I can say without a shadow of a doubt that Hope Emerson was more alluring than Peaches Page, the lady wrestler who stars in this wretched exploitation film that if there was a letter beyond Z, it wouldn't be low enough in the alphabet to describe this. The first real is nothing but footage of women wrestling, and when the dialog starts, nothing is revealed that indicates what this film is going to be about. That first reel doesn't really include any music, and when Page is shown at a work-out farm, the music over the footage is so dull that would put an elevator to sleep.

Where there's sports, there's a racket, and it doesn't take longer than 20 minutes for that to be the plot for which the viewer will have to fight to keep themselves awake for the next hour and 10 minutes. You expect cliched characters in films like this, but these are basically paper cutouts of every stereotype you have seen in a racket film ever since the silent age.

I can imagine the casting call advertising for women with huge torsos, and while a few of them are attractive, their bodies when underdressed wouldn't even get them into the cheapest of burlesque shows. As for talent, to paraphrase the musical "Gypsy" well, they didn't get a gimmick. This is the type of film where there is nothing at all to rank this above the rank, and it even fails miserably on a camp level.