Directed by Seymour Robbie
Movie Review by Greg Goodsell
Need to get something done but don’t really want to do it? Have we got a movie for you! Take one overbearing, New York Jets quarterback who thinks he’s a lot more handsome and charismatic than he is (Joe Namath), a silver screen icon (Ann Margret) and add a slew of grindhouse and exploitation favorites – Big Bill Smith, Sid Haig, Greg Mullavey and Bruce Glover (Crispin’s dad) and make the cleanest most chaste biker exploitation film imaginable! You have just stumbled upon C. C. and Company, a cinematic curiosity that reminds you that you have an awful lot of ironing to do.
The story? Broadway Joe is C.C. – say that real fast and see if there was an inside joke among the filmmakers who had to put up with Namath’s shit on the set – is a very clean-cut biker, affiliated with “The Heads” gang who is tired of living on the wrong side of the law. Which is too bad, as his gang is really a good-natured bunch. The only really bad thing about this bunch is that Big Bill Smith, as the group’s de facto leader “Moon” has spent too much time with Stella Adler’s Method Acting Troupe in lieu of hittin’ the road, and Smith gobbles up the scenery BIG TIME. C. C. learns about the finer things in life when he helps a stranded Ann Margret, who plays glamorous model Ann McCalley. Struck by inspiration, she thinks that a fashion shoot using C. C.’s fellow dirt bike riders in the background would be “au courant.” Jealousies roil, and C.C. enters the competition under Ann's admiring eye, putting him at odds with the gang’s leader Moon. When C.C. leaves with his cut of the purse, the bikers kidnap Ann, and C.C. races Moon to win her freedom. YAY! Is the pot roast done yet?
C.C. and Company will leave those in search of violence, sex and brutality usually found in biker films of this ilk all tied up in knots! When the biker mamas resort to prostitution, it’s all done discretely off-screen. In spite of their odd costume changes, bikers Haig and Glover come off as hapless nice guys less threatening than members of your local Chamber of Commerce. The only truly Psychotronic bit of business is an appearance by Wayne Cochran and the C.C. Ryders. Cochran, with his huge blonde-white pompadour and fringed jacket is quite a sight to see, but not enough to save the picture.
Verily, if this film is remembered at all, it’s the opening scene where Joe Namath walks through a supermarket and helps himself to various items off the shelves in order to make himself a sandwich. With an “Aw shucks” grin, Namath opens loaves of bread, dabs mustard from a handy jar before putting it back on the shelf, eats it all tidily and then exits the market by paying ten cents for a pack of gun. This scene has been referenced over and over again on various Internet boards, beginning with, and “What’s that one scene where this stupid jerk makes a sandwich from grabbing stuff off the supermarket shelves -?” It all hammers home how forgettable the whole enterprise is.
C.C. and Company now comes to us in a budget disc from Cheezy Flicks, and indeed, this film truly is – Cheezy. If you’re in the mood for some harmless diversion, but have housework to do, C.C. this platter.
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