Kristine DeBell is Alice Liddell in this sex-oriented production with music and lyrics by Bucky Searles. By the time of its release, 1976, I suppose people were becoming blasé about hard-core porno and it was time to try something new, as in, "Let's put on a show!" I saw the R-rated version in a drive-in and thought it was pretty hot stuff. Kristine DeBell looks so fragile, so dumb. Her voice -- that is, her undubbed speaking voice -- is a cross between Barbara Nichols and Candace Bergen. I know it's hard to imagine such a thing. Maybe it's easier if you start with Bergen's voice and then subtract the class.
The rest of the cast is up to soft-core standards, except that I kind of liked Bucky Searles, the composer, lyricist, writer, and actor in his many make ups. He has a haimische New York accent that keeps things from getting too rarefied. If there still were vaudeville or burlesque skits around, he'd find a solid niche. And the dancers too, uncoordinated as they may be. At least they've had training. I've studied dance just enough to know how hard it is to get your body to move the way you want it to, and I can only envy those with the skills to do it.
Searles' songs are backed by a full orchestra, which must have added to the expense. None are memorable. They all sound like they belong in a musical -- not necessarily a bad musical -- that no one ever heard of because it didn't make it to MGM, like "The Duchess of Washoe." The theme -- "Where Are You Going, Girl?" -- is sung by a Johnny Mathis clone. But the lyrics, like the dialog, sometimes have a certain sly wit, aside from the many double entendres. Alice doesn't want to have sex before marriage. "I want to remain pure, unblemished, spotless." King: "Spotless? I don't want to put any spots on you. I like you just the way you are." However -- and how I hate to use this word -- it's kind of "dated." It may have been surprisingly hot in 1976 but it's not anymore. There are a handful of XXX-rated inserts in the updated version but they add little zest to the story because so many of them are faceless closeups of acts now familiar to many of us from internet sites. Really, the inserts could be from some anatomy textbook. And when you watch the Washington Monument plunging in and out of the Lincoln Tunnel, all you're aware of is that this is being done by actors who are paid to do it. Well, let me amend that. The men, at least, have had to muster a certain enthusiasm for the money shots.
It's not really good enough to be a musical, and the sex is taken a little too lightly to be erotic. It's a good-natured, diverting, ambitious, forgettable historical curiosity.
The rest of the cast is up to soft-core standards, except that I kind of liked Bucky Searles, the composer, lyricist, writer, and actor in his many make ups. He has a haimische New York accent that keeps things from getting too rarefied. If there still were vaudeville or burlesque skits around, he'd find a solid niche. And the dancers too, uncoordinated as they may be. At least they've had training. I've studied dance just enough to know how hard it is to get your body to move the way you want it to, and I can only envy those with the skills to do it.
Searles' songs are backed by a full orchestra, which must have added to the expense. None are memorable. They all sound like they belong in a musical -- not necessarily a bad musical -- that no one ever heard of because it didn't make it to MGM, like "The Duchess of Washoe." The theme -- "Where Are You Going, Girl?" -- is sung by a Johnny Mathis clone. But the lyrics, like the dialog, sometimes have a certain sly wit, aside from the many double entendres. Alice doesn't want to have sex before marriage. "I want to remain pure, unblemished, spotless." King: "Spotless? I don't want to put any spots on you. I like you just the way you are." However -- and how I hate to use this word -- it's kind of "dated." It may have been surprisingly hot in 1976 but it's not anymore. There are a handful of XXX-rated inserts in the updated version but they add little zest to the story because so many of them are faceless closeups of acts now familiar to many of us from internet sites. Really, the inserts could be from some anatomy textbook. And when you watch the Washington Monument plunging in and out of the Lincoln Tunnel, all you're aware of is that this is being done by actors who are paid to do it. Well, let me amend that. The men, at least, have had to muster a certain enthusiasm for the money shots.
It's not really good enough to be a musical, and the sex is taken a little too lightly to be erotic. It's a good-natured, diverting, ambitious, forgettable historical curiosity.