THE HITCHHIKERS (1971).
This is little more than standard, drive-in drivel. But else could you expect from the directing-writing-producing team of Ferd and Beverly Sebastian, who later gave the world such hokum as GATOR BAIT and ROCKTOBER BLOOD? The only visually redeeming factor is future HEE HAW honey Misty Rowe in the starring role, which nearly equals her gut-busting portrayal of Marilyn Monroe in Larry Buchanan's GOODBYE, NORMA JEAN. Misty stars as Maggie, a small town girl who hits the road, pregnant, kissed-off by her boyfriend, and in search of freedom. Her main problem? A brain the size of a walnut. She just keeps thumbing her way from one bad situation to another, but at least this cute blonde won't have problems catching a ride in that micro-mini-skirt. Soon, she runs into another female hitchhiker (you see so many of them in the middle of nowhere, don't you know), who steals Maggie's wallet, and leaves her alone and hungry in the middle of nowhere. And when Maggie tries to make a quick 5-spot by agreeing to fuck a guy and ditching with the cash, she ends up raped in the back of his truck. On the run for shoplifting, Maggie is rescued by Benson (Norman Klar), a Manson-clone hairball who crashes at a western ranch with his ragtag six-pack of hippie chicks. Suddenly, this nubile-gal-on-the-road sex comedy takes an unexpected turn, as these Spahn-clones begin robbing passing motorists at gunpoint with their skimpily-dressed-hitchhikerette scam. Meanwhile, innocent Misty spends her time cleaning up their ramshackle shack, but she too learns the joys of rousting horny drivers (even if it entails bashing them in the head with a bagful of rocks). What a strange, immoral li'l ditty, with Misty going from naive dinkwater bimbette to hardened felon, but never losing her fun-loving veneer. Still, you wish the Sebastians could've made a good movie out of this slop, because instead of focusing on their crimes, it wastes too much footage watching 'em wash a dog, or on the banal romance between Maggie and Benson. It's during these moments that you can almost hear the rigor mortis setting in. Oh, just in case you care, there's also a gratuitous biker named Rebel, plus plenty of eardrum-hemorrhaging folk music.
© 1994 by Steven Puchalski.