Norah (Juliet Prowse) finds a job spinning records in a New York nightclub after making the move to the city from Rochester. She finds herself the recipient of menacing and threatening phone calls which quickly escalate in severity. When she first receives them she thinks it’s just a drunk randomly calling people. But then the caller mentions her name when he rings back whilst saying he can see her. During his next call, he then mentions places she’s been to that day and makes it clear that he’s stalking her too.

The deviant is revealed to be Laurence (Sal Mineo) who works as a busboy at the same nightclub. We are granted backstory regarding Mineo’s character in that he lives with his sister who was left mentally challenged by a fall down the stairs after she witnessed her brother getting it on with an older woman (wisely the film never explicitly specifies this character as their mother but that’s how I interpreted this episode).

For a film made in 1965, this is all very heady stuff. No wonder the movie was refused a certificate outright by the BBFC on its initial release (although that says more about the BBFC than it does about the film). Dirty phone calls, peeping toms, stalking and lesbianism (Elaine Stritch is excellent as nightclub manager Marian) are just some of the delights the film serves to an unsuspecting cinema-going public. Who Killed Teddy Bear taps into the seedier side of New York culture and shares this space with the films of Andy Warhol and Paul Morrissey. In fact, the film seems to be a proto-Taxi Driver in this respect. We get great time capsule footage of Times Square grindhouses and porno theatres (Laurence even pays admission to see one of these dirty movies). There are also fantastic shots of the kind of goods sold by a fetish clothes shop and also the window display of a very left-leaning bookstore (everything from Naked Lunch and Last Exit to Brooklyn right through to a book called Rough Trade and another called Swap Clubs which I presume is about the swingers scene. In fact, it’s like one of the bookstores where you’d find me perusing whats on offer haha).

But for all of this envelope-pushing material, the film is also beautifully shot. In recent years the film has come to be finally released on DVD and then Blu-Ray. These releases were more than welcome to me as the first time I saw the film was when it was being sold on unofficial DVD after being transferred from a VHS copy. But whilst these advancements are a vast improvement in terms of video and audio, there has yet to be a release of the uncut version without the blurred-out opening credits (you can tell a film is gritty and uncompromising when even the credits are censored!). I hope one day we see this release. One scene which was a major bone (pun not intended) of contention within the film was the extremely homoerotic gym scene which is followed by Mineo’s character wearing swimming trunks that leave nothing to the imagination. Again, too much for 1965. This scene has been reinserted after having been previously cut from the film.

Another thing about the film that I loved were the scenes of the nightclub punters dancing and getting on the good foot. But nothing could prepare me for the scene of Mineo dancing (with the unsuspecting subject of his obsessions). Let’s just say it rivals Al Pacino sniffing amyl nitrate and violently busting some moves in Cruising.

In fact, there seems to be an undercurrent of homosexuality to the whole film. In real life, Mineo was gay but not out. This hidden layer of homoeroticism is only noticeable to those who know what the signifiers are. Look at his character’s dress sense when he isn’t in the nightclub, it’s either a tight top and trousers which leave nothing to the imagination, or the skimpy swimming trunks worn in the local health club. The fact that he looks after himself and the scene in the gym with the camera leeringly capturing his glistening sweaty muscles further compounds the Tennessee Williams aspect to proceedings. Maybe this is another aspect of the movie that was too hot to handle for 1965, an uneasy quality or feel to the film that the censors couldn’t quite put their finger on but made them uneasy. Or maybe they knew damn well what it was.

I’m glad that Who Killed Teddy Bear has resurfaced, continues to be restored and released in even more complete forms (let’s hope one day we get to see the fully uncut, unblurred version) and that it’s been recognised as the uncompromising and genuinely edgy piece of work that it is.

4.5 stars out of 5