If anyone was to ask me who's my all-time favorite delightfully dweebish 70's B-horror flick actor, my answer would have to be the ineffably gauche, yet still bizarrely riveting Andrew Prine. With his tall, lanky, ungainly build, gaunt hangdog face, quivering voice, and often antsy, uneasy disposition, Andy was basically a poor man's Anthony Perkins for the Me Decade. Prine established himself as the early 70's twitchy psycho pic performer par excellence with his spot-on spaced-out portrayals of an evil, world-weary warlock in the trippy "Simon, King of the Witches" and a disgusting, desert-dwelling, mother-hating bargain basement misogynist Norman Bates-like oedipal wreck lunatic in the sublimely skanky "Barn of the Naked Dead."
"The Centerfold Girls" finds our boy Andy in first-rate fidgety, fumbling, *beep*ed-in-the-head freakazoid form as Clement Dunne, an awkward, bespectacled, sexually repressed and thoroughly nerdy nutjob sporting a ghastly Beatles shag haircut, equally ugly rumpled leisure suits and unsightly two-tone Buster Brown shoes. The only thing worse than Dunne's hideous coiffure and horrendous wardrobe is his nasty murderous propensity for brutally carving up the assorted sinful scarlet harlots who've posed in the buff for the sleazy skin mag "Bachelor." Dunne's luscious lady victims are a veritable distaff who's who of 70's grindhouse cinema: the gorgeous Tiffany Bolling of "The Candy Snatchers" fame, "Bummer" 's Connie Strickland, Jennifer Ashley (who was previously terrorized by Prine in "Barn of the Naked Dead"), future "The Young and the Restless" daytime TV soap opera series regular Jaime Lyn Bauer, busty brunette Janet ("The G.I. Executioner," "Angels Hard As They Come") Wood, Talie ("The Love-Thrill Murders," "I Spit on Your Corpse") Cochrane, onetime "Penthouse" Pet Anneka di Lorenzo, and no-name lovelies Kitty Carl and Ruth Ross, most of whom do gratuitous * scenes before Andy bags 'em. The male supporting cast coughs up a similar roll call of down and out exploitation hack perennials: the ubiquitous Aldo Ray as a repulsive would-be rapist, Jeremy Slate as a crusty homicide detective, Ray Danton as a droll adult magazine publisher, huge, hulking, granite-faced veteran tough guy Mike Mazurki as a grouchy mansion grounds keeper, and fat guy character actor Dan Seymour as a motel manager.
John Peyser's tight direction, the almost constant avalanche of bared female flesh, and the harsh, bloody violence add immensely to the deliciously deviant junky fun, while the minimal music, crude cinematography and grainy film stock give this trashy treat the irresistibly seedy aura of a scuzzy no-budget porno feature. Perhaps the film's oddest , most startling and notable aspect is its shockingly blunt, in-your-face vile, sneering and hostile misanthropy and mean-spiritedness: Practically every last character, especially the largely creepy and unpleasant guys, comes across as really hateful, antisocial and unsympathetic a**holes; even Bolling's much-abused stewardess heroine is a snippy, stuck-up bitch. As a result, Prine's wonderfully warped wacko inadvertently seems like more of a semi-justified anti-hero instead of a full-fledged villain. It's this latter alarmingly off-kilter element which truly makes this depraved drive-in dreck one to relish.
