Valley of the Dregs

By J.C.

Russ Meyer, the Barnum of the skin-flicks,has recently been grinding out his sexploitation films under the imprimatur of major studios. He now follows the thunderous vulgarity of Beyond the Valley of the Dolls with a tepid adaptation of Irving Wallace's best-seller about an obscenity bust, The Seven Minutes.

Meyer struts his usual cinematic stunts (blisteringly fast cutting) and visual diversions (actresses constructed like goodyear blimps), but to little avail. The leading roles are portrayed by unknowns who are likely to remain so,and the movie mostly takes place in the courtroom instead of the bedroom,an unhappy change of venue for a director like Meyer.

An even worse movie, The Love Machine, based on an even better seller by Jacqueline Susann, charts the rise and fall of a libidinous television executive. Robin Stone (John Phillip Law) is first discovered broadcasting the local news by his boss's wife (Dyan Cannon), who has a kind of pelvic instinct for talent. She passes some heavy hints along to hubby (Robert Ryan), who sees Stone as the right man to boost the ratings.When hubby suffers his executive coronary, Stone slips right into his chair and his bed. His insatiable and some-what kinky appetites, however, get him into a good deal of trouble once hubby

is off the digitalis. David Hemmings, swishing about in a limp-wristed parody of his fashion-photographer role in Blow Up, furnishes the film's few diverting moments. Most of the cast, including Law, are automatons whose flagrant absence of talent does full justice to their material. Miss Cannon, usually a decent actress, here seems rather strung-out, and Ryan, even when he is not supposed to be in the throes of thrombosis, persists in looking sorely but understandable pained.

--J.C.

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