This film, the late porno/exploitation director/glamour photographer Russ Meyer's first for a major studio and released in 1970, actually starts off rather well with dark, half seen murderous goings on in a creepy house, followed by a club scene with Strawberry Alarm Clock performing their US pop-psych hit "Incense and Peppermints". It stars a shed-load of people your average punter has never heard of and quickly degenerates into one of the worst films I've ever had the misfortune to watch. It would get 1* for the film itself but the half-decent music including the appearances by Strawberry Alarm Clock drags it up to the 2* rating. You don't often get to see contemporary bands for more than a few seconds in a film of this vintage.
If I hadn't actually paid for it, in the 2 DVD set along with "Valley of the Dolls" (to which, apart from being originally intended as a follow-up, it's completely unrelated), I would have given up after about 30 minutes, after the 3-piece female rock band play on stage with Strawberry Alarm Clock. I persevered thinking that it must improve but, as Homer Simpson said, "it just keeps getting worse and worse". Even as a comedy, it's been described as "about as funny as a burning orphanage". I concur.
It's basically a pretty typical Russ Meyer cheap and nasty little skin-flick with a bit more money than was previously the case thrown at it by the major studio. Though it masquerades as a somewhat comedic psychedelic pop murder movie, Meyer's mammary obsession works overtime and everything is an excuse for liberal helpings of naked breasts to pop up every few minutes, whilst in between these (pardon the pun) every sort of debauched, perverted or deviant character Meyer could think of is thrown in for good measure. Not a very satisfactory state of affairs and certainly not one for family viewing, though being rated 18 these days seems somewhat OTT.
One further irritation is that there are more 60s cliché phrases here than you can shake a stick at. "He hit on me", "You were in a whole different bag", "I gotta get my head together", "You're a real lousy lay", "Right on", "Dig?", "You're so square", "Lose your laundry", "She crashed", "It'd be a gas", "I gotta split man", "I don't dig", "Hang cool". Oh dear. The only words and phrases I didn't hear were "bread", "fab" and "groovy baby" but then I may just have missed them amongst the more serious parts of the scintillating screenplay. Oops my nose has just grown by 2 inches.
Finally there's the end, in which you appear to simply get to see what you didn't see very clearly at the start because it was dark. What a bummer!
Unless you love Meyer's work, skin-flicks, assorted naked breasts or simply want to see a few minutes of Strawberry Alarm Clock, do not waste your bread on this far out stuff, man. It isn't fab, cool or groovy; it's the pits man, you dig?