, , ,


“Well, that gives us two hours to kill. What do you wanna do?”
“Are you kidding? What do you think ex-roomies do who haven’t seen each other in over a year?”


Apparently dive in to some snooze inducing lesbo love in cute but bubbleheaded and gap-toothed Kristy Hollis (Sylvia Benedict)’s dumpy Wagoneer.  Roseanne Roseannadanna-frizz fro’ed Larraine Newman wannabe Carolyn Jackson hops in and out of her satin disco pants at the drop of a socket wrench, balling just about every member of the cast during the course of the film’s running time.  Sheesh.


The last gasp for the mid to late 70’s craze for race track/fast car-centric action/melodrama (Fast Company, Georgia Peaches, Cannonball, Dirty Mary, Crazy Larry, Two Lane Blacktop, the list goes on and on), Fast Cars Fast Women is a (for porn) reasonably well acted, script driven effort from someone named Scott McHaley – don’t ask me.


“You’re still a stunning looking woman.”

Zaftig breasted Kay Parker is starting to show her age, with an oddly drawn, even skeletal face and telltale cellulite, lines and sag beginning to appear.  While still somewhat Mary Woronovesque, this is hardly the era she built her name on.

Parker is Molly Davis, the manager of a racing team whose drivers are being sabotaged by rival team manager Orson (Al Chiurizzi), who’s looking to buy her out.  That is, when she’s not sleeping with her mechanic Doug (the unlikely monikered Rocky Balboa), her drivers or diddling herself in front of Orson himself.


A surprisingly still thin Ron Jeremy appears as the world’s least likely muscle for the baddie, and William Margold pops up in a cameo as “Track Manager” – both of them get blown by Benedict, who has no problem showing off her pimp stable butterfly tattoo in the process.

When he gets wind of his boss’ dirty dealings, even Orson’s pit mechanic (Kevin James) turns coat and defects to the Davis team, meaning he gets promptly treated to a ménage a quatre and yet another one-on-one frizz fro sex scene. Finally we come to the big race, meaning plenty of mismatched stock footage and a champagne toast.  Roll credits.


Surprisingly, this one would have worked better in an R rated variant. The story and acting were (comparatively speaking) not all that far off from the genuine article of this sort of film, and prurient business aside, could easily see a similar script populated by the likes of Peter Fonda, Claudia Jennings and Tanya Tucker (who’d have filled out those satin pants a damn sight better than Gilda Radner…I mean Carolyn Jackson, and certainly would have delivered two much better tunes than the atrocious country band from the bar scene here!*)

* I’d love to see how three over-eager nerd types and a short, overweight girl busting out of her roller boogie outfit would go down down South…better set up the chicken wire, guys, it’s time for the Blues Brothers…


The problem is, it’s a porno, and one where there’s precious little to engage the one handed audience these things were made and marketed towards.  Seriously, Jackson and a visibly past her prime Kay Parker, over and over?  Take her or leave her, but Benedict doesn’t even come close in terms of “action” oriented screentime…and that’s a serious problem.

Bottom line: typical movie of its (non-adult) type, derivative as hell but entertaining and solid enough (grading on a curve, but still)…but absolute dog shit in terms of hardcore.  Unless you want to see the homeliest girl in town and your mom drop trou a good dozen times in an hour, you’d best look elsewhere for your fix.  That said, it shows this guy McHaley as a solid director…of straight up cult film.

No wonder I never heard of him in the wonderful world of porn…


And on the other hand, we have Starship Eros, a truly pathetic attempt to cash on on the Star Wars by way of Star Trek craze of the late 70’s that stars the lens-shatteringly hideous Lily Rodgers and her wildly huge old lady bouffant as Commander of “the feminist regime Starfighter Eros”.  The entire first half hour is nothing but her playing with herself…in a hot tub.  In a chair.  A lesbo thing with her new Lieutenant (the lanky, hangdog faced Becky Savage).  Even a fling with some guy in a C-3PO mask (!)


Then things go all Buck Rogers/Battlestar Galactica (complete with one of those Apollo and Starbuck-piloted fighters as the enemy vessel!) before getting back to the lesbi-lovin’.  Somebody uses an Enterprise-like transporter to teleport some redhead* in a Cylon-esque helmet aboard, but all she does is get in the middle of another sapphic three way.


Unfortunately, her helmet comes off, revealing an even older and more haggard MIWLF (“W” for “Wouldn’t”) than the companion feature’s Kay Parker (an Angela Emerson and Linda Russell are both credited, but one of these is never seen onscreen…you figure it out!).  The only sorta cutie on hand is petite, barely seen copilot Beth Evans, but she only gets in on one short scene, no guys or “androids” involved.  Roll credits.

* OK, technically 3/4 of the female cast are redheads, but 2/3 of those aren’t exactly easy on the eyes…


Yeah, I’m the best you’re gonna get, so enjoy my all of 5m onscreen…

Good God, this must have taken them all of a half day’s filming. All shot on one set with two or three rooms (the sole exception being whoever’s hot tub and backyard that was in the first 10 minutes) and starring, for the most part, two homely women and a guy in ballet leotards and a Star Wars mask, this one just sucks any way you slice it.

Sure, it’s an oddity of its era and will probably have some weird appeal to Lucas-loving geeks desperate to see their favorite robot get oral favors from a trio of skanky women, but seriously.

With a deep sigh of relief at reaching the interminable conclusion of this suck-ass space opera, I give this double feature a split decision.

Despite a whole lot of unerotic shagging between and involving a pair of past their prime and never will have a prime starlets, Fast Cars Fast Women sits with the viewer of similar fare as a fairly comparable, reasonably entertaining and familiar piece of 70’s race car genre filmmaking.

Starship Eros, on the other hand, has no reason to exist, and practically defines the term “cheap cash in” if not “sad ripoff”.  Come on, you could have cast one friggin’ guy to stand in for the viewer here…or for that matter, actually put the sole attractive woman in the cast to work, rather than abusing our eyes with an unending succession of Lily Rodgers and her horrific coiffure faux pas.  Absolutely awful.

Get it for the lead feature, and view the B side at your own risk.