It doesn’t help to know that the toy shop owner Max (N.J. Osrag) was also the voice for the trailer to a seldom seen movie, THE SMUT PEDDLER. Carlos’ slicked hair and furry cheeks are animalistic, forever moist in his lust for the innocent and virginal. In vomit-inducing desperation Pearl bears her breasts to Carlos in an attempt to win his favor back from the popular new recruit Jamie. After being rejected, its Pearl who sets into motion the most despicable act of the entire film - setting up Jamie with a “date” with her father.

Did anyone else notice the drawer from which Jamie’s father fetches her present (a gold heart necklace) is filled with other such tokens? I presume these are for the other regulars he sees in his hovel of a room.

What’s interesting about this film is that there is no “positive” story arc. As far as I could tell, no redemption was in sight for any of the characters. Things start low and merely get lower. Are we to root for Jamie to meet with her father again? Are we really asked to believe that their relationship will continue as before the same way Jamie believes? Of course not. TOYS ARE NOT FOR CHILDREN reads like a Shakespearian tragedy. Down, down, down.

Andy: Great analysis there, particularly with the STAR WARS stuff.

Well, I know one thing about the ending. There won’t be any sort of relationship between Jamie and her dad, because if you recall, she pushed him out of a window (or he fell) when he rejected her advances.

Bill: She pushed him. After yelling “I hate you! I hate you!”

Andy: It’s hard to tell if Jamie’s father is disgusted with his self, with Jamie for becoming a prostitute, or with his wife for turning his only child into a freak. Perhaps it’s a combination of all three. But we can assume he fell to his death. Indeed it’s a tragedy because the only person she has ever loved is now gone for good. He did have a drawer-full of charms, implying that this isn’t the first time he’s role-played with a young prostitute.

It’s apparent that even though Charlie loved and cared for her, he could never live up to the haloed vision she had of her dad. Even after she has devoted her life to prostitution, he is willing to give her a second chance. They sleep together, but she refuses to come home with him, kicks him out and prepares for her next trick. By this point, I was fairly disgusted with Jamie myself. But it’s like watching a car crash; you have to look. And some sick part of me wanted to see her confront her father.

I’ll give director Stanley Brassloff credit. He made suggestion more despicable than anything we actually see on-screen. That’s no easy feat, considering this film could easily have spiraled into pure soft-core sleaze. Instead we are “treated” to a clinic in Freudian psycho-sexploitation. What’s amazing is the artistic wrapper it comes in. This is a brilliant film, simply because it messes with our heads. By the end, we are as screwed up as Jamie.

The opening credits - downbeat pop accompanied by stark, static shots of toys against a white background - were amazing. The rest of the soundtrack is quirky, and at times, atonal, electronic music. Think Throbbing Gristle’s “20 Jazz Funk Greats” meets the NAPOLEON DYNAMITE soundtrack. There was a bizarre innocence to it, with an underlying menace also.

Brassloff’s only other writer/director credit was for the 1968 film TWO GIRLS FOR A MADMAN, a roughie that concerns the plight of two ballet students who are sexually assaulted and hunted by an obsessed tormenter. I haven’t seen it, but apparently it also addresses some issues of psychological dependency after abuse. I could easily see a modern re-telling of TOYS ARE NOT FOR CHILDREN, featuring perhaps Ellen Page perhaps in the lead role. Movies like this didn’t come along often, particularly on the sleaze/grindhouse/drive-in circuit.

Bill: I think this is undoubtedly the best movie to ever come out of Harry Novak’s Box office International; it’s one of those rare gems of exploitation that keeps us in the mine, forever searching for more.

The film is atypical of Harry Novak’s soft-core output. It has little nudity, and it’s intent is not to turn us on but to repel and disturb us. I’d love to know what kind of reaction it got from the 42nd Street raincoat crowd. Wait a minute, maybe I don’t — you never know what turns some people on! Still, I consider this an anti-sexploitation film — one that turns the table on its audience, making us feel ashamed for even peeking.

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