Gal pals Anna and Françoise are vacationing in the French countryside when they decide to stop in a remote village (as you do, if you wish to forward the plot). The village is sorta-inexplicably populated entirely by creepy old men, and the owner of the inn where the girls have a quick glass of mulled wine warns them not to stop there. Too late, pal! The lovely ladies have already been spotted by Morgana's leering gnome henchman Gurth and pegged as potential Girl Slaves.
Before you can say "I'm shy but I feel really close to you," the girls run out of gas and are forced--FORCED--to spend the night making out in a handy barn. Françoise wakes up the next morning to find herself alone. Handily, she is escorted through the woods by Gurth only to find herself on a magic boat to Sexy Results-Ville.
I'll be honest with you guys--this is not a thrill-a-minute titillator of a film. It's French, and as such it feels French and looks French. It's languorously-paced but absolutely gorgeous with a visual softness that underscores the femininity of the cast members (even Gurth sports eyeliner that would make Peter Murphy weep bloody tears of envy). The movie is a fantasy-land of gauze, furs, and weathered surfaces. Oh--and gorgeous Eurobabes. Many, many gorgeous Eurobabes.
Let's back up for a moment and reflect on the AWESOMENESS that is Gurth. Played by actor Alfred Baillou with lotsa mugging and contorting zeal, Gurth is one of the most sexually-frustrated little people in cinema history, making Hans from "Freaks" look like Dolemite. He's way hung up on Morgana, but she's not buying what he's selling IYKWIMAITYD. He spends his days issuing threatening soliloquies to his mirror and ordering Morgana's girls to make out in front of him. Maybe I'm too benevolent a ruler, but I'd at least hook Gurn up with a little-person wifey or two to take the edge off. He's not such a bad guy underneath all the leering and pantaloons and stuff.
Morgana and her girls spend much of their time administering makeovers, drinking colorful booze, smoking exotic things, and making out, which makes Françoise's repeated refusals to sign onto this lifestyle all the more perplexing. If she doesn't sign on, she's consigned to grow old and die. I mean, there's not even the American subtext of being skeered of girltouching--she's made her Desire For Said pretty damn clear at the beginning of the movie. It's refreshing that, after escaping from Morgana's clutches by stealing a magic necklace and negligee, Françoise wises the fuck up and--much as if Dorothy clicked her ruby slippers and chanted "there's noplace like Lesbos"--summons Morgana who whisks her away to the land of diaphanous-gowned slumber parties and body shots.
Yeah, I'm doing the Happy Dance too, girls.