Claudia Jennings – An Authorized Biography

 

Surprisingly this book marks the first successful attempt at publishing a biography of Claudia Jennings, nee Mary ‘Mimi’ Eileen Chesterton, the Playboy playmate who achieved success as a drive-in movie actress, before tragically dying in a car crash at the young age of 29.  My feelings towards this book are similarly to that of ‘The Sci-Fi Siren Who Dared to Love Elvis and Other Stars’, the recent biography of Angelique Pettyjohn. In that these books’ flaws become all the more frustrating, given that their subjects are so niche it’s unlikely another, superior biography is likely to come along anything soon. 

For what was without doubt an obsessive labour to love, this book sure has a tendency to get distracted from its subject matter.  Expect to read a book about Claudia Jennings?  Well, you do get that here, but you are also signing up for lengthy asides about the history of the grand guignol theatre, the cultural influence of Grant Wood’s painting ‘American Gothic’, the socio-political subtext of Attack of the 50 foot Woman, and just about everything else under the sun.  Claudia Jennings- an authorized biography sets out its stall with an overview of America as the 1960s gave way to the 1970s, a time of racial tension, the war in Vietnam, the threat of the Soviet Union, and where a right wing backlash against 60s liberalism would eventually put “men in power that the vast majority of the nation would eventually regret”.  All of which would be appropriate if this were a biography of Huey P. Newton, Malcolm X or a member of the MC5, but Claudia Jennings was hardly a radical figure, and appears to have been immune from the turbulent issues of the period.  If Jennings was a political animal, then her views were never publically aired, nor do they go recorded here. 

As its title implies, the book was written with the co-operation of her family, who hold firm to the belief that appearing in Playboy was morally beneath her, and that her acting career suffered as a result of her association with the magazine. A cause that this book picks up and runs with “her modest background and feelings of inadequacy were being soothed by the unrealistic and irrational world of Hugh Hefner”.  The revelation that her relationship with Hefner quickly went from professional to sexual is greeted with the finger pointing accusation “what went on between Mimi and Hugh Hefner is nothing less than sexual harassment” only to contradict and retract that statement a few sentences later with “there is nothing to suggest Mr Hefner coerced Mimi into having sex”.  There are elements of the Jennings story that don’t reflect well on Hefner, including allegations that pressure was put on her to make return appearances in the pages of Playboy, leaving her feeling as if she owed him and the magazine a debt for her acting career.  However the book doesn’t really convince you that he was the Svengali it is so desperately trying to paint him as.  Hefner’s behaviour hardly strikes you as that of a monster, he installed her in his mansion, gave her an entrance into a world of fame and money –both of which she clearly craved- and offered her a luxurious escape route from what appears to have been an increasingly troubled home life.  In one of the most heartbreaking moments of the book, it quotes a letter she wrote to her parents “I know I am a first-class pig, as Daddy said.  I know I am no help around here.  I am crying right now as I am writing this to you because I am sorry for all the trouble I have caused.  The whole thing was all my fault”, at which point the book cuts short her words ‘out of respect for the privacy of the Chesterton family’.  Now, surely the role of biographer should be to shed light on its subject, rather than act as gatekeeper to information that might be key to understanding her.  The book might be willing to sweep anything that embarrasses the Chesterton family under the carpet, but it doesn’t extent the same courtesy to Hefner, with the book casting its net further afield to find mud to throw at the gates of the Playboy mansion.  Thus the book spends time on a lengthy retelling of the life and murder of Dorothy Stratten, as well as engaging in what comes across as schadenfreude when it comes to documenting the decline of the Playboy brand, the Playboy mansion, and Hefner’s own death.  None of which took place during Jennings’ lifetime.  Had she written a letter like that to Hefner, rather than her parents, I’d be more inclined to jump onboard the anti-Hef agenda here, but she didn’t, nor did he ever call her a first-class pig. 

When we get to the movies is when in theory this book should take flight.  Instead it is the point in which Claudia Jennings- an authorized biography develops an identity crisis, drifting away from its biographical intent and increasingly becoming a series of film reviews and home for the author’s personal opinions of her movies.  While you’d expect anyone reading a book about Claudia Jennings to be au fait with her film career, evidentially this book thinks otherwise, and provides very long, blow by blow, virtually scene by scene walkthroughs of their plots.  The synopsis for Unholy Rollers (1972) talking up nearly six pages alone.  As for the type of film criticism on display here, it’s not as room clearingly pretentious as Rob Craig’s books on Ed Wood and Larry Buchanan (which share this book’s publisher) but it has its moments, with Gator Bait (1974) praised for its ‘sub-proletarian individualist and non-conformist’ heroine, an aspect which surprisingly wasn’t used to sell it down at the drive-ins.  For some reason the book also feels compelled to give a potted history of exploitation cinema, again something you’d expect anyone reading a book about Claudia Jennings to be well versed in.  It’s another detour the book takes, which allows the author to give his thoughts on A Clockwork Orange, The Last House on the Left, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, A Serbian Film, Bloodsucking Freaks and other films that don’t have Claudia Jennings in them.  Although the author outs himself early on in the book as a fan of horror and B-movies, citing being recommended The Great Texas Dynamite Chase (1976) on Youtube as a motivating factor in writing this book, the snarky and condescending tone towards such movies here hardly supports this.  Russ Meyer’s Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill! is trashed ‘the dialogue and acting make even Roger Corman’s weakest efforts look like Hamlet’.  As for Jennings’s own output ‘although I adore Claudia’s films, we’re not reviewing Citizen Kane, The Godfather or Spartacus’, he sneers before reaching the conclusion ‘I am comforted by the fact Claudia never ventured into the darker fringes of Exploitation cinema’. Which begs the question, why the book itself ventures into the darker fringes of Exploitation cinema, when Jennings did not.  Given the eagerness to throw accusations of sexism and exploitation at Playboy’s door, it comes as a surprise though to find that the author is so enamoured by Bloodsucking Freaks.  Described here as ‘a misogynistic gem’ and the subject of the confused write-up ‘it is a good example of an exploitation film that is also a cult classic.  Of course not all cult films are exploitation movies, such as those by the Coen Brothers, and by the same token, not all exploitation films are cult classics’.  Got that?

As for the lady herself, who after all this book is meant to be about, few have a bad word to say about Claudia Jennings.  She is remembered in these pages as a sweet soul, a loyal friend, who liked to buy people presents, and is much missed.  All of which is nice and reassuring to know.  However it doesn’t make for especially compelling reading, instead giving the book the feel of an aggressive PR exercise, designed to combat the often tawdry depiction of Jennings in the media as an out of control party girl, who slept around Hollywood, did lots of drugs and died young.  Trouble is, the book often comes out swinging at even the slightest bit of criticism of her.  When an early boyfriend remembers “as soon as school ended, she moved on. She broke up with me on the night of the prom”, the book feels the need to interject “this statement sounds bitter, but since it’s a jilted lover’s expression, one can comprehend that (he) wouldn’t be inclined to judge Mimi fairly”.  Likewise the hint of sexual promiscuity on her part, gets shot down with “the word is a anachronistic term for a double standard that dishonesty shames women for multiple partners, yet idolizes men for the same behaviour”.

Jennings had few detractors, but the ones who have spoken ill of her over the years are vilified for it here.  An unnamed stuntwoman, who worked on Deathsport (1978), is dismissed as “very jealous of Claudia, and was fairly spiteful towards people in general”. While Deathsport director Nicholas Niciphor is portrayed as an incompetent, bullying, nam vet who “would talk about his days in Vietnam and speak graphically about the atrocities he witnessed”.  Tensions between Jennings and Niciphor come to a head, when he pulls her off a bike during the filming of a scene and ‘appeared to be ready to kick or strike her’.  Just to give both sides of the story, something this book isn't prepared to do, Niciphor himself once claimed in Psychotronic Video Magazine "she was drunk, she was 'coked' to the gills and she was headstrong...I did in fact try to physically remove her from the bike, but I did so for her own safety...mad as I certainly was that her drug trip was ruining my movie, it was for her safety that I did in fact attempt to force her off that motorcycle". It seems that when it comes to the making of Deathsport, recollections may vary.

At around the halfway point Claudia Jennings- an authorized biography, does manage to become unintentionally entertaining, due to the high level of sycophancy to be found within its pages.  Sure, a biographer should be grateful to people for lending a quote or two, but did virtually every quote in this book need to be preceded with ‘such and such a person generously and/or graciously shared their recollections of Claudia’.  Likewise referring to people by title ‘to Ms. Peeters’ credit’, ‘Ms. Kirkland has appeared in over 140 movies’, but the fawning highlight has to be affording one participant the over the top introduction of ‘she is one of the most extraordinary Americans to grace our time’.  Say what you will about this book, it sure knows how roll out the red carpet for invited guests.  The two notable hold-outs when it comes to participating in this book are singer/songwriter Bobby Hart, who absence is compensated by liberal quotes from his autobiography 'Psychedelic Bubble Gum'. As well as the Brady Bunch's Maureen McCormick, who formed a hell raising double act with Jennings for a while. McCormick’s autobiography comes under fire here for "ignoring all of Claudia's virtues and instead focused on one primary vice" and "if felt that there was a sub-current of feminine jealousy throughout". All of which makes you want to run out and see just what McCormick’s book says about Jennings. While mentions of their friendship are disappointingly brief, it is actually a pretty funny, no filter account of the craziness those two got up to. “Claudia and I became instant best friends after discovering both of us had a great capacity for snorting coke”, “Claudia and I got close to the movie's cinematographer Gary Graver...for a brief time, the lucky guy shuttled between the two of us".

As the 1970s roll on, Jennings’ life becomes one increasingly lived in the fast lane.  There’s a cameo appearance from Bowie, Jennings goes on tour with the Rolling Stones, reportedly saving Keith Richards from a drugs OD, then there’s a coke binge with James Caan and Tony Curtis (wouldn’t you have wanted to be a fly on the wall during THAT get-together, even if there was a possibility you’d accidentally get snorted up a famous nasal passage).  The impression you get is that there is a true story of sex and drugs and rock n’roll excess to be had here.  The book’s aversion to going down a tabloidish route might be admirable, and I doubt any fan of Claudia Jennings would want to read a gutter level, hatchet job. However Claudia Jennings- an authorized biography, goes too far in the opposite direction, leaving us with a bland echo-chamber of people queuing up to generously/graciously remind us... ad infinitum... that Claudia Jennings was... a sweet soul... a loyal friend... who liked to buy people presents...is much missed, etc, etc.

After Jennings’ death, the book descends into madness...a long, undisciplined, freefalling rant that rarely comes up for breath.  Randomly touching on subjects like Russ Meyer movies, comparisons between Jennings and Cybill Shepherd, comparisons between Jennings and silent movie stars, the author’s annoyance at what a Deathsport crew member had written about her online ‘besides being full of outright lies, the article is scatological and crude’, the IMDB ratings for her movies, the initial critical response to Jodorowsky’s El Topo, a top ten list of Claudia Jennings movies, the author’s annoyance at a fellow writer confusing the word ‘sexpot’ with ‘sex symbol’...and so it goes on and on and on.  It’s the literature equivalent of being locked in a room with a crazy fan who insists on pontificating about their favourite subject until they are either rendered hoarse or you take your chances and jump out of the nearest window.  In the early 2000s, the same publisher Midnight Marquee press pulled a blinder with ‘Tuesday’s Child’ a superb biography of British actress Imogen Hassall. If only for Jennings’ sake, I had hoped that this might have been its equal, but I have to be honest, this was an unholy mess of a book, and I couldn’t wait to be done with it.