston), Kelly is introduced to the ringleader of this motley crew of paisley, sideburns and fringe: Ronnie “Z-Man” Barzell (who looks like a young, gay Jimmy Smits). He is intrigued by Kelly’s plucky band, and offers them a record contract. Meanwhile, multiple seductions take place: Morrison/Russell manager guy gets seduced by a Mimi Rogers-looking porn actress; Kelly gets played by local lothario Lance Rock (who’s portrayed by a gay actor trying so desperately to be straight it’s hilarious); bassist Casey shacks up with sultry lesbian Roxanne; and drummer Petronella falls for the only sympathetic character in the whole goddamned movie: Law student Emerson Thorne. Everything seems to go hunky-dory; with montages highlighting Kelly skyrocketing to fame, drug use, and lots of boobies. However, Morrison/Russell manager gets fed up with lurking in the shadows of Kelly’s glory (as well as the kinky sex from the porn star), Petronella nearly ruins her relationship by getting seduced by a philosophizing boxer, and Casey spends most of her lesbian life in a downer induced haze. After having his manhood challenged by the porn actress, our wayward manager goes into an Quaalude and alcohol-fueled depression and tries killing himself during Kelly’s television debut, only to end up paralyzing himself from the waist down. What a dope. At this point Kelly starts thinking that she may have been wasting her life in the Land of Make-Believe and tries to amend her ways. It’s a great flick and makes you want to find God.

Line of the movie: “Have you run an audit on her books yet? Or are you still screwing on faith?” Hell hath no fury like a gay Jimmy Smits spurned.

Four stars. May contain peanuts.