“The Ganja Express” (1978)
Three men pretending to be actors play at being Federal agents who manage to confuse the most fundamental of plans: that is to say they are planning to pursue a drug smuggling
ring. which, it turns out, is run by a sleazy nightclub owner. This same illicit entrepreneur has a confederate within the same investigative agency, all of which is openly revealed immediately in the film, leaving little opportunity for the casual accumulation of details- the thing regular patrons of movies refer to as a plot -to occur in the film. With little dedication to the narrative form, the filmmakers compensate for the vaporous nature of their scenario by including a large number of unrelated sexual encounters including one truly bizarre toga party trapeze consummation and a soberly performed fireside lesbian tryst made unintentionally hilarious by presence of the most clamorous crackling fireplace inferno ever committed to film. “The French Connection” this ain’t.
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OK, I have to wonder why you even bothered to watch this one. Did someone pay you to? Was it a rain-swept and bleak night in Massachusetts? Was one of your friends in the cast?
Even the temptation of that ‘Lesbian fireside tryst’ isn’t enough to make me consider this one.
Best wishes, Patricia Highsmith.
The question is easily answered if we remember George Mallory’s answer as to his fixation on a certain geographic high point.
-Chives de Pâté