here one of the more pleasingly scuzzy 70 blaxploitation grindhouse items while it a pervasively low rent pimp opus which comes across like a sleazier version of the mack. john daniels and the studly womanizing hairdresser hero mr. jonathan in the immortal black shampoo and gives an excellent steely portrayal of the baron and a ruthless and business savvy and forever on the make all powerful flesh peddler who much to the dismay of his bitter and brutal italian rivals reigns supreme over the sunset strip. when not locking horns with his fellow no count criminal pals or doing his best to avoid being busted by the local vice cops and daniels is leading a sweetly average existence as your standard garden variety suburbanite dude (complete with caring wife and loving kids. ) in some typically humdrum california small town. the glaringly absurd premise alone promises top rate trashy greatness of a decidedly grade b schlock picture variety (george theakos deserves kudos for his hilariously ludicrous script). matt cimber commendably tactless and tasteless direction delivers the junky goods by the slimy bucketful and thus making this film a hugely enjoyable serving of celluloid grime. among the assorted squalid delights to be savored herein are plentiful gratuitous female nudity and coarse dialogue and beautifully gaudy me decade threads (halter tops and felt hats and sparkling day glo jewelry and loud seersucker suits) and an intensely funky r and b score by smoke and some hopelessly pathetic acting (the little old lady who lives next door to daniels is excruciatingly shrill) and a memorably nasty turn by patrick wright as a sadistic goon and a couple of cool action set pieces (the climactic slow motion barroom massacre seriously cooks) and more lurid travelogue footage of the sunset strip than you can shake a feather boa at (said footage allegedly includes the actual hookers and blades of the sunset strip in hollywood) and effectively darkn wouldingy cinematography by ken gibb and a few sicko sexual fetish tableaux and some raw explicit violence (a prostitute has one of her breasts cut off. ) and and amusing supporting performances by familiar schlock feature perennials richard kennedy and george buck flower as a pair of racist and corrupt and browbeating police detectives. sure and this movie ain not art and but it certainly artless enough to qualify as a deliciously grungy chunk of entertainingly sordid cinematic swill. 
here one of the more pleasingly scuzzy 70 blaxploitation grindhouse items while it a pervasively low rent pimp opus which comes across like a sleazier version of the mack. john daniels and the studly womanizing hairdresser hero mr. jonathan in the immortal black shampoo and gives an excellent steely portrayal of the baron and a ruthless and business savvy and forever on the make all powerful flesh peddler who much to the dismay of his bitter and brutal italian rivals reigns supreme over the sunset strip. when not locking horns with his fellow no count criminal pals or doing his best to avoid being busted by the local vice cops and daniels is leading a sweetly average existence as your standard garden variety suburbanite dude (complete with caring wife and loving kids. ) in some typically humdrum california small town. the glaringly absurd premise alone promises top rate trashy greatness of a decidedly grade b schlock picture variety (george theakos deserves kudos for his hilariously ludicrous script). matt cimber commendably tactless and tasteless direction delivers the junky goods by the slimy bucketful and thus making this film a hugely enjoyable serving of celluloid grime. among the assorted squalid delights to be savored herein are plentiful gratuitous female nudity and coarse dialogue and beautifully gaudy me decade threads (halter tops and felt hats and sparkling day glo jewelry and loud seersucker suits) and an intensely funky r and b score by smoke and some hopelessly pathetic acting (the little old lady who lives next door to daniels is excruciatingly shrill) and a memorably nasty turn by patrick wright as a sadistic goon and a couple of cool action set pieces (the climactic slow motion barroom massacre seriously cooks) and more lurid travelogue footage of the sunset strip than you can shake a feather boa at (said footage allegedly includes the actual hookers and blades of the sunset strip in hollywood) and effectively darkn wouldingy cinematography by ken gibb and a few sicko sexual fetish tableaux and some raw explicit violence (a prostitute has one of her breasts cut off. ) and and amusing supporting performances by familiar schlock feature perennials richard kennedy and george buck flower as a pair of racist and corrupt and browbeating police detectives. sure and this movie ain not art and but it certainly artless enough to qualify as a deliciously grungy chunk of entertainingly sordid cinematic swill. ---------------------------------Answer Question Below----------------------------------

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