The Doll Squad (Ted V. Mikels, 1973)

The Doll Squad, my third time to the Ted V. Mikels well after the disappointing Blood Orgy of the She-Devils (a title that promised way more than it could deliver) and the much more entertaining The Corpse Grinders (an accurate title), is my new favorite Mikels movie. If you share my '70s fetish, this movie is the equivalent of Quentin Tarantino walking into a room occupied by 150 barefoot women. You get '70s bars, restaurants, karate schools, offices, cars, boats, apartment buildings, secret island lairs, jumpsuits and other memorable outfits, hairdos, large clunky computers, modern art, martini pitchers, wigs, mustaches, interior design, carpeting, etc. You get to sigh eternally in the early '70s drive-in universe, a time before corporate slickification and predatory tech be-smoothed and de-textured and surveilled and packaged the world and put everything in quotes. The counterculture put up a valiant effort in the '80s and '90s against the forces of all-consuming texture removal and content delivery, but the 21st century has been a real vibe-killer with Big Tech and the digital revolution sucking out so much of the feeling. I wish I could live an eternal loop as a mid- to late-twentysomething in different major cities and college towns between the 1920s and September 10, 2001, a sort of benevolent aesthete hedonist temporal loop vampire, but that's sadly not the way anything works.

Why am I getting so heavy when talking about the freakin' Doll Squad? What's wrong with me? It's alright, it's just the permanent eternal struggle in my soul between my aesthetic love of the 20th century, my aesthetic dislike of most aspects of the 21st century (with loads of exceptions; I'm still as excited as I've ever been by music outside of the fetid swamp of contemporary manufactured pop and pop/country, and there are still many great new movies every year outside of the dead spaces of Hollywood, fake indie, and made-for-streaming), my constant working goal to live in the present, my disrespect of nostalgia, my hope for what technology can accomplish (especially medical advances), my burning hatred for the controllers of Big Tech and their bad faith uses of it, and my complicated reverence for the way things used to be before AI, smart phones, social media, influencers, reaction videos, ads blaring at me at gas pumps, etc., became the way of things. I got heavy again. Sorry, I'm just very heavy these days. I'm having a hard time existing in this world that shares none of my values and is actively hostile to them. But you're not here for a lecture about the Shitty Now (term coined by my friend Dan Schneider; not the Nickelodeon creep, a different Dan Schneider). You're here for The Doll Squad, man. Let's get into it.

I had a blast with this one. I feel sorry for anyone who can't get into an elite squad of ass-kicking babes (including Tura Satana) in eye-popping ensembles traveling to a heavily guarded island compound to save the world from Dear Dead Delilah's Michael Ansara. When Hollywood makes this kind of movie (or used to before everything had to be about superheroes and elves and shit), they present it with a certain ironic detachment. They wink at the audience. "We both know this is bullshit," the Hollywood machine says. They're afraid to commit to the sensibility or they don't understand it or they halfheartedly copy it or they think they understand the sensibility but slick it up with too much big-time showbiz. The drive-in/exploitation filmmaker already has the sensibility, was probably born with it, and presents the ridiculousness with a refreshingly direct and natural and personalized approach. Even the cheapest, most money-grubbing exploitation filmmaker can find authentic pockets of weirdness and delight in places Hollywood big shots don't even know where to look. To put it in wrestling terms, the Hollywood approach is Vince McMahon sports entertainment while the drive-in/exploitation approach is classic Southern territory rasslin'.

The Doll Squad begins with a United States senator named Stockwell (John Carter) watching live coverage of a rocket launch on his office television. This is the first launch in a new space exploration project spearheaded by the senator, though how this project differs from the usual NASA biz remains unexplained in the film. Stockwell is soon joined by CIA operative Victor Connelly (Anthony Eisley). The two men exchange small talk about the launch until something goes wrong. The TV screen strobes and a strange voice tells Stockwell that since he ignored an earlier demand, bad shit is about to go down. The rocket then explodes. Stockwell and Connelly urgently run to the "computer room" to analyze the data and the recording the quick-thinking Connelly grabbed of the strange voice. Why does a U.S. senator have an intelligence-agency-level high-tech (in '70s terms) computer room next to his office, and why does the window view of the presumably D.C.-located office look like Los Angeles? Embrace the mystery, mortals. Let the gods know the answers.

Connelly and Stockwell do some compute-box beep-boopin', and the computer spits out a suggestion. The fellas need to call the Doll Squad. Bang! Enter kick-ass opening credits sequence, and then back to the office, where Doll Squad leader Sabrina Kincaid and her amazing outfit and low-cut top can be debriefed on the rocket mishap, secret recording, and crazy TV shenanigan. The men tell her which two other Doll Squad members she needs to wrangle into the investigation. Seems like Sabrina should know who she needs from her own team. Nevertheless, Sabrina pays a visit to the women suggested by the dudes at their respective day jobs, a karate school and a medical research lab. Both secret Doll Squad members are security experts. Unfortunately, they should've been a little more proactive with their own security. Some classic '70s dirtbags kill both of them shortly after Sabrina visits them. When one of the dirtbags tries to kill her, she uses her flamethrower cigarette lighter to scorch half his face and escape. Every explosion in this movie is insanely cartoony and cheap, looking like a bedazzled word balloon, and I love each one with all my heart.

After hitting the gun range with the senator and the operative while wearing a form-fitting, midriff-baring ensemble, Sabrina shows the skeptical senator her suitcase full of Bond-style gadgets and tells them she needs to assemble the entire Doll Squad to take down the baddies. The senator, wowed by the gadgets, drops his skepticism and gives Sabrina two weeks, the same amount of time he's been given by the president to prevent the termination of his space project.

Sabrina collects her squad, including the legendary Tura Satana as Lavelle Sumara, and gets down to business. A Satana digression: I was lucky enough to see Satana and fellow Russ Meyer alumni Haji and Lori Williams in person at an Alamo Drafthouse-sponsored drive-in double feature at a speedway a few miles outside of Austin back in 2002. Organizationally, it was a bit of a shitshow, but Satana had no fear of getting out amongst the people and mingling with the crowd. When I was wandering the speedway before it got dark enough to screen the movies, I happened upon her holding court in front of a small crowd of fans and got to hear some stories about her brief romance with Elvis. "Holy shit, I'm five feet away from Tura Satana, and she's telling Elvis stories!" I remember thinking. Pretty cool, and despite the organizational chaos (including a ridiculously inadequate number of restroom facilities), I'm grateful for the experience, especially now that Satana and Haji are no longer with us.

Speaking of Elvis, former government agent and lover of Sabrina turned evil madman Eamon O'Reilly (Michael Ansara) is hatching evil plans from his swanky pad, which looks like it shared the same interior decorator as Graceland. He has an evil henchmen, Joseph (William Bagdad), and a slightly less evil but still somewhat evil girlfriend, Maria (Hee-Haw's Lisa Todd), to do his bidding. After his plans to destroy the Doll Squad go awry, Eamon heads to his secret island lair guarded by his own private army, where he mingles with an international cadre of baddies who have nefarious world-conquering plans. The Doll Squad, hip to the lair, put on their bikinis and charter a private boat to the island under the guise of going on a rock-collecting trip.

Off the boat and on the island, the squad members change into more cool outfits, split into two groups, and sneak close to the compound, with two of the members disposing of two of the private army through the ol' vodka dosed with liquid that makes you explode gag. Love that gag. Reunited once more, the Dolls change outfits yet again, this time into matching green jumpsuits for the full-on assault on the compound. Love the jumpsuits, love the compound assault.

While I wish we had a little more time on the city streets before the action shifted to the island, I was never bored. Some critics of the film think it's overlong and a bit draggy in this section, but I disagree. The performances remain enjoyable (though I wish Satana had more to do), the action remains intense, the explosions remain hilarious, the outfits remain incredible, and the splatter is H.G. Lewis-worthy. Corpse Grinders, you've been knocked down to number 2 on my Ted V. Mikels power rankings.

Speaking of Mikels, he lived a wild and free life until his death from colon cancer in 2016 at the age of 87. A semi-prolific director of independent exploitation films who sported a memorable waxed handlebar mustache and never left the house without his boar's-tooth necklace, Mikels was born in St. Paul, Minnesota to Eastern European immigrant parents. The family moved to Portland, Oregon when Mikels was nine, and he developed in interest in photography, theater, and film, as well as archery, horses, and stunt work. In his twenties, Mikels started a production company in Bend, Oregon, that produced educational films and short films from aspiring filmmakers. He also did some work as a stuntman and research consultant for Hollywood westerns shooting in Oregon, though he never achieved his dream of directing a Hollywood studio film.

Moving to Los Angeles in the '60s, Mikels directed a string of drive-in/grindhouse features until the early '80s, living in a home decorated like a castle (the interiors of which were frequently used as locations in his films, including The Doll Squad), in which he lived with as many as a dozen women at a time. Mikels became almost as well known for throwing raging parties as for directing exploitation movies. Moving to Las Vegas in the '80s and staying for the rest of his life, Mikels set up another castle-esque party mansion and directed another string of exploitation movies after a mid-'80s lull. Besides the movies I already mentioned in this post, Mikels' filmography includes Dr. Sex, Girl in Gold Boots, The Astro-Zombies, Ten Violent Women, Mission: Killfast, Paranormal Extremes: Text Messages from the Dead, and his only G-rated film, Heart of a Boy, the inspirational tale of an inspirational five-year-old who needs a heart transplant, causing the community to rally behind him inspirationally. I'm guessing that one won't make my Ted V. Mikels power rankings.

Spooks Run Wild (Phil Rosen, 1941)

Spooks Run Wild is a bad movie, a horror-comedy neither scary nor funny, a cheap production that, intentionally or not, saved money on film and lighting equipment by arranging the characters side by side in the majority of shots and letting some scenes play out in indiscernible darkness. Nevertheless, there's an endearing quality to the cheapness and incompetence, and I am never going to be mad about Bela Lugosi and Angelo Rossitto doing their thing in a spooky mansion. Still, I can only recommend this one to the hardcore Lugosi-heads.

I also feel some affection for the movie because scenes from it appeared in Horrible Horror, a VHS compilation of b-movie sci-fi and horror clips and trailers from the '30s through the '60s hosted by Zacherley, "the Cool Ghoul," which I received as a Christmas gift in fifth or sixth grade and watched at least 800 times. I already talked about that VHS compilation in my King of the Zombies post in April. (I claimed to have watched it 37,000 times in that post, but I've gotta come clean. It's closer to 800.) I was never able to properly learn geometry because so many scenes from Horrible Horror took up permanent residence in my brain. There was simply no room to introduce any trapezoid knowledge without evicting the trailer for The Alligator Man, and I wasn't going to let that happen ("I'll kill you, alligator man! Just like I'd kill any four-legged gator!").

Spooks Run Wild brings together Bela Lugosi (bounced from Hollywood to the Poverty Row circuit when his drug and alcohol problems became a studio liability) and the wisecracking, streetwise East Side Kids, who may need an introduction in 2026. In 1935, a Broadway play called Dead End, about Depression-era New York City street kids getting a second chance in reform school, became a huge hit. Hollywood producers saw dollar signs and turned the play into a movie. The movie was a hit, too, and the cast of young men became a '30s Hollywood franchise called the Dead End Kids (after a two-film rebranding as the Crime School Kids), with the series of movies quickly evolving from gritty dramas to goofy comedies of misadventure. Some of the original Dead End Kids appeared in their own imitation group, the Little Tough Guys, who had a similar run of movies from the late '30s into the early '40s. In 1940, low-budget Poverty Row studio Monogram Pictures got in on the action and created a copycat gang called the East Side Kids. Eventually, some of the Dead End Kids became East Side Kids after the Hollywood output slowed, and the trend continued in the low-budget world into the '50s, with the East Side Kids morphing into the Bowery Boys in the late '40s. By the time the last Bowery Boys movie hit theaters in the late '50s, the scoreboard tallied one Broadway play, 89 films, and three serials, not even including other copycat ensembles such as the Gas House Kids and the Harlem Tuff Kids. Yowzah!

In Spooks Run Wild, the East Side Kids play a group of underprivileged NYC teens (though the youngest of them looks to be in at least his mid-twenties) on their way to a character-building wilderness camp in upstate New York (filmed on Monogram's sets in Los Angeles), under the supervision of engaged couple Jeff Dixon (Dave O'Brien), a condescending pipe-smoking law student, and Linda Mason (Dorothy Short), a plucky can-do nurse. Linda's too good for milquetoast dweeb Jeff, but what can you do? (O'Brien and Short were a real-life married couple, and they also acted together in Reefer Madness.) Jeff and Linda are the only characters with run-of-the-mill names (no offense to the Jeffs and Lindas of the world), with the exception of East Sider Danny (Bobby Jordan). The rest of our East Side gang includes Muggs (Leo Gorcey), Glimpy (Huntz Hall), Scruno (Sunshine Sammy Morrison, also a former Our Gang cast member), Peewee (David Gorcey, Leo's younger brother), and Skinny (Donald Haines).

When the bus driver transporting our characters stops in a small town near the camp to take a break and check the tires, the Kids play a prank on the driver, get yelled at by pipe-smokin' Jeff, and wander off to a soda counter, where they hit on the clerk Margie (Rosemary Portia) and hear a radio alert about a serial murderer on the run in the area. They brush it off, but the tough-guy act fails to convince.

Back at the camp and bedding down for the night, the Kids decide to sneak out and meet up with Margie. Their route will take them through a cemetery. Much of this will be too dark to see. It's like watching a radio play in certain scenes, I tell ya. Meanwhile, an odd man with the fantastic name of Nardo (Bela Lugosi) and his little person assistant Luigi (Angelo Rossitto) stop at a gas station for directions to an abandoned creepy mansion Nardo has inherited. The horror-obsessed gas station owner Lem Harvey (P.J. Kelly) knows he's looking at the murderer, but he plays it cool. He also recognizes his next customer, Dr. Von Grosch (Dennis Moore), from his occult reading material. The doctor tells Lem to keep his identity secret because he's on Nardo's trail.

Back to our dimly lit late-night wanderings. When Peewee gets hit with buckshot by a spooked cemetery caretaker who's already witnessed Nardo and Luigi disappear in front of his eyes, the other Kids carry him to Nardo's spooky mansion for help. Spooky stuff that's not that spooky occurs. Comedy that's not that funny also occurs, but I do love the way Lugosi says "Helloooo" and "Gooodbyyyye" and the way a skull prop bounces off his head during a pratfall.

The movie picks up whenever Lugosi and Rossitto are onscreen, and Kelly and Morrison also get a few decent moments, but this is otherwise pretty generic stuff, mostly poorly done, though even the weakest 20th century movie increases in interest for me the deeper we descend into our 21st century big tech hell. I also got a laugh out of the lack of urgency Jeff and the local constable show for the missing fish-out-of-water East Side Kids and Linda (who went off to look for the gang when Jeff was more interested in smoking his pipe and uttering condescending dismissals of Linda's concern) while a twisted serial murderer is roaming the same stretch of countryside. These guys do not want to get out of their chairs.

Well, there you have it. Spooks Run Wild. It's a movie (barely), but there aren't many spooks, and they could have run a whole lot wilder. I'll leave you with some Nebraska talk. Almost everyone in the East Side Kids cast was a native New Yorker except for Morrison (from New Orleans) and Haines, who hailed from my home state of Nebraska. He was born in Seward County, but his family moved to southern California when he was eight in search of work. He became a successful child actor beginning in the silent era, and Spooks Run Wild was his final movie. Enlisting in the military after the attack on Pearl Harbor, Haines was killed in action in Tunisia in 1943. Though he was only 23 when he died, Haines had at least 92 film credits. Film production workdays can be pretty nuts, but movie people in the '20s, '30, and '40s worked freakishly inhuman schedules.

Keeping the Nebraska connections flowing, it's time for some Angelo Rossitto talk. Rossitto, whose acting career stretched from the silent film The Beloved Rogue in 1927 to a 1987 episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation (he died in 1991), was born and raised in Omaha. Some notable credits in his lengthy acting career (he also owned a Hollywood newsstand to keep a steady income going between acting gigs) include Seven Footprints to Satan, Freaks, The Wizard of Oz (he was one of the Munchkins), Hellzapoppin', Samson and Delilah, The Baron of Arizona, Confessions of an Opium Eater, Requiem for a Heavyweight, The Trip, Brain of Blood (OK, that one may be notable only to me), The Other, a Rockford Files episode, the animated Lord of the Rings, The Dark, Something Wicked This Way Comes, Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome, Orson Welles' The Other Side of the Wind (filmed in the '70s and finally released in 2018), the front cover of Tom Waits' Swordfishtrombones album, and the back cover of Bob Dylan & The Band's The Basement Tapes. Another wild Nebraska-related fact about Rossitto is that his granddaughter is married to my preschool teacher's oldest son who moved from Nebraska to Hollywood to try to make it as an actor but, Seinfeld episode aside, ended up building a career as a propmaker for movies and TV shows. I did some benign Internet stalking to see what he was up to after reading his mom's obituary in my hometown paper (she was a great preschool teacher, by the way, and a very nice woman). It looks like he's retired from the film industry now and teaching jiujitsu in Hawaii. Some people know how to live.