1/22/07: Chatterbox (1977) [Content advisory—but we can’t think of a polite way to say why]We get to start each year by writing up a large collection of celebrity obituaries. The current crop has reminded us of several RightWingTrash icons who’ve passed away. This week will honor a few of those fallen—and we’ll start with an entry that’s also our show of disdain for
Dinesh D’Souza’s new book. He’s welcome to sacrifice his own DVD collection to placate Islamofascists. As for us: “Democracy! Whiskey! Candice Rialson!”
There were plenty of blonde goddesses shining from the drive-in scenes of the 1970s. Rialson—who passed away this past March—was memorable for more than a stunning screen presence. She also crammed an impressive mix of mainstream work and immortal trash into a short career. (Choose from
G-rated info or
R-rated info.)
Rialson was so talented that she continued to work after starring in
Chatterbox—or, as the film is more commonly known, that movie about the girl with the singing vagina.
This sordid comedy was a different kind of box-office disaster. The producers learned that 1970s America wasn’t quite so enlightened that
Chatterbox could be advertised or reviewed in family newspapers. It’s no porn film, though. At least the filmmakers were wise enough to make a sweet film out of a dirty idea.
The film’s also a nice dissection of women’s liberation, sexual politics, and the resultant rampant exploitation of the innocent. The big idea is actually an inversion of the plot from
Deep Throat. (Did you know
Deep Throat had a plot? If you did, call up Dinesh D’Souza and give him your apologies for causing 9/11.) Rialson plays Penny Pittman, an innocent hairdresser who learns that her vagina has developed vocal chords—and is opinionated about a lot of things, starting with how Penny’s boyfriend is bad in bed.
The vagina would make a fine insult comic, but Penny goes to a psychiatrist who has other ideas. Once he hears the vagina sing, Dr. Pearl’s on the phone and wheeling and dealing as the self-appointed manager of Penny’s showbiz career.
Penny doesn’t have a say in any of this. She tries to protest, but Pearl explains that she’s merely a repressed conservative girl, and it’s really necessary for her to let her vagina do the talking. In this liberated world, Penny is now a mere accessory. The power of feminism strips away any choice she has in the matter. Her singing vagina even makes its public debut while a humiliated Penny is strapped down in front of an admiring audience.
Penny’s showbiz career takes off after she appears on a talk show hosted by
Professor Irwin Corey. (The song she performs is written by Neil Sedaka.) The microphone is positioned between Penny’s legs, and she goes on to sport different bikini bottoms for different occasions. This includes playing the White House. Carter was in office then, so that’s believable.
Penny continues to be overshadowed by her sex organs. Her vagina is a spokeswoman for free love, and Penny’s own needs no longer matter. She’s relieved when her outraged mother finally appears, but Mom forgets her daughter’s feelings once she finds out that Penny’s vagina is making big bucks. Fortunately, there’s a happy ending—but it only comes about when Penny dares to discover two things: She’s not a terribly unique person, and there’s a special man out there who’s meant for just her.
That’s a true double dose of contradictory feminist anathema.
A lot of this works because Rialson is so sympathetic.
Chatterbox is pure sexploitation, but the audience never forgets Penny’s plight. The movie’s tough to watch because we worry about both the lead character and the actress who took on this baffling role. In truth, audiences were enjoying one of their last looks at Rialson. She retired after an all-too-brief cameo in the bizarre 1979 political thriller
Winter Kills.
Let’s close, however, with proper credit to director/co-writer Tom DeSimone. This was his second mainstream production after years of helming gay porn. “Aha,” cry the feminists, “he doesn’t like women!” Perhaps not in a certain way, but DeSimone went on to a fine schlock career where strong female characters were the norm. We especially like Linda Blair’s character in 1981’s
Hell Night.
Make it your own: Not available on DVD, and we’re as shocked as you are. Now we’ll never get a Rialson commentary. Sadly—and understandably—
VHS copies are getting expensive.
