TELEFANTASY (1978)
Utilizing a simple idea of a floundering television station grabbing for ratings by injecting a whole bunch of sex into their news program, Bob Chinn’s Telefantasy is like a Mad Magazine parody of Sidney Lumet’s Network it if ran in Screw Magazine. Unfortunately, Telefantasy has not proved to be as prophetic as Network. For all these years later, we have definitely emerged as a country cursed with networks that spread sensationalist misinformation in the guise of “news”, but we most definitely aren’t freewheeling or relaxed enough to enjoy a remote from a seedy massage parlor between the weather and the sports reports. More’s the pity, America. Look upon Telefantasy and see how much fun you could be having.
Lorraine Peters (Mimi Morgan) is the new program director at KCIZ, channel 69 (naturally) and she rolls in on her first day like she’s Faye Dunaway, dressing down most of her staff at an impromptu meeting after the end of a listless and dreary broadcast. With other networks holding claim to all the violent real estate worth sending out over the air, Peters decides to amp up the sex. Lead anchor Jim Thompson (John Leslie) is charged with covering massage parlors, something he feels is completely beneath him as an anchorman; Donna Crawley (Delania Raffino, credited as Barbara Bills) is assigned to conduct an interview with Brad Stocker (Blair Harris) from Pinky Magazine, a famous flesh rag; sports reporter Mark (Mike Ranger) gets to go in-depth with tennis pro, Bobbi Evans (Casey Winters); and Karen Crystal (Lisa Sue Corey), the weather girl, doesn’t get a specific assignment but she helps her boyfriend Mark out with his which eventually leads to… ahem… a mixed doubles match (minus one, naturally) with Bobbi. The final stretch of the film is dedicated to the results of the various assignments and, wouldn’t you know it, the ratings go through the roof and everyone has learned valuable lessons along the way!
This grand setup in the opening moments of Telefantasy is an excuse to serve up a virtual Neapolitan ice cream of sex the flavors of which are sensuous, raucous, and slapstick in style. In terms of the sensuous, we get a soft encounter between Karen and Lorraine even though the coupling itself would get you nine kinds of fired these days. I’ve not read the KCIZ employee handbook to understand its org chart or its code of conduct but I’m fairly certain Karen getting plied with alcohol and seduced by her boss violates some kind of rule. That said, I do know that it seems pretty coercion-free on the part of Karen as “happy to be here” seems to be her constant countenance.
The raucous and randy part of Telefantasy is courtesy of Donna’s interview with Brad Stocker in which a well-orchestrated photo session melts into a sex scene that gathers participants by the minute. Beginning as a threesome with Brad, his assistant (Francoise Ducharme) , and his model (Angel Ducharme), the action gradually ends up as a five person pile-up with the addition of Donna and her cameraman, Jack (Geoff Reardon). All of this is superbly captured by cinematographer Ken Gibb, Chinn’s longtime cinematographer on his first assignment with the filmmaker after Bob Maxwell, lenser of Candy Stripers (and Gibb’s father-in-law), passed away. Here, Gibb proves to be a perfect match for Chinn as he improves on the director’s trademark overhead shots by framing five people within the perfectly aligned four corners of two different lens flares. The effect is so impressive that it’s almost as if he did it to undermine anyone who would dare say that there isn’t a technical craft involved in porn. For whoever says that is just a fool in a man’s shoes.
The slapstick portion of Telefantasy is delivered via Jim Thompson in the Golden Spa Massage Parlor, which also features Desiree Cousteau in a tiny but crucial role as the desk clerk. In this setup, Thompson encounters Richard Pacheco (billed as Marc Gordon) as a john trying to discreetly get a massage by Christine DeShaffer. Pacheco is funny but Leslie is a scream as he throws his weight around and his oft-repeated, self-bloviation, “I’m Jim Thompson!”, never gets old. Bob Chinn may not have been nuts about what production designer Bill Wolf came up with but can almost I guarantee you that an HD upgrade would be proof that Wolf was onto something when he decided to make the interior of the massage parlor look like it’s straight out of a Roger Corman/Poe adaptation. Admittedly, it may end up playing a little strangely as a backdrop to the the Benny Hill-style ending involving Thompson, Lorraine, and Donna but it’s all pretty adorable and I’m pretty much in the tank for well-orchestrated, slow-motion pop shots, something Chinn copiously employs throughout this film, and then more or less jettisoned as a technical flourish for the remainder of his career.
Though it’s kind of a lark and the production of it is only hazily recalled by Chinn, Telefantasy, written by Steve Antoniou and Charles Belot (credited together as Sal Chester), dares to have something on its mind about male chauvinism and, like so many Chinn films, runs on the strength of its females; but it ultimately doesn’t really get any weightier than what’s on its surface. There is a hunch that the fine folks who ran Pacific Coast Films, who had also been behind Chinn’s Candy Stripers the previous year, had but one edict drilled into Chinn’s head and that was “Make sure there’s lots of fuckin’.” He delivers as requested and by most sane metrics, it’s all very effective and pretty steamy. And, much like Candy Stripers, I wouldn’t turn down an opportunity to buy the soundtrack to the film as its variation between the sustained, electronic pulsations and late 70’s Chevy Van rock really add a fine garnish to the film.
Though it’s not the home run that Candy Stripers was (but, really, what is?), Telefantasy coasts on its characters, its scorching sex scenes, and the wonderfully comedic performance by John Leslie, which, surprisingly, was the last film he made for Chinn. Also, it’s a testament to the chemistry of the remainder of the cast that so many of them (Corey, Pacheco, Harris, and Rafina) would go on to be in Chinn’s Hot Legs the following year. But Telefantasy also emerges as yet another fabulous brick in the shining smut palace of 1978, a year in which the director cranked out so many classics and maintained such a high water mark of quality that, if he were an athlete putting up comparable stats, I’d be completely suspicious and ask him to take a piss test. I mean, no mere mortal is THIS good without some kind of dastardly agent lending a big assist, right?
(C) Copyright 2023, Patrick Crain