Monday, 3 September 2012

The Pleasure Girls

‘The Pleasure Girls’ is one of those mid-sixties films that desperately wants to be explicit but, in the end, settles for being frank and grown up and channelling sex into violence. It follows the various fortunes of a group of girls (and a boy) living in a large house in London. None of the girls have particularly strong characters, in fact, they are actually defined by their boyfriends.
Sally (Francesca Annis) is a nice, posh, sexy girl who has just moved up from the country to become a model. Within hours of arriving she pairs off with photographer Ian McShane, a good looking rascal with a smooth line in chat and some jerky, Richard III style dance moves.

This nightie really turns me on for some reason.

Oh, that's stemmed my excitement.

Dee (the ever irritating Suzanna Leigh) is hooked up with Nikko Stalmar (Klaus Kinski!), a married slum landlord and all round nasty Euro Trash who, ultimately, goes back to his wife after being cornered by some enraged tenants and being whipped half to death with a belt. Kinski is the best thing in the film and, knowing him, probably signed up just for the flagellation. He was a funny sort of feller, really.

Indoor sun bathing.

Krazy Klaus.

Marion (Rosemary Nicholls from 'Department S') has the misfortune to be in love with Prinny, a degenerate gambler who makes claims to a distant relationship to Russian royalty. Prinny is a real prick, but Marion loves him. One of the best scenes in the film comes when he is hung out of a window by gangsters. Prinny is played by Mark Eden aka Alan Bradley from ‘Coronation Street’ – sadly, there is a not a tram available to run him over in this production.    

Poor old Marion.

Prinny the Prick. 

Dee’s brother Paddy (Tony Tanner) is gay. That’s about it for his story but, as it’s 1965, we’re supposed to be fairly shocked by it.

These men are about to break the law.

All set over one pretty eventful weekend, ‘The Pleasure Girls’ was directed by Gerry O’Hara, a man who made his living on the fringes of exploitation (see also That Kind Of Girl’ and disco smutfest ‘The Bitch’). It’s actually quite a decent effort, but required additional nudity, groping and even more whipping for the grubbier continental market.


Boobs and booze.


Don't! Stop! No, don't stop!

As I’ve said before, I rather like  these mild soapy smutters – they’re very British, and what you lose in flesh and laughs you gain in drama and self-respect. 

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