Originally posted on 6/7/21
Currently rewatching: If you ever wondered what a cinematic insane asylum would look like, search no farther than PAJAMA PARTY (1964).
The fourth entry in American-International's "Beach Party" series, it takes everything from the previous films, adds a bunch of bad-sitcom-level situations, strips away any logic, dignity, and sense it may have had, and dumps it all in an industrial-strength cuisinart with no lid.
This time, the beach is barely an afterthought--we get a couple of scenes of our youthful protagonists cavorting in the sand, playing volleyball, dancing along with a dynamic young Toni Basil (who would spend the rest of the 60s in such films as VILLAGE OF THE GIANTS and EASY RIDER), and grooving to the poppy song stylings of Donna Loren.
After that, the gang hang out around the swimming pool of a big old mansion belonging to Aunt Wendy (Elsa Lanchester, the BRIDE OF FRANKENSTEIN herself) and getting ready for the big titular (so to speak) pajama party.
The mansion next door, as it turns out, houses con man J. Sinister Hulk (Jesse White, known to most boomers as the Maytag repairman) and his henchpersons Buster Keaton (as wacky Indian, Chief Rotten Eagle), gorgeous Bobbi Shaw in her trademark fur-lined gold lame' bikini, and a simpering toady named Fleegle (Ben Lessy), who are scheming to steal a hidden fortune in cash from their neighbor, Aunt Wendy.
But as if that weren't enough, Tommy Kirk (VILLAGE OF THE GIANTS, IT'S A BIKINI WORLD) stars as Go Go, a Martian sent to Earth to scout things out in preparation for an invasion. As fate would have it, he not only starts to like the life of an Earth teen, but also falls head over heels for everyone's beach bunny sweetheart, Annette.
Still hanging in there from the first three films are motorcycle gang the Rats, led by the vain but totally incompetent Eric Von Zipper (Harvey Lembeck), who still can't stand the idea of these surf bums invading their beach or its environs. If you thought they were funny before, you'll continue to enjoy their usual antics and wait expectantly for Lembeck to utter his immortal line: "Why me? Why me all the time?"
If that sounds like a lot of plot for a simple teen movie, it is. Everything is dumped into a pot to boil with the various plotlines bubbling randomly to the surface, with editing that looks like film footage was chopped into pieces, tossed like a salad, and then stuck together by a nearsighted chimp.
All of which is to say that PAJAMA PARTY should appeal to those who enjoyed the undiluted silliness of the first three films but were put off by the occasional brief moments of sanity. Here, the constant clash between all the doggedly farcical plotlines results in an epic concentration of pure cinematic stupid that assails the viewer with an exhilarating abandon.
This includes what may be the wackiest chase sequence in the entire series--and that's saying a lot--which includes, of course, Von Zipper and his gang. The result is something that makes Looney Toons look like British drawing room drama. A few minutes in, and I'd forgotten who was chasing whom, and why, and it didn't matter.
The final segment of the film depicts what happens when poolside pajama party, bungling burglary, and impending invasion from Mars all come together to the music of generic rock 'n' roll band The Nooney Rickett Four. The Rats show up (naturally) in red long johns, just in time to engage the pajama set in a riotous free-for-all brawl that's mostly in fast-motion with lots of cartoon sound effects.
Many of the familiar background players (such as dancing dervish Candy Johnson) are back, with the addition of the aforementioned Toni Basil and future comedy legend Teri Garr. The highlight of the film for me is the presence of the incomparable Susan Hart in various states of...well, being Susan Hart. (Just for the record, she looks better in a red nightie than anybody else, ever.)
Hollywood icon Dorothy Lamour gets to sing one of the film's many awful songs, while Don Rickles and a certain young teen idol we all know and love appear in cameos as Martians.
Oddly, the returning stars play completely different characters than before. Annette is no longer "Dee Dee" but is now "Connie", and Jody McCrea, previously known as "Deadhead", is now Connie's beefcake boyfriend, "Big Lunk", who is so obsessed with volleyball that he drives Connie into the arms of neophyte Earth visitor Tommy Kirk.
It's difficult for mere words to convey just how...well, stupid all of this is. It's actually quite a staggering achievement in stupid, one which I found impressive even as I winced and cringed my way through it. Granted, I love this kind of stuff. But to watch PAJAMA PARTY is to gorge one's self on pure, concentrated stupid the way you might eat an entire gooey cheesecake with a spoon in one sitting.
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