Don’t Throw Out This Trash

            Every once in a while, you happen on a little movie that has somehow been passed over for a number of years for no real reason. I had the pleasure of viewing such a film: a little seen, but often discussed, picture called Poor White Trash (1957). What is amazing about this film is that it balances being a great exploitation piece of amazing trash (hence the titillating title) and being a legitimately interesting romantic drama. The plot concerns Peter Graves (the man with the greatest name in film history, as far as I’m concerned) as Martin Davis, an all around American kind of guy who has an overwhelming need to be moral (you know that kind of morality that could really only be possible in the faux-idyllic 1950s). Even though normally this type of straightshooter has a habit of getting annoying, there is enough good dialogue between him and the smoking-hot love interest Marie (Lita Milan, whose cleavage has just as much of a lead role as she does) to keep things interesting. Timothy Carey is Ulysses, the almost-as-crazy-as-Robert-Mitchum-in-Cape-Fear-Cajun-shopowner who is hell-bent on raping the shit out of Marie at every possible chance and beating the “Yankee” (as Davis is often referred) at trivial contests (like dancing and boat races) that are really big deals in the bayou. After getting told by everyone in Bumblefuckton, Louisiana that he has to stand up to Ulysses, and an hour and twenty of him waxing philosophical on the nature of the right thing to do, Davis finally grows some avocadoes and gives Ulysses something to think about in an all-out blaspheming hixploitation fight scene that ranks up there with fight scenes from hixploitation classics like Russ Meyer’s Lorna or Mudhoney.  

            So, enough of the plot because now we’re going to ho-down to the breakdown: This film boasts a nice pint of blood, which is noteworthy because it’s 1957. There is steamy love triangle action, steamy Ulysses-raping-Marie-action, steamy consensual sex action (who would have thought sex should be consensual?), Lita Milan-becoming-increasingly-naked-as-she’s-chased-through-the-bayou-by-Tim-Carey action (which results in the aforementioned rape!), undue racism against poor white trash action, undue racism against white yankee city folk action, hurricane action, hardcore Cajun accent action, staying out past nine o’clock at night action, fight scene in the cemetery action, and, of course, Peter Graves being Peter Graves throughout the entire movie action. This is top-notch drive-in pulp. If you can wrap your mitts around this little piece of fried gold, you’re in for a treat. Four out of five stars. Watch it, if you can find it.

A Real Queen Scene

            So, here’s a great little treat for B-movie fanatics: an odd, little b-adventure (or perhaps, badventure?) flick called Queen of Outer Space. This is one of those conservative, later-in-the-sci-fi-circuit (made in ‘58) flicks that tries to ride the heels of more progressive projects, complete with borrowed rocket ship footage, homogenous, white bread characters, and a sense of extreme sexist objectification (totally awesome objectification!) typically attributed to early Eisenhower administration films. The plot deals with a few of America’s top astronauts in 1984 (the future!) that are recruited to make a quick run to the nearby space station hovering above earth. Good luck too, because once out of the atmosphere, the station is destroyed by a seemingly rogue death ray (happens all the time, right?), and the ship is damaged. After traveling at many times the normal speed of the ship (it makes sense that a damaged ship would go faster), the ship’s crew experiences a harrowing journey from the comfort of their spiffy reclining chairs and crash land on a planet inhabited only by women. After some excellently sexist scenes, they are taken prisoner, come to the conclusion that the death rays were fired from the planet, and are recruited by Zsa Zsa Gabor (who, somehow, plays a scientist – I don’t believe it) to help in the overthrow of the insane, masked women who run the planet. Take a minute to re-read that. Anyway, without giving too much away, the men battle the women, play some tonsil hockey, and the movie ends exactly the way you’d expect.

The breakdown: this movie unfortunately sports only about half a child’s cup of blood, though this is made up for by copious amounts of women in high heels and short skirts. There is obvious miniature blowup action, women running in high heels action, hiding behind a bush from a searchlight action, random giant rubber spider in a cave action, sizzly skin action, death ray action, Zsa Zsa Gabor hitting on a guy half her age action, and everybody getting some action action. Extra points go to the movie for the ridiculously bright CinemaScope color, the converted recliner space ship chairs, the liberal borrowing of scenes, props, costumes, etc. from other, better movies like The Forbidden Planet, the pocket ray guns that make people burst into a puff of smoke, and the line, “Sure, and even if they invented it, how could they aim it? You know how women drivers are!” This is an excellent Saturday night feature or simply an 80-minute brain-free good time. It also conveniently comes in a 3-pack with Attack of the 50 Ft. Woman and The Giant Behemoth. Give it a shot or two. Three out of five stars.

You can read this review in the upcoming issues of The Common Voice (TheCommonVoice.net) and Latent Image Magazine.