The Bizarre Ones

Well...where do I start? This film has the word 'bizarre' in the title, and that's pretty fitting. The film is completely weird and seemingly pointless to boot, though on an aesthetic level, it's worthy of some note. The Bizarre Ones was clearly made on a shoestring and it does show, although the tacky black and white cinematography actually does it something of a favour as it gives the film a certain bizarre style that bodes well with the bizarre plot. The plot focuses on sex, in particular S&M. The film features a dominatrix looking for someone to turn her on. She comes across a hitchhiker and decides to get him tied up, then she and some other dominatrix's tie up and dominate one another. I would rate the film as an interesting watch if not a fruitful one, and definitely not an essential one. The film isn't notable for its sleaze, sex or violence levels; though all three do feature. The women are nice looking and the film is at least memorable. The film is obscure for a good reason and I wouldn't recommend anyone goes out of their way to find a copy of this; but it's not bad and is recommended to fans of this sort of stuff.

If grotty, Sitar-slathered prurience is your insalubrious thing then Ron Sullivan's profoundly unattractive but perversely satisfying trip into the funk-focused domain of way out, heroically cackling hippies and their groovily emancipated, far from emaciated VW beetle-bound chicks and their naughty boy's rustically home-made, funky-looking pleasure contraptions might just be your ticket to ride!!!

Aptly named, 'The Bizarre Ones' is a consistently crude, ill natured, uproariously absurd, frequently denuded B/W 'roughie' by a wonderfully transgressive filmmaker who laudably dispenses with anything quite so cumbrous as narrative and luridly sets up innumerably static scenes of rope-tied, blind-folded alfresco shenanigans, where prototypical late 60s drugged-out beatniks cavort hedonistically in and about their grotty, bucolic love shack, gleefully satisfying all their myriad rarefied kicks in a singularly strange, almost banal fashion which paradoxically gives this obscure, supremely grainy confection of remarkably pulchritudinous hippie hip-shakers and their clumsy exploits rather more outré charm than it probably deserves.

And I most certainly didn't realize how much I needed to watch an inauspiciously fashioned 'film' that actively promoted the somewhat esoteric, hitherto obscure peccadillo of a mutually satisfying licorice string banquet, a masticatory act celebrated in a confounding, matter of fact manner so deliciously skewed that it reduces the more exploratory digressions of Eraser head to nothing more than the asinine B-movie bungling of a precocious art school dilettante!