An extraordinary film: a taut mix of pulpy sex and hard-boiled noir.
The storyline encompasses child abuse, a common subject in films today but not in the 1960s. Indeed, society's treatment of children is a theme throughout.
Fuller creates a strong female lead character who is tough, independent and resourceful. The film ends with her receiving the support of all the other female characters as she walks off into the sunset, a trope that is usually reserved for the male hero.
Best of all is the beautiful b/w cinematography. Every frame is carefully composed and balanced like a good still photograph.
This kicks off with a bang and never lets up. A blonde, big city sex worker (Constance Towers) is slapping down her pimp for the £75 dollars he held out on. Her wig falls off revealing the bald scalp he left her with. And as she peels only the 75 off his roll, we know this is an honest woman.
She leaves the metropolis and pitches up in small town, USA. Working in a hospital for children she falls in love with its benefactor (Michael Dante). This is a film about appearances and reality and the deception and hypocrisy that lie between. He is a paedophile who uses his largesse to snare vulnerable victims. There are no fairy tales or happy endings.
There is an amazing scene when the reformed hooker and the kids from orthopaedics sing a sentimental lullaby, which is so elusively peculiar that it is actually incredibly moving (especially given the threat to these children). The film is set in a hyper-idealised fantasy of America that we would one day call Lynchian.
Every dream has a mirrored heartbreak. Nothing is what it seems. This is Sam Fuller's masterpiece. It is brilliantly written, dense with dark wit and disingenuous hope. Towers is in every scene and her performance of exaggerated sweetness is aptly, unforgettably strange. It's a fascinating, sorrowful experience.