Unfortunately for me, the name Janie will forever be linked to that Aerosmith song—you know the one. It’s a full diaper of a song by a band who’s major contribution to rock is using a microphone stand for hanging scarves. If you somehow don’t know the song, then you are truly lucky because now you get to associate the name with something better, something pure: A sexploitation film directed by Roberta Findlay.
Janie hates school. It’s dull and stupid. Students are just trying to please their teachers. But to what end? School is futile. It’s pointless. It’s relentless. That’s why she and her best friend skip class and hitchhike to get the fuck out of dodge.
Janie’s friend ends up in a heavy make-out session with a guy on the lawn. Hands grab and grope, breasts are freed, and butts are rubbed. Jane just can’t believe these two are making out. So she does what any best friend does; she runs them over with the dude’s car, and then steals it and drives away. Murder puts her in the mood to get rude. She’s looking for action.
For the next sixty-five minutes, Janie takes off her top and goes swimming or Janie takes off her top and takes a bath. There’s also a time when she takes off her top and puts on another top.
If you see a pattern, then you are correct: Janie likes to kill people.
Toplessness, heavy petting sessions, and vehicular manslaughter all make good fodder, but what propels Janie above other sexploitation films is the incredible narration by Roberta Findlay. It’s straight up Beatnik poetry, if Beatnik poetry was actually good. Findlay’s voice is sultry, breathy, and slow, her words dripping in reverb.
“Autumn is the best season of the year. It proclaims death to all. . . . the time when everything is dead.”
That’s pretty heavy, man.
The narration serves as the id-driven voice inside Janie, urging her to follow her carnal desires.
“You’re not really satisfied are you, Janie? What is it, Janie? How can you get it? Go to him, he’s the one you really want.”
“Drive fast, faster. His arms will be around you, Janie.”
The narration is glorious and it’s one of the few films where you could just close your eyes and listen to the audio and enjoy it just as much. Even when she’s urging Janie to kill, Findlay’s narration is hypnotic and soothing, The soundtrack, however, is anything but; it’s an extended acid-funk improvisation with liberal use of the wah-wah pedal. Honestly, the score should be irritating, but it’s somehow not. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but the acid-psych-funk jazz in this movie works. Guitars scorch solos, basses twang, and cymbals crash while a body is dragged across a hallway and hidden in a bathtub, which definitely no one will find. Janie is a movie for those who have a strong tolerance for jazz improvisation, tongue-kissing, and exploitative twists. This is not a movie for those who require bras.
The directing credit goes to Jack Bravman, but he claims that Roberta did the directing (as well as the cinematography). In other interviews, John Amero, the Findlays’ longtime collaborator, claims that Michael Findlay directed the film. It’s hard to say who directed what, but I think it’s safe to assume that Janie is Roberta’s show. All her hallmarks are here: strong female characters who are frustrated, petulant, bored, sociopathic, and hungry for violence just to feel something, anything. Roberta Findlay has always been true to herself and Janie is proof.
