Not Chapter 2 of Beyond the Valley of the Dolls, but it does find that old sexist reprobate Russ Meyer in agreeably rumbustious form. It returns to the format of Meyer's early independent successes, following its long-suffering hero as he flees across country from a trumped-up charge of murdering his wife, trying to keep his trousers and his hands clean. Things begin spectacularly with some racy cross-cutting, then get bogged down in repetitions, but eventually rally with a hilarious race-against-time finale that outdoes a dozen vintage serials. Meyer's ideas are consistently good, and the dexterity of his editing makes contemporary mainstream Hollywood look all but geriatric; applied to more substantial material, his talents could obviously have produced something really remarkable. But his gift for caricature still makes him a wittier comedy director than, say, Mel Brooks.