Since its rediscovery on the cult movie circuits of the early '70s, Reefer Madness has been the subject of not only ridicule (which is well-deserved), but widespread misunderstanding as to its purpose. Acid-dropping flower children could of course marvel at the misinformation regarding "the devil weed," which according to Reefer Madness would unquestionably lead to violence, insanity, and suicide. But this reception of the more overtly ludicrous aspects of the film presupposes that Tell Your Children (as it was originally called) was truly intended as a heartfelt if clumsy warning against drug addiction. At least three sequences, barely registering with a modern viewer, demonstrate that it was not: the least subtle of the three is a lovemaking scene between the young leads that includes what appears to be French kissing, a strict taboo under the Production Code that regulated mainstream Hollywood fare; then a girl under the influence wantonly removes her sweater to reveal a brassiere; and, most subtly of all, but perhaps also the most indicative of the film's true intent, the character of Mae Coleman's seemingly superfluous changing of wardrobe. The sequence, during which Mae (Thelma White) lovingly rolls up her sheer stockings, may be explained to further establish the character as an unscrupulous despoiler of young innocents. But apart from parents, educators, and law officials, Mae is the only adult present with misgivings about the drug-induced orgies taking place in her apartment. Granted, the character is as ill-defined as everyone else in the film, but her presence still goes a long way to demonstrate Reefer Madness' true mission: sexual titillation. Stereotypical dope fiends were common enough in mainstream Hollywood films of the 1930s -- Lewis Howard does a hilarious imitation of Reefer Madness' Dave O'Brien in Deanna Durbin's It's a Date (1940) -- but the kind of sexual innuendo permitted in exploitation films like Reefer Madness was not seen anywhere else on the public screen until the 1960s.
by Hans J. Wollstein
review