a journey through the whispered world of women!
A so-called "field geologist" from the United States (who resembles the kind of "specialist" who examines your lawn for chiggers) visits the Napa Valley section of the Middle East and misdirects a knife aimed at a swarthy sheik's bisht. For thwarting this OPEC oriented assassination, he is allowed to visit The Street of a Thousand Pleasures, otherwise known as the Manson Family Girls Summer Youth Ranch. There he ogles, fondles, and fidgets with every type of girl known to the wide world of the exploitation film: from homely hags to semi-mutt ugly runaways. The majority of the film is shot from the grass cutting groper's eye view. The majority of the dialogue is voice-over comments about the epidermis. Thank Allah it is not in 3-D or Smell-a-Vision.
As if seeing hundreds of underfed and unwashed college literature majors totally naked was not enough to make one an eunuch, Way Out Topless offers the chance to see these long-lost lasses a few decades and pounds and wrinkles and skin folds later. Pasties flop and paunches percolate under outdated ball gowns as these burly cabaret queens quiver their cash cows along the catwalks of Baltimore and Washington D.C. Ever wondered what the connection was between joining a health club and exposing your pones for profit? The introductory ten minutes to this film will boldly attempt to address the correlation.
This DVD should be called The Something Weird Sexuality Potency Test. If you can sit through both of these mediocre, mind-numbingly monotonous movies and still feel the urge to page through a Playboy or catch an episode of HBO's Real Sex, you are destined to displace Casanova and/or Wilt Chamberlain as the most notorious and robust ladies man (or woman—whatever floats your boat) of the last 800 years. These flesh filled fiascos will challenge your breast appeal quotient and your overall teat tolerance levels. Those who are hopelessly hooter helpless are doomed, since even the most heterosexual of males may find themselves turning Tinkerbell after this non-stop barrage of boobs. To call Street of a Thousand Pleasures a movie is like saying Milli Vanilli was a powerful vocal duo. To consider it erotic is even more chuckle headed. Some better names for this neutered turn-off would be Street of a Thousand Rashes, Street of a Thousand Diseases, or Street of a Thousand Abnormalities. It doesn't help that the entire movie is shot in a very irritating POV Molester-cam manner where we stare at dozens of vacant, dead eyed drop-outs in various stages of malnutrition. And then the camera moves in closer to accentuate the queasiness. It's like The Blair Witch Project for perverts. At least Way Out Topless is honest about its fixation for the female form. It doesn't create any carcasses over including plot or attempting character. It's just a series of ever decreasingly exotic dancers showing why, even before Mickey Rooney and Sugar Babies, burlesque was dead. The only stiffness achievable from this DVD is of the bored variety.
Let's face it, nothing could save these movies. Not even if the image was as sharp as a Ginsu knife and julienned you a mess of tasty home fries could this Something Weird Video package be salvaged. For starters, both movies are full screen with only the black and white Topless looking good (as does every SWV monochrome title). Street, on the other hand, seems as used and soiled as the cast of slave beauties (and equally marred with scratches and defects). For extras, we are treated to more endless extended examples of the expansive engineering of the feminine form. From the double, triple, and dotrigintillion entendres of the too-clever-for-its-own-imagined-good nudie Box Lunch to the society matron strip tease-a-go-go of Instant Orgy, there are just far too many malformed mammaries offered. But the most taxing of all these ta-ta tortures is a giant jug fest appropriately entitled Breast Orgy. It features several very well endowed women incessantly slapping their udders into some plowboy's constantly open maw. It's enough to drive you to drink Similac. Frankly, the constant barrage of bazookas, headlights, flapjacks, fried eggs, and wilted bananas would make even the most testosterone laced lothario scream for leniency. In the long history of the exploitation film, it is rare for one to complain about too many tits! Street of a Thousand Pleasures / Way Out Topless is a shining example of such an atypical, asexual cantaloupe curio.
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Scales of Justice
Studio: Something Weird Video
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