This one rates as a true rarity: It's a terrifically trashy 60's psychedelic sleaze romp about acid and its lethal side effects that's every bit as prurient and exploitative as its magnificently lurid title suggests. A naive blonde goody-goody two shoes college girl chemistry major who, of course, just happens to be a total cutie pie goes the standard immediate loss of innocence route when she's initiated into a lewd, sinful, debauched, and even dangerous world of sex'n'drugs'n'rock'n'roll music by several amoral trippy'n'dippy hipster degenerates.
So far, so stupid, but thankfully there's much, much more: the hot babes in racy lacy underwear, the frequent distaff nudity, and several extremely mild, but still titillating simulated soft-core sex scenes all add immensely to the tasty'n'tawdry fun. Moreover, we've got an intensely awesome garage rock soundtrack: the neat, insanely catchy and mesmerizing theme song "Put the Clock Back on the Wall" by the E-Types, the Vagrants' truly cosmic "I Love You, Yes I Do," and two blistering winners by the Bit A'Sweet -- the too-groovy-for-words "Out of Sight, Out of Mind" and the funkier-than-thou slow drag stomper "Is It On, Is It Off?". And let's not overlook either the pungently atmospheric rug cuttin' nightclub footage shot at New York's the Rolling Stone Discotheque or the superbly swinging sunshine shindig sequence which culminates in the unfortunate untimely death of one dope-addled partygoer. Then there's the choice moment where a bunch of smiling stoners banging bongo drums, clapping their hands, and strumming guitars joyfully sing the deathless mantra, "LSD's gotta hold on me!" Leon Gast's clunky, harshly lit, and sometimes overexposed black and white hand-held cinematography, the poor post-sync dubbing, a few crude, completely unconvincing sound effects, the stiff acting by an endearingly amateurish no-name cast, the choppy editing, plenty of choice cruddy dialogue (favorite line: "Get your hands off her, you scum!"), and Ralph Mauro's heavy-handed direction all give this beautifully baked'n'batty beaut that mondo supremo cheesy, heady, nifty no-budget neo verite anti-bourgeois "with-it" vibe that's the key distinguishing hallmark of quintessential counterculture kitsch. Can you dig it, my enlightened honeychild brethren? I'm sure you can. (And if you can't, then flake off you uncool square!). An ideal far-out flick for fans of obscure underground exploitation fare.
So far, so stupid, but thankfully there's much, much more: the hot babes in racy lacy underwear, the frequent distaff nudity, and several extremely mild, but still titillating simulated soft-core sex scenes all add immensely to the tasty'n'tawdry fun. Moreover, we've got an intensely awesome garage rock soundtrack: the neat, insanely catchy and mesmerizing theme song "Put the Clock Back on the Wall" by the E-Types, the Vagrants' truly cosmic "I Love You, Yes I Do," and two blistering winners by the Bit A'Sweet -- the too-groovy-for-words "Out of Sight, Out of Mind" and the funkier-than-thou slow drag stomper "Is It On, Is It Off?". And let's not overlook either the pungently atmospheric rug cuttin' nightclub footage shot at New York's the Rolling Stone Discotheque or the superbly swinging sunshine shindig sequence which culminates in the unfortunate untimely death of one dope-addled partygoer. Then there's the choice moment where a bunch of smiling stoners banging bongo drums, clapping their hands, and strumming guitars joyfully sing the deathless mantra, "LSD's gotta hold on me!" Leon Gast's clunky, harshly lit, and sometimes overexposed black and white hand-held cinematography, the poor post-sync dubbing, a few crude, completely unconvincing sound effects, the stiff acting by an endearingly amateurish no-name cast, the choppy editing, plenty of choice cruddy dialogue (favorite line: "Get your hands off her, you scum!"), and Ralph Mauro's heavy-handed direction all give this beautifully baked'n'batty beaut that mondo supremo cheesy, heady, nifty no-budget neo verite anti-bourgeois "with-it" vibe that's the key distinguishing hallmark of quintessential counterculture kitsch. Can you dig it, my enlightened honeychild brethren? I'm sure you can. (And if you can't, then flake off you uncool square!). An ideal far-out flick for fans of obscure underground exploitation fare.
