At bottom a murder mystery, but not so as you'd notice. Russ Meyer's steady barrage of throwaway titillations, throwaway gags (when the narrator says "but," Meyer gives you a shot of a bare behind), and throwaway nothings, prepares you for pretty much anything; so the "surprise" solution to the mystery fails to raise an eyebrow, even with the extra revelation that the murderer is the offspring of Eva Braun. There are, among the dramatis personae, a Nazi masochist, a Paul Bunyan-sized Lumberjack, a square-jawed Dudley Dooright forest ranger, a Greek Chorus which numbers one and speaks a brutal defilement of Elizabethan blank verse, and a typical top-heavy heroine, perhaps a little heavier than typical. (To those who have long looked askance at Meyer's preference for puffed-up females, it may seem a kind of justice that in this, his most explicit movie to date, the male sexual equipment emerges as even more ballooned than the female.) There is additionally — or excessively — a parody of Texas Chainsaw Massacre that is bloody funny. Meyer's trademark editing style — breaking up the action into odd scraps, details,and puzzle pieces — has never been pushed further than it is here. It would be hard to conceive of a style more rigorous in the service of material more ridiculous. (1977) — Duncan Shepherd