Onward, Pussycat

I was never a huge fan — eh eh, he said “huge” — of Russ Meyer, though the man could name a movie with the best of ‘em. Whatever issues other people had with him, I didn’t share them. Mostly I just never quite got around to seeing his pictures. My tastes in femmes fatales don’t run to the buxom, so there was no, you know, pressure to get acquainted with the, um, body of work.

Meyer died over the weekend at the admirable age of 82, leaving a legend behind him but apparently not much else. In this our outlaw age, his CNN obituary closes with this fabulous line:

Meyer married three times. His studio said he left no survivors.

No prisoners either, presumably.

Yesterday the FCC announced that it will levy a fine of $550,000 against various CBS affiliates for the Janet Jackson Superbowl Breast Affair. Making Janet the proud owner of perhaps the costliest mammary in media history. For that kind of money you’d think at least we’d have had the pair of them, on the Jumbotron perhaps. With Russ Meyer directing.

About Linus

The man behind the curtain. But couldn't we get a nicer curtain?
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