A suburban housewife (Carroll Baker) runs electrolysis treatment from her home as a front for her female hired killers. When a man (Perry King) joins her operation, it spells the end of her scheming...
Some of Andy Warhol's hangers-on must have been impressed by John Waters' films, because this bad taste comedy could have been thought up by him on an off day. All the way through, the film strains to be outrageous but ends up simply coming across as jaded.
For something like this to work, a little more wit and imagination is required. Instead, the film wears you down with its flat acting, soporific pace and casual cruelty. What are presumably intended to be the comic high points, such as the stabbing of a dog or the defenestration of a baby, are barely worth getting excited about.
The characters constantly whinge at each other (especially Susan Tyrrell as the downtrodden daughter in law) or wind each other up. One scene drags into another without much sense of momentum, comic or otherwise. But there's an unexpected moralistic turn near the end when the hitman refuses to kill an autistic child and Baker gets her comeuppance - judging by what's gone before, the film doesn't even have the courage of its convictions.
Exactly what Warhol's involvement was, aside from putting up the money, remains unclear, although one can imagine him watching it and thinking it was wonderful. Still, it makes you appreciate Paul Morrissey. Music by Mike Bloomfield.
