Monday, 20 August 2012

Commuter Husbands

'Commuter Husbands' is a not half bad smutmanteau from 1973 (it's a semi-sequel to 'Suburban Wives' which, perversely, I haven't written about yet). Derek Ford was one of the better writers and directors working in this mucky field and was usually able to turn out something that was not only sufficiently titillating, but also vaguely interesting. the film is presented and narrated by small headed, large breasted star of 'UFO' and 'Crossroads', Gabrielle Drake. The framing device is simple - Ms Drake will tell us some stories that prove her thesis that 'man is the most dangerous animal of to woman'.   

Drake establishes her credentials.
The stories themselves are fairly standard, featuring a selection of unfaithful husbands, desperate bachelors, comedy plumbers, sleazy voyeurs and hapless, gormless twats with stupid haircuts. The men are all stupidly unattractive, the women all sexy and willing to disrobe and rub themselves against anything that gets in their way. Some of it is played straight, some of it as farce - there are a lot of fantasy sequences and even some chains and leather. But it's fairly well done, and the script makes sense and not all the actors are awful, so it has quite a few things going for it. 

Through the keyhole.

Busy man. Note paper straw.

High drama.

Low comedy.

Motorcycle Mama-ries.

My main issue with the film was a very personal one: early on, I saw a close up of a wrinkled hand groping a well formed breast and immediately thought 'that's Jane Cardew's tit'. That's right, through constantly watching these Britsmut films I was able to identify a fellow human being by a mere glimpse of her right knocker, an achievement that I am both proud and deeply ashamed of. Does that make me an expert, a pervert or a monster, or all three? What have I become?   

The unmistakeable rack of Jane Cardew.

1 comment:

  1. Expert? Pervert? Monster?

    Who cares?! Fwooorrrr!!!!