In Louisiana Hussy Nan Peterson washes up in a backwater bayou town and within seconds every male resident loses his gumbo over her. She’s shady as hell but all it takes is a glimpse of cleavage and a coy smile and the guys forget all that. Ah, for the good old days when men bore no responsibility for their sexual behavior. Here’s a dialogue exchange that takes place between two bumpkins named Pierre and Jacques:
“I should have told Lilly the very first night what she was.”
“Telling your wife that you tried to make love to another woman on your wedding night? It wouldn’t be nice, would it, Pierre?”
“Is that what she told you?”
“She didn’t have to tell me. I saw you myself.”
“She forced her love on me! Jacques, she’s a tramp! A nymphomaniac!”
Yup, we men just go where these things between our legs tell us. You don’t blame a compass for pointing north, do you? Of course not. But you will deserve blame if you watch this movie. It isn’t even a film noir, like some websites claim. It’s just a low rent drama—a tacky one. The poster, on the other hand, is one of the all-time greats.
And speaking of men following their dicks, we recently asked a couple of friends which post on Pulp Intl. was their favorite. Did they pick our informative exposés of mid-century celebs, or erudite true crime articles, or innumerable pieces of rare art? Nope. They picked this one.
