It’s a fact that there are few things in this world better than sticking it to the man. I submit to you that the one thing indisputably better is when Angie Dickinson does it for you.
Big Bad Mama is a movie that doesn’t get the respect it deserves. It is a not perfect film. It might not, in fact, be good in the technical sense. But it’s a whole lot of fun and deserves to be way more well-known than it is.
Produced by Roger Corman, written by William Norton (I Dismember Mama; Night Of The Juggler) and Frances Doel (Dinocroc; Supergator) and directed by Steve Carver, Big Bad Mama is a Prohibition-era crime romp loosely based on the criminal reign of Ma Barker. Our titular Mama is, of course, the immortal Angle Dickinson, who goes by the significantly less badass actual name of Wilma McClatchie. Seeking a better life for her and her two daughters, she embarks on a series of moneymaking ventures, which, as things often did back in the day, inevitably leads to a string of armed robberies.
And really, that’s more or less all there is to Big Bad Mama; at heart, it ain’t nothin’ but a series of shootouts, car chases, brawls, boob shots, banjo solos, more car chases, more brawls, and many, many more boobs.
Also, extra shootouts.
No, you don’t come to Big Bad Mama for the satire or the political commentary (although there is an amusing scene where we discover that the New Deal was apparently the Obamacare of its day….)
You came to see Angie Dickinson do her thang.
And her thang she does, in spades.
It’s a hell of a thing to see a 40-year old movie that’s more unapologetically Feminist than 95% of modern movies. From the very start of the film, Dickinson steadfastly refuses to take any shit from any man for any reason. At no point does she allow herself to be a victim. And everything she does, she does in order to endure the safety and freedoms of her daughters.
All that’s missing, really, are daughters that are worth the trouble…
Thankfully, unlike so many stories of mother and daughters, there’s no real strife here; Billy Jean and Polly adore their mother. But jeez, are they not chips off the awesome Dickinson block.
Billy Jean (Susan Sennett) is frisky and sassy (some might say horny and annoying, but I am a gentleman), but not particularly good at anything except for losing the money her mother steals and pissing people off with her smart mouth.
Polly (Robbie Lee)…well, bless her heart, but Polly is dumb as a bag of hammers. There’s moment where Mama McClatchie tries to get her daughter out of trouble by claiming she’s “retarded” (her words, not mine), and I actually had to think for a moment whether this was a clever ploy or if she was stating the obvious.
So, yeah: Dickinson, Sennett and Lee make a pretty great trio.
Sure, the daughter characters might not be awesome as written, but the performances more than make up for it. I didn’t realize until I looked it up that Robbie Lee, so sweet and guileless as Polly, was also Lace in my beloved Switchblade Sisters, which added an extra layer of fun for me. And Sennett, who all but retired after this film, is so good at selling her snarky lines that it’s not until after the movie that you realize how little she contributed to the group.
They all play off each other very well, and actually seem like a family, which really helps make the movie.
But when you go and throw Tom Skerritt and William Shatner into the mix…well, it’s not just a movie anymore; now it’s a party.
Oh, did I neglect to mention that this movie has Tom Skerritt and William Shatner? Because it absolutely does…
Skerritt plays the Dillinger-esque bank robber Fred Diller who falls in love with Wilma and joins her in a life of crime. Eventually he gets shoved aside when Wilma takes up with con man William J. Baxter (The Shat), making this the only movie in history that considers William Shatner to be a romantic upgrade from Tom Skerritt.
Don’t feel too bad for Skerritt, though. He winds up with Billy Jean. And Polly. At the same time. And SHOCKINGLY, this doesn’t play NEARLY as skeevy as it sounds. The most impressive thing about the movie may very well be that it’s nonjudgmental about all the bed-hopping; this is a weirdly sex-positive movie.
The happy quintet run around robbing banks and horse races and whatever isn’t nailed down (but losing their ill-gotten gains over and over again), until Wilma’s ambitions lead her to kidnap a spoiled heiress, a crime that may be one step too far.
(If you think this is all going to work out for the best, let me remind you that this movie was released in the 70s…)
Earlier I used the word romp to describe the movie, and really, that’s the only way to describe it.
Carver, who would go on to make such movies as Drum, Lone Wolf McQuade, and inevitable future Action/Adventure entry Bulletproof (where Gary Busey runs around calling everybody a “butthorn”), isn’t the strongest director in Corman’s stable. There’s a certain sloppiness in the camerawork and editing. But Carver maintains a light touch, injecting the proceedings with a cartoony energy. There are a ridiculous amount of scenes involving pratfalls, people slipping on nothing, and people flipping ass over teakettle. It may or may not be the result of “first take sloppiness,” but it lends the nonstop action a certain human touch.
And the car chases, which break out every five minutes or so, are the old school kind, less about speed and more about stuntwork and pileups. It’s never not hilarious to see those old timey cars pretending they’re Formula-1s, as if they’re not going to rollover the instant they try to make a right hand turn…
(Seriously; Austin 7s? Not so great with the cornering…)
In conclusion, you need to do your part to make sure Angie Dickinson gets the recognition as the diva she’s meant to be by watching Big Bad Mama. It’s pure 70s fun. And it’s pure 70s fun you don’t have to feel nearly as guilty about, or make excuses for.
And if you’re still not sold, I have two words for you: Shatner ass.
You’re welcome.