Cherry, Harry & Raquel

As is true of most of the works of director Russ Meyer, 1970's CHERRY, HARRY, & RAQUEL is a cheerful softcore mess.  A film in which Meyer's editing skills get quite a workout, although here much of the time it seems as if it were left to chance.  There's much truth to his declaration that you could tune in at any moment and not miss any plot developments.  Oh, there is some bit of plot, but what's important are the Meyer trademarks - lots of gyrating buxom (often topless) women and straight faced political commentary, far from subtle.  I've wondered about those original audiences, wondering what the characters were talking about, spouting off about various -isms.  Many of the drive in and trench coat set just wanted to see boobs.

To wit, the opening of CHERRY, HARRY & RAQUEL features a scrolling crawl extoling the necessity of free speech, damning those who would dare to squash it.  It reads like the rant of a talk radio host.  Look closely and you'll see naked women bouncing behind it.  Then, as the "story" begins we hear an authoritative sounding narrator explain why marijuana is evil.  This does not keep border town sheriff Harry (Charles Napier, who would star in some later Meyer pics) from running weed over from Mexico. But his boss, a corrupt politician named Mr. Franklin (Frank Bolger) wants to close shop.  And their associate, Apache (John Milo) has decided to go solo.

What about Cherry (Linda Ashton)? She's Harry's English girlfriend, a nurse. Raquel (Larissa Ely)? She's a local prostitute who makes it with most of the cast.  She wants to meet Raquel, but Harry feels that lesbianism is plain un-patriotic.

Got that? The movie does spend some time with these characters when they're not getting it on, maybe too much.  Honestly, CHERRY, HARRY, & RAQUEL, despite a mere seventy-one minute run time, gets dull more than once.  This includes the sex.  The quick edits and close ups of faces and just about every other body part get tiresome. And if you're looking for hardcore, go elsewhere, perv.  Meyer takes a very tongue in cheek point of view on sexuality.  Highly juvenile.  His attempts at social and political satire are likewise quite sophomoric, coming off like a tenth grader who just read a civics text.  But's it's generally amusing.

So are the periodic, unrealted-to-the-plot shots of actress Uschi Digard (also to work with Meyer again), who appears nude while cavorting around the desert.  She wears an American Indian headdress.  Some kind of commentary? Always tricky to read too much into a Meyer flick.  I read that these scenes were filmed to supplement the departure of another actress. 

The funniest thing for me is the listing of Thomas Wolfe as Meyer's co-screenwriter.  Another schoolboy prank.  It was not him, but rather Tom McGowan.  Wolfe was not amused and sought legal action. 

Also typical for Russ Meyer is the inclusion of some violence, mainly during a climactic shootout.  This time, the blood looks so phony it was hard to be rattled.  Then, that narrator returns at the close with a pile of pseudo existentialism.  Right on.  Did they hand out joints in the theater? They should have.