A murderer is going around London strangling models who have appeared in a men’s magazine called Playbirds. Two stymied Scotland Yard detectives pound the pavement but are unable to come up with any leads. Desperate for a break in the case, they ask a sexy, but capable traffic cop (Mary Millington) to go undercover as the magazine’s next centerfold to hopefully lure and trap the killer.
The Playbirds is one of those movies that have too many moving parts to quite work as a cohesive whole. In addition to the police procedural plotline, we have the giallo-esque murder sequences (featuring a killer in black gloves), and faux-Playboy modeling shoots (including a Satanic orgy featuring a guy in a werewolf mask). These set pieces work individually, but the final product feels a bit incongruous and uneven. The stuff involving the Hugh Hefner wannabe’s woes at the racetrack are especially tiresome (the horse race footage provides the film with ample padding), and the downbeat ending doesn’t really fit the tone of the rest of the film.
Fortunately, The Playbirds features one of my favorite exploitation movie tropes: The sexy cop who goes undercover to nab a killer. I particularly liked the scene where Millington had to “audition” in front of her co-workers to prove she had what it took to be a Playbirds centerfold. (They also audition other lady cops, you know, just because.) Millington has a winning screen presence, and her affable good cheer makes these swinging sexploitation sequences memorable. It’s just a shame that many of the detective scenes are so plodding. I did like the killer’s gimmick though. (He numbers his victims with lipstick on their forehead.)
Bottom Line: When the film gets bogged down with the various subplots, it’s kind of a drag, but when it’s focused on the T & A (the lesbian scene is particularly saucy), The Playbirds soars.
AKA: The Playbird Murders. AKA: Secrets of a Playgirl.
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