Best of all, aside from its anti-white devil posturing, Strutters is free of specific social agenda, taking its crazy 1970s plumage and lots of countercultural (drugs and anti-police mostly) zeitgeist with a grain of salt, instead satirizing AIP's biker movie and blaxploitation interpretations of America, rather than America itself. Zipping along in a way that should delight fans of the fast-paced basement aesthetics of early Corman black humor comedies like Creature from the Haunted Sea and a Bucket of Blood.
In other words, if you saw Get Out and it reminded you of The Thing with Two Heads, where Ray Milland gets his head grafted onto Rosie Greer's body, and you thought to yourself, 'damn I need to see that movie again!' Then you did, and then you said, "damn, maybe I shouldn't have bothered." The movie you should have seen is Darktown Strutters!
Trina Parks stars as Syreena, leader of a gang of colorfully dressed female 'trikers' (as in on those three-wheel dragsters) called 'the Strutters.' No sooner have these Strutters rolled into town than they're rumbling with a bevy of white Marines on R&R at the hot dog stand, and then cops show up (their gigantic UFO siren really kicks the shrooms in, so to speak) to harass the ladies for no real reason, while a color-coordinated bunch of flashily-attired (probably white) bank robbers, armed with a bazooka, among other things, storm out of the bank right across the street. Figures, man. "Watts is a shooting gallery," Syreena warns "and you're the ducks!"
Trina Parks stars as Syreena, leader of a gang of colorfully dressed female 'trikers' (as in on those three-wheel dragsters) called 'the Strutters.' No sooner have these Strutters rolled into town than they're rumbling with a bevy of white Marines on R&R at the hot dog stand, and then cops show up (their gigantic UFO siren really kicks the shrooms in, so to speak) to harass the ladies for no real reason, while a color-coordinated bunch of flashily-attired (probably white) bank robbers, armed with a bazooka, among other things, storm out of the bank right across the street. Figures, man. "Watts is a shooting gallery," Syreena warns "and you're the ducks!"
Arrested anyway, she tricks her way out of the precinct in high but wondrously deadpan but shockingly violent Bugs Bunny fashion-- getting the chief of police shot to death by his own men (she convinces him to dress up like a blackface drag queen and go undercover, so he's shot right in the vestibule by the men looking for her) Meanwhile she dons a cop uniform and strolls cockily out! What? Can you imagine a scene like that ever even being written today?
Then the detective story elements kick in: Syreena learns her abortionist mom has been missing for weeks and prominent black men have been abducted all over town! Incognito in her signature orange suit and a yellow feathered helmet, our heroine begins a search that leads her all over cartoon versions of the usual AIP haunts: a groovy faux-Arabian bordello; a rib shack; an igloo where the ice cream bicycle 'pot-cicle' man keeps his frozen stash (I really wanted the 50/50 LSD peyote bar, but couldn't get my money through the screen); and of course a rundown club wherein a stone-cold pimpin' detective named Philo Rasberry (Sam Laws) feels left out the kidnappers didn't try to abduct him, too ("Maybe it's like rape," Syreena suggests, "you have to ask for it").
Produced by Gene Corman (Roger's brother); shot from the hip by an old western serial director (William Witney). Hipster maniac George Armitage wrote it in three days and once said "the entire script is one sentence." The shocking mix of sociopolitical satire and savage comic anarchy is pure Armitage, reminiscent his work on 1970's GAS-S-S-S-s-s-, but with some changes-for-the-bette: trikes and bikes instead of dune buggies; the harmonies and deep soul of Staxx label artists instead of endless twang of Country Joe & the Fish; and set in Looney Tunes version of South LA instead of a Looney Tunes version of Palm Springs; and best of all, Trina Parks instead of that entitled little pisher Bob Corff in the lead. It's also the one and only time Armitage delves into blaxploitation (then all the rage), tweaking, broad sight gags (in the tradition of then-popular variety shows), and the satire of Terry Southern or George Axelrod but sudden violence substituting for their dated leering.
The element X that makes the whole thing work is the great time Parks seems to be having/ Whether disguised as a motorcycle cop, a nun, or just her yellow Apollonian charioteer costume, Parks surfs the madness with a wry shrug, a slinky ease-in-her-own-skin luxuriance, and deadpan approach that clearly keeps the rest of the cast eager to match it. As Hal Horn puts it, Parks "has to be wonderful in order for this unpredictable hodgepodge to work and fortunately, she is." She doesn't run and dodge as she escapes, she doesn't 'shuck and jive' as they used to say, she walks like a graceful, plugged-in panther; she stays in the narrative tension without losing her sense of ease in her own skin. When she stops her prison rescue to dig the sweet sounds of The Dramatics, who woo Syreena from their tinsel-lit disco cell (with one of the few credited songs, "Whatcha See is Watcha Get") after she finds her chained-up mother, has a little moment, then forgets to unshackle her as she sashays away but it's WB cartoon funny rather than Tank Girl upsetting.
PS - If you're wondering, of course the late, great Dick Miller shows up in this one, too -- as a cop. As always, he does it well, capturing the anarchic 3-Stooges over-the-top spazzing the role requires and cementing this to brother Corman's canon.
Most of the cast (alas)) are unjustly obscure ere a few recognizable faces: Syreena's would-be suitor, the biker Mellow is played Roger E. Mosley (a name beloved by Magnum PI fans); Otis Day (of Animal House-fame) is V.D. (he carries around a spray bottle of penicillin in case anyone touches him) and Christopher Joy (the "straight from Turkey" weed dealer in Up in Smoke) is the perennially shaky "Wired" (he has a permanently wind-blown bandana around his neck). Why, the cast is just brimmin' with characters, overlapping dialogue, and little bits of business so fast and deadpan droll it takes a few viewings to appreciate it all.
Produced by Gene Corman (Roger's brother); shot from the hip by an old western serial director (William Witney). Hipster maniac George Armitage wrote it in three days and once said "the entire script is one sentence." The shocking mix of sociopolitical satire and savage comic anarchy is pure Armitage, reminiscent his work on 1970's GAS-S-S-S-s-s-, but with some changes-for-the-bette: trikes and bikes instead of dune buggies; the harmonies and deep soul of Staxx label artists instead of endless twang of Country Joe & the Fish; and set in Looney Tunes version of South LA instead of a Looney Tunes version of Palm Springs; and best of all, Trina Parks instead of that entitled little pisher Bob Corff in the lead. It's also the one and only time Armitage delves into blaxploitation (then all the rage), tweaking, broad sight gags (in the tradition of then-popular variety shows), and the satire of Terry Southern or George Axelrod but sudden violence substituting for their dated leering.
Darktown's bargain basement chic requires a certain surrendering of expectations to get past. If you come spoiling for something to 'cancel' and judge for its unconscious micro and macro aggressions, you are sure to find what you're looking for, but once you lock onto its goofy kinetic off-the-cuff mix of good cheer (everyone seems to having a great time), improv layered chaos, and black humor, you'll forgive its trespasses (if you can forgive Tarantino--who's a fan of this movie--you can forgive Armitage) (1) .
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| (literal) White devil sublimation delicately intended |
Now, that's not to see he doesn't run the risk of being too hip, and all in all Darktown ain't perfect: the short running time is padded with long chase scenes (here it's an extended dirt bike chase around some vacant lot trail for five minutes), but when it works it works. Shucks, we don't get irritated if Syreena stops her dungeon escape to dig the sweet sound of act the impatient poppa as the first of "Sky Hog" rib magnate Commander Cross's artificial clone baby is about to be born!
The element X that makes the whole thing work is the great time Parks seems to be having/ Whether disguised as a motorcycle cop, a nun, or just her yellow Apollonian charioteer costume, Parks surfs the madness with a wry shrug, a slinky ease-in-her-own-skin luxuriance, and deadpan approach that clearly keeps the rest of the cast eager to match it. As Hal Horn puts it, Parks "has to be wonderful in order for this unpredictable hodgepodge to work and fortunately, she is." She doesn't run and dodge as she escapes, she doesn't 'shuck and jive' as they used to say, she walks like a graceful, plugged-in panther; she stays in the narrative tension without losing her sense of ease in her own skin. When she stops her prison rescue to dig the sweet sounds of The Dramatics, who woo Syreena from their tinsel-lit disco cell (with one of the few credited songs, "Whatcha See is Watcha Get") after she finds her chained-up mother, has a little moment, then forgets to unshackle her as she sashays away but it's WB cartoon funny rather than Tank Girl upsetting. Not every actor is a good fit for Armitage's unwieldy mouthfuls of acerbic hipster counter-anarchic Laugh-In gag-spiked dialogue but Parks knows the best way is to just grab the ball and sashay away with it. With so many black films seem to feel obligated to include urban blight, poverty, the minutiae of dirty awnings, dirty streets, some kind of sermon on injustice, a screed against those that don't give a shit about everything that's wrong, those who just stop and smell the equivalent of roses, which here is the ."
Seeing this online in its rundown video transfer quality (not sure if there' an HD remaster floating around) and recognizing genius in it, well your mileage may vary especially if you have a hard time with 'jive' slang as written by white people (or, like in a Russ Meyer script, made-up ratatatat slang no one ever said in real life) or layered improv dialogue that doesn't always connect and action not always decipherable in the mucky mix (luckily whatever the platform you see it on, you can usually access subtitles, and you should), then... why did you read this far?
And coolest of all, as with Gas-s-s-s, one is free to wonder if the non-sequiturs and tripped-out combo slang are what was in the script or just jumbled together on the spot by the 'game for improv' cast (Corman and Armitage are both heavy proponents of it). Either way, no matter how much of it is accidentally offensive, accidentally brilliant, intentionally stupid, or just plain inept, you can't very well argue that it's unique, hilarious, stirring, and divinely scored with a bunch of rich Stax staple soul you'll never have heard before or since. Wherever you fall on the unconscious racism (as we've recently learned on social media, satirizing racism doesn't automatically exempt you from it), Strutters is a relic from the time when racial stereotypes and blaxploitation tropes could be affectionately kidded without fear of cancellation. It's a time that may not come again, so dig. Dig this roster of warm, larger-than-life black talent, and modestly over-the-top layered lunacy. Dig. Dig like you've never dug before.
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| Syreena considers Mellow as a possible breeding mate. |
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| Then four guys on bikes show up |
And coolest of all, as with Gas-s-s-s, one is free to wonder if the non-sequiturs and tripped-out combo slang are what was in the script or just jumbled together on the spot by the 'game for improv' cast (Corman and Armitage are both heavy proponents of it). Either way, no matter how much of it is accidentally offensive, accidentally brilliant, intentionally stupid, or just plain inept, you can't very well argue that it's unique, hilarious, stirring, and divinely scored with a bunch of rich Stax staple soul you'll never have heard before or since. Wherever you fall on the unconscious racism (as we've recently learned on social media, satirizing racism doesn't automatically exempt you from it), Strutters is a relic from the time when racial stereotypes and blaxploitation tropes could be affectionately kidded without fear of cancellation. It's a time that may not come again, so dig. Dig this roster of warm, larger-than-life black talent, and modestly over-the-top layered lunacy. Dig. Dig like you've never dug before.
PS - If you're wondering, of course the late, great Dick Miller shows up in this one, too -- as a cop. As always, he does it well, capturing the anarchic 3-Stooges over-the-top spazzing the role requires and cementing this to brother Corman's canon.
SEE ALSO GEORGE ARMITAGE'S OTHER CLASSICS:
Harpo out of Hell: MIAMI BLUES (1984) (posted May 2015)
5 Movies for a New Trumpmerica: GAS-S-S-S-S (posted 3/31/16 so don't get mad at me, I was sure he'd never win or I wouldn't have been so cocky)
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