Incoherence, thy name is MYRA BRECKENRIDGE. Hollywood's desperate attempts to play to the 60s counterculture reach their logical conclusion here, with a film so random, so determinedly meaningless, as to alienate anyone who sat through it--and given the heavy pacing and scattershot script, sitting through it isn't easy, flashes of interest aside. Bad performances, too; Raquel Welch, tormented by the director and given a mess of a script, is sad to watch; the less said about Mae West the better.

Top badass moment? In a film that doesn't really make a lot of sense this isn't easy to identify, but I have to say I was impressed with Myra's ability to reel off numerous facts and figures about films. I'd love to be able to do that, so consequently it's badass. 0 cats and 0 decapitations.

A crazy 70s one of a kind, its in your face at all times screaming LOOK AT ME, I AM BEING SUBVERSIVE, I AM OFFENDING YOUR SENSIBILITIES. At the time hated by critics, but now it's just a quaint curiosity of its time. I liked it, but then I am a sucker for cult films.

This is a difficult movie to rate. By any reasonable artistic standard, it's terrible, yet it has an incredible camp fascination. A totally botched job of perhaps Gore Vidal's best novel.

A slightly interesting film (at times) with absolutely no entertainment value whatsoever.

One of the most hated and reviled films ever, but of course a properly tuned connoisseur (like me) enjoys this immensely. I also claim that it was merely very much ahead of its time and still looks refreshingly modern. There hasn't been movies like this before 1970 and there has been few afterwards... Otherwise this is an experience which cannot be described.