“Faster, Pussycat!”

c. 2017 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

Janis. Not your average friend from Ashtabula.

She is a blue-collar soul, content with a safe cloak of obscurity. Ambition does not move her to seek approval or reward from anyone. Only a small circle of friends has tested her emotional defenses. Yet for those who have, great loyalty has been returned. She is true to her heart and real.

We have developed a personal tradition over time: sharing Saturdays after her early work shifts. An afternoon nap typically helps to fortify her endurance. Then, she makes the trek from her home by the lake to my own ‘shack’ in rural Geauga. As a divorced, middle-aged man, I am glad for the company. We talk at random and stream old shows through my Roku box. These sessions may last until the wee hours of morning. Each has its own character. But I am never bored.

Janis does not watch the news. She cares little about media hyperbole or social trends. There is no computer in her home. No stylish apparel in her wardrobe. A prepaid cellphone is her window on the world. Still, she always seems connected to the pulse of her immediate surroundings. By intuition, she makes her way forward.

When our conversations inevitably wander toward politics, religion or history, she speaks with the pure vocabulary of a quiet skeptic. She is generally agnostic. Disconnected, but aware. I doubt she has ever voted in an election. Yet when quizzed on her beliefs, she sounds vaguely Libertarian. Her Bohemian style explodes counterculture assumptions. She fits no profile. Her life is lived without pretentiousness or fealty to any code of conduct.

On a recent weekend night, I happened to mention that the name of a ‘Hair Metal’ band she enjoyed was inspired by a cult film from the 1960’s. Her disbelief prompted me to search YouTube for links to the movie. With surprise, I discovered that “Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill!” was available for viewing, in glorious black & white. She curled her lip with suspicion as I brought the post up on my Vizio television. But did not protest.

I smiled, beaming with a sense of accomplishment. It would be a cultural introduction of sorts for my friend from the realm of Lake Erie. Watching the Russ Meyer classic evoked memories of visits to long-ago screenings by the Cornell University Film Club – where I was privileged to encounter works such as Jean-Luc Godard’s “Alphaville” and a modern adaptation of “Nosferatu” directed by Werner Herzog, with Klaus Kinski.

Janis shook her head with mild irritation. I knew that she would rather be immersed in ‘The Rocky Horror picture Show.’ But she kept watching.

With excitement, I explained the artistic importance of Tura Satana. Then, I identified the vintage sports cars we were watching. ‘Varla’ in her Porsche 356, conjuring up an iconic vision that would outlast everything else in the film. Lori Williams as ‘Billie’ in her Triumph TR3. And Haji as ‘Rosie’ in an MGA. All racy foreign roadsters billowing desert sand and gasoline exhaust.

Again, my friend was only slightly interested. But she did not leave my couch.

Eventually, channeling inspiration from another favored series we often watched on Saturday nights, Janis remarked that Stuart Lancaster had a distinct ‘Jim Lahey’ vibe in his role as ‘The Old Man.’ Her assessment was right on target. I marveled that the desert rat character, father of ‘Kirk’ and ‘The Vegetable’ was so close to the drunken ex-cop from “Trailer Park Boys.’

My voice sang out in agreement. “You nailed it!”

I reckoned bombastic director Russ Meyer would have been thrilled with such an odd stylistic connection.

Once the 60’s epic had concluded, Janis begged for a cigarette break, outside. The cool, night air revived us after sitting for so long. My Black Lab was content to sniff around the yard as I tried to convince my friend that ‘Pussycat’ was a notable film of great value.

“Tura is legendary,” I said with assurance. “You can buy figurines of her character. Or articles of clothing. Remember that I once sent you a photo of pajama pants adorned with her image?”

She huffed, indifferently. “Bah!”

“Tura Satana projected a dominant image of female sexuality,” I continued. “Something rarely seen in that era. She was confident. Morally unrestrained. Empowered. Unstoppable!”

Janis shrugged. “Okay. Whatevs… I think you just liked her big boobs.”

I was speechless.

We ended the night with an ‘Inspector Gadget’ cartoon. Something different to conclude her visit. Both of us were amused that commercial breaks for the episode included an ad for Bud Light. A product of Anheuser-Busch.

“Who do they think is watching this show?” my friend exclaimed. I had no response. It was after one o’clock in the morning.

I was just pleased that she had survived her first adventure in cinematic pop culture.

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Published weekly in the Geauga Independent