The drive-in movies of the 1970s didn't concern themselves with political correctness, so there's really not much point getting worked up over the stereotypes on display in "Pink Angels." This movie isn't meant to appeal to gay men anyway, a point driven home by all the bare breasts. But you'd think there would've been some attempt to at least make this movie funny, it being a comedy and all. You would also think there would be some attempt to make this movie coherent, and the filmmakers don't bother with that, either. Instead, this gay biker movie — the concept is meant to be a punchline in and of itself — is like a bunch of random scenes haphazardly edited into a vague narrative about our heroes riding their ugly purple-gray bikes, complete with sidecars, to L.A. for a drag ball, because, as everyone knows, all gay men live to wear women's clothing. While our bikers are picking up clueless hitchhikers ("You're all a bunch of f-gs!"), having condiment fights ("Look! I'm a hot dog!"), buying soup (?), recoiling from a group of cackling hookers, tangling with a group of straight bikers, and dress shopping, there are scenes of a bumbling General (George T. Marshall) who spends most of his time barking at his big-haired secretary and pointing to a map. The two independent "storylines" (for lack of a better term) come together in the movie's climactic moments when our gay bikers, now in drag, are picked up by the "straight"—and evidently blind—bikers and taken to the General's mansion/headquarters for a shocking finale that would've offended me if I weren't so busy pondering questions like: Are we to assume the straight bikers were working for the General? Was the General hosting the drag ball? This ties in with the prologue how, exactly?
So, yeah, "Pink Angels" is a big, swishy mess, and I suspect director Larry G. Brown knew it given that his screen credit is several point sizes smaller than everyone else's. A Margaret McPherson is blamed for the script, though many of the scenes play like they were improvised. Not surprisingly, "Angels" marked the end of Brown's and McPherson's respective movie careers, at least according to their IMDb credits. Exploitation movie veteran John Alderman, as the leader of the gay bikers, manages to maintain his dignity for most of the movie (that is, until he dresses in drag), and Tom Basham, as the clumsiest of the gay bikers, has a few genuinely amusing moments in spite of the material. But ultimately this movie's only redeeming quality is a pre-"Grizzly Adams" Dan Haggerty as one of the straight bikers, looking his most f---able. He doesn't do much beyond ride a chopper and wrestle around with one of those hookers, but he makes a favorable impression all the same, especially if you're into muscle bears.
So, yeah, "Pink Angels" is a big, swishy mess, and I suspect director Larry G. Brown knew it given that his screen credit is several point sizes smaller than everyone else's. A Margaret McPherson is blamed for the script, though many of the scenes play like they were improvised. Not surprisingly, "Angels" marked the end of Brown's and McPherson's respective movie careers, at least according to their IMDb credits. Exploitation movie veteran John Alderman, as the leader of the gay bikers, manages to maintain his dignity for most of the movie (that is, until he dresses in drag), and Tom Basham, as the clumsiest of the gay bikers, has a few genuinely amusing moments in spite of the material. But ultimately this movie's only redeeming quality is a pre-"Grizzly Adams" Dan Haggerty as one of the straight bikers, looking his most f---able. He doesn't do much beyond ride a chopper and wrestle around with one of those hookers, but he makes a favorable impression all the same, especially if you're into muscle bears.