Cult item dug out of the Sixties rubbish bin for reissue in the Nineties. Its most surprising and titillating features, much more than the bulge-revealing jockey shorts, swimming trunks, and white slacks of Sal Mineo (did he misplace a sock?) or the bra-and-panties cheesecake of Juliet Prowse or the thematic menu of phone sex, voyeurism, fetishism, lesbianism, rape, murder, and necrophilia, are the elements of genuine quality. Specifically two: the performance of Elaine Stritch as the pockmarked, whisky-voiced, tough-broad manager of a desolate discothèque ("I never wore a bra until I was twenty-eight, and then for a fast ten minutes"), and the artful black-and-white photography of Joseph Brun, edging into artiness in its frequent fogging at the screen's edges. With Jan Murray, Margot Bennett, Dan Travanty (later Daniel J. Travanti); directed by Joseph Cates. (1965) — Duncan Shepherd
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