In the 1970s there was a genre I like to refer to as the "70s doom" film. I'm not sure if "Private Parts" qualifies, as it's much wilder than most of the ones I hold most dear (like "The Pyx" and "Don't Look In The Basement"). But it's definitely got the aesthetics down pat, and if it seems a little too deliberate or *too* well made to be authentic, it's at least an unforgettable experience.
Groovy 70s chick Cheryl (pronounced "CHAIR-ul") is on the run with her friend Judy, who freaks out on her when Cheryl spies on her having sex with a groovy L.A. hunk. Cheryl packs her suitcase and takes off, along with Judy's wallet, and heads out into the sleaziest part of L.A. looking for her long-lost Aunt Martha's hotel. Unfortunately for Cheryl, she finds it, and Aunt Martha takes her in.
Aunt Martha is a stout, homely woman with no tolerance for worldly ways. She insists that Cheryl wash "that paint" off before joining her for dinner, and lectures her on the evils of sex. Cheryl plays along for a place to stay, but she soon finds out that the hotel is full of loonies of all types. There's a gay priest who has a thing for male bodybuilders, a drunk guy who doesn't do anything except pass out in his room, and an old lady who wanders around looking for a girl named "Alice". Oh, and don't forget the reclusive photographer, George, who shows his affection for Cheryl by spying on her through cracks in the wall, leaving her pornographic reading material in her room, and offering her fetish gear to wear for his amusement. Cheryl craves the attention, but she's not aware that people are being murdered in the hotel, or that someone may cut her head off with a machete one of these days. Is that what really happened to "Alice", anyway?
Not all aspects of the movie work. I wasn't a big fan of the music, although others have raved about it and found it reminiscent of Bernard Hermann (!). It seemed too grandiose for this film, and I longed for the cheesy thriller cues from "Don't Look In The Basement". I also found the movie overall to be a little too polished. Paul Bartel has a great eye for detail here, many of which don't really mean much except to add an otherworldly quality to the movie, but it's almost too calculated. It also comes apart too soon at the conclusion, when outside authority figures come to the hotel and reveal themselves to be as weird as the residents there. It detracts from the notion of the hotel as being a microcosm of insanity.
But there is a lot to love about it. Some of the strongest images in the film come as a shock to the first-time viewer, so make sure you don't watch the trailer included on the DVD (it's one of those that reveal all the twists in the film, including who lives, who dies, and who's doing all the machete chopping), but this movie will not make anybody jump out of their seat. Instead, it gets under your skin, particularly a see-through vinyl blow-up sex doll that George likes to dress as Cheryl, complete with an enlarged photograph of her face attached to it. George fills it with water, and never has vinyl looked so disturbing and bizarre as it does here while the doll slowly unravels, snake-like, taking human form gradually while still looking completely alien. It's a low-key chill, but something that I've never seen in a film before this one. What a shock some of this must have been back in 1972.
Even today it's still bizarre. It's the kind of movie that infuriates some people for being too vague and meandering (and thus boring), while other people will read into it and find it fascinating. I'm one of the latter.
Groovy 70s chick Cheryl (pronounced "CHAIR-ul") is on the run with her friend Judy, who freaks out on her when Cheryl spies on her having sex with a groovy L.A. hunk. Cheryl packs her suitcase and takes off, along with Judy's wallet, and heads out into the sleaziest part of L.A. looking for her long-lost Aunt Martha's hotel. Unfortunately for Cheryl, she finds it, and Aunt Martha takes her in.
Aunt Martha is a stout, homely woman with no tolerance for worldly ways. She insists that Cheryl wash "that paint" off before joining her for dinner, and lectures her on the evils of sex. Cheryl plays along for a place to stay, but she soon finds out that the hotel is full of loonies of all types. There's a gay priest who has a thing for male bodybuilders, a drunk guy who doesn't do anything except pass out in his room, and an old lady who wanders around looking for a girl named "Alice". Oh, and don't forget the reclusive photographer, George, who shows his affection for Cheryl by spying on her through cracks in the wall, leaving her pornographic reading material in her room, and offering her fetish gear to wear for his amusement. Cheryl craves the attention, but she's not aware that people are being murdered in the hotel, or that someone may cut her head off with a machete one of these days. Is that what really happened to "Alice", anyway?
Not all aspects of the movie work. I wasn't a big fan of the music, although others have raved about it and found it reminiscent of Bernard Hermann (!). It seemed too grandiose for this film, and I longed for the cheesy thriller cues from "Don't Look In The Basement". I also found the movie overall to be a little too polished. Paul Bartel has a great eye for detail here, many of which don't really mean much except to add an otherworldly quality to the movie, but it's almost too calculated. It also comes apart too soon at the conclusion, when outside authority figures come to the hotel and reveal themselves to be as weird as the residents there. It detracts from the notion of the hotel as being a microcosm of insanity.
But there is a lot to love about it. Some of the strongest images in the film come as a shock to the first-time viewer, so make sure you don't watch the trailer included on the DVD (it's one of those that reveal all the twists in the film, including who lives, who dies, and who's doing all the machete chopping), but this movie will not make anybody jump out of their seat. Instead, it gets under your skin, particularly a see-through vinyl blow-up sex doll that George likes to dress as Cheryl, complete with an enlarged photograph of her face attached to it. George fills it with water, and never has vinyl looked so disturbing and bizarre as it does here while the doll slowly unravels, snake-like, taking human form gradually while still looking completely alien. It's a low-key chill, but something that I've never seen in a film before this one. What a shock some of this must have been back in 1972.
Even today it's still bizarre. It's the kind of movie that infuriates some people for being too vague and meandering (and thus boring), while other people will read into it and find it fascinating. I'm one of the latter.