The name Russ Meyer has some striking connotations. The first being a comic-book style obsession with large, heaving, fleshy female breasts. But if all you see with the man is pendulous, heaving, busting-out-of-the screen tatas, then you are seeing only part of the picture. Meyer’s signature films boasted top notch editing that never let you finish a breath, plot lines that played out like the weirdest morality tale and characters that were so over the top and wild, that you really wished real life could be just like that.

Out of the 24 feature films he is credited with directing, there is one that has been fairly obscure and in the shadows till now. With 1964’s Fanny Hill, there are some potential reasons for this. That’s not to say it is a bad movie. It’s cute, features some lovely ladies and some fun performances. Fanny Hill stars Italian actress Leticia Roman as the very pretty, sweet natured and brain-damaged/naive titular character. Unlike the sexually precocious character from the classic 1700’s purple prose book, this Fanny Hill is about as glowy-cheeked and innocent as a Disney character.
 

 
After being orphaned by her rural parents, Fanny is taken to the city by her “friend,” whom we never meet. Abandoned, homeless and hungry, a desperate Fanny ends up at an employment office run by a hirsute woman with salacious looks. Before the living definition of mustache rides can act on any of her barely hidden impulses, Mrs. Maude Brown (legendary classic Hollywood actress Miriam Hopkins) saunters in and is flabbergasted at the eerie resemblance that young Fanny has with her late daughter.

Mrs. Brown immediately takes on the young lamb, not as a maid, but as a surrogate daughter. Madame seems a bit off, but compared to whatever fate beautiful-dim bulb Fanny has with Mustache Rides, she is in better hands with Mrs. Brown. She soon gets to stay at her new benefactress’s lovely home and her coterie of comely “cousins.” At last, the Meyer-ian buxotic factor comes into play, as each woman is gorgeous and colorful, including one acting like a crazed Lolita and another one practicing her whipping techniques on a mannequin. Russ Mayer fans will spot the uber-busty Rena Horten, whom he would go on to use in the incredible sex filled, fire and brimstone fueled Mudhoney, amongst the “cousins.”
 

 
After setting her up with one particularly lecherous, bewigged older man that ends up in catastrophe, Mrs. Brown realizes how genuinely virginal her new charge is. Of course, does that dissuade her from wanting to assimilate the young lovely into her roster of sexed-up, tigress-courtesans? Of course not!

However, as if Fanny’s blind allegiance to her own dim-witted naivete was not enough, soon another threat looms to wrench Brown’s plans for making the girl her next soiled dove. A chance meeting with a young sailor, Charles (future director Ulli Lommel), plunges Cupid’s arrow straight down Fanny’s heart. The young lovers announce their plans to wed to Mme. Brown. Not wanting her still untarnished future meal ticket to slip away, Brown engineers a plan to put Charles far away on an island. But you cannot keep a seafaring soul away and hijinks ensue, including one randy aristocrat named Hemingway (Walter Giller) who tries to wed Fanny, solely to get into her pantaloons. Will true love intervene or will our young heroine end up violated by a man whose sexual games involve gropey sleepwalking?
 

 
Fanny Hill is a cheeky film that is about as racy, if not slightly less so, than an episode of Benny Hill. Given that Mayer was THE godfather behind the nudie-cutie film movement, starting with the groundbreaking Immoral Mr. Teas, it is incredibly surprising that there is nary any real nudity in the entire film. There’s a decent amount of cleavage and some of the aforementioned ribaldry, but given that this came out the same year as Meyer’s far heavier and lurid Southern-fueled exploiter, Lorna, it feels unreasonably tame.

That said, Fanny Hillis a charming film with a cast that obviously had a lot of fun and relish with their roles. Hopkins, famous for her work in such Hollywood classics as 1933’s Design for Living, glams it up as the advantageous Mrs. Brown. Giller as the ridiculously lecherous Hemingway is even better, to the extent that you want more of his character. Roman is highly pretty and well suited to the supernaturally naive Fanny. Out of the canon of Meyer heroines, she is the wallflower at a swinging, claws-out-fighting party filled with women like Tura Satana, Erica Gavin, Kitten Natividad and Uschi Digard. But that’s okay because “Fanny Hill” itself is the wallflower of Meyer’s filmography.
 

 
That said, even wallflowers have their moments and deserve love too. Thanks to the continually fine work from the folks at Vinegar Syndrome, this long obscure title is now available, spiffed up from its original negative and released on both DVD and Blu Ray. It’s great to have it, especially since the only time I ever remember seeing it beforehand was on a battered Paragon VHS at the second oldest video store in my hometown. On top of this nice release, they have also included an interview with former protege of Rainer Werner Fassbinder and director of the 1980 Richard Hell film Blank Generation, Ulli Lommel. They have also included Albert Zugsmith’s The Phantom Gunslinger as a bonus second feature! (Zugsmith who produced Fanny Hill.) Starring former teen heartthrob Troy Donahue and famed Mexican horror actor German Robles, The Phantom Gunslinger ironically looks visually more like a Meyer film, minus the breasty factor, than Fanny Hill. Splashy colors, Ala Wild Gals of the Wild West, and an over-the-top approach to characters that it feels like Tex Avery did five hits of acid and decided to make a live-action Western film with Troy Donahue. This is praise, by the way.
 

 
Fanny Hill is a cute and interesting cinematic footnote of one of the truly most innovative, talented and wholly unique filmmakers America has produced in the last 100 years. Treat it like your charming Aunt, tipsy at a brunch after her 3rd Mimosa, telling you a PG-13 joke and giggling like she just said the nastiest thing in the world.
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I can’t exactly remember the first time I saw or became aware of Chesty Morgan. Which is odd, especially since she is best known for her strange assortment of bad wigs and a 73-inch, all natural bust line. It’s like she has always been a part of my life. Like one stoic, large breasted angel, whose face vacillates between confused and languid in Doris Wishman’s surrealistic exploitation film, Deadly Weapons.

Lest there is any question about what type of titular weaponry we are talking about here, the first 30 seconds will immediately set you straight. After a few seconds of some groovy, 60’s rock, a loud drone type noise emerges and then suddenly there’s Chesty, or Zsa Zsa, as she is billed in the film, with her arms outstretched like a menacing breasty crane. The rock soundtrack comes back and then we are treated to Chesty Morgan admiring and vaguely fondling her breasts in a series of modern type, circular mirrors. The psychedelic fun house effect, while maybe not the most sexy thing in the world, is great and fitting. (After all, Deadly Weapons is a keen example of a sexploitation carnival ride, so grab a ticket, strap on your lap-belt and enjoy!)

Chesty stars as Crystal, a successful advertising executive who loves chunky shoes, pantyhose and her jocular, hairy chested lover, Larry (Richard Towers). While the affection is very much shared, Larry’s tied up with some very shady, underworld types, often flanked by Tony (the great Harry Reems) and a balding gent with an eye patch (Mitchell Fredericks) that goes by the name Captain Hook. They pull a hit on one well-connected man, with a powerful little black book. Larry finds it first and slips it into his jacket, in effect pulling a silent double cross on his partners. As you can imagine, his plan does not flesh out well and once he is found out to be a fink, they ice him.

Crystal, through some bad cosmic lattice timing, ends up hearing the whole thing over the phone. But not without overhearing such key details like the fact that Hook is fleeing to Vegas and has a weakness for burlesque dancers. This is good to know, but before our uber-cleavagey heroine can commence on her plan for revenge, we get treated to a long, strange, dream-like sequence including one stupendous shot of Crystal’s tear streaked breasts super-imposed over a blue pool. It’s absurd in its wonderment and wonderful in its total ridiculousness.
 
 
Up next, she’s off to Vegas and tries to get a job at one of the more unseemly burlesque houses. The sleazy manager, a man that undoubtedly reeks of stale cigars and Hai Karate, has no interest in the persistent gal in the strangely frumpy top. That is until she unleashes her fleshy pulchritude, resulting in both his eyes bugging out to a comical Tex Avery type sound effect. Of course, she gets the job. Crystal’s a hit immediately but has her striptease career cut short as quickly as it began, when she gets fired for rebuffing the sexual advances of her slimy boss. He does at least let her finish her shift. Feeling hopeless in her ability to catch Captain Hook, she starts to dance regardless and guess who shows up for the girly show?

Captain Hook is instantly smitten and takes her back to his room, only to get roofied and then smothered to death by her pendulous bosom of doom. Of course, not before unwittingly giving her information on the whereabouts of Tony. Will Crystal be able to fully avenge the death of her lover or will she become the victim of the ultimate double cross?

Deadly Weapons is one strange film, which was par for the course of the late, great Doris Wishman, the same woman behind Nude on the Moon and Bad Girls Go To Hell. On one hand, it is a completely, dyed-in-the-wool piece of cinematic ridiculousness. The rapt obsession with Chesty’s breasts permeates almost every frame of the film, but with the effect being less sexual and more surreal. Part of this is due to the somnambulist-esque performance of Chesty herself. She ranges at times between looking confused and tired but then peppers it with these odd attempts to make a sexy, licking-her-lips face. The bizarre fashion choices only add to this, whether it is the awkward silver wigs, secretary-type pantyhose or the occasionally frumpy blouses. Of course, she does don some legitimately burlesque type clothing for her act and in half of the film, she lounges around in a frilly pink number, but the whole thing feels more like some bosom-mad fever dream than anything else.

The crime elements add some pulp-style fun with the underrated Harry Reems being especially good as the murder-happy mook Tony. There’s an interesting and surprisingly bleak twist at the end, all adding up to one colorful cinematic oddity. Even better is that the company that has blessed us with this film, Something Weird Video, has recently released a triple feature on Blu-Ray that has Deadly Weapons, its sister film Double Agent ‘73 (which involves a camera being implanted into her breasts, all in the name of super-secret spy work) and the non-Chesty film, The Immoral Three. So if you love a little hi-def with your exploitation, then you will be as happy as a breast-obsessed lamb. Even if you think this is an awful film, you cannot deny the beautiful strangeness that is Deadly Weapons.

Deadly Weapons (1974) trailer by filmow