Utter bilgewater, complete guff, there is no redeeming feature that I can find for this film. And believe me, I try to find them. Nearly all of the Mexican cinema production from the 70's and 80's (and before and after) was seriously flawed in some way, but redemption of some description can be found. I often feel, in some strange way, guilty when watching these forgotten films from decades past. Guilty that someone, at one time, cared about the project, you can often see that despite zero-sized budgets etc that producers and directors strove to rescue something of value, inserted a modicum of entertainment through their own personal pride if nothing else. And here they now languish, once cared-for projects now consigned to the dustbin of little seen channels on Mexican cable TV, watched only by weirdos like me. And if someone once cared about these films, then I feel that one should at least have the decency to write a review on here to show that somebody, somewhere, also cares now. A bit. There always exists the chance of redemption.
This is the first film I have ever awarded a single star. I am now having to question all that I previously held true and stated in my previous paragraph. Some films deserve to die, forever. Some films deserve to never have been born at all. In fact, this isn't really a film at all. To label it as a "film" would suggest some kind of script was written. That planning went into it. Meetings were held, story lines worked out, a cast found etc. This clearly wasn't the process followed for this... erm... formless blob of moving images? And if that makes it sound like a lava-lamp, then switch one on and sit in front of it, you'll be far more entertained.
So what have we got? Three words. Boobs, backsides and albures (Mexico's beloved take on double entendres). Three words that make it seem infinity-times more interesting than it really is though. I guess the starting brief was that they found a few reels of film left over, and had to use them up. Utterly starved of ideas, they decided to discard them completely, and place the cameraman in a house with a few scantily clad women knocking around. And that is it. The cast wander around doing whatever they please, and as long as they have no clothes on, that's fine by the cameraman. And they are so palpably bored by the whole enterprise. You witness the scenes lurch past one after the other; presumably while sitting around one of the cast had a small idea, then manages to get the rest of the cast "enthused" (threats to family and loved ones?), so they act it out, then switch the camera off and wait for the next brainfart to attack them and act that out too. The most commonly encountered idea seems to be dancing while naked. Tough to fill the whole film with that though. We occasionally go surreal. Shoplifting by disguising a live turkey as a maternity bump is a typical example. Only problem was that they chose a film critic turkey, that as soon as he came out from close proximity to Lin May's lower abdomen started viciously attacking the rest of the cast. Who wouldn't? "Go turkey go, kill, KIIIIILL!" I screamed at the screen, but sadly it was subdued with only minor damage inflicted. Unlike my brain, which has suffered deep lesions following exposure to this celluloid Room 101.
OK, I did laugh once. In fact, I never laughed so hard at the sight of 12 people getting electrocuted, but then I found out they were just acting, and it wasn't funny anymore. I nearly added another star though (for the hope it gave me at the time). But I just can't. It would be too much. This hideous, unloved, uncared-for-by-anybody-ever movie needs no help from freaks like me. A vacuous black hole sucking in all joy from the universe, this film should never ever see the light of a projection lamp ever again.
