I can't believe the cruel way everyone gossips about me. I didn't invent it. I just perfected it.
You know what they say. If you invent it they will come. We imagine newsstand browsers could barely resist a title as promising as The Girl Who Invented Sex. It was written by Aaron Bell and published by Kozy Books. On the backside you see that Orrie Hitt’s sleazer Nude Doll gets a full advertisement, then, those clever brains at Kozy did the same when Hitt’s book was published, flipping the script, so to speak, with The Girl Who Invented Sex touted on the rear. You see that below. We love this idea. It’s the first time we’ve seen it, but maybe it wasn’t the only time Kozy did it. We’ll keep an eye out. These were published in 1963, and the cover art for both is uncredited.
Anyone for barbecue? 1970s disaster epic charbroils entire city.
City on Fire is a good old fashioned ’70s disaster movie, and we have to tell you, it’s been ages since we’ve seen one. We’re talking rentals at Blockbuster ages. We never had a chance to see one in a cinema, but we have to wonder if a big room with a booming Sensurround system is what City on Fire needs to make it enjoyable, because on our television the movie didn’t get the job done.
Everything starts when three kids accidentally set a blaze while trying to smoke cigarettes, but the real firestorm ignites when a disgruntled oil refinery employee gets sacked, decides as revenge to sabotage the works. He twists some valves and whatnot, causing flammables to run through the city sewers. The stuff combusts and the rest, as they say, is hysteria.
The cast of this flick is outstanding. Leslie Nielsen is the mayor, Henry Fonda a fire chief, Ava Gardner an on-air news personality, Barry Newman an emergency room physician, and Shelley Winters a nurse. Their perspectives continually alternate as the city-eating fire runs rampant. To pull off the incendiary visuals the filmmakers use models of skyscrapers, rear projection, and practical fire stunts of types that died with the advent of computer graphics.
While we appreciated the work that went into the movie, and some of the cinematography was spectacular, we were largely unmoved. Maybe it needed Hindenburg correspondent Herbert Morrison to narrate: “Oh, the humanity!” However, we were very moved by the poster art, which is another top effort by John Solie. City on Fire was made in Canada and, after opening in Europe, premiered in the Great White North today in 1979.
Above is another mid-century 12” x 16.5 Technicolor lithograph. This one, which is titled “Sheer Beauty,” stars magazine model Jackie Johnsen in a sheer top and rather thick looking opaque bottom, reflecting the elemental and eternal changability of woman and the reality that her mind is never really made up. Well, in our house they’re never made up. We can’t speak for all women. Actually we can’t even speak for ours. Actually, they aren’t ours—they just agree to live with us. Actually, they let us live with them and there’s no suggestion of a power dynamic that favors us. Doh! It’s so hard navigating language in 2024.
Anyway, this litho was made from a photo that originally appeared in 1964 in the men’s magazine Campus Dolls. However, Johnsen seems to have made her way into show business a bit earlier. She appeared in the 1963 nudie cutie flick Intimate Diary of Artists’ Models. Since print modeling nearly always came before movies, the timeline suggests to us that Johnsen modeled at least as early as 1963. There are probably obscure magazine photos of her out there somewhere that haven’t appeared online yet. With luck maybe they’ll will turn up. Below, she’s finally decided on see-through, but changed her mind about the best environment for wearing it.
Somebody call an accountant! That should be the tagline for Robert Dietrich’s (E. Howard Hunt’s) End of a Stripper, second in his series starring Washington, D.C. tax consultant Steve Bentley. In the first book, 1957’s Murder on the Rocks, Hunt made the involvement of an accountant in what turns out to be a criminal enterprise make sense. Here, people just treat him like a cop or private dick. Need someone protected? Call the accountant. Find yourself with a corpse on your hands? Call the accountant. Even the cops treat him like a cop.
In addition to answering poorly the question of how to engineer the participation of a financial manager in deadly intrigue (it happens randomly, by the way), Hunt, considering himself to be a man’s man and working with a character cut from the same cloth, doesn’t hesitate to toss off jarring homophobic comments at pointless moments. Generally that doesn’t occur in vintage fiction because it was considered gauche, but there are exceptions. This is one of them.
And perhaps we’re quibbling, but why did the book have to be titled End of a Stripper? Maybe that wasn’t Hunt’s idea, but it hurt the story because Bentley gets romantically entangled early with the peeler in question Linda Lee (real name Greta Kirsten), but she doesn’t turn up dead until nine chapters into a fifteen chapter novel. Why not avoid giving away that crucial plot point? If she’d been killed a chapter or two in, okay, call it End of a Stripper, no harm done. But it’s hard to care about Bentley’s involvement with Linda/Greta when we know she’s ticketed for oblivion.
Then there are Hunt’s angry digressions. Example: A lovely town to raise a daughter in, I thought as I started the engine. Send her to public school and she gets started with the janitor or a football hero. Put her in private school and she learns perversion from a female gym teacher. Keep her out of school and the corner grocer knocks her off in the back room on a pile of potato sacks. The most you hope for is that she knows about contraceptives and doesn’t grow up a doper. The whole goddam world’s gone crazy.
This sort of thing was absent from Murder on the Rocks. Maybe Hunt was being careful in the first book, but here cut loose with the polemics because he felt he had an established series on his hands. Well, it isn’t established with us. After such a precipitous drop-off from the debut we’re tempted to move on permanently, but we can’t lie and pretend End of a Stripper is poorly written. It’s just ill-conceived and irritating. We’ll give Hunt another shot. We have Steve Bentley’s Calypso Caper. Let’s see how that goes.
Burt Reynolds' iconic character loses his bite in sequel to gritty 1973 debut.
We talked about Burt Reynolds’ 1973 actioner White Lightning a few weeks ago, and though we mentioned that the sequel Gator isn’t nearly as good, what it did have was promo art painted by Robert McGinnis. That’s Lauren Hutton wrapped around Burt. She was transitioning from top tier modeling to acting and ended up in some good flicks, including American Gigolo, Welcome to L.A., The Chant of Jimmie Blacksmith, and The Gambler. She deserved better than Gator. As for Burt, he once said he was as good in roles like these as any actor could have been. He literally said Robert De Niro couldn’t have played the part of Gator McCluskey. And as great as DeNiro has been, Burt had a point. You gotta love the guy.
She's a lady in the front, and a plumber in the rear.
The Italian publisher Grandi Edizioni Internazionali was a great source of paperback art during its existence, employing talents like Benedetto Caroselli, Mario de Bernardinis, and Enzo Nistri for its covers. This one for Van Reynolds’ 1974 novel Un marito per Marta Roses is probably by Caroselli, but it’s actually unattributed. The translator is Luca Martinego, and as we discussed before, since most of the credited authors on Italian crime paperbacks were pseudonyms, that means the translators were usually the authors writing in Italian. Overseas publishers were convinced that their crime novels needed American-sounding authors to entice buyers, so translator credits were a sneaky way to make sure the real writers were credited. Strange but true. We’ll have more from Grandi Edizioni Internazionali, as always. And as a final note, we’re sure we don’t need to point out that American model/actress Vikki Dougan actually wore dresses like this in public, but in case we do, check here.
Whatever Lola wants Lola gets—except a decent script and a sufficient budget.
A low rent poster usually indicates a low rent movie. The poster you see here for Lola Falana’s crime drama Lady Cocoa, which premiered today in 1975, is obviously underwhelming. Sometimes, though, digging into the dusty archive of cheap cinema yields forgotten gems. But not in this instance. You know you’re in trouble with Lady Cocoa right from the opening theme, which is a sort of mash-up between a disco song and, “Pop Goes the Weasel.” Literally, that’s the chorus. We’ve come across some terrible theme songs (who can forget the indelible strains of “Flare-Up”?—but this one might take the booby prize.
Falana plays a Reno gangster’s girlfriend who’s spent eighteen months in prison for reasons that are obscure, possibly because she’s insanely annoying. She’s released into protective custody when she finally decides to testify against her man. She doesn’t seem to understand the gravity of her decision, but there’s a reason for that—she has no intention of testifying. She just wants out of the joint for a while. She has total confidence her boyfriend will intuit this, but she’s wrong—kingpins don’t become kingpins through trust. He sends assassins to perforate her, and the movie becomes a standard witness protection actioner. While this basic plot has been done many times, it has rarely been done with dialogue so poor.
Gene Washington: “I remember when I got it in Nam.”
Falana: “Nam?”
Gene Washington: “Yeah. Vietnam.”
Let’s fix that exchange of dialogue for them:
Gene Washington: “I remember when I got it in Nam.”
Falana: “It?”
Gene Washington: “Yeah. Syphilitic meningitis.”
See? Much better. Poor Lola never had a chance in this one. But there are a few items of note. Falana, who’s really cute even playing a grating harpy, spends a lot of the movie in a towel and flashes a backside that’ll leave a permanent impression. Late in the program she and co-star Gene Washington share a real-deal hot tango of a tongue kiss, which is something you rarely see actors do. And one of the assassins is played by Joe Greene, as in Mean Joe Greene, as in the Pittsburgh Steelers. If he’d sacked the producers before they had a chance to make the movie, Hollywood would have given him an honorary Oscar. No such luck.
Despite your ample sexual charms I’m irrationally annoyed I have to bodyguard you.
Still hate me?
Abso-goddamned-lutely.
You sure?
I can’t even budge I’m so filled with loathing.
What if I let you slowly rub this lotion all over me, we enjoy some leisurely oral sex, then fuck like beasts?
Well? Don't just stand there staring. Undo something!
1960’s So Willing is credited to Sheldon Lord and Alan Marshall, but they were pseudonyms used by Lawrence Block and Donald E. Westlake. According to Block, the two wrote this, their second collaboration as Lord and Marshall, by trading chapters through the mail. They would occasionally try to trip each other up with unexpected plot twists, and we can only imagine it must have been a hell of a lot of fun. They tell the tongue-in-cheek tale of a seventeen-year old upstate New York horndog named Vince who’s so successful with girls he decides for variety to hunt up a virgin. He fails a couple of times, ends up running away to New York City with a nineteen-year old married nymphomaniac (their term, not ours), and eventually hooks up with an heiress. Good sleaze novels are diamonds in the rough. You have to dig through a lot of filth to find one. So Willing is better than average because it’s so obviously a lark, but even with Westlake and Block behind the typewriter it’s no gem. We think erotica is the most challenging of all genres for writers. The cover art on this Midwood edition is nice, but uncredited.
Computer scientists go back to drawing board after first self-aware robot is arrested for sexual harassment.
This rare promo poster is signed by Italian illustrator Giuliano Nistri, who we think only produced the background, considering it’s obviously a production image. The movie is Saturn 3, a sort of forgotten British sci-fi adventure from the early 1980s. How to describe it. A little bit Star Wars, a little bit Alien, and a little bit 2001: A Space Odyssey is probably how it was pitched to the studios. The actual result was a little more like b-movies such as Star Crash and BattleBeyond the Stars. But it starred Kirk Douglas, helped launch Harvey Keitel, and had Farrah Fawcett, seen here being brutally suspended by the movie’s deranged AI robot.
The immediate post-Star Wars period was a time when even well known performers had to look twice at cheeseball sci-fi scripts. No actor wanted to miss out on the next cultural phenomenon. That’s the only way to explain Douglas’s involvement. Sadly for him, Saturn 3 came up about 887 million miles short of achieving any lasting impact. Other than a convincingly scary robot, Douglas’s naked ass, and Fawcett wearing a series of negligees and other scanty items, it didn’t offer much of note. At least back then. But these days, the AI that copies its programmer’s worst traits seems plenty relevant. After its U.S. premiere in February 1980, Saturn 3 made a controlled burn into Italy today the same year.
This photo-illustrated poster was made for the 1948 suspense thriller Night Has a Thousand Eyes, which demands to be watched if for no other reason than its lyrical title. The awesome Edward G. Robinson plays a phony psychic who’s thrown for a loop when he unexpectedly starts to have real visions—or seems to. Has he merely refined his scam, or can he really see the future? He tells Gail Russell she’s fated to die in mere days but claims he wants to help her avoid her destiny. She believes the prediction, but her beau and a handful of cops keep trying to pin various crimes on Robinson as Russell’s clock dwindles to zero hour. The base ingredients here—the good cast, experienced director John Farrow, a source novel by William Irish, aka Cornell Woolrich, aka George Hopley—were probably pre-destined to produce something worthwhile. We’d say the novel is better, but as adaptations go Night Has a Thousand Eyes mostly works. We sense that… Wait! It’s becoming clear… It’s you! With a bowl of popcorn and a beer! Watching the movie!
Elvis Presley appears on The Ed Sullivan Show for the first time, performing his hit song “Don’t Be Cruel.” Ironically, a car accident prevented Sullivan from being present that night, and the show was guest-hosted by British actor Charles Laughton.
1966—Star Trek Airs for First Time
Star Trek, an American television series set in the twenty-third century and promoting socialist utopian ideals, premieres on NBC. The series is cancelled after three seasons without much fanfare, but in syndication becomes one of the most beloved television shows of all time.
1974—Ford Pardons Nixon
U.S. President Gerald Ford pardons former President Richard Nixon for any crimes Nixon may have committed while in office, which coincidentally happen to include all those associated with the Watergate scandal.
1978—Giorgi Markov Assassinated
Bulgarian dissident Giorgi Markov is assassinated in a scene right out of a spy novel. As he’s waiting at a bus stop near Waterloo Bridge in London, he’s jabbed in the calf with an umbrella. The man holding the umbrella apologizes and walks away, but he is in reality a Bulgarian hired killer who has just injected a ricin pellet into Markov, who develops a high fever and dies three days later.
1901—McKinley Fatally Shot
Polish-born anarchist Leon Czolgosz shoots and fatally wounds U.S. President William McKinley at the Pan-American Exposition in Buffalo, New York. McKinley dies September 12, and Czolgosz is later executed.
