Much like pro-wrestling, roller derby was pure entertainment. Fake. A put on, really. But nothing about Raquel Welch was fraudulent. At the time this movie was made, she was thirty-two and prime choice. Her role (roller derby siren) is athletic, sexy, dramatic, physical, and smashes, forever, the starlet mold she had been frozen in for years. Never again would she achieve such a perfect mix in the acting arena. She has a great introduction: we see only her lower body (legs and skates) moving through darkness, as Don Ellis' rousing score penetrates the blackness. She has an entrance even an emperor would give thumbs up to. I like how she turns (briefly) the wrong way during the National Anthem. Your other left, Raquel. Cute. Jodie Forster plays her hero-worshiping daughter with a heavy dose of arsenic. Kevin McCarthy is the devious, unethical owner of the roller derby club. Raquel's fellow skaters, especially Hellena Kallianiotas and Norman Alden, give excellent support. I believe that Miss Kallianiotes inhabits one of the most depressing characters ever seen in a sports film. She is a loner. And she drinks bourbon from a brown paper bag--all the while alienating fans, teammates, and ownership. The film's cameraman performs magic with his gorgeous on location shooting in Portland. Also, there are some very unusual and lengthy tracking shots at a marina and through a hotel. Fantastic. Watch for the freeze-frame shot at the conclusion of the movie. It foreshadows James Caan's iconic pose in the upcoming Rollerball. Both films visualize an out of control society: where rules and fair play don't exist. I like how McCarthy's character barges into the ladies locker room, helps himself to a drink, and makes himself at home with his half-dressed female skaters. Later, he lets slip a business confession: "Everyone is bought and sold--including you and me." Telling.
Review of Kansas City Bomber
