Double Agent 73

So hard to rate. I want to give it a low score for being one of the worst films I've seen in ages. But I want to give it a high score for being absolutely hilarious. I guess it all depends on how you take the genre. If you're a fan of grindhouse and low-budget exploitation flicks, look no further. If you don't get why people find bad movies good, maybe this isn't for you.

While I think Chesty's unfeasibly large breasts were somehow supposed to be titillating (excuse the pun), they're actually rather unfortunate. As the plot revolves entirely around her hauling them out at every opportunity, it's a bit like watching a car wreck. You want to look away, but can't. Her 'acting' is self conscious verging on just plain scared.

The cameraperson hoses their rig around zooming and panning with total disregard for their shadow. If they'd been able to afford a mic boom instead of badly overdubbing, I'm sure the camera would've caught that too.

The cutaways are absolutely classic. Found footage is spliced in with total disregard for what's around it. My favourite scene involves a car blowing up. If you look really closely, you might just notice it's not the car they were driving. Especially as it's a different colour. And make. And it's not in the same place…

In short, Double Agent 73 is pure genius. You couldn't make a movie this bad if you tried. And that's exactly what makes it so good.

"Double Agent 73" is an amateurish and inept movie, yet there is an honesty about its amateurishness and ineptness: you get the feeling that the people involved didn't want to cheat you, they really did try to make an espionage / action movie, they just lacked the talent and budget required. Sure, you could complain all day long about the pointlessly long shots of, say, horse-racing, or the sped-up "car chase", or the lack of logic in the story, but you also have to give credit to the film's creativity: it's not every day you can see a punch with the breast replacing the fist, or death via ice cubes stuffed into the victim's mouth! Chesty Morgan gives a somewhat catatonic performance (she's no worse than anyone else in the cast, mind you), and there can be little argument that her breasts are unerotic (bigger is not always better), however she does have a pretty face and nice legs. (*1/2)

I had heard this was an unbelievable movie before I actually watched it, but even that didn't prepare me for what I witnessed when I sat down to watch it. Where should I start? Well, I'll start with star Chesty Morgan. She is an extremely unlikely movie heroine. She's not very attractive, for one thing. Although she was in her 30s when she appeared in this movie, her face looks about 15 years older than her actual age. Then there are those gigantic... well, you know. I did not find the constant revealing of them to be erotic in any way. They look grotesque and unnatural.

The way that the movie was filmed just makes the experience even worse. It was obviously shot silently, and director Doris Wishman tries in vain to hide this by long periods of time with no talking. And when people do talk, most of the time it's shot in a way where you don't see the speaker's face and moving lips. Wishman also brings in next to no production values to the movie, resulting in such things as a hospital sequence shot in someone's house. But the biggest sin Wishman makes is that the movie is so boring. There's almost no plot, and even with just a 73 minute running time it goes on and on past the breaking point. This movie is a chore to sit through

Doris Wishman followed up the immensely successful Deadly Weapons with this all-you-can-eat lunatic buffet. Ivan Toplar and his gang are flooding the market with bad smack. Who is the only secret agent with the stuff to bring down these slimebags? Burlesque grotesque Chesty Morgan, the girl who makes Candy Samples look like an ironing board! As Jane Genet, Agent 73, Chesty has her vacation at the nudist camp (!)--dig the hilarious cuts between literary-minded Chesty and a puppy--interrupted by this little assignment. So she puts on her red-and-black rhinestone-studded platforms and hits the streets, eliminating the bad guys and taking photos with a tiny spy camera (complete with flash) implanted in her humongous left breast. The deaths are violent, and the victim's last sights are shaky, blurred shots of Chesty's mountainous mammaries. What a way to go.

This violent, uproariously crazed excuse for Chesty to unsnap her bra and maul those monsters (FLASH-CLICK!) is like Deadly Weapons ratcheted to new heights of inanity (if such a thing could be possible). Who better to carry out a top-secret mission than the most conspicuous person in the world? And if her physical appearance weren't eliciting enough looks, the peroxide-wigged Miss Morgan's wardrobe is even frillier and sillier than before--the prime offender being a white-on-red polka-dotted number straight from Clarabelle's closet. Chesty's dubbed voice has a slightly harder edge this time around, but her acting has, thankfully, not improved. Her face is expressionless for ninety percent of the running time; occasionally she smiles, as if being ordered to at gunpoint, and Band-Aid removal brings a grimace of vague bewilderment that must be seen to be disbelieved. Though the dialogue is mostly in sync, Doris Wishman still indulges in her trademark cut-aways and obsessive close-ups of feet (giving us great views of the star's endless arsenal of platforms and spike heels). Then, in an unexpected "poetic" shot, backlit Chesty holds her ruffled robe aloft and whirls for no discernible reason. And of course, the car chase, where Chesty and her pursuer drive the legal limit as the film is sped up.

A third Chesty epic was planned but never made, since Wishman found the star unbearably difficult to work with. Even more unfortunate is the fact that, after working with Fellini, the Polish sight gag--I mean, STAR--never made another film, and has since completely disappeared (how could she hide?). Some say that Chesty (Lillian) is now living in Florida, but...who knows? O Chesty, where art thou?

bad acting...poor camera work...bad continuity...god-awful polyester plaid flare pants...obvious wig..poor dub-overs. Having said that, this film is hilarious!! If only John Waters had been a consultant!!!

This film follows the story of an undercover detective named Jane, played (lethargically, as if she were a robot in the EPCOT hall of presidents) by Chesty Morgan. For her next assignment, it will be necessary for Jane to get photographs of important documents and enemy spies. A camera is implanted in her left breast, necessitating that she remove her bra to use it. (again, and again, and again) The camera has a self destruct device to ensure that the evidence gathered will not fall into the wrong hands.

With all of the talent and expressiveness of a quaalude junky and the fashion sense of Maude Finley, Chesty sets off and lands in one run-in after another with thugs, creeps, and low-lifes with only her wit and savvy to protect her. Will she make it back to home-base before the camera (and her only assets) destructs? Will she be able to settle down and finally enjoy the satisfaction of a loving relationship? Will she stop buying all her shoes at Frank-N-Furter's garage sales?

This film is one of those that would have been perfect for Mystery Science Theatre 3000. It has previously been in the series of 'Joe Bob Brigg's sleaziest movies of all time' collection.