Zoologists (or boogie-down-jungle-fever-ists) had noted in their journalistic endeavors that within the animal kingdom, many of the packs and prides are led by the female of the species. However, they didn’t need to hunker down between the sappy pines of the wilds to observe them; they just had to ask a married man who wears the (leopard-printed) pants in the household! From the friendly (and cowardly) lion to the (hopped up on sugar) tiger to the (hopefully NOT hopped up on cocaine) bears (oh my) the animal kingdom isn’t patriarchal, but run by the queens of the jungle (Simba, you are NOT the father), vicious killer predators of the night, especially if you tick them off! Just ask Detective Sgt. Jack Stevens, who barely escapes the claws (and nasty lipstick-shaded bite) of sultriest Candy Price in the deep dark trenches of noir forest in Female Jungle, a nasty six-shooter crime thriller starring a soon-to-break-out big (for great reasons) Jayne Mansfield!
The major flaw in this thrift store dime novel rip-off is that the film becomes severely bogged down by the fact that it is a detective movie where the detective does very little detecting (he needs a detective to find his badge to prove he’s a detective). Made for the cost of a thrifty store rubber shoe, this independent noir was the brain child of producer first timers Burt Kaiser, who was a small-time actor in such forgotten (or deteriorated) heaps as Day of Triumph and I Led Three Lives, and director Bruno Vesota, who both make an appearance in minor rolls due to the miniscule budget. Not a huge success upon its release, even if Kaiser and Vesota fired all their rounds of its $49,000 budget (missing everything and the side of shoddy brick buildings), they did strike Hollyweird gold by casting a small-time model-turned-actress who was about to blow up (on centerfolds pinned to garage mechanics walls nationwide), Ms. Vera Jayne Palmer, or better known as Jayne Mansfield. When it comes to Mrs. Mansfield, the girl truly can’t help it be so charming on screen, even if she supposedly only got paid $150 for the role (worth every beautiful penny)! If there were a single reason to machete your way through an urban jungle of tough guys, tough dames, and tough acting, it would be for her alone (and to get a glimpse of that million-dollar smile). A legend gone far too soon due to her tragic car accident in 1967, she was often referred to as the Dollar General Marilyn Monroe, but don’t let those eyes and high-pitched voice fool you, as Mansfield knew what she was doing in small films, like this, and it worked in the long (goodbye) game. Though only in the theatres for a limited time, when the movie eventually left theatres, it made a huge resurgence as the second half of double-bills to cash in on the marquee value of Mansfield, often being shown with Roger Corman quickie flickies and other legendary (terrible) movies distributed by American International Pictures (nothing like a drive-in double feature of this film alongside Attack of the Puppet People). Great use of black and white classic noir photography, finding a way to pay John Carradine his usual buck-fifty for one day’s worth of work, and the overall powerful presence of the lustrous Jayne of the jungle can’t save the fact this chiller thriller is a lost (and never to be found), floating frozen turd without a clue!
It’s been a rough time for Detective Sgt. Jack Stevens. Not only is he down on his luck, but he’s down to his last dime for a shot of Jack (squat) Daniels. While drunk at the bar, a murder occurs, and poor Jack must pour himself a hair of the dog that bit him to investigate the number one suspect – himself (talk about a killer reflection). Having remembered nothing of his actions the night before, Jack can’t for sure say he is not on the right track to sending himself to the electric chair. As he (not really) investigates, he suspects others like a (rather creepy) columnist (Carradine), a struggling artist, his too-eager-for-money girlfriend, and lover (Mansfield). Could it be a case of the bad shakes, or can a drunken officer paint himself out of a corner by drawing some insightful conclusions?
Jungle-gyming your way at a slick seventy-three minutes, director Vesota would go on to have a great acting career in many Corman and AIP features, as well as helming cult classics like The Brain Eaters and Invasion of the Star Creatures. It doesn’t take Sherlock Holmes to find this little Watson in the damp and dark streets of Public Domain, so you can find it on most streaming services and in the dollar DVD bin. It might be foggy out, and a love like ours might not amount to a hill of beans being farted out of a cowboy’s bronco, but we’ll always have a cheap rundown theatre in the lower side of Paris that still plays slummy capers like Female Jungle. So, prowl around like you own this wild kingdom and as you swoon and swing for your love of trashy sleuthy material, watch out for that (BAAAAAAMMMMMM)… tree!
